#I don't think I needed to use your name much

[nephynes]

Jay calls you “baby” like a threat. Heeseung fucks you like he hates you. You say you’re confused, but you’ve got both of them on their knees and still keep the door open. Someone should stop you, too bad they’re both in love with the wreckage.

➺ minors do not interact

➺ pairing: jay x afab reader x heeseung

➺ wc: 12k

➺ content tags: SMUT, toxic relationship, manipulative behavior, possessive ex, jealousy, dubcon undertones, emotional whiplash, angst, degradation, praise, emotional manipulation, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, obsessive love, heartbreak, crying during sex, coercion, unprotected sex, unresolved feelings, blurred boundaries, rough sex, aftercare (questionable), guilt, shame, self-worth issues, eroticism as control, reader with poor coping mechanisms, kind of a self righteous slut, complicated ex, trauma bonding, spiraling emotions, unhealthy attachment. NOT PROOFREAD.

➺ a/n: going against all tumblr protocols/norms and posting fics without wips or teasers, let’s consider this my comeback after taking so many BEATINGS. i wrote this with like zero emotional stability and no moral compass whatsoever and i wrote the ending with so much anxiety about my work, i feel so insecure about it but whatever. enjoyyyy and block your ex! reblog and heeseung will appear in your dream calling you angel face

➺ nsfw warnings under the cut

oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, threesome, double penetration, hair pulling, mean dom!heeseung, kind of switch!jay, crying during sex, jealousy sex, handjobs, manipulation kink (implied), ass play, saliva for lube (lots of it), power play, coercion themes, sub!reader, possessive behavior, humiliation, slut shaming (not corrected), multiple partners, use of pet names, hand over mouth, spanking, forced positioning, reader cries but doesn’t stop. let me know if i missed any.

Jay's room always smells like wood smoke and something mixed with his cologne and boy musk, but you've grown way too used to it over the years. You're currently stretched out across his bed with your laptop propped against your thighs and your phone in your hand, hovering a finger over a barely there lace slip in your shopping cart. "Is it too much?" you ask, turning the screen toward him.

He barely glances up from where he's messing with his journal on his desk. "It's basically dental floss. You should get it." You snort, clicking to add it to your cart. "How supportive."

Jay turns then, walking back over with a bottle of water in hand, eyes flicking toward the screen like he's expecting more lingerie picks. He drops down beside you, one knee brushing yours, lazy and comfortable and way too familiar.

You scroll through another site, mindlessly showing him crop tops and overpriced boots. He makes stupid little comments until eventually, you lean across him to grab your charger from the nightstand beside him and your tank top slips. Just slightly thin straps sliding down your shoulder, fabric dipping lower than you meant to but it's enough for him to see them. The darkened, wine colored shadows blooming along the swell of your breasts, stark against your skin.

He goes still and you don't even notice at first, you’re too busy trying to untangle the cable, but Jay reaches without asking, curling his fingers under your strap and tugging it down a little more, his eyes sharpening. "You let him mark you up like that? Heeseung?"

You frown a little, brows raising as you glance down at where his hand is still lingering so close to your breast. Then you swat him away, annoyed. "No, Jay. The fucking tooth fairy. Who do you think?"

He doesn't laugh like you assumed he would. He leans back against the headboard, jaw tense, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he's chewing on something he won't say. You can feel his stare, heavy and unreadable.

You roll your eyes defiantly and turn the screen back to yourself. "I didn't realize I needed to send you a memo every time I get fucked."

Jay scoffs out dry and humorless. "Guess not," he says, "just didn't think you'd still go back to him." He glances at you. "What? I didn't meet up to his standards?"

That makes you snap your head toward him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing. Where you act like I owe you something."

Jay laughs low under his breath. "You don't owe me shit," he says, "but maybe you could admit you liked it."

You go quiet. Just long enough for him to know he's hit a nerve and now he looks smug, but not in a gloating way, it’s in that I know what gets under your skin and I'm going to sit there and rot it out kind of way. He shifts a little closer, gaze lingering too long on your collarbone.

"You're said we were just having fun," you say, stiff.

Jay grins. "I did."

You don't know what pisses you off more—his smile, or the fact that part of you wanted to hear something else.

You open your mouth to say something, maybe something catty but the buzzing of your phone on his bed interrupts you.

What shitty timing, you think as Heeseung's name flashes across your screen, loud and abrupt in the quiet lull after Jay's last comment. His lips curl in amusement, and he lets out this mocking laugh, like of course it's him. "Speak of the devil," he mutters.

You want to melt into the floor or throw your phone out the window, but instead you sit frozen, watching the screen pulse with Heeseung's name.

Then it goes silent—only for a text to flash up a second later.

Heeseung: you coming or not?

Jay hums, mean. "Such a romantic."

Your stomach drops as he reaches for your phone. "Jay—don't," you snap, lunging forward, but he catches your wrist easily, holding the phone up and out of reach with a bored flick of his hand. You try to grab it with your free hand, but he's quicker, suddenly twisting you around with too much ease, like he knows every way you move. In one slick move, he tosses your phone across the room and catches your arm behind your back, pinning you on the bed.

"Jay!" you gasp, twisting under him.

He leans over you, lips brushing your ear. "You were really about to go crawling back to him again?" His voice is soft but razor-sharp. "After everything he's done?"

His thigh slides between yours, pining you in place. His grip on your wrist tightens a little and you can feel his warm steady breath against your cheek. "Is that what you like?" His voice is rough now. "Being treated like a fucking afterthought."

You try to twist away from him, to say something, but he turns you over and kisses you before you can, with brute force and possession. You can feel the frustration radiating off him as he swallows the sound of your protest. Your heart rate increases and you hate how quickly your body turns against you, how familiar it feels, how much worse it makes it, the fact that it's Jay. The one person who's always known how to get under your skin.

"I just didn't think you were still that easy," he says lowly, right at your ear. "Still letting him fuck you like you mean nothing."

The words sting somewhere deep in you. You try to jerk away from him, but his hand doesn't move. "That's all he does, isn't it?" Jay adds, almost casual. "Fuck you and leave. And you run back like some good little pet."

Your heart's racing faster now and you’re trying to twist harder in his grip.

But he cuts you off by pressing in, his lips brushing your jaw in a cold and measured contact. "You let him treat you like that. But I'm the one you keep in your bed?" He asks. "Don't think that's fair."

You're too stunned to respond and he knows it. Jay releases you just as suddenly as he grabbed you, pulling away like it didn't mean anything, like he hadn't just shifted the air in the room.

He doesn't even apologize, he just watches you with that stoic look in his eyes, waiting to see what you'll do next. His eyes never leaving yours, even as he stands up from the bed.

You're panting, chest rising and falling as you sit back up on the bed, glaring at his retreating figure. He's already halfway across the room, calm like nothing happened, when he says, too offhandedly, "Your mom called me."

You frown, confused. "What?"

He looks at you. "Said you haven't been eating."

Your stomach twists and you shoot up to your feet, face hot with frustration. "You bring that up now?" you snap, breath catching in your throat. "Seriously?"

Jay just shrugs like he doesn't see why you're upset, like it's just another data point he's sliding across the table. "I'm just trying to show you what he does to you," he says simply.

Your jaw clenches. "Don't blame Heeseung for that," you bite out, angrier now. "I had issues with food way before him. You know that."

There's a pause and the air in the room feels way too heavy for how quiet it is.

He doesn't argue this time, he just flops on the bed again and says, "Come here."

You don't move at first, you shouldn't move—in fact you should get your shit and leave his apartment. But his voice is soft and smooth and too familiar, like a trigger your body's been unfortunately conditioned to obey.

You go, as if something tugs you forward, your legs moving even without your consent.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed by the time you reach him, and without asking or saying a word, he takes your wrists and pulls you into his lap, guiding your thighs to straddle him.

You settle there, shaky and annoyed, but too used to the way this goes to resist. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there. "I’m not the problem." he says, looking up at you. "I'm the one who cares, baby."

You stare back at him. At his straight face. At the boy who always knows exactly when to twist the knife.

You don't answer him right away.

Because all you can think of is how this whole fucked up thing between you and Jay didn't even start with care. Not really.

It started with rage.

Two nights after your third breakup with Heeseung.

You'd shown up to Jay's apartment with mascara bleeding under your eyes, your hoodie sleeves pulled over trembling fingers, and that look you always wore when you were ready to swear Heeseung off for good.

Jay didn't say a word when he opened the door. Just stepped aside and let you in. You stormed past him, fuming, fists clenched like you wanted to punch something.

"I'm done," you'd said. "This time I mean it. He can fuck himself—he can rot."

Jay had nodded, slow. "So he said it again."

You broke. Right there on his couch. Hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice cracking with how bitter it all tasted. You told Jay everything. What Heeseung said, even what he didn't say and how he always knew just how to keep you hooked.

Jay sat there the whole time—legs spread, arms resting over the back of the couch, like he was soaking it in.

And then he leaned forward, pressing a hand to your thigh. "Let me help." His voice was quiet, measured even. "I could make you feel better? Or…forget?"

You didn't really know what he meant until he dropped to his knees. You definitely didn’t expect the way he grabbed you by the hips, dragged you down until your back hit the cushions of his couch. You didn't expect how gentle he was when he peeled your sweats down, your underwear off. How he kissed the insides of your thighs like they were bruises only he could soothe.

How he said—"Just let me do this. You don't have to think."

And you didn't think, in fact you couldn’t. His mouth was too good—hot, slow and sinful, tongue fucking into your soaked pussy like he was trying to reclaim every inch of you Heeseung had tainted. He moaned when you gripped his hair, when you cried out, "Jay—Jay, I'm—"

You came with your fists in his hair and your mouth slack from the shock of it, thighs shuddering where he’d placed them over his shoulders. You'd never cum like that before, not even with Heeseung.

He just looked up at you, lips wet, expressionless. "Feel better?" he'd asked.

You could barely nod.

But that was how it started and how it didn't stop.

After that night, you kept coming back. You told yourself it was casual, just a physical thing to get your mind off your ex. Jay never made a big deal about any of it, never even asked for more.

Until he found out you'd gone back to Heeseung.

He didn't yell or sulk that day. He just looked at you one morning while you were still naked in his sheets, and said, "So you let him fuck you again?"

You froze, mind scrambling for a lie to give him, but nothing came out.

He didn't press further or accuse you of anything. He stared at the ceiling and muttered, almost to himself,

"I didn't realize you liked crawling back to someone who doesn't even pretend to care about you."

And then he got out of bed.

He didn't touch you for two weeks after that. Not until you caved and showed up at his door at 1am, asking if he hated you. He just gave you that same look and pulled you into his lap like always.

Jay never needed to yell, he only needed you to come back. And somehow you always did.

The memories fade, but Jay's mattress is still beneath your knees and his hands are still coasting lazily over the backs of your thighs, because to him he's always had the right to touch you. He's moved up against the headboard now, taking you with him, dark hair messy from where you yanked it earlier. His eyes pin you in place with calm surface to them but cold calculations rippling underneath.

His thumbs press just above the curve of your hips.

"Promise me you're done with him."

It isn't a question, it's merely a line in the sand. No heat, no coaxing, just the terms of staying right here. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Jay lifts one brow, waiting.

"I...can try," you whisper, hating how small it sounds.

He shakes his head once. "Not good enough." Followed by a slow inhale, an almost disappointed one. "I've cut off half the girls I see for you—stopped answering DMs, stopped returning calls. You know that."

You do and part of you was always stupidly flattered every time a name disappeared from his phone.

Jay's fingers slide under the hem of your tank, thumbs brushing skin. "So here's what you're gonna do." His voice stays level, matter of fact, with nothing pleading or cruel. "You're going to block him. Delete the number. The next time he wants someone to fuck when he's bored, he can call literally anyone else."

You swallow, feeling the air too thick in your chest.

"Say it," he demands, eyes never leaving yours. "Promise me."

You despise your pulse for fluttering and that it feels like gravity tilting the room. But all you manage is a small nod and a softer, "Okay...I promise."

Something in his jaw unclenches as his palms slide up your sides, settling possessively at your ribcage. "Good girl," he says, and it isn't praise so much as confirmation that you've aligned yourself correctly. His hands guide you down until your chest brushes his. "Keep me happy," he adds, voice almost gentle, "and I'll keep making you forget why he ever mattered."

Your eyes flutter shut, equal parts relief and dread. You want to keep him happy. God, you do. Even if it means burning every other bridge until only Jay's hands are left to catch you.

So you kiss him, seal the promise on his tongue, and try not to notice how pleased he sounds when you sigh into his mouth—like he's already sure you'll never break your word.

He laughs into your mouth condescendingly, like he's entertained by you and it knocks the rhythm right out of your kiss.

"Fuck," he murmurs when you bite down on his bottom lip, his hand tightening briefly at your waist. But it's still followed by a chuckle, smug, cruel and lazy. "You're so eager now. Look at you."

You grind down on him, hips shifting instinctively, desperate to make a point, but it only makes him laugh harder. "Aww." He tilts his head, voice thick with derision. "Look who thinks she knows how to ride now."

Your stomach flips as you feel the heat of shame curling with arousal prickling up your neck.

"So precious," he keeps going, hand dragging down the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. "You kiss like you're starving, but your hips still falters every time."

"Shut up," you mutter, breathless, but it comes out whinier than you want.

"Oh, now you're embarrassed?" His smile sharpens. "Didn't seem so shy when you were humping me just now."

You shove at his chest, but his hands only tighten, grounding you in place, locking your body against his.

"Go ahead," he says, softly now, teeth grazing the underside of your jaw. "Get mad, but prove me wrong, baby. Show me you finally learned how to fuck me properly."

And fuck—he knows exactly what he's doing. His voice, his words, his mouth, all of it designed to crack you open. He drags the shame, defiance and desire out of you like he's mining for gold.

Your hands shake a little where they press to his chest.

But you roll your hips anyway.

Because God help you, you do want to prove him wrong. But when he doesn't move you nearly falter like he predicted, he doesn't help you or even touch you, he's leaned back against the headboard, arms spread uselessly beside your knees, his expression deadpan but his eyes locked on you with sharp, dark, and maddening patience.

You're the one shifting on top of him, dragging your skirt up around your hips with trembling fingers, your breathing shaky as you tug your panties to the side yourself. He doesn't make a sound, not even when you reach down between the two of you to palm him through his sweats, trying to coax his cock hard.

Still, he just watches. You're a private show, meant only for him. Not someone he's touching, but someone he's witnessing, every breath and movement is a performance he can't tear his eyes from.

His dick twitches in your hand, slowly filling, but he gives no reaction—not a moan, not a sigh, not even a shift of his hips. Just that steady gaze that makes your skin burn.

"You won’t help me?" you whisper, a little breathless.

He shrugs, that same frustrating smirk on his lips. "Thought you were trying to prove you could ride me good now."

You glare at him, fingers curling tighter around the base of his cock. You stroke him a little rougher than necessary, but he only raises a brow like he dares you to keep going.

"Come on," he murmurs, voice low, goading. "Figure it out. You wanted to be the one in control, didn't you?"

You press your lips together, swallowing a shaky breath as you line him up, lowering yourself slowly on the thickness of him and shaking just slightly, fingers clutching his shoulders for balance.

You gasp as the bulbous head of his cock slips in. But he just watches quietly like he’s waiting.

And somehow, to you that's worse than anything he could've even said.

You're whimpering, trying to take more of him rolling your hips just right, moving slow and deliberate like you think he wants. Like you hope he wants.

Your hands brace on his chest, your thighs burning already, and you move with every ounce of desperation you can muster—arching your back, biting your lip, trying to look as sexy and confident as you can manage.

But inside, it's sheer panic. Because you know what Jay could have, you know all the other girls he's brushed off for you. All the girls who would've killed to be in your place, bouncing perfectly in his lap, earning his soft praises and smug grins.

What if one of them would've been better? What if you're just…forgettable?

The jealousy twists sharp in your gut. And the need to matter and to mean something to Jay pushes you harder. You grind your hips down with more focus, swiveling just right, clenching around him tight and desperate.

And it finally pulls a real moan from him. It seems so raw and almost involuntary, but your heart stutters in your chest anyway.

You look down at him through your lashes, still rocking your hips, barely breathing. "Am I..." Your voice is shaky. "...doing good?"

Jay's eyes lift to meet yours—half-lidded and blown black, finally trailing his hand up to rest on your waist, not guiding you yet, just holding.

He exhales slowly, like the sight of you ruins him.

"So good," he croons. "So fucking good, baby."

And like that, you feel your whole body light up with relief, pride and maybe even power. Like maybe you’re finally enough for him.

His fingers suddenly tighten around your waist, and without warning he starts moving you himself, bouncing you harder on his cock. It’s not gentle or kind like you had hoped it would be when you’d asked him to help you. No, Jay is using his strength like it's second nature, like he's been waiting for you to tire out just so he could take over.

Your breath punches out of your lungs when your hips are dragged down hard, the thick length of his throbbing cock pushing in deeper than you'd dared to go on your own.

"Jay—!" you cry out, head snapping back, thighs trembling. But he's already covering your mouth with one large palm.

"Shhh," he breathes, lips brushing your cheek as he leans forward. "You're gonna get me a noise complaint, baby."

You can't help the way your eyes roll back, the stretch, the pressure, the depth of him inside you making your body seize with too much sensation. "Mmpfh."

His grip on your waist is absolutely bruising, dragging you down again and again, faster and harder. Your moans go muffled into his hand, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body turning to nothing but a puppet in his lap.

And Jay just watches you fall apart with that same infuriating calmness. "Look at you," he mutters. "Didn't even know how to ride it right five minutes ago."

His voice is smug and dirty. "But now? Now you're screaming for it." He says shifting his body a little, just his hands, one still rests at your waist while the other slips off your mouth and between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit with perfected ease. You gasp when he finds you, the slick sound of your wetness absurd in the quiet of the room.

He presses his thumb just right and you jolt, the sudden pressure driving you dangerously closer to the edge. Your hips start to stutter, rhythm completely lost, but he picks it up for you—gripping your waist and moving you with a strength you'd forgotten he liked to flex. The next thrust is deeper, more brutal, and your head tips back with a cry, body arching into his. "J—ay! Ngh—Y—yes! There! There!"

Jay doesn't let up at all. "You're babbling now," he says, voice like velvet and venom. "What, you getting stupid for me already?"

You try to respond but your mouth won't cooperate, nothing comes out but a broken whine. Your limbs are trembling, your head swimming. He can feel it in the way you're squeezing around him, right on the brink.

Then he leans forward, mouth at your ear, voice a low rasp, "Do it again."

Your whole body slows to the stiff point. You know exactly what he means, exactly what it means and panic flares across your face, just for a second. Then his hand is on your throat, but not to choke you, just guiding you and pressing you gently back down onto the bed. Your back hits the sheets, chest heaving and Jay climbs over you, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on yours.

You don't have to say a word. He sees the desperate, delirious relief in your eyes now that he’s on top. The smirk that spreads across his face is so mean and satisfied.

"There she is," he whispers, brushing your hair back with mock affection. "Right where you belong."

Then he moves inside you again, and your world splits open. The new angle is different and it’s letting his cock brush something achingly good inside you.

Your mouth opens, forming a silent no, but it's already happening, he's coaxing it out of you with the same rough rhythm, the same maddening meticulousness.

Your body starts to stiffen again as the pressure boils over, and just as you start to panic more. "Relax," he breathes. "Let it happen."

"I said do it again."

Your thighs quake. The wet slap of skin, the slick mess between your bodies—it's so overwhelming, so humiliating, and so perfect.

You choke on a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, blinding and involuntary, and then it happens. You feel it. The heat, the release, the wet flood you tried to hold back.

Jay's eyes light up, fucking triumphant. "Look at the mess you made," he says low, like he's proud of you and taunting you all at once. His hand glides down, wet with you, lifting his soaked fingers to your mouth. "Open."

You do. Of course you do.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, and you suck them obediently, tongue swirling slow even as your chest still heaves from the aftershocks. His eyes darken.

"You like it nasty, don't you?" he mumbles, pulling his hand away with a wet pop, dragging your jaw open with his thumb. "So fucking easy."

He shifts then, the weight of him pressing your legs wider as he strokes himself once, twice, and not gently. He's so hard and even almost angry with it, and it makes you realize he's been holding back, waiting for you to cum first.

He leans forward, teeth at your jaw, whispering, "You want to be used, right? That's what Heeseung doesn't get. You don't need love. You need to be ruined."

Then he pushes deep in again, faster and meaner.

You scream a loud sound you really try to swallow but it comes out anyway.

He doesn't hold back this time, his pace is rougher now, desperate, driven by something darker. He holds your leg up over his shoulder, trying to mark his name into the deepest part of you.

"Fuck," he grits, breath coming hot against your throat. "You're still so wet—squeezing me like you want me to finish inside."

You can't seem to form any sensible thoughts so you just grip his shoulders like a lifeline, head rolling back, another moan choking in your throat.

"Still so tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his temple, his thumb dragging across your spit-slick mouth. "Still...fuck—still letting him fuck you like you're not already mine."

You sob when he shifts your legs higher, deeper now, hitting that spot that makes you claw at the sheets.

"Jay—" it's all you can manage, too far gone to stop him but too full of him to breathe. But it’s not like he's even listening. Not really. He's watching the way you fall apart, as if he's memorizing the proof that he can still undo you this thoroughly.

His hips pulse, the rhythm of them breaking down—he's close. You feel the way his breath goes jagged, the way his arms start to tremble, how his teeth dig into the underside of your jaw before he groans right there, like he's in pain.

"I'm gonna cum," he grits, voice tight. "You want it, don't you?"

You nod frantically, already crying from the sheer overstimulation. He's everywhere—his scent, his voice, the weight of him fucking you into the mattress.

"Say it."

You try, you do really try. "Want it—want you to cum—inside, please, Jay, please—"

And that's what does it for him. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt with a broken sound, hips grinding into you as he cums hard, long and deep, filling you with thick ropes of his cum until you swear you can feel it pooling inside. His whole body jerks, muscles clenching, breath catching at the base of his throat. He stays like that for a long moment, frozen over you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and sex and something even heavier.

He props himself up on his hands to look down at you when both your breathing slows, but he still doesn’t pull out. He just stares down at you, still inside, his hand sliding up your ribs until it's cradling your jaw.

"Next time you go back to him..." His thumb strokes over your bottom lip. "I'm done with you."

"And if you do...you better make sure I don’t find out."

His voice isn't even loud but it's steady and enough to make your stomach drop. He ignores the look on your face and shifts your panties back in place then gets off you.

Sometime between the kisses he peppered all over your face, the threat and the uber he'd ordered you, Jay had helped you get dressed again, his touch cool and careful, not speaking as he smoothed your hair down and tucked your phone back into your hand like a peace offering.

You're curled up on your bed, thumb hovering over the keyboard of your phone, the half-typed message to Heeseung glowing like a bruise.

you: ok fine. you win. when?

You stare at it too long, not because you're hesitant but because you know you should be. True to your word and your promise to Jay you had deleted Heeseung's number but you hadn't blocked it, and what use was that when you had it memorized.

Jay had looked you in the eye not even an hour ago and basically told you to choose between them. And maybe you'd meant to take it seriously. Maybe.

But then the soft thud against the glass pane of your window that has you blinking and turning you head—changes everything.

And there he is, changing everything. Heeseung.

Climbing through your window like it he would when you first started dating, but it's not with a smile and an embarrassed chuckle like those days, it's with a frown.

He's mad.

You can tell from the second his feet hit your floor, his jaw locked tight, his eyes raking over you with that specific brand of fury only Heeseung has, that’s quiet and cold, but mean under the surface.

His gaze drops to your legs tucked beneath you on the bed, your wrinkled tank, your flushed skin, and something shifts in his expression—tighter, darker.

"Why the fuck didn't you answer my text?" he says, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

You swallow hard. Your phone's still in your hand, the screen glowing with the message you never sent. He sees it.

"I was gonna—"

"Yeah?" He takes a step closer. "You were gonna what?"

You flinch at the heat between your legs cooling too slowly, the sticky ache of Jay still clinging to you. You didn't even shower or change, the drop in serotonin you experienced after leaving Jay's house left you in a rut.

And now Heeseung's standing here, inches away, breathing the same air as you.

He stops beside your bed, looking down at you, and you can't seem to meet his eyes.

Your shame feels loud, you're even scared he can probably smell it on you.

All your fears are validated when he grabs you by the ankle, one strong hand curling around and dragging you down the bed like a ragdoll. You gasp, your phone slipping from your grip as your back hits the mattress edge.

"Don't ignore me," he mutters, but it's distracted now. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing your skirt up. You squirm, legs instinctively snapping shut, but he doesn't allow that, never does. He spreads you open with one rough motion, ready to scold you, tease you, touch you but then he looks between your legs and his hands stop moving.

Your panties are soaked. Still a little askew. You hadn't fixed them right. Hadn't bothered.

You watch his face twist in real time—brows pinching, mouth parting slightly, like he can't seem to believe what he's seeing.

"What the fuck?" he says, low, breathless. "Did you let someone else fuck you?"

Your stomach flips violently. You try to sit up, to cover yourself, to explain, to say something but he grips your inner thigh tighter, forcing you to stay open.

His voice is flat now. "Who was it?"

He blinks at your silence.

And then, without even looking at you, just staring down at the complete mess between your legs, he lets out a laugh. It's not loud, it's not even mean at first, it's actually almost like he's stunned.

"So you're a little slut now, huh?" he whispers.

The word hits you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest caves in a little. Not because of what he said, but because he said it. Heeseung—who's never called you that. Who's always had this unspoken softness for you, even when he was being cruel. Even when he was distant or cold or high out of his mind, he'd never call you out of your name.

"You don't get to say that," you whisper, voice shaking. "We're not even—" You break off, choking on the heat rising in your throat. "We're not together anymore."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "You just keep my name in your phone. Keep my number on speed dial. Let me fuck you whenever I want. But now suddenly I don't even get to ask?"

"You don't," you snap. Your hands slam into his chest, weakly at first then harder the second time. "Get out. Get the fuck out, Heeseung."

He doesn't budge.

You push him again, as hard as you can, trying to guide him toward the window he so casually crawled through as if things were normal between you two. "You can't just show up here and—and check my fucking underwear—"

That makes him grin. A slow, infuriating grin.

You hate him.

You want to cry.

"You're really throwing a tantrum right now?" he says coolly, dodging your push like it's child's play. He catches both your wrists with one hand, effortlessly holding them in place. "What happened to that little whimpering mess I had in my lap last weekend?"

"Fuck you," you spit, writhing in his grip, breath catching. "You don't get to shame me and then act like you care!"

He just shrugs. "Didn't say I cared."

Then his grip tightens just enough to make you stop squirming. "But I'm not leaving either."

He walks right past you like you're not even standing there, like the argument didn't just happen. He moves with lazy arrogance—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets.

You watch, stunned, as he sinks down into your bed, like he's done it a hundred times before. Which in his defense, he has.

He reaches over to your nightstand and picks up your phone. Just grabs it, thumbing through your screen, looking for God knows what, maybe the name of the person he's so sure you fucked earlier.

Your throat is too tight. Your fists clench by your sides, but he doesn't even glance at you, he's sat there, scrolling through your phone and the silence starts to ache.

Then he looks up.

Expression calmer now. "Go shower." He says with a flat and final tone.

You don't move, the twist in your stomach and the ache in your chest from the shame blooming there makes it hard to move. The worst part is that you don't even know if it's from what he said, or the fact that a part of you wants to listen.

"Now," he adds, eyes flicking back down to your phone.

Like you're just some mess he needs to clean up. You do as you're told—of course you do because Heeseung said so.

Your bathroom light is too bright, too exposing. You scrub harder than you need to, the soap scalding your skin as the shame now settles thick in your chest. You clean yourself like you're trying to erase something. Like you can.

What if Jay calls? What if Heeseung picks up?

Your mind races as you step back into the room, wrapped in a towel, your hair dripping, your skin flushed from the too-hot water. Heeseung looks up from where he's sprawled across your sheets and laughs, so casually amused.

"That supposed to impress me?" he asks, gesturing to the towel. "Like rinsing off some other dudes cum suddenly makes you clean?"

"Cute," he says, tilting his head. "You look nervous. Is it guilt or just performance?"

"Don't just stand there," he says after a beat, voice slow like syrup, sliding back into his usual apathy. "You think we're gonna cuddle or something?"

You shift uncomfortably, still frozen in place, clutching your towel.

He finally sits up, rolling his shoulders back, spreading his legs and patting the edge of the bed like he's calling a dog.

And somehow, stupidly, your body moves before your brain tells it not to.

You sit beside him, still shaking a little, heart hammering against the wet towel. You don't look at him, and you wish he couldn't see the panic painted all over your skin.

He doesn't touch you.

Just leans closer, nose grazing your ear, voice flat and low.

"I'm not gonna fuck you in the same hole you just gave another guy." He exhales a soft, sharp breath

You jolt, but his hand grips your waist tight enough to make you shut up and stay still. "You wanna make it up to me?" he says, voice so calm it cuts deeper. "Then get on all fours. Be useful for once."

"You know what I want."

The worst part is that you do know and you feel it breaking something open inside you—something ugly and raw and so, so tired.

But regardless of the tiredness, your body still moves.

Because that's what you've always done when it comes to Heeseung.

He shifts over you, his chest grazing your back, towel slipping as he cages you in. His mouth brushes your shoulder in a slow deliberate kiss, laced with the kind of false tenderness that makes your skin crawl. You shiver, more from the pressure than the heat of it.

Then he reaches around and pushes two fingers between your lips.

"Open up for me, angel face." he says, voice low and close to your ear and when you hesitate, his other hand presses down on your lower back, a clear warning. You part your lips, and he pushes the fingers deeper, right against your tongue. You nearly gag, your cheeks heating with sheer mortification. He doesn't move them until your saliva begins to pool around them.

"That's enough," he says, yanking them out and watching a strand of saliva cling between your lips and his fingers.

Without pause, he brings that spit slick hand behind you, reaching between your ass cheeks, spreading you open.

He coats his cock with the spit lazily, intentionally letting you feel every second of the slow glide of his fingers against you. You flinch when he teases the tight ring of muscle, his voice flattening into something amused.

"What?" he asks, tauntingly innocent. "You gave him your pussy. I'm just working with what's left."

You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of how his cruelty has never sounded this casual.

"You should be grateful," he continues, positioning himself behind you. "Most guys wouldn't want you after that. But me?"

He chuckles.

"I'll still fuck you."

His hand comes up to your throat in a choke. A reminder, as his hips press in slowly, forcing your body to adjust. Your legs tremble, stretched awkwardly on your knees, hands digging into the mattress. You can barely breathe through the sting, and he hasn't even started moving yet.

"You look so pathetic right now." He says, feeling the way the walls of your asshole spasm around him as he pushes in deeper, hot and slick with your saliva and his precum. "Poor you, helpless and weak. You just take me whenever I show up, uhn?"

You squirm in pleasure at his words, nodding, repeatedly moaning words about being his slut and for him to give you his cock, completely forgetting about the promise you just made Jay—like a true whore.

"Yeah?" He taunts you, slipping one hand under you to your tit and pinching your nipple so hard you arch your back at it, arching into him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in pleasure. "You're only good for taking my cum, right angel face?"

A gasp rips from your throat when his nails bite down on your nipple again, the sting shooting straight through you. Waves of goosebumps ripple across your skin, relentless, and all you can do is nod harder, desperate to keep up. "Ah—Hee, oh my god!"

"Shhh, isn't your mum home? You want her to come in here and see me fucking your needy hole? See how much of a fucking slut her daughter is?" You shake your head violently but the drag of his cock against your walls and the slap of his balls against your cunt that's dripping onto the bed as you doing otherwise.

His thrusts stay unrelenting, each one a willful reminder that this is only about release, not some sort of reunion. He leans down, mouth beside your ear, the rasp of his breath harsher than the slap of skin against skin.

"This doesn’t mean we're getting back together?" His laugh is cold and cruel, hips snapping forward harder just to hear you gasp. "Keep dreaming. I'll fuck you, but I'll never get back together with you again."

You clench around him, feeling the shame, hurt and sheer pleasure all tangled, and he hisses, the smile in his voice turning near vicious.

"That's it—tighten up like you don’t believe me," he taunts, hand curling in your hair to keep your face buried in the pillow. "We're done, angel face. You're just a convenient hole I'll use when I'm bored."

He punctuates every word with another sharp thrust, voice dropping even lower. "So stop pretending, stop hoping—because when I pull out, I'm gonna walk away, and you'll still be nothing but leftovers in another guy's bed."

You’re nearly in tears at his words, feeling it pooling on your lash line. You’re starting regret breaking your promise to Jay or for not standing your ground and pushing Heeseung out of your window. "Hee—Heeseung, please."

In one swift motion he pulls out and drags you to the edge of the bed and onto your back, pushing in again, completely ignoring your pleas. "Oh fuck! Shit’s so fucking tight—You let him fuck you here?"

"No! N—Never!" your response has him fucking forward faster, pinning your knees to your shoulders as he fucks deeper and rubs his fingers all over your clenching pussy. "You gonna squirt for me like a good girl?"

The sounds your pussy is making are messy and obscene, and when he hooks two fingers inside your pussy and curls them up? You don't stand a chance in the world, you cum hard, body spasming violently as the liquid shoots out of your cunt and sprays his chest and stomach, he laughs at the sight, "Yeahhh, there we go."

It drives him on towards his own orgasm. He thrusts faster and harder, pushing your legs into your chest harder, so hard that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning deliciously, your pussy is hot, and your clit swollen as he finally groans and spills inside you. Hot strings of his cum filling your ass, making you keen and moan at the delicious feeling.

His skin is slick against yours as he falls over you, caging you in with your sweat cooling in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You lie tangled together on the rumpled sheets, the aftermath of your stormy reunion thrums through every nerve of your body. His breathing comes out in ragged gasps as he shifts, body weighted onto you.

His hand drifts across your waist, the pads of his fingers rough where he's still too worked up. He leans in, voice clipped on your neck, every word laced with that familiar sting, "Don't get soft on me now, angel face. I'm not your boyfriend again."

Your heart thumps at the barb because you want him to be. But instead you force the usual shrug, feigning like you don’t care and wincing at the ache between your legs.

"Yeah," you whisper, a little out of breath. "I know."

He presses closer, chest against your spine, and you feel the heat of his body like something too close to a claim for someone who just outwardly said he doesn’t want to be with you again.

"Good," he mutters through a sharp exhale. "Then you know I'm sleeping here. Don't bother moving."

You don't argue, not because you don’t see the need but because you’re far too exhausted and you know damn well he won’t listen to you anyway. You're too used to his cold commands and your quiet yielding, so you let him pull you tighter, you let his arm settle across your ribs.

No kisses or soft words or aftercare, at least Jay had tried to make you look more presentable—smoothing out your skirt and trying to tame your here it’s just the steady thump of Heeseung’s heartbeat against your back and the whir of the street outside your house.

You close your eyes, mind drifting instead to Jay as you try to ignore the not so soothing circles Heeseung’s thumb is rubbing into your stomach.

He'll kill me, you think, eyelids heavy. He said he'd be done if he finds out, he actually said to make sure he doesn’t find out. The worry threads through you, sharp and anxious, but sleep drags you under before you can chase it down.

And for a moment, you're caught between their worlds—Heeseung's cold possession holding you in the dark, and Jay's promise of finality echoing in your head as you drift off.

You wake up to the sound of someone exhaling sharply through their nose, it’s not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. But it's enough to pull you from the tangle of sleep, your limbs feel heavy and your skin is too warm beneath the sheets. Your body aches, but not sore in the good way, this is in the used up and exhausted way.

There's a dull throb between your legs and the rawness in your throat reminds you that you cried hard last night. For a second, you don't even remember where you are, but then you shift, and the bare skin against yours moves with you.

Heeseung still asleep beside you, with his chest rising and falling steadily. One of his arms is draped across your waist. You're completely naked with sticky thighs and a dull ache between your ass cheeks. The air in your room feels wrung out and the smell of sex is clinging to the sheets.

That same breath comes again and you realize it’s not from Heeseung, so you blink your eyes open.

And Jay is standing above you.

Dressed in sweats and a white tee that clings to him like second skin. His face is stoic, eyes flicking between the shape of you under your blanket and the man lying beside you.

Your heart stops, it actually stops before crashing into a violent rhythm inside your chest.

"Wow," Jay says, voice calm in that terrifyingly low way. "Not even twenty-four hours."

You shoot upright, dragging the sheet over your chest, like it'll somehow undo everything or erase the guilt growing like mold in your throat, threatening to suffocate you. You feel exposed and nauseous, like you could throw up right there in the bed.

"Jay—" you start, voice cracking.

But he just lifts his hand, not even to silence you, just so incredibly dismissively. Like your words aren't even worth hearing.

"Your mum said you didn't eat dinner," he says after a beat, not even looking at you now. "That's why I came. She said she was headed out for the day. Thought I could check on you."

Your stomach sinks. Shame slams into you so fast you have to look away. You want to be so angry at your mother for thinking Jay is so responsible with you but you can’t because he is responsible, especially with you.

Heeseung starts to stir at the sound of voices around him. He blinks up at Jay, completely unbothered. "What the fuck—?"

You can't breathe, not to talk of move. You feel like a child about to be punished, or more like a criminal caught red handed, but worse than all that, you feel absolutely pathetic.

"Is this how you let random guys barge into your room now?" Heeseung grumbles, rubbing his eyes. He squints at Jay. "The fuck are you even doing here?"

You want to scream at him to shut up. You want to cry, as you watch Jay stare into your eyes.

Heeseung sits up slowly, scoffing under his breath. "Get the fuck out, dude."

Jay doesn't budge or even feign like he’s about to. No, instead he plants himself at the foot of the bed—arms crossed, back straight, that unnerving calm carved into every line of his face. His gaze stays glued to you, not even wavering when Heeseung pushes up onto an elbow, blanket slipping low across his hips.

"Get dressed," Jay says, voice quiet but completely resolute. He isn't loud, because remember? he doesn't ever have to be. The authority in his voice is always ice cold and precise.

You scramble at the sheets, fully dizzy with panic, shame and adrenaline. Your hands are shaking so badly you can't tell if you're gripping cotton or fucking air.

Heeseung scoffs, a bark of incredulous laughter. "Who the fuck are you to tell her what to do?"

Jay doesn't still spare him a glance. He just extends a lazy hand toward your dresser. "Clothes. Now."

Heeseung's eyes narrow, confusion dawning into something uglier. "Wait." He sits all the way up, raking his gaze over Jay's face, then yours. "Hold on. Is this—" He points between the two of you, lips curling. "You? You're the guy who fucked her?"

You fathom speaking now, even though he truth is screaming inside your skull, your throat feels cemented shut.

Heeseung lets out another humorless laugh. "Wow. Your so called best friend, huh?" He looks you over, disgust edging his tone.  "You'll really spread your legs for just anyone, won't you?"

The words punch a hole straight through your chest, it has your vision blurring, but you still slide from the bed, clutching the sheet to the front of your body—the ache between your ribs way louder than the ache between your legs.

Jay's jaw flexes, but he doesn't rise to the bait of Heeseung referring to him as just anyone. He still doesn’t look at him. Rather, he turns slightly, exposing his profile to you, creating a corridor of privacy in the room that somehow excludes Heeseung entirely.

"Drawer," he says softly. "I'm counting to ten."

The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—or sob. You stumble to your dresser, jerk it open, and pull the first t-shirt you find over your head. Your fingers fumble with a pair of panties. You feel Heeseung's stare on your back, burning with hate and disbelief.

Jay murmurs, "Eight...nine—"

You wrench the panties up just as he reaches ten, heart jack-hammering in your throat. Then you stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, sheet puddled at your feet like evidence.

Finally Jay shifts his gaze to Heeseung—slow and intentional with his eyes flat and glacier cold. "Out," he says. One syllable and absolutely nothing more.

Heeseung brims with tension, rising from the bed. "Fucking make me."

The air in your room turns heavy, electric, charged with something darker than anger. You tug the oversized shirt lower on your thighs, cheeks burning, pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. You should tell one of them to leave, you should scream, you should do something. Instead you stand there uselessly with a pounding heart and a twisted gut while the two men who know your body like a map stare each other down over the wreckage of your sheets.

Jay breaks the silence first, voice low. "You promised."

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh, eyes flicking to you, then back. "And? She promised me once too. Didn't stop her moaning my name last night while I fucked her ass."

Your breath catches so hard you think you might faint. You taste shame, guilt and it’s something sour that turns strangely sweet when both their gazes snap to you at the same time, like you're the prize in a game neither of them intends to lose.

"You proud of that?" Jay asks, still calm, but you hear the steel under the words.

Heeseung's smirk widens. "Looks like she is," he says, nodding at the way your knees knock together, the way your fingers twist in the hem of the shirt that ridiculously smells like Jay's detergent and Heeseung's sweat. "Little thing's shaking."

Your stomach flips with equal parts dread and a perverse thrill. Yesterday's memories flash hard behind your eyes, both of them inside your head, under your skin. You know you'll never be able to choose. Because part of you likes this, you like their attention crashing over you from both sides, two tidal waves colliding with you caught in the undertow.

Jay steps closer, toying with your phone in his palm. "Show him you can fucking follow instructions." he says quietly, gaze never leaving Heeseung.

The command sinks into your bones, all too familiar and unraveling. Your lips part but you don't even know what you're about to say or do. But then Heeseung's hand snakes out, catching your wrist and pulling you toward him instead.

"She listens to me just fine," Heeseung declares, fingers sliding to your chin, forcing your head back so you're looking up at him. "Don't you, angel face?"

You swallow, throat tight. A tiny sound, half-whimper, half-yes escapes your lips.

Jay's eyes are blazing when Heeseung shifts you to have your back against his chest. His hand traces a slow, infuriatingly confident line down your stomach, and you flinch at the intimacy of it. You don't even have time to move before Heeseung's mouth is right beside your ear, dragging a lazy kiss against your neck, possessive and smug.

Jay doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken, you see it and so does Heeseung.

"Seriously?" Jay finally mutters, voice low, somewhere between daze and something shockingly hungrier. "You're letting him touch you like that, right in front of me?"

Heeseung just laughs, warm breath skating over your shoulder as his hand slips lower, palming your pussy like he has every right to. "You can't look away though, can you?" he says, eyes fixed on Jay now, goading. "What's the matter? Didn't get enough yesterday?"

Jay's fists curl at his sides but he doesn't move, the tension radiating off of him is palpable. His stare drops to where Heeseung's hand is inside your panties you put on, groping like he's testing ownership.

"You're disgusting," Jay snaps, but his voice is thinner now, less conviction. His gaze is low and lingering.

Heeseung hums. "And you're hard."

That hits Jay like a gunshot and he freezes, nostrils flaring because he is hard.

Heeseung turns his attention back to you, smirking a little. His fingers slip between the folds of your pussy, finding your clit and you whimper, head dropping forward into your hands, embarrassed, but not enough to tell him stop, or enough to make them leave.

"Don't pretend this isn't what she wants," Heeseung says, dragging his lips along your neck. "She's been taking both of us, hasn't she? Plus I don’t really care about her, she just lets me do things other girls don’t."

Jay doesn't answer, but he does step closer. Close enough to see everything and close enough that your skin burns from the weight of both their attention.

"You gonna join me?" Heeseung asks him, too cocky now. "Or you gonna watch with your dick in your hand like a fucking cuck?"

Jay looks at you and the way his eyes soften is the only warning you get before he grabs your chin and kisses you, rough and unrelenting. Now you know neither of them are leaving at least not until one of them wins or they break you.

Heeseung's grip on your waist tightens, but his gaze is all on Jay now, trying to stand behind you like he's bored, like he's not fully hard from just watching Jay kiss you. He lets out a slow exhale, smirking a little as he confesses something that seems to not matter to him anymore.

"You know," he starts lazily, still watching as your tongue collides with Jay’s, "when I was with her...back then? You used to piss me off. Thought you were some kind of threat."

Jay pulls his mouth from yours. "Shut the fuck up."

"But looking at you now..." Heeseung tilts his head, continuing and dragging his eyes lower in a way that makes the air shift. "I don't think I wanna fight you anymore."

There's a beat of silence, something electric buzzing underneath it. You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

"I kinda wanna fuck you instead," he adds plainly.

Jay's lips part slightly, brows drawn in confusion that's quickly swallowed anger or curiosity, you can't truly tell.

Heeseung laughs at Jay’s reaction and then leans in closer to you, resting his chin lazily on your shoulder, eyes still on Jay. His tone drops. "Bet you taste good too," he says, like it's nothing, like he's not teasing the both of you. "Wouldn't mind finding out."

You tense between them, pulse thudding, because you see how this is power, pride...and a pull between them that neither of them wants to admit but both of them feel.

"Fuck off," Jay mutters, but his voice is hoarse now. "That’s not fucking happening."

Heeseung grins, victorious, and kisses your neck again, but slower this time cause he knows Jay is watching.

Heeseung's palm slides possessively over your stomach again while his mouth works a heated trail up your throat—never taking his eyes off Jay. Every flick of Heeseung's tongue feels like a dare thrown directly at the other man, and Jay's control is visibly eroding, his jaw flexed, chest rising faster, fists clenching as though he's deciding whether to shove Heeseung away or drag him closer.

"Getting worked up just watching?" Heeseung murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, but the words are for Jay. He drags his hand lower across your thigh, slow enough to make you squirm. "Thought you were the one giving orders."

Jay's reply is a dark and unamused laugh. "Keep talking."

Heeseung does—whispers something filthy against your skin, hips nudging his hard clothed cock against your ass until you gasp and he continues to goad Jay.

"Tell me," Heeseung says, voice low as he noses along your jaw. "Is he a good kisser?" His question hums with challenge, and his fingers flex on your hip, reminding you how completely you're pinned between them.

Your pulse thunders. Shame and anticipation collide in your chest, and something reckless slips past your lips, something soft and breathy and meant only for him.

"Why don't you...find out?"

For a beat neither man moves. Jay's eyes flash in shock and something close to resentment, a flare of something hungry. Heeseung's grin spreads, slow and wicked. He leans past you, crowding closer until his breath mingles with Jay's.

The charged silence hangs, but then Jay closes the distance, grabbing the back of Heeseung's neck like he didn’t tell him a moment ago that it would never happen. Their mouths crash together, raw and forceful. You're caught between them, heat bouncing off their bodies, every muffled groan vibrating through your spine.

It's messy and competitive—Jay bites Heeseung's lip and Heeseung answers with a low growl, hand sliding boldly down Jay's side before circling back to squeeze your thigh. You feel the tremor that rolls through Jay at the touch, and pride twists with awe in your lower belly.

Heeseung's grip on your thigh loosens just long enough for him to shove you forward, away from the collision of their mouths. You stumble onto your knees beside the bed, watching as he turns fully to Jay, eyes blazing with hungry curiosity.

Heeseung presses his palm to Jay's chest, sliding it down over his ribs, fingertips tracing the line of his abs. Jay's breath draws sharp, caught off guard.

"Ever been with a guy before?" Heeseung's voice is soft, teasing, every word loaded.

Jay blinks at him. "No," he manages, tone rough.

Heeseung just laughs, soft and smug, thumb brushing over Jay's exposed skin. "That's alright. I'm honored to be your first..." He glances at you, eyes gleaming. "Just like I was hers."

Jay's jaw tics, but he doesn't move away. Heeseung steps in closer, chests brushing, heat rising in the thin space between them. His hand moves higher, curling around the back of Jay's neck, pulling him in again. And this time the kiss is filthier, open-mouthed with teeth grazing and tongues sliding without hesitation.

You're breathless watching them. Jay's hand grips Heeseung's side, uncertain but firm causing the other to groan into his mouth, hands slipping lower to snake between both their bodies to palm Jay’s hardened cock over his sweats. Jay jerks, gasping into the kiss, hips twitching forward in shock.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, pulling back just enough to suck in air.

"Sensitive already?" Heeseung grins, licking his lips. "That's cute."

You press your thighs together, pulse pounding at the sight of them, Jay's cheeks are flushed, Heeseung's calmness is near predatory, and the sheer tension vibrating between the three of you. Your body still aches from the night before, but all you can think about is them.

Heeseung bites his lip, fingers curling tighter around Jay's waistband, tugging it down enough to expose the hardness beneath.

Jay shudders. Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "You hard for me already?" he murmurs. "Or is it for her?"

Jay doesn't answer and it causes Heeseung to grin wider. "Guess it doesn't matter."

And then he spits into his hand, slow and deliberate, before wrapping it around Jay’s dick without breaking eye contact with him.

You swear you feel your clit forming a heartbeat.

Jay takes a sharp inhale he tries desperately to stifle. This is new to him, but his chest tightens either way and his pulse hammers in his throat when Heeseung wraps his spit covered hand around his dick. Everything in Jay screams that he shouldn't want this, that Heeseung is the enemy, but beneath that war, a dark current of arousal is coiling.

Heeseung's fingers pump him slow and sure, eyes locked on his as if he willing him to break. Jay's lips part, and for a heartbeat, he almost moans but he clamps his jaw shut instead, head tilting back so only the curve of his throat shows, as heat floods his face.

His hands twitch at his sides, yearning to grip something, anything. He lifts one to knot in Heeseung's hair, not in anger, but instinct like a desperate plea for more and it makes Heeseung's grin flicker with victory.

Jay's vision darkens at the edges as the pleasure builds, electric and terrifyingly sweet. He fights for control, but his body betrays him when a low groan slips free, startling even him, one which has you trailing your hand between your legs to find some sort of relief.

Heeseung doesn't even glance your way but his voice slices through the thick air like a whip, "Touch yourself and neither of us lay a hand on you."

Your fingers freeze, inches from your cunt, the sight before you too overwhelming, their bodies are close, with tension humming like live wire, and you’re drowning in it, arousal clouding everything else.

A pit of embarrassment forms in your chest. You slowly lower your hand back to the ground with your heart racing.

Jay looks you too now with a dark gaze, you notice his chest rising and falling hard like he's on the edge of saying something—but doesn't.

Heeseung's pace stroking Jay's cock quickens, it turns somewhat relentless, he has one hand still steady at Jay's hip while the other pumps him with confidence. Jay's eyes flutter shut as the pressure builds, you know that look.

"You like that, don't you?" Heeseung says, voice laced with amusement.

Jay's fingers cling to Heeseung's shoulders, body trembling under the rising tension of his orgasm. You watch, breath caught as Heeseung leans in close, lips brushing Jay's ear.

"Look at you—so proud you could handle her, and yet here you are, helpless for me." His thumb presses in right over the phallic tip of him, dragging a trembling, lewd pulse through Jay's cock. It makes Jay's hand jerk, scrabbling at Heeseung's wrist, helpless.

Heeseung smiles knowingly against Jay's skin—slow, knowing. "No hiding," he teases, brushing fingertips over Jay's lower lip until Jay parts them, letting Heeseung trace the wet line. "You don't sound like the tough guy you pretend to be."

You watch Jay try to swallow, try to form a retort, but his voice is gone, it's replaced by a soft, whimpering moan that vibrates through his whole body.

"Go on," Heeseung says. "Let me see what you look like when you cum.”

Jay's head falls back, neck bare, throat exposed. And then it happens, a trembling exhalation, guttural and urgent, as Jay's body shudders and clenches. You see the flush spread across his cheeks, you hear the wet heat of Jay's cum slicking across Heeseung's palm.

Heeseung strokes him through it with a steady hand, letting Jay's orgasm roll through him until the final shudder. Then he slowly withdraws his hand, setting Jay's spent cock free to twitch in the cool air. He watches Jay's chest heave, eyes still closed, mouth parted.

For a heartbeat, there's only the sound of Jay's ragged breathing, then Heeseung's gaze flicks downward, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he notices Jay still hard, flushed and ready like he hadn't just come undone seconds ago.

"Well, shit," he drawls, low and smug. "Didn't think you had stamina like that."

Jay doesn't respond at first, he just eyes Heeseung up and down, standing firm, his chest heaving with barely restrained unease. But there's a flicker in his eyes of something darker, especially when Heeseung keeps looking at him like that, like he's impressed and still in control all at once.

Heeseung's grins because he doesn't miss the look Jay gives him. He leans in a little, "I wanna know, Jay. You ever fucked her ass?"

That hits. Jay's head snaps toward you, and there's a twitch in his lip, his whole body tensing like he's about to swing, but it's not from shame or shock but something possessive and territorial, and it makes his tone is clipped and bitter when he replies, "No. I haven't."

Heeseung hums in jest, clearly savoring it, but then Jay steps in, crowding his space more with a tight jaw. "You think that makes you better than me?" he mutters, eyes narrowing. "You think that means you get to take what's mine?"

Heeseung raises a brow, not backing down. "You really think she's yours right now?" he says, voice velvet-smooth. "She let me in first. And look at you..." He chuckles as his gaze drops again. "Still acting like you've got any say."

But instead of escalating, Heeseung steps back a bit. A surprising glint of generosity or maybe twisted mischief shines in his eyes. He turns to you, then grabs your wrist, dragging you of the ground effortlessly toward him.

"Come here, angel face," he says, already sitting back on the sheets.

You shake as he guides you to straddle him, already pushing your panties down your thighs.

Jay's confusion flashes at the sight, followed quickly by understanding. His eyes drag across your body as you're pulled onto his lap. The way you're still pliant, already slick, flushed from everything that just happened. You settle over him like instinct, thighs shaking.

Heeseung lays against the bed with his hands spread on your ass, satisfied. "Go on," he tells Jay, like he's giving him a gift. "Or you don't wanna fuck her ass?"

Jay doesn't speak, he just gets on the bed behind you and grabs your hips roughly, eyes never leaving Heeseung's. The tension between them is tangible now, some primal challenge in the air and you're caught right in the center of it—torn and dizzy with it, as Jay pushes you down onto him, every inch of him searing and full of purpose. And all the while, Heeseung just watches cause he likes what he sees.

The sheets are cool under your knees as Jay's hands splay around your ass, guiding you to angle back against him. Every breath from you seems too loud in the sudden hush of your room, it's just the faint creak of the mattress and the muted hum of morning outside your window. Jay's hands are warm against your spine, his skin damp where he's still riding the edge of anger and desire.

Heeseung lounges at the head of the bed and under you, propped against the pillows, dark eyes tracking every twitch in your body and every flicker of tension across Jay's jaw. You're hyperaware of his presence—how his gaze sears like a brand, claiming you even as Jay'sce fingers spread across your waist in their own possessive pattern.

You're pinned between them—straddling Heeseung's lap as Jay lines his spit and cum covered dick up with your clenching hole. Heeseung's hands grip your hips too, trying to keep you in play for Jay, his thumbs digging into the flesh of your ass, forcing you back hard on Jay's cock behind you. You moan out something incoherent, "Oh—! W—Wait! Nggh."

Heeseung's voice is a rasp at your ear with something wicked and out of breath, "Look at you—between two men like some cheap toy." He adjusts himself under you, pulling out his cock from his boxers and gently lining it up with your pussy. "Oh my god! Heeseung wait!"

You gasp, heat roaring through your core as Jay picks up a steady pace of fucking his cock into you and Heeseung pushes his up into your sopping cunt, each stroke makes you push back Jay, the feeling of both of them in your holes has you digging your nails digging into Heeseung's shoulders.

Heeseung chuckles darkly. "You like that, don't you? Two big dicks fucking you?" His grin is jagged, but you can't even look at it for too long because the fullness is so intense you have to close your eyes. "So good! So good!"

Jay's hand finds yours on Heeseung's shoulder, gripping tight, his is palm hot on yours. He doesn't say anything, but you feel the strain in his muscles as he drives his cock into you harder and faster.

Heeseung leans upward, kissing you quickly before shoving his fingers into your mouth. "Ngh! Oh! Goddamit! I can feel your dick through her." He takes his fingers from your mouth and uses the same ones to rub your clit in harsh circles.

"Too much! Heeseung! Jay!"

"Sloppy little thing," he snarls. "But Jay'll fix that, huh?" He fucks up into you with renewed determination, the pressure of your orgasm building inside you in a jagged, desperate wave.

Tears sting your eyes as Jay's grunts fill the room. "Hole's so tight—My God."

"She ever squirt for you before?" Heeseung asks Jay, pace never failing, "Yeah," Jay groans, his eyes screwing shut and his head lolling back.

Heeseung laughs. "Yeah? Think you can go faster?"

You hear Jay grumble in agreement as his pace picks up along with Heeseung's and they both brush something delicious inside your two holes. The stretch is impossibly overwhelming, it has you drooling right onto Heeseung's chest.

You're right at the edge of losing control and you know they are too, every nerve ending in your body erupts into a blazing white-hot spark. You can feel the relentless fullness of Heeseung thrusting into your pussy and the deep burn of Jay pushing into your asshole like two currents of pressure that clash inside you, building into one ridiculously impossible wave.

"I'm gonna cum! Hee!—Jay! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!"

In that instant, your vision blurs at the edges, your breath catches in jagged gasps, and your holes clench down around them both. Your hands slam into the headboard as a rush of heat floods outward from your cunt, simultaneously constricting and exploding, like every drop of blood in your veins has turned to molten fire. "Yes yes yes! Use me! Use me!"

Your whole body convulses with Jay's name on your lips, need shooting through every nerve until Heeseung's words pull you back from the edge. "Fuck, that's right—Ugh."

A strangled moan tears from your throat, your back arches, and your toes curl as the wave crests. You're suspended between fierce ache and a blissful orgasm, every inch of you humming with overload.

Time fractures and each of your heartbeats thump in your ears as your orgasm rolls through you again and again with thick surges of bliss that crackle with humiliation and joy all at once. Your vision swims with dizziness, you're so fucking elated and completely undone.

Behind you, Jay grunts grow louder, his own ripping orgasm from him in a raw exhale as he cums into your asshole, continuing to pump himself into you. His hips jerk with every pulse, driving you higher even as you cum. "Oh fuck me."

Beneath you, Heeseung's breath snarls in your neck, with a husky voice. "Cumming!"

You feel his cum spill inside your pussy, so warm and grounding, as his hands tighten on your hips and hold you in place.

You're suspended between them with Jay's and Heeseung's pleasure and yours intertwining in a moment of pure, overwhelming abandon. Your body trembles so hard you think you might shatter, tears slipping free as the last tremor fades.

You feel trapped in their storm of shame, lust, and fear. It has you dizzier and you start to drift, so close to passing out. Your limbs feel heavy and detached, as if you're watching someone else slumped between them. Their bodies surround you so steadily while the world outside your bedroom window carries on oblivious.

Heeseung's breath is soft against your neck, his hand still resting on your hip. Jay's steady weight behind you reminds you of every promise made and every threat whispered. But no one speaks and time thins.

All you can feel is the slow pulse of your heart, the faint sting of tears on your cheeks, and the relentless press of desire still humming through your veins.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, Heeseung shifts, voice against your skin but eyes on Jay.

"I wanna fuck you next."

➺ taglist: @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @rawwwre @gabrielinhaa @cherrieikeu @niyzu @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @bussolares @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @rosepetals09 @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon

[rex-rambles]

➤ THE COSTUME | LANDO NORRIS

pairing: lando norris x single mom!reader

summary: your son wants nothing more than to have spiderman at his birthday, and when a certain neighbour finds out, he decides to take matters into his own hands to make it happen.

wc: 4.2 k

warnings: none!

➤ MASTERLIST

"Mr. Norris?" Lando had a soft spot for kids. That much was obvious, especially when they were fans. Maybe it's that he remembers being that age, what it felt like to meet someone he thought was a celebrity. Maybe it was the little McLaren merch, or baby fever, or something, but Lando had a soft spot for kids.

Milo, however?

Milo could probably tell Lando to crash during a race and he'd do it.

"You alright?" He finds himself saying, immediately squatting to Milo's level by the elevator. In the boy's hands are a stack of red and blue envelopes, with names written twice: once in neat, formal writing, and the other in Milo's. "What've you got there?" 

"It's for my birthday party." Milo says quietly, extending the envelopes. "It's spider-man." 

"No way!" Lando says, smiling down at the papers. "That's so cool! How old are you turning?" 

Rather than answering, Milo holds up four fingers, the coordination making the envelopes spill from his hands. Lando's quick to pick them up, neatly sorting them into a stack, when he realizes one has his name on it. "Is this for me? Do I get to come to your birthday party?" 

"Oh, you're the guest of honour." Your voice says from above, and Lando counts another reason he has a soft spot specifically for Milo: 

You. 

His mother. 

You couldn't be much older than him, soft spoken and so kind when you moved in next door, offering sweet treats and texting apologies, laughing at his jokes, taking care of Milo. It was the sort of infatuation that Lando wasn't used to, at least with normal people in real life. You were perfect, he was pretty sure, except that was an insane thing to say to someone, let alone your neighbour. "I'm so honoured." 

The elevator doors ding open and Lando rises to let Milo and you past, and despite the fact that he had just gone up the elevator, he gets back on to waste a moment with you. "Is spider-man coming?" Milo asks up at you, and you gently card your hand through the boy's hair, and Lando wonders how that would feel if you did it to him. 

"No, sweetheart. I'm afraid Spider-Man is busy in New York!" Maybe it was the little British accents, too, that really got him. Lando rented an apartment, back home, for whenever he needed to escape from the chaos that was Monaco and just be normal. You, he thinks, are the perfect embodiment of that normal. 

Just a normal person, leading a normal life, telling your kid Spider-Man can't come to his birthday. Only, as Lando stares down at the envelope in hand, Spider-Man could technically come to the birthday. He might not be able to do a flip, but Lando's pretty sure he still has an old Spider-Man costume hung up in a closet somewhere, and has a cheery enough voice for it. 

"Well, I will definitely be coming." The elevator doors ding open to the first floor as you lead Milo out by the hand, and he reaches up to take Lando's, dragging him along towards the main doors of the building. "Oh, am I joining you today?" 

"You're going to take us in your car," Milo states firmly. "Your fast car." 

"I don't think we'd all fit," You offer with a soft laugh, the kind of noise that has Lando dreaming of a domesticity he's never even thought of before. "And I think Mr. Norris has more important things to be doing today." 

Mr. Norris. It was a sweet thing, for Milo to call him, but whenever you said it, Lando always considered what it would be like to call you Mrs. Norris. 

Not that he would ever, ever voice that thought aloud. "And if you're busy the day of the party, no worries." You add quietly back to him, stopping at the door. "Milo just wanted to make sure you got an invite." 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" He responds honestly. "Do you need me to bring anything? Snacks? Presents?" 

"I think just bringing yourself would be enough. I'm sure the other kids will be very, very excited a professional race car driver is at the party." Well, an F1 Driver AND Spider-Man, but he decides to leave you out of those plans. "Say goodbye to Mr. Norris, Milo!" 

"Bye, Mr. Norris," Milo says, waving happily. "See you at the party." 

Lando watches the two of you go, happily walking down the street, and he waits in the doorway until you're gone before he's sprinting back to the elevators. He needed to test out that Spider-Man costume, and find the best possible gift he's ever given in roughly a week. 

Manageable, he thinks. 

Surely that's manageable.

-

The knock on the door is the only unexpected part of Milo's birthday party. So far, everything had gone off without a hitch - all the decorations were perfect, the cake had arrived, the kids were somewhat behaving themselves for a room of four year olds, hyped up on sugar. 

Milo, ever the little copycat, was trying to show them how to play Mario Kart, because when Mr. Norris arrived, Milo wanted to show off how he could beat him at the game. 

Lando threw every game, but Milo didn't need to know that. The thought of the racer next door then clicks to the knock on your door, and you quickly spare a glance in the mirror in the hall before answering. It was a stupid, stupid, childish crush to have on the man, but you couldn't help it. 

Maybe it was the way he played with Milo, offered to babysit, raced around the world and somehow kept a level head, maybe it was how he looked, and how he spoke, and how he dressed, and how he acted, or maybe it was the way he looked at you when he thought you were paying attention to Milo. 

Whatever it was, you were starting to get a bit embarrassed of how much you looked forward to seeing Lando today, until you open the door, and Lando was not standing there. 

Instead, there's Spider-Man, with a stack of boxes tucked under his arm. "Hey there!" He says, with an accent most certainly British but trying not to be. "I heard there's a me-themed birthday party?" 

Slowly, without alerting the kids, you peer around the door and into the living room, where they are still glued to the television, and the parents are watching and conversing nearby. "Spider-Man," You say quietly, "How did you get my address?" 

"A friend of mine told me," He says, accent slipping, "He drives fast cars, and lets me borrow them for my missions." 

"Oh, does he now?" You step aside to hold open the door, and you turn toward the kids. "Milo, your special guest is here!" 

"Mr. Norris?" Then, as Milo turns, you watch the greatest shock you think you've ever seen wash over his face as his jaw drops, clinging to the back of the couch as he stares at Spider-Lando, who offers a cheesy wave. 

And really, maybe you liked Lando because of how much Milo loved him. Watching him now, sprinting full-tilt at the driver, it almost makes you emotional. He had never run like that towards any man, only ever you. Well, you suppose he doesn't know it's Lando, but maybe it's the fact that Lando does stuff like this when he really doesn't need to. 

Lando lets the presents drop to scoop up the boy, who's been spouting questions faster than any human, or any superhuman, could answer them. You join Lando's side to gently take Milo's hand, who finally sucks in a breath to look at you. "Mom," He whispers dramatically, "Spider-Man came." 

"Well, you're a very special kid." You answer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Of course he'd come." 

Four years old. You remember when he was just a thought, a terrifying realization, and now, he was your world, dressed up like Spider-Man himself and in Spider-Man's arms. "Is that Mario Kart?" 

"We have to wait to play with Mr. Norris." Milo says, looking at the TV and the other kids, who are now circling Lando. "He's coming soon." 

"Why don't we do something else then?" Lando offers, voice cracking. You can tell he's smiling under that stupid mask at the thought of Milo waiting for him to play the game. 

"We could do cake." You say, and the crowd erupts with chants for cake. Lando gets Milo to his spot at the head of the table and helps pull out chairs for the others as parents snap photos, offering you strange looks. You had told them, outright, you hadn't been able to afford someone to play Spider Man. 

And now, here he was. You take the cake from its box on the counter, and stick in the large 4 candle and light them, as the kids begin singing. You had been so worried, once, about Milo making friends, about being a single mother, but watching now as you set the cake down in front of him, as he blows out the candles and everyone cheers, as other parents offer to help with plates and knives and forks, you realize you might actually be good at this parenting thing, even if the situation wasn't the best.

"Can you take off your mask to eat some?" Milo says, awkwardly grabbing at Spider-Lando's cheek, who happily moves the boy's hand away.

"I have to keep my identity a secret!" Lando says, before carefully rolling up the edge of his mask. "So I'll do it like this, yeah?" 

"That's silly," Milo says with a giggle, and you cut out a slice for him, which he immediately hands off to Lando. "For you!" 

"No, muppet, birthday boys get the first slice!" Lando has fully abandoned the accent by now, but no one really cares. The rest of the cake gets distributed and smeared across faces, Milo included. He gets one streak of blue icing far up on his cheek, and you grab a napkin to wipe it off. "Do I have any?" Lando asks, and without thinking, you reach over to gently wipe some icing from the corner of his mouth. 

No one seems to notice the action, too absorbed with eating and celebrating, but you feel your cheeks burn, quickly turning back to watch Milo as he finishes up. By the time the cake is done, and Lando hasn't arrived, Milo decides to turn from Mario Kart to a game called 'Spider Man Tag', where everyone chases Lando around the apartment, and you take videos of the whole thing, laughing. 

When that's done, and the kids stop climbing on him, and just when he looks like he might faint, one of the girls suggests hide and seek, and Milo immediately volunteers to be the seeker. "Go hide," He says to you, before clapping his hands over his eyes. "Spider-Man too." 

You're quick to help the other kids find their spots, throwing blankets over them and tucking them behind curtains until finally, Milo is down to 1, and you realize you haven't hidden. Luckily, you don't seem to be the only one alone in this, because Lando grabs your hand and pulls you into the front hall closet, just as Milo pulls his hands away from his eyes. 

"Hold the door," Lando says, and you put your hand together on the sliding doors to keep them from moving, and Lando pulls off his mask with a gasp. He's flushed, hair slick with sweat, and you can imagine this is what he must look like after a race. Hell, you've seen what he looks like after a race - he might honestly look worse. 

Cramped together, he doesn't have much room to wipe over his face, arm bumping into you. "You okay there, Spider-Man?" 

"I worked out this morning!" He groans softly. "That was so stupid." 

"Language," You chide softly, and he offers an amused scowl. "There are little ears nearby." 

"They can't hear us," Lando says, intercut by a scream of a child found as Milo happily laughs. "Right?" 

"We'll just have to whisper," You say, as the predicament you're in slowly dawns on you. 

You're chest to chest with Lando Norris, in a spider-man costume, in your closet, as he pants against you.

There are a lot of not age-appropriate thoughts that occur, so you shift quickly into something you can talk about. "You really didn't have to do all this," You say, and Lando cracks a smile. "You've made his year, I think. This is too much." 

"Well, he said he wanted Spider-Man, so he gets Spider-Man." Lando says, eyes skimming down your face before snapping up to your eyes. "How much longer do you think we have in here?" 

The world slows a little bit at the question. "Not much longer," You say, as Lando somehow manages to shift closer. "Breath while you can." 

"The mask is awful," He says, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "Think it's constricting my airways." 

Well, if you need CPR... "You can say you need to get going to stop a villain or something, and then come back as Lando. He'd be just as excited." 

"No, no, I'm committing to the Spider-Man thing." He says, tugging the mask on, but stopping before his mouth. "Can I ask you something cheesy, and you promise not to hate me for it?" 

"Trust me, Lando, there's little you could do to make me hate you." 

"I always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thi-" The door to the closet yanks open as Lando fumbles to get the last of his mask down, and Milo cackles in delight. 

"FOUND YOU!" He grabs both your hands and drags you back to the living room, and you try to take as many deep breaths as possible. 

He always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thing. 

Did he...with you? "Why don't we do presents?" You say, trying to find anything to distract you, and also give Lando a break. "Go sit on the couch, Milo." 

You gather up the few gifts the children brought, and Lando grabs the ones he abandoned by the door. Like any little kid, Milo rips through each package excitedly, showing off cars and Spider-Man toys and a new bubble-blower, until finally, he gets to Lando's presents, who you're sure didn't wrap them himself. 

Or, if he did, you might just love him more, considering the Spider-Man wrapping paper that's wrapped neater than you could ever manage, bow included. Milo, for some reason, takes his time opening them, and the first two are Lego sets, one of a Spider-Man scene, the second a McLaren car. 

Oh, Lando. "Mr. Norris still isn't here!" Milo says, distraught. "This is his car!" 

"Mr. Norris invited me!" Lando says, gesturing to the gift. "He told me what to get you! Maybe he'll build it with you when he gets back." 

Then, Milo carefully opens the third box, and discovers his very own webshooters. "No way!" He immediately hands the box off to you to open, which is basically the equivalent of silly string, strapped to his wrists. The moment he gets them on, he begins spraying, and in a matter of mere minutes, the room is covered in string as the kids all giggle in unison. At some point, Lando squats beside him to help him aim and shoot, carefully gesturing to things that will be easier to clean up, and your heart clenches at the image. 

Because as much as you were good at this parenting thing, as much as you had mastered being a single mother, it was something new to see a man in Milo's life who wanted to be there, who cared for him, who bought him gifts and came dressed as Spider-Man and who just...adored him, like you adored him. 

You're not sure how long you just stare at the chaos unfolding, but it's long enough you think you might genuinely have feelings for Lando, cheesy Spider-Man suit be damned. It's the sort of messy, perfect ending to a messy, perfect day. As much as Milo really doesn't want to end the party, considering Mr. Norris hasn't shown up, he's yawning and trying to fight off the inevitable crash that comes after this. 

The kids get their party favours, which include pictures with Spider-Man, and Milo says goodbye to everyone, perched on Spider-Man's shoulders, and Lando carefully dumps the boy on the couch with a huff. "I think you need to get cleaned up!" He says, gesturing to the cake and silly string staining the boy's clothes. "Heroes have to stay clean!" 

The moment Milo disappears into the washroom, Lando collapses onto the couch, head hanging back off the back of it to look at you. You step forward and gently uncurl the mask, and with as much bravery as you can muster, you speak. "Can I ask you something cheesy, and you promise not to hate me for it?" Lando's lips part as he swallows, before he nods. "I always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thing." 

"Yeah?" Lando breathes out, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Well, Mary Jane, now's your chance." 

Kissing Lando upside down is not how you originally planned on doing it, but it's sort of everything you wanted it to be and more. It's soft and sweet and patient, the kind of loving you need after everything you've gone through, that's just hot and heavy enough that when you hear the tap turn off in the bathroom, you're quick to pull away. 

"Can Spider-Man stay the night?" Milo asks, running up as Lando pulls down his mask again, and he lets out a soft sort of laugh that does something to your stomach. 

"I've got to get home! Maybe another time," Lando says as he rises from the couch, and Milo's bottom lip trembles. "Just think, you still have your guest of honour that needs to visit." 

"I don't want to see Mr. Norris," Milo mumbles, "I want you to stay." 

You watch Lando hesitate then, about pulling off his mask and revealing himself, but for the sake of the magic, he chooses not to, and you intervene to let the poor man go home. "There's lots of people Spider-Man has to go save," You say, crouching down to his level and brushing the hair from his face. "And you never know, he might come back soon. But for right now, let's thank him for coming." Milo pushes away from you to wrap around Lando's leg, and Lando kneels down to give him a proper hug. 

"Thanks," Milo mumbles into his shoulder. "You can come back whenever you want." 

"Thank you for having me!" Lando tries to say cheerfully. "But your mom is right, I have to get going back to New York! It's a long plane ride." 

"Say goodbye, Milo." Milo finally lets go, and helps walks Spider-Man to the door. 

"Bye, Spider-Man." He says, offering a small wave. 

"Bye, Milo. Hope you had a great birthday." 

-

Lando strips the moment he gets home. 

Fireproofs were hot, the race suits were hot, but the Spider-Man suit? 

Wrangling that many kids? 

With you kissing him? 

He's practically a sauna. And yet, as soon as he's done showering and gets changed, he'd back at your door, knocking and hoping it's not too late, and that Milo's already gone to bed. There's a shuffling noise behind the door before you open it, and he's discovered in the time it took him to shower and get back here, both you and Milo had changed into pyjamas, and were eating dinner at the table. "Mr. Norris!" Milo says, mouthful of pasta falling into his bowl. "You missed Spider-Man!" 

"What? Spider-Man came?" You let Lando in with a soft smile, and all he can think of is your lips on his, how you repeated his line back to him like it was nothing, how right it had felt. Kissing you right-side up probably felt better, but he was just riding off the high that you kissed him at all. He was pretty sure, all things considered, that you had to like him, as much as his brain tried to convince him otherwise. 

Having you actually kiss him and prove it? He was still struggling to wrap his mind around that. "And he brought me webs!" 

"Webs that are going to be tricky to clean up." You say, shooting a grin his way as you move to the stove. "Dinner?" 

"Actually, that sounds great." He had a single slice of cake after being the personal play-place for kids all afternoon. It might not be the most gentlemanly thing he's ever done, but he's not turning down a bowl. He finds his place at the table, and you take your place across from him, and for a moment, Lando thinks he can see into the future. "Did you get anything else?" 

"Bubbles, a book," Then, as if remembering it all over again, "He got me your Lego car! He said we can build it together." Then, as if remembering what Spider-Lando said, "You know Spider-Man? And you didn't tell me?" 

"It's top secret," Lando says around a mouthful of noodles, and you grin down at your own bowl. Dressed in an over-sized t-shirt and fuzzy pyjama pants, it gives a certainly warm glow that has Lando wondering what man could ever give this up. "But, I still haven't given you my gift." 

Milo perks up as your head shoots up to look at him, confusion furrowed between your brows. "Lando, that's not-" 

"I want you to come to a race." He couldn't really think of some big gift to get Milo, besides a full-paid trip to a race. Silverstone was soon, anyways. It would be fun, for Milo to see him race, for you to see him win. At least, Lando really hopes he'll win, because then that's one more reason to kiss you. "All expenses paid." 

"Lando!" You exclaim, fork clattering to your bowl. "No, no that's too much-" 

"Really?" Milo cuts you off, leaping out of his chair to throw himself at Lando. "Thank you thank you thank you-" 

"Okay, okay," Lando says, trying to calm both of you. "But you have to promise to be on your best behaviour for it, okay Milo?" 

Milo nods furiously against Lando's leg, and Lando scoops him up to hold him in his lap. "I promise. Can I drive your car?" 

"Wait another eleven-ish years for that one, mate." He continues eating his pasta as Milo drags his bowl over, content to finish his dinner sitting with Lando, and he catches you staring. You do that a lot, especially when Lando and Milo interact, and he doesn't blame you. He's a strange man playing with your kid, who wouldn't want to be checking in?

But there's always something more in the way you look at him, like you're not used to someone being there. He doesn't know the full story, and he doesn't need to, but he has a feeling that, if he pursues this, he's filling in a spot that never really was occupied before. 

"Thank you, Lando." You finally say, finishing up the last of your dinner. "That means a lot." 

"What else would I do for my favourite neighbour?" Milo, also now finished eating, yawns into his hands. "Bedtime, buddy?" 

"Come on," You say, pulling Milo from his lap. "Let's get you changed and ready for bed. Lando can read you a bedtime story." Then, back towards him, "Finish up your dinner first. No rush." 

And then, like it's the most normal thing in the world, Lando finishes the last of his food and gathers up all the dishes on the table and puts them in the sink, and finds you and Milo already on Milo's bed, a Spider-Man storybook laid out on Milo's Lap. Lando takes the other side of you, and as guest of honour, Milo explains, he gets to read tonight. If he had really been prepared for how tonight was going to go, Lando would've brought his own pyjamas, but instead, he just cozies further into his hoodie, and flips open to the first page. 

"This is Spider-Man," He begins as Milo crawls over you to splay over your lap. "He's a superhero."

"You're a superhero," You whisper quietly with a yawn, and Lando is pretty sure he turns as red as Spider-man's suit. 

"Spider-Man shoots webs," Lando continues, moving to the next page, and he decides to focus all his energy into the book, rather than you pressed up beside him. However, he finds that as he finishes up the last page, he might've let his attention wander to far. 

You're asleep beside him, head tilted back as you doze, and Milo is the same in your lap, tuckered out from the party. Honestly, if Lando could, he'd fall right asleep beside you, but that's for another time, another date, so instead, he presses a kiss to your temple, closes the book, and turns off the light. 

It's how he hopes he can spend every night for the rest of his life.

a/n: baby fever is in full swing. tell me he wouldn't be a fantastic dad.

[patri56001]

Fic idea! Tim once heard his parents say something along the lines of "if you want to be rich, you spend other people's money not your own" and for whatever reason didn't pay it much attention until he wants something and Bruce tells him no bc he can't justify it on paper, fine. BUT NOW he is pissed at Bruce bc he won't buy it for him neither bc "Your vigilante persona doesn't need a car, Tim. You already have a motorcycle, keep your civilian car and that's final"

"You just don't want me to have a cooler car than the batmobile, Bruce" he mutters.

"what?"

"Nothing, B."

So later that week he is still pouting and gets kidnapped by Ra's again. (It's that time of the month) And Ra's ranting about all he can give Tim if he becomes his heir or something, and Tim gets an idea... Use Ra's money to get his car. Bruce won't know bc he keeps his vehicles in another place from the batcave and won't see the transaction on the bank. So he plays along with Ra's until he buys him the parts and he builds it hidden from the batfam. Now, of course he has to offer something to Ra's, so he draws up a contract. He won't become Ra's heir or spouse, but he will allow the occasional visit and dinner or chess game, and give him attention (nothing sexual ffs). And he doesn't think much of it until the car is done, and he is testing it with Cassie, Bart and Kon, and explains how he got it and they are stunned by a full minute before laughing so hard they cry.

"DUDE you are Ra's sugar baby" Kon says wheezing.

"WHAT N- .... OH MY GOD I TOTALLY AM" Tim said horrified

"Oh My God Tim, I want to be there when you tell Damian" says Cassie.

"You can win every argument now, just threaten to become his Grandma" Bart said with pure delight in his eyes.

Tim tried to seem annoyed but the notion appealed to him. "No one says anything to anyone... Or else Bruce will have a stroke.." he tried to sound serious but they just stared at each other and burst laughing at the situation.

Months go by and they develop a system to keep it a secret, they don't speak about it unless they are behind steel walls at their own secret base (thanks Ras) and bc the core four are separated from the JL and the titans and are their own hero organization, they don't have to justify their budget or anything they get to anyone. But that doesn't mean that the JL isn't questioning how they get many of their rare or expensive gadgets.

As part of their agreement, Tim has to answer anytime Ra's calls him to check on him and his training. So Tim is having breakfast with the whole family one rare morning, his phone is on the table, for some reason he is not near it when his phone goes up and it's a phone call from Ra's... Only his contact number is saved as "Sugar Daddy" instead of "Incoming headache" bc Kon and Bart played a prank on him. And since he never knows when Ra's is going to call him, he just shouts for someone else to answer the call bc he doesn't think that it's Ra's.

So of course Damian answers the call

"Good morning, you have the misfortune to be calling Timothy Drake's phone, now fortunately for me I don't know who you are, given the fact that you not only are unfortunate enough for needing to talk to Drake, but have a bigger misfortune of being saved as Drake's Sugar Daddy, would you care to leave a message?"

The silence is so loud at the dinning room that everyone heard the call end after a few seconds. And Tim gets back to the room and everyone is staring at him all weird. He asked what was going on and who called.

Damian just hands him his phone casually and says "Your sugar daddy called but didn't leave any messages" and goes back to eating while Tim blue screens and panics bc he forgot to change the contact name... And Bruce is seconds away from paper bagging it, Alfred is drilling a stare at him, everyone else is just shocked.

"I DON'T HAVE AN ACTUAL SUGAR DADDY I SWEAR, BART AND KON WERE JUST PLAYING A PRANK ON ME, BRUCE DICK FUCKING BREATH!" Tim yelled, but ain't looking at Cass bc she knows he's lying. But he is begging her to not say anything. Bruce and Dick are just breathing heavily bc "goddamn it Timmy please don't do that to us"

"Guys seriously, I'm rich enough to be a sugar daddy, it was a prank, I swear" he is giving the performance of a lifetime bc Alfred will beat his ass if he finds out the truth. And it's not until Casa straight up lies to them, saying that Tim is saying the truth, that the rest of the family calms down, and they forget about it, but as soon as it's possible Cass interrogates him, and just helps him (I swear they match each others freaks better than anyone else) and starts asking Tim for stuff as well. (I just think Ra's gave Tim a personal debit card for him to use freely)

[loveharlow]

Can you do one where you broke up with rafe in he just won’t leave you alone

⋯ ♡ᵎ 💬 : idk i kind of love this

soft!rafe(?), swearing, fluff at the end

The first few days, your phone was a constant buzzing in your pocket, his name flashing across the screen. You let it ring, the vibration a dull ache against your thigh.

Then, the ringing stopped, replaced by the satisfying click of you declining his calls. You thought, hoped, that he was finally getting the message.

You were wrong.

One afternoon, a call came through, and without thinking, you answered.

"Hello-"

"Please, baby, just talk to me. I'm so sorry. I messed everything up, I know, but please, just give me a chance." His voice, hoarse and desperate, filled your ear.

"Rafe..." you sighed, the weariness heavy in your voice. "You can't keep calling me. I said I needed space. And I really do. I need to think."

"Think about what? A-about us? About whether you want to be with me?-"

"About whether it's healthy to be with you." You interrupted his ramblings. You'd broken up because Rafe, lately, had just become too much — too many parties, too many drugs, too many arguments, too many apologies. "I...I'm sorry, Rafe."

So with those last words, you hung up, the silence that followed almost deafening. You immediately put your phone on do not disturb, hoping for some semblance of peace.

It lasted all of five minutes.

Your screen lit up with a barrage of texts. You scrolled through them, each one a fresh wound, especially since you hadn't had the heart to change his contact name just yet, or the picture of you two that accompanied.

(4) New iMessages from Rafey (My Baby)💕🧸 Please, I can’t live without you. Just tell me what to do. I'll do better, okay? I'll do whatever you want me to. Baby, please, let me fix this. I love you.

You took a deep breath, willing any lingering tears to go away as you typed out a curt reply.

You Please, don't make me block you, Rafe.

But he didn't listen. And the texts kept coming, interspersed with notifications of money being sent to your Cash App. He was trying to buy his way back in. And that was the final straw. So, with an extremely heavy heart, you blocked his number.

The quiet was a relief, but it was once again short-lived. He moved to social media. Every picture you’d ever posted, even ones from years ago, or ones he’d already liked, suddenly had a fresh like from @TheRealRafeCameron. He was reliking them, a desperate plea. Then came the DMs.

New Messages from TheRealRafeCameron You took our pictures down? Babe, please, don't do this I love you. Tell me you still love me. I need you.

You blocked him there too.

Minutes later, your phone buzzed with a text from your friend.

Nat💙 omg, did u see rafe's story?

You No, I blocked him.

Suddenly, a screenshot popped up. It was Rafe's Instagram story, a white background, a photo of the two of you in the middle, with black text above it: "$1000 to the first person who can get my girlfriend to unblock me. No questions asked."

Nat💙 girl, if it was me, i'd unblock him but maybe i'm too weak for this actually, yeah no, stand on business!! (idk what he did)

Your blood ran cold. He was really doing this. You took a deep breath, opened your own story: "If you message me about Rafe, I'll block you too."

Moments passed and, finally, everything went quiet.

You were able to drift off to sleep, the silence welcome. But in the middle of the night, a familiar roar shattered that peace.

Rafe's car.

Outside your window.

You shot up, heart pounding, and rushed to the window, careful not to wake your parents.

And there he was, standing in your driveway, the headlights of his car illuminating him, blinding you. He was holding a ridiculous, oversized stuffed animal, a bouquet of flowers, and a bag from your favorite restaurant.

You cracked your window. "Rafe!" You hissed, hands gripping the edge of you window seal. "What are you doing? My parents are sleeping!"

He looked up, his eyes wide and earnest. "I had to see you. I know it's late, okay, I know. But I can't do this, baby."

You gritted your teeth, rolling your eyes. "Wha- When-" You sighed, giving up whatever thought was trying to roll. "And where the hell did you find Valentine's stuff? It's June."

He offered a sheepish grin. "I have my ways." He said, a hint of smugness in his voice before it disappeared. "Please, just come down and talk to me. I know you're mad, but please..."

You stared him down without a word, though a part of you was already weakening.

"Just come down." He pleaded. "Five minutes. That's all I ask."

You hesitated, then sighed. You knew he wouldn't leave until you did. But there was also a part of you that didn't want him to.

You tiptoed downstairs, unlocked the front door, and stepped out into the cool night air.

He was there in an instant, the stuffed animal almost as big as him. He handed you the flowers and the food, then the giant plush. "I know I messed up..." He started, a hand reaching out to caress your face, voice low. "But I'm willing to do anything to fix this, okay? I mean it this time. I'm not lying, and I won't fall back, I swear. I just... I love you, and I don't know what to do without you. I don't know what life looks like without you, but I don't wanna find out. I never meant to hurt you and I won't do it ever again. I promise, okay?"

You looked at the ridiculous array of gifts, at the genuine remorse in his eyes, and a small, reluctant smile touched your lips. "...You're unbelievable, y'know that, right?"

He took your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. "Is that a good unbelievable or a bad unbelievable?"

You shook your head, a laugh escaping your lips. "Good."

©loveharlow.

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[getozitos]

— blossoming of a perverted youth.

(abby × fem reader)

summary: abby was surely one of the most lustful demons in whatever hell there was for him; you weren't that different from him, except for the fact you weren't a demon.

c.w: cunnilingus, teasing, grinding, semi-public?, clit playing (biting), edging, spitting, porn without plot (pwp), smut, unprotected sex, breeding, fem!reader, pet names, a bit of slapping. no beta reading cuz im lazy lol

with his nails (more like claws) teasing all over your body, you wrinthed under his touch, your heart fluttering as his nails seemed to tease your nipples without much thought. well, just like you, he didn’t seem to think much of anything other than pleasure, too.

he didn’t care what happened before, fuck, he didn’t even knew what happened for you both to be in this position now. all that he knew was that your ass felt great against his straining dick and that was enough for him to hold on tight to your hips.

of course, it felt almost sinful to fuck a demon who seemed to be at least 400 years older than you while wearing a cross on your neck, but, again, you didn't care about it. you were just as much of a perv as he was and he noticed it the moment he caught you staring at his body as if he was some kind of meat.

his hat, that was one of the sexiest things you saw a man wear, was hanging at the doorknob of your room. and thank god! you told your mother you weren't hungry, so, now, your biggest concern should be letting this demonic himbo (don't let him know you said that) eat too.

"y'know i can't finger you, right?" he muttered, the tip of his nails playing with the side of your panties while he heard you purr, fuck, you really needed him, didn't you?

"why?" you asked, pouted lips and glossy eyes from how much you wanted it. you wanted every part of him, it seemed like you were just as hungry as he was.

"what do you mean, why?" he asked, brows arching as he chuckled from how useless your brain was getting. he showed you his hands, his claws a bit too pointy for you to not notice.

you gulped down, his arm still hugging you and forbidding you from getting away from him. and you wouldn't walk away even if he asked you, and that's how much you were yearning to be fucked by him.

"don't get so dumb, love. i know your brain is still working inside this tiny, little head of yours." he said, biting your neck, and you could do nothing but mewl and whine for every bite given you. it was truly a gift.

"there's... other ways of playing" you said, voice hoarse as he smiled against your neck. it seemed like his grip on you was working, for you to be talking like a whore.

"truly? then, what do you want me to do, dear?"

"...use your mouth."

he smiled, a smile that exposed his fangs with great pride as he laughed, slapping your face for no great reason other than the fact that he wanted to slap you, not because he didn’t want to fuck his tongue inside you, no, of course he wanted it, but he also wanted to slap you until you were just as pink as his hair.

he grabbed your face, smiling and licking your cheek as if he was your owner and you were the finest patisserie in this side of the world. he placed his hand on your thigh, squeezing it hard enough for the tip of his nails to leave small marks on your sensitive skin.

"you're so dumb, princess." he said, a devilish grin on his mouth as he pressed you against the wall, getting on his knees. "you should be rewarded for it."

he put your thigh on his shoulder, looking up just to see your smile and the redness of your cheeks from both lust, heat and the slap he gave you. fuck it, right? fucking was also a way to get souls and shit like that, but right now, his only goal was to eat you, not your soul.

so, he put himself to work, and that's how you found out that he had a cold tongue, maybe because he wasn't an human being, or maybe because he was putting his tongue ring right on your clit, pressing it on your pearl before he began to suckle on you as if you had honey in between your legs. maybe the fact that you looked like everything he wanted to have for breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea-time was helping his hunger for your cunt.

you held onto the small desk beside your bed, breathing hard and biting your index finger as he bit you, of course, just enough for you to feel the right amount of pleasure and a bit of agony, fear that he would bite you too hard.

he pushed your thigh further up, savoring the taste of your cunt and savoring the way you moaned a bit too loud before slapping your hand over your mouth, he could see in your eyes just how much you wanted this, how much you wanted to keep grinding on his face, tasting the way his nose felt against your pussy. but he also could see the fear in the way your chest was heaving, fearful that somebody would walk in.

you were so precious, weren't you?

your hips rolled on his face as if you wanted him to go further, if there was a way to. and, well, he noticed that too, maybe that's why his hands grabbed the full meat of your ass to push you closer (if there was even a way to get closer) to his tongue, that, just like you wanted, dreamed and yearned for, was finally thrusting into your pussy with as much hunger as you couldn't even dream of.

his nails almost stabbed you, and with the way your hips were grinding, humping, rolling kn his face, it was obvious that his nails would end up hurting you, but, well, who cares? it was for greater reasons.

you grabbed his hair a bit too hard, just like he wanted it, and your poor mouth opened in a perfect 'o', in a reaction to how he was thrusting his tongue inside you in a cruel way of showing how much he knew your body, even if he never touched you before – he knew just how much you liked to thrust your fingers inside you.

"abby- please, please, calm down" you begged, almost crying as you felt yourself throb and flutter on him. he was forced to get a bit away, of course, but not enough for him not to pleasure you.

"why?" he asked, licking his lips and tasting the remainings of your wet essence on his bottom lip. "weren't you the one who wanted this?"

"yes, yes. i still do-" you breathed hard, still feeling his hands on your butt. "but i don't want anyone to hear me."

"that's your problem?" he asked, chuckling. humans were such prudes, right? "well, then let's make it less embarassing, then."

and just as you were about to thank him, he got up in an instant, putting you right in front of the closed window as he got back on his knees behind you, his mouth going back to your parts as you forcibly bended your back to him. you could see your family gathered under a tree from where you were standing, and you could only hope they wouldn't see you in this position — your hair was a mess, your tank top was a bit too much exposing of your chest, a round low cut that wasn't there before, and etc etc.

"abby-!" you pleaded, breathing hard and whining as the tip of his sharp nail teased your clit, his hand slapping your ass with a hard smack that would be red and was already hurting you. "fuck, fuck, i'm so close-" you cried out.

and why would you tell him that if not for him to abandon you mid-way?

you didn't want him to stop, but seeing you would cum on his face when he wanted you to cum on his dick was something that made it quick for him to stop. he got up quickly, his mouth obviously wet and it's obvious, he just had to kiss you with his mouth tasting of you.

your tongue was already entangled on his when you felt your own taste on his tongue, his hand holding your face before he spit in your mouth and just why did you swallow it? it was so quick, too. as if you were expecting him to spit on you.

"didn't even had to tell you what to do, did i? you're such a good girl you figured it yourself" he laughed, pulling your panties aside again as he took his cock away.

you could only feel his inches pressing on you, his hand on your neck as he forced your figure on the window, his mouth latching on your neck as he sucked on your skin again, marking it until it was so red he knew it would be purple on the next day. it was truly a shame that you didn't got to see how hard you made him, his dick standing proud and already leaking even though you guys didn't do much.

his hand travelled all the way back to your hips, pulling you back against him before he teased you by rubbing the head of his dick on your wet slit, sharing some of your heat and wetness before he pushed you hard against him, his dick plunging into you and feeling the heat of your tightness around him, his face and yours both contorted in pleasure as he felt you already throbbing around him.

"you're so sensitive, dear," he panted, pushing your hips back and forth as he watched his dick disappear inside you, it was such a pretty sight, too. "for fuck's sake" he growled, his hand gropping your boob and pinching your already hard nipple.

"abby," you managed to cry out,pulling your tank top to cover his hand on your boob. you could only hope, hope and hope again that nobody would see the demon behind you, thrusting inside you and smiling at your reactions, smiling at how good his body felt on you.

"wanna say something, princess?" he asked, tightening his grip in your waist as he fucked you, his dick being milked by you and your cunt.

"please, don't stop-" you begged, once again not for the right reasons as he laughed and smacked your butt.

"i couldn't stop even if your whole family break into this room, dear." he said, kissing his neck. "you're so pretty on my dick, i just cant get enough from you."

he smiled, kissing her again and, once she felt her walls flutter on his dick, she knew she couldn't ger away again. she moaned against the kiss, crying, letting him feel every flutter of her pussy on him before she came undone on him. he bit your bottom lip, smiling before he, too, came undone inside you, making sure to fill you up with every load of his dick before he felt you almost fall on him.

he got you on his arms carrying you over to your bed and letting you rest your head against his chest, his hand patting your head and making sure you rested, even if that meant he would be your pillow now.

how the fuck did you get a demon to cuddle you?

[puck-luck]

hi andy, i’d love to request a chai latte with whipped cream: sub! jack 👄 tyily

immediate cw: lactation. if you're not into a man drinking his baby mama's milk then you prob don't want to read this.

another side note: this is about 1.2k because i was really world building here and then i was using too much description and there wasn't like a lot of REAL sex (1 paragraph of explicit "hand on penis" action), just tension. i didn't really want this to stray into mommy KINK or lactation KINK because jack & reader have a baby who needs to breastfeed and i didn't want the action to become something INTENSELY sexually motivated for that reason. the line between parenthood and kink is blurred in this, but it's still very much there.

pps: i put a lot of thought into jack's baby's name and that dynamic, so while THIS oneshot is NOT set in stg!verse, i do expect stg!jack to have one (1) baby GIRL in the distant future and her name will be luna <3 and he calls her miss moon and he tells her to look at the moon whenever she misses him on roadies because he'll be looking at the moon and missing her, too <33 jack hughes is a girl dad confirmed.

Jack comes home from his roadie and finds you massaging your sore tits. It’s his dream sight, his sexy baby mama with her boobs out as soon as he gets home, until he catches the flash of pain on your face. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Jack asks, dropping his bag next to the shoerack and crossing to you. “Did Miss Moon give you trouble while I was gone?”

You accept his kiss and continue massaging your breasts, digging your thumb into the swollen and clogged duct on your right side. “No, Luna was a perfect angel. She gets that from her daddy.” You smile and kiss Jack again. “Hi. Missed you.”

“I missed you,” Jack replies, crowding your space and kissing down your neck. He bats your hands away from your chest and replaces them with his strong paws, groping you like he loves to do. “What about these two? Are they giving you trouble? Do I need to give them a stern talking-to?”

You giggle and roll your head back onto Jack’s shoulder. “They’re a little sore. I’m clogged on the right.”

Jack faux-gasps. “Jennifer,” he chastises, speaking to your breast. 

He named them after his two actress crushes when you were first dating– Jennifer Aniston and Margot Robbie. You’ve accepted it by now. There are bigger problems in life than Jack giving your boobs names– like your two-month old and how your milk ducts refuse to feed her. 

“Let me talk to her,” Jack continues.

“Baby, I don’t think we can solve this by talking it out,” you laugh, turning your head into Jack’s neck and kissing his pulse. “I just need to get the duct unclogged.”

“You want me to give you a massage?”

You open your mouth to agree, but not before a lightbulb appears above your head. “Actually, there is something you can do.”

Jack’s been wanting to try your breast milk for weeks, but you’ve put it off. You’ve let him lick the test droplets from your wrist, but that’s the extent of it. Jack loves sucking on your tits and showering your chest with attention, but it’s been Luna’s chest since the second she was born. There’s barely any time for you and Jack to be intimate and alone together, much less for him to give your boobs the attention he wants.

But there’s a purpose today.

“Do you want to try and suck it out?” you ask. “Unclog the duct?”

Jack looks like you just handed him the best gift he’s ever received. He’s torn between denial and elation. “Do you mean it?” 

“Yeah, baby, I mean it,” you say with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s go to the couch.”

Jack scrambles behind you, grinning excitedly. He brings you a pillow, tossing it on your lap. He rests his head on it, making a stupid, silly face at you before smiling again. “So this is how Luna sees you all the time,” he comments. “Good angle. My girl’s got taste.”

“Your girl likes to eat and this position keeps her from choking,” you reply. “Plus, the milk flows down.”

“Oh, I love gravity,” Jack quips.

You roll your eyes and cup your right breast, massaging the lump of milk that causes your pain. Slowly, droplets start to form on your nipple and Jack’s eyes light up, pupils fixating on the liquid you’re producing. 

He licks his lips, the horny haze that clouds his eyes whenever he spots your breasts only darkening.

“Drink up, J,” you encourage, snaking a hand to his hair and guiding his head to your nipple.

Jack latches on greedily, raising his other hand to your left breast. He kneads the swollen, but unclogged, breast with clumsy fingers. As he suckles, drawing thin and resistent streams from your aching tit, he pinches your left nipple and coats his fingers in your warm, sweet milk.

Jack’s suction is much stronger than your baby’s and much more effective than your self-performed massages. You can almost feel the duct moving with his mouth, tongue lathing avariciously over your nipple, wanting more. You feel the moment the duct unclogs, breaking like a snapped pencil.

It draws a noise from your mouth, a surprised and pleased moan that makes Jack’s eyes clear up. He locks in on your face, recognizing the sound and doubling down to make you moan again. The relief you feel is immediate and you can feel your milk flowing more steadily. It’s not sexual until Jack moans around your nipple and doubles down, shifting into a more comfortable position for him now that your discomfort has disappeared.

It takes some time, but Jack manages to get your body out from under him. He lays flat on the couch and drags you on top of him, your legs straddling his lap. He latches onto your left breast and gives it the same treatment as your right, swallowing gulps of milk.

“Tastes fucking good,” Jack mumbles around your nipple, biting down on the nub just to see what you do. 

Your hands fly to his hair and your core scrapes against his bulge, hard and prominent beneath you. It isn’t an abnormal reaction– Jack always gets hard when he plays with your tits. This time, though, your pain relief is screwing with your mind and has you chasing a different kind of pleasure, the kind that Jack’s length provides… the same kind that had you creating Luna in the first place. 

When your weight settles against Jack’s cock, he reacts accordingly. He’s nothing if not an adrenaline junkie, his heartbeat increasing tenfold when he feels the warmth that derives from your core against his sensitive shaft. Through layers and layers of clothes, Jack feels the call of your cunt and he seeks to answer it. He rolls his hips against you, rutting desperately as his mouth fills with your sweet liquid. It trickles down his throat and makes him feel all the more connected to you, like his need for physical touch has evolved. He’s on a new level, satisfied on all fronts– emotional, physical, mental, all of the above. 

You can tell, too. You see Jack relax and surrender to his desires. You feel him guide your grinding hips with his needy hands, your clit caught on the fabric of your panties and on the muffled outline of Jack’s tip. 

You push his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines but keeping your panties and comfy shorts on. The fabric adds friction to Jack’s already responsive cock, his own milky fluid leaking from his tip and settling on his stomach. 

He moans again and slides a hand up your spine, pushing you down so that your breasts are smushed against his face and he can alternate between the two. “You’re so hot,” Jack says between sucks. “So cool that you can do this and fuck, you taste good. Wanna drink you dry, Mommy.”

The title has a bit of a joke to it, like when you call Jack ‘Daddy’ in front of Luna. At the same time, it’s a fond term of endearment for you. You’re Mommy, Jack’s Daddy. It’s cute, it’s loving, it’s a family thing, and you love your Jack. 

You reach a hand between your bodies and grasp Jack’s cock, jerking it in smooth motions while he returns to your chest. He makes soft noises and hums as you jerk him, flicking his tongue over the corners of his mouth when milk slips away, and ultimately sprays his seed with his teeth tugging your teat. 

After it’s all over, he looks up at you with a lazy smile and asks, “So, can we do this every time you get clogged?”

[womanofwords]

Audience Participation (Part 2)

Neglected!fourthwall!reader x yandere!batfam.

You read through the comments with curiosity and horror. Some just wanted to say hi, one said that they were a god in your world, and one comment remarked that this (presumably, 'this' was talking to you) was fun. A lot of them called you buddy, which felt comforting.

But two messages from the comments were clear: 1), you needed to get out of Gotham ASAP, and 2), you shouldn't trust weirdos in capes or masks (like Batman and his sidekicks).

Would your family actually look for you, like the comments said they would? You doubted it, but if they were really going to search for you, then they'd call for the Gotham PD, and they'd bring in sniffer dogs.

Question: how do you outrun a nose that strong?

Answer: you don't. You confuse it.

You ventured into a library and logged onto a computer. You typed in the words 'what impedes a sniffer dog' into a search engine and clicked enter. You got results like using coffee grounds, meat smells, and sunscreen to mask smells.

Good. Nobody suspected coffee. Tim drank loads of the stuff, and nobody looked twice at you anyway.

You'd also need a burner phone, and a disguise. You'd have to change your name too. The surname Wayne was too recognisable; you needed something generic. Something like Alex Mass. Alex because it was gender-neutral, and you liked the word Mass. It was a synonym of weight, and in a household where you felt like you were nothing, it was nice to know that you had weight somewhere.

It was also nice to know that you, a singular person, was smarter than an entire comments section.

The next order of business was a place to go. You figured you'd make yourself a disguise later, closer to the actual leaving date. You weren't going to pick Bludhaven, it was too close to Gotham. No Metropolis either, it was far too bright, in a strangely bland way. No, you needed some serious distance.

You settled for Canada. You were pretty good at French, after all, and plenty of people threatened to move to Canada. But just learning French and ditching Gotham wasn't enough. You needed a diversion.

Like Spanish books.

Your folks thinking you were heading for Mexico was perfect. They could comb the entire country looking for you, and it would be a complete waste of time because you weren't there.

Things were coming together, but there was still so much to do.

But with a mission in mind, it could actually be fun.

"Hey, chat," you whispered, already feeling like a fool. Here you were, unironically talking to the comments section like a douchey livestreamer. "What should I do next? I'm old enough to get a bank account and I have some savings, but it's only $700 and it's not enough. I need to get more money and fast. Any help?"

First/previous

Taglist: @bunniotomia, @hai-there-how-are-you, @crystal-freak24, @maskedvoyance.

[dayboundpapercrane]

caleb x reader mc (afab!) | MDNI 🔞 | cw: nsfw | cw: loss of virginity | mc is greedy and freakier than caleb confirmed | guilt ridden caleb is scrumptious he's kinda subby here | "just the tip" but it's a fat lie

You were kissing him deeply, sucking his tongue and biting his lower lip, Caleb shuddered above you grasping your waist as you made the kiss dirtier, your hands were rubbing him so well, thumb teasing the tip precum already dripping on your belly, your pussy was soaking at this point, so wet and burning with arousal

"Fuck I need you so bad, hah, Caleb look at me, baby"

Caleb's breathing was heavy, already affected, as much as you loved him for caring for you so much to the point of thinking he might taint you, ruin you for his greedy depraved dreams. You wanted it. You weren't used to him saying no, it was his fault you were like this, so when he looked at you and you pulled him down holding his nape whispering on his lips, begging, you felt his walls starting to crack

"Caleb I need it, I need you, it feels so good, ah, please atleast the tip?"

"Just the tip is fine right? Imagine how good i would take your cock"

"Caleeeeb...baby please!! Please! Please just the tip"

He moaned deeply and gave the smallest nod, if you weren't already staring at him you wouldn't have noticed. You were burning from the inside with need, raising your hips before he changed his mind you lined your pussy with his tip, Caleb held your hip and rubbed your clit, it helped getting you more wet for the slide, and you could feel the tremor on his hands, he was so nervous, but just the tip entering had you obscenely moaning, opening your mouth to breathe in you pushed your hips a bit more feeling your hole greedily suck it inside clenching strongly. Caleb was moaning with you biting his lip cursing.

"Fuck, baby..you....you ....are soo tight, Ahh I cant..I might cum"

"Hah, oh god....it's in, it's inside you"

Caleb kept staring down where you were both joined. His pupils were so dilated, his grip on your hips bruising, you kept squirming, grinding the tip inside, he groaned and decided to hold you still.

"Dont. Baby, please...we cant do more, fuck we shouldn't"

But your greed didn't know where to stop. Deep down, you also knew he was into it. You had seen his looks, rarely, but lustful, filled with something you weren't sure was safe.

"But I don't want anyone else, I want you, does this mean you want someone else taking me?"

It was manipulative. You knew how possesive he was, yet you could feel his inner turmoil, the sweat on his forehead, the red tint on his cheeks turning a deeper tone, you kept kissing him as you begged, telling him how good it was going to feel, how wet your pussy was all ready for him, you could feel how fast his heartbeat got after you said "take my virginity Caleb" "God, please taint me with your cum already" he gripped the bed sheets hard gasping a bit at how crude you were being "forget about others" you were rubbing his chest, tip still inside your pussy. "You want it as much as me" kissing his cheek "You probably got off thinking of taking it right" his breath hitched "watching me grow up beside you, not being able to touch me how you wanted" he whined softly at you, looking at his eyes confirmed everything you had said was true.

Caleb looked so guilty, ashamed, and so beautiful. You loved him so much if only he knew how much his guilt aroused you, kissing him again you started moving your hips down taking him slowly, his hands shaky grabbed your waist pushing himself in, he was big, your walls kept fluttering. He started rubbing your clit in circles, making you moan deeply, his lips on your nipple sucking, it was too much at once you whined gripping his hair as your orgasm hit.

"AAahh~ Ah Caleb Caleb..its in, its all in, so good, ahh yess! Yess keep rubbing me"

"Ahh so good! So good!!"

Your orgasm had made the slide easier, you felt so full, finally you had his cock deep inside you, Caleb kept moaning your name, kissing your neck, cheeks, and chest, your legs started shaking a bit overwhelmed by his size, it had you breathless, until you came so hard again you saw white, holding him close to you curving your back deeply as he kept thrusting prolonging your orgasm. "Im all yours now Caleb" when he pulled out and saw few drops of blood on the bed sheets under your hips, his shaky sigh by your ear was all you heard before he came hard all over your pussy and belly.

A/N: afraid of posting other stuff i have that is a bit more scandalous, so for now, have guilty caleb, tomorrow who knows, maybe a piss kink (im kidding, or am i)

[lambcultist]

　　　　𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍. 𝐸.𝒲.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ part one here ! ellie must learn to be okay with what terrifies her as you begin to fight the invasion of your respiratory system. she's going to light a fire for you, no matter how much it burns her skin, as she is determined not to be the reason you go cold.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ MINORS DNI ( 18+ ) modern au. brother's best friend!ellie williams x fem!reader. ellie has haphephobia (fear of touch). reader has... something (hanahaki disease). reader also has anxiety and insecurities. angst. disaster lesbians. vivid descriptions of: hospitals, ptsd, foster system + past child abuse, poor mental health, panic attacks + fear, terminal illness + symptoms of nausea, vomiting, coughing, needles, medications (morphine) — gross/graphic descriptions, warning for squeamish readers. hurt / comfort. reader is 19, ellie is 21.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ this part includes discussion of ellie's backstory, involving child abuse and neglect as well as the foster system. she suffers ptsd and this is where her haphephobia originated from—i've tried to portray this with respect and realism. there is no vivid description of these events but heavy mentions/references to it. just a trigger warning! i love this little fic so much. i don't know what to call this? a mini mini-series? a duology? anyway— sorry this part took so long. thank you for reading, i love you. and ellie. aaaaaaaaa.

　　　　m.list　wc — 7k.　mdni, please ♡

a constant itch irritating your arm, a monotonous beeping that grates your ears, a soulless room. it's gloomy, the only light granted by an overcast sky through the window.

you're waiting for a different kind of natural light. waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and it's taking its sweet time.

this is supposed to be comfortable. this was intended to be a comfortable few days. end of life care.

it's been one month. there's nothing comfortable about this.

morphine flows through your veins, it masks the aches only for a little. you barely notice how your breath stutters and shakes anymore, it's easier with the aid of the drug, but you're just not sure that it's better than being at home, conscious of every impairment.

you try not to look at the iv as much as it begs your attention. it will only make you feel sick.

the clock ticks away every second until dark. every hour blends into one another, each nurse flowing through the room seeming like they are simply the same words in a different font. you think you remember receiving another dose of morphine, but it doesn't feel like it.

your phone screen lights your face as you check the time. ten.

your eyes close and you think of her. it isn't like it used to be. it's not that you wonder what she is doing or if she is thinking of you. it's that she promised a visit soon.

if you get through this night, you'll be able to see her sooner.

you own a stuffed animal named hope. you couldn't touch the poor thing as your descent into ill-health turned dangerously fast. you'd look at the bear and think about how ridiculous the name is.

you've clung to hope for years and it's as if reality has slapped you in the face for it; a punishment for your wistfulness, served in rose scented bile.

hope was futile.

but now, it doesn't feel that way; ellie made progress.

so, hope sits in your lap day in and day out. she shares this gurney with you, and you squeeze and play and fidget with her. a piece of home, youth, and a reminder to fight what once seemed like a losing battle.

another hour passes. turning over and lying on your side takes the breath out of you for a moment, a hoarse gasp following after the action. it is never this hard, usually.

you squeeze onto hope. those browned curls warm your chest, the fluff soft on your fingertips, but you don't feel any less alone.

being a special case sucks.

they needed to give you a room away from other patients. from the moment you were wheeled into the emergency room you were treated like a risk. some people have allergies, you know. it made you bitter. your flowers are something beautiful.

you may be overly attached to something that harms you more than it does care for you. but ellie gave you these flowers. she's turned you into a walking perfume. maybe if those people knew who she was, they'd understand rather than turn up a nose and cringe at the scent.

sebastian sees you for a few minutes each day. he wears a mask—he told you the smell of florals puts him in a bad mood these days. he answers the phone slower these days.

your mother has been busy with work.

something tells you that's bullshit.

the nurses lack in personality. they're all bubbly and kind and at first, they seemed to look over you with pity. now, they seem eager to get your bed empty and ready for the next unfortunate patient.

are they getting careless? with time racing toward you until you meet your fate, perhaps they think it wiser to save resources? something about the dose you received earlier just wasn't right. it's not supposed to wear off this fast, right?

you're not supposed to be feeling like this anymore. that flicker of hurt inside your ribcage every time you take in a breath is back. the embrace of silence isn't supposed to be this goddamn loud. your ears ring as you glance around the dark room, something eerie in the way that cars and sirens yell and screech in the city outside.

the symphony of chaos out there is overarching at this point, you cannot even hear your pulse. but you can feel your feet tapping against the end of the bed like a metronome out of time.

you search your brain for lyrics that make sense and nothing of the sort erupts. it's all blurred—it's all panic. i don't wanna be alone anymore. you just want out, every thought pointing towards the door. if you had the strength to rip off all these needles and wires and march out there, take your life back, you might've done it already.

you tenderly brush a petal from the top of hope's head after coughing, reaching towards the side table for your phone. however late it may be now doesn't matter, you need noise; something that won't make you feel so small.

ellie put together a pretty good playlist for you. that'll do.

you underestimate the effort it requires to get your phone at this very moment, an audible whine leaving your lips as you stutter and struggle for breath. it pulls something. some neglected muscle in your back lashes out and you draw back into the bed.

hope tumbles out of your hold and onto the floor.

so you're not even allowed the solace of material comfort today, huh?

you have a hundred 'last straw's every day. this was the last of the last. you're in pain.

her fingers move along the fretboard with a practised passion, the joints tired out after hours of rehearsal and perfecting. sometimes ellie writes, but nights like these, she remembers why she doesn't do it often.

it doesn't come right the first time around. not ever.

she stops and watches the window. the sky is a blank canvas tonight, no stars nor flashing lights, just blackness and fog. her eyes follow the usual path around her room, twinkling string lights and old polaroids on the wall. those ones were her first happier memories.

ellie sighs, her fingers resorting to picking a random, comfortable pattern on the strings of her guitar as she stares down at the words scrawled into her journal. the acoustic rests in her lap and the pen hooked into the strap of her top.

she decides it's time to quit for the night. rearranging this bridge a fourteenth time is fruitless, because still, nothing could describe the feeling she had when she finally had the courage to hold your hand.

and still, nothing can describe how pathetic she feels for being afraid to do it again.

ellie liked it. she really, truly did. she cradled your hand with the same gentleness present in the way she holds the neck of her guitar. she took care and warmed every bone in your fingers, rubbed her thumb across the back of your palm to help you breathe.

she wasn't only doing something good for herself, but for you—she was admitting to you her blindness. she was taking the first step in the right direction.

now, ellie can't seem to replicate the same bravery she walked into your bedroom with. she's just a coward.

the first step is supposed to be the hardest—why did it feel so easy?

why doesn't anything feel as easy since?

she lets out a sigh, deep and slow, rubbing her face and moving her guitar to the bed. she's closing the blinds when her phone begins to vibrate and she squints a bit, fishing through her pockets. probably some scammer, she doesn't have anyone to call her these days—

okay, definitely not a scammer.

it's you.

answering feels just as easy as holding your hand felt. maybe it's the spontaneity. she doesn't have a chance to think about it, really. all ellie knows is that it's past midnight and you've called her.

no hello, no joking around—none of that, simply her voice rushing to beat yours. 

"are you okay? it's late."

"ellie, i just wanna hear your voice." nothing could prepare ellie for the way your voice sounds. she's never felt such a strong punch to the gut, but your voice—wavering and weak, quite clearly in the throes of tears—it has the impact of a hard fist. "please. i'm scared."

and she softens quickly, holding her breath so that she can hear all of you. how your own breath hitches, your tone runs pitchy around the edges, you sniffle. she can picture you in a hospital bed with teary eyes, and fuck. it's not right.

"i'm here." ellie sits at the edge of her bed, lip drawing between her teeth. she won't draw attention to your cries. it's not what you need.

"everything hurts," you say through a gasp. there's no need for convincing, ellie believes you from just the sound of your pain alone. there's a familiarity in the heartache, it's something ellie knows too, now.

"i'm here," she repeats. she feels so stupidly capable right now, her shoulder pressing the phone to her ear as she holds her hands together, rubbing the skin so gently as though it is your softness she caresses. she's losing herself to the thought of what she thinks she'd do in your presence at this moment. "i'm always here, don't panic. do you need me to be here when you go to sleep?"

without hesitance, you respond. "yes." and something of it makes ellie feel as though she's neglected you. she needs to hear your voice now, and not just muted by the peaking and crackling static of a call; she needs to be at your bedside. 

and there's no questioning that you need it too. she doesn't need to see you to know what you need. you need to see her courage once more.

"okay, baby— i—" she buries her face into her hand and suppresses a groan, rubbing out her temple. vulnerability is clawing its way out of her throat and yet, something in her still tries to stop it before it becomes too much. calling you that, ugh… it felt like second nature. "okay, i'm gonna stay on the line."

"everything hurts, it's too much," you say. you tried to speak, anyway—it comes out in a whisper, as though that's all you can manage. "can't breathe."

"i need you to try," ellie encourages. "but just slowly. think, maybe it hurts because you need to slow down, yeah?"

slow or fast, light or deep, breathing feels as though it's twisting each thorn, piercing your heart and your lungs. ellie may be right. maybe, it's your fear that does it. after all, these flowers have what seems to be their own intuition, and they prey on your anxiety.

and ellie's just as lost, trying to talk you down—god, if she could hold you right now…

you hear your name and it startles you to attention once more. "just need you to make it through this night, okay?" she asks. "if you get some sleep, yeah, i'll come hang out with you tomorrow?"

"yes, yeah," you reply shortly, sniffling. "please."

it's quieter after that. ellie coaxes you into silence, she promises you there will be warmth tomorrow. whatever that means, it brings you the slightest hope once more.

going through the motions of the morning was difficult for ellie. 

the shower burnt her skin red and raw yet she swore the water was lukewarm, her breakfast took its time going down, and when she sat in her car and turned the heater on, the air leaving the vents felt icy. she had not the patience for anything, her mind askance.

more like, she was waging war with herself—i got this. i'm gonna march into that room and take back what i lost. of course, the situation is not 'all or nothing', even if that's how she treats it. there are baby steps necessary for her recovery, but she'd rather not give herself flowers for those. and ellie's well aware that she's setting herself up for disappointment by rejecting the small wins. it's like trying to knock down a stone wall with a wrecking ball made of cardboard. it doesn't work.

she just wants to be normal; she just wants to be what you need.

and walking into that gloomy room, scanning every wire hooked up to your body, and, frankly, her ears assaulted by all kinds of beeping, it raises her hackles. hospitals are quiet, until they're not. they're all hushed voices and whispered reassurances, only for that to be combated by monitors and machines ellie has no idea the purpose of. they feel malicious.

"hey." 

the word startles you. but ellie sees nothing but relief in the softness of your gaze.

"hi."

ellie takes a seat, and she feels like she's accidentally just glued herself to this spot— it's something she'd liken to a duty of care. like she can't leave. "so, you're feeling better after last night? i wish i could've done more, you know, but…"

"the nurse gave me a lighter dose by mistake," you reply. "that's why i was in so much pain." your voice sounds more distant, more uncaring of what words come out—your eyes run ovals around her. it's as if you can barely believe she's sitting here. it's the fairest sight you've had since your last day at home, and you thank heavens she's not changed. every freckle is where you last pictured it, the corners of her lips curl up with awkward hesitance, that one strand of hair that never sat with the rest is still antagonising her.

her hands are bare. no gloves.

"shit, for real? that's fuckin'..." ellie trails off, replacing what would have been a protective rant with a simple sigh.

she doesn't like this. nobody does, seeing you weak and scared, perishing in the coldest place imaginable. but that doesn't make it fair to avoid you.

it doesn't make her want to be here any less. ellie's almost shocked by herself when her eyes lay upon your hand and she feels this absurd, unconscious jolt in her own hand with the instinct to reach out.

"how's your mom? and seb..?" she asks, her eyes set on your hands as much as yours are on hers.

"uh… next question?" you murmur, flashing a lopsided grin.

"oh." ellie blinks, and again, she feels that tightening in her wrist, this urge she's barely able to restrain. "you haven't seen them?"

"not for a few weeks," you say, shaking your head. "they're really busy lately." 

ellie can tell you believe that excuse as much as she does. and what does it make her feel? it's unusual for her. it targets something tucked away inside of her, blanketed by confusion and tears; the inner child.

she finds herself wanting to whine. that's not fair. 

"that's— but they're— you're their baby. they can't make some time?"

you brush it off with a croaky voice, taking the cup of water at your bedside and having a small sip. "i'm not sure. it's fine though."

her eyes flick from your hands to your lips, the skin no longer as soft as it used to be, instead dry. it reminds her of that post-crying feeling, and even worse is the barely restrained hurt in your eyes that she catches. 

ellie knows it isn't fine. it isn't fair. she's been lonely. she's been the black sheep in every herd she was passed between, she's been the skeleton hidden in tiny closets. she was young, and innocent, and so easily forgotten. passed from family to family, no stay intended to be permanent, she suffered—she was deprived of attention.

it was always the warmer families that couldn't keep her, and the colder ones that she had to endure for longer. she was replaced, she was ignored, she was neglected, so long that touch soon felt like a foreign luxury. 

and soon, it became not a luxury, but something to fear. for a while the only touch ellie felt would be a push or shove on the playground, and of course, she'd push back and scoff (and perhaps use some language too vulgar for her age). it became something to cry over when she'd leave detention and whomever she was under the care of would be waiting for her. arriving to an address that was not hers, different homes that never felt like home, where human mistakes left bruises on her body.

touch became something worth flinching over. she learned to see kicks and punches coming before they left their impact.

and now that it's all over, ellie never unlearned that.

inside, there's still a little girl who aches for love. it stung, but she craved it. and to ellie, looking at you, withering and wilting by the lack of her affections, it feels like looking at that little girl.

so she feels that she is being pulled, suddenly, the legs of her chair screeching across the floor so she may sit as close as possible. it's no conscious effort, just her limbs working in tandem with what her heart needs at this moment.

ellie reaches, and then pauses, breathing in through her nose. "can i—?"

your lips work into a small, but reassuring smile, pursed tight to contain excitement. you don't want to be overwhelming, or intimidating, or too desperate, or whatever else—doesn't matter if your entire predicament is the overwhelming result of a desperate yearning, you tense like a statue just in case. "of course."

from their frozen position in the air, her hands finally move. you weren't sure where she was going for, but ellie has been telling herself this is what she would do to ever since the last time she saw you. 

she cups your face, palms meeting your cheeks slowly, as though she holds a piece of her very soul in her hands.

your two sets of slow breathing mingle in the silence of the room, and for seconds ellie just holds your face. then, her thumbs caress the high points; they run along your cheekbones, her callouses press into the curve of your jawline, as though mapping out every depth or crevice in your face. analysing the structure, appreciating the curves and the softness, not only with her skin, but her eyes. it feels like she can see through you, and it's not even an invasive feeling. in fact, it's not been this easy for you to breathe in a long time.

ellie thinks of her half-written poetry from last night. her mind is fresh with ideas, the passion reborn. she's realising it now, that unless she turns this into a habit, she won't be able to remember how it feels to touch your skin. she'll be back tomorrow, or maybe she won't even leave. it would be alright to hold your hand as you sleep.

your cheeks, once lifelessly icy, now warmed by ellie, rest in the palm of her hands like they are a bed. her face is rose-flushed, but more calm than earlier. inside, there's fire spreading from heart to hands. it doesn't burn like she thought it would. sure, the initial connection was scorching, but now it's comfortable, healing.

something beautiful happened. you would describe ellie's touch like some kind of healing power, in fact, so might she, in a different way; things that used to feel impossible for the both of you are quite easier.

you can breathe on your own, without medical interference—no drugs, no machines. your voice is clearer, food stays down, you can stay awake. ellie wasn't aware of it herself until you stood for the first time in weeks. it was like she had seen a ghost rise from the grave.

of course, it wasn't like you'd taken any miracle cure. you were frail and failing to maintain your balance. it was okay, though, because ellie darted over to catch you. she walked you to the café downstairs.

she could see herself quickly becoming nothing short of an addict to the feeling of your skin beneath her fingertips. when once she was uncomfortable by the feeling of another's shirt, she now feels like it isn't enough to dig her fingers into your pyjamas.

doctors who were certain you were perishing before were now bemused. tests and scans were ordered.

not only was there a clearer picture and tidier result, but the specialists found that what little was left of your flowers were charred. it aligned with what nurses had been reporting as well—a higher body temperature, and black, dried petals leaving your system. 

the hanahaki was dying, and you were blossoming. eyes brighter and face rounder, fuller, softer.

you could go home.

and it could've been better—perhaps it would've felt nicer if your room had been cleaned before you got home, and if things weren't so awkward between you and your family—you can't help looking with bitter eyes at them for how they had acted. it was like you were disposable. 

but getting to see ellie for the first time since you got home makes up for it all. strategically planned so that your mother and sebastian won't be around, of course.

you open the door before she can knock. it's like the tables have turned, and ellie is the one who struggles to breathe when you're near, looking so alive and so comfortable like this, with a smile on your face that knocks the wind out of her lungs, and a recovered lust for life. 

"hi," you say with a small nod, and you inch closer almost hesitantly, which she notices, of course. to save you the trouble of asking for it, she wraps her arms around your middle and holds you. 

but you don't miss the hitch in her breath. still, every time you touch, she stiffens or holds her breath. what would you take it for, if not discomfort? this time, though, when you try to pull away, ellie snorts a little and tightens her grip, nosing into your neck.

"you're fine, baby."

the look on her face when she pulls away is reverent and somewhat sheepish, the corner of her lips curled up and eyelids heavy. if there's one thing ellie hates about this, it's the process. why can't she snap her fingers and be rid of the side effects of her past? why must she sit through all of the messy feelings, the awkwardness, the way that touch still makes her skin blister even when she likes it?

and how, still, are you so patient with her?

"listen, so, uh… i wasn't sure if you ever wanna see another damn flower again, but, i figured you deserve something nice, right?" ellie pushes the single tulip forward, shrugging one shoulder. "s'not a rose, at least. think you might hate them now. that would be reasonable, yeah.."

you nod, that same grin on your face as always, plucking the flower from her grip. "this is okay. but— can i have another hug..? just one more?"

"oh—" ellie's throat tightens, arms opening before her mouth. "sweet girl, you don't even need to ask. c'mere."

this time, you sink into her. it's like being doused in fire, her body warming yours on the way to the car, all because she couldn't bring herself to let go. and that brings another one of those half smiles to her face that she always tries to hide. a hint of pride. progress.

she thinks about resting a hand over your thigh on the drive—it would be even better progress, but something makes her hesitate. something of a debate takes place in her mind before she finally does it, and once more, she feels that sense of pride. the pride of each move forward burns every doubt as though they're pages in an old diary.

plus, ellie truly enjoys the way your leg tenses beneath her hand and how you're quick to gaze out the window with the hint of a smile on your lips.

the drive is empty of conversation, the space filled by the stereo, and it should be that everything about this is already familiar to you. the route, the person, the intention. you're heading to the park, but this time you sit in the passenger seat, you actually trust that the driver will keep you safe (you'd never tell your brother this, but ellie is a far calmer driver than him), and your stomach isn't tying itself into knots. your breathing isn't stifled by stems and thorns and petals.

sometimes you still struggle with chasing for her touch now you've had your samples of it, but it battles with the need to make her comfortable. and so, you grip onto her sleeve as you walk to the old ice cream van stationed in its typical spot. your fingers cling to the fabric, pulling it taut, in the hopes that it won't hurt her, but soothe your need. 

"cookies and cream?" ellie asks, glancing down. your heart lurches when she starts pulling her arm back, only to replace her sleeve with her hand.

you search her for fear from the corner of your eye, but there's no wide eyes or bitten lips. "uh, yeah. i miss it."

"i'll have it too," she says, giving you a fond grin. "you don't know how much of the stuff i've been pigging out on these past few months. it makes me think of you."

you let out an involuntary giggle, squeezing her hand. "i extended my comfort food to you?"

"pretty much, yeah." ellie nods. "i started gorging myself the second i got kicked out of your house."

"well, i'll take that as though you were doing so in my honour," you reply, a cheesy grin on your face. "i missed having an appetite."

soon enough, with a cone in each of your hands, you sit beside ellie on a bench and share a comfortable silence. birds sing in the distance, trees shielding you from the summer fever.

ellie is so unusually quiet that it's powerful, and you turn your head towards her at the very moment that she is, apparently, leaning closer, and the sudden contact makes her jump back this time—something about the unpredictability of it frightened her.

"jesus, you almost killed me."

"oh—! sorry. payback, i guess, because you almost k—"

once ellie closes her mouth (that comment rattled her a bit too hard), she gives you a light pinch on the arm. "don't say that kinda stuff, that's morbid as fuck. i didn't try to—"

"sorry," you repeat, laughing softly. "it's a little bit funny though."

"it's not funny." ellie's words are betrayed by her own chuckle, however. "that's a sore spot still."

"alright, i won't say that again. you have my word." you give ellie a tiny salute, then nod your head to the ice cream sitting idle in her hand. she's barely touched it, if at all. "are you okay? just.. thinking a lot?"

ellie glances down at her hand, a stream of melted ice cream dripping down her skin. "uh… yeah. just…"

she takes a pause, eyes flitting back to you, landing on your lips. she realises she must look like a deer in the headlights, and forces herself to look away with a halfhearted shrug of her shoulders.

"i'm just happy we're here."

why can't i just kiss her? ellie wracks her brain on the way home, so distracted she's driving on autopilot. the world passes by in blurs of colour, her heavy huffs of breath the only sound in the car. the scent of your perfume still lingers in your wake, and when she's idling at a red light, ellie looks over to the empty passenger seat. the sight of a little black petal clinging to the seat makes her smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

it's like you leave a little trail, the occasional remains of scorched flowers following you wherever you've been. maybe she'll pop this one into her journal tonight.

ellie takes the long way home. it's filled with deep sighs and her white-knuckling the steering wheel, her inner monologue rather unhelpful. if only she could explain why she halts right on the edge every time she is about to meet a goal.

she tries. she really thought she could do it today. she felt so ready to grasp your chin and press a little kiss on your smile, but she faltered at the last second, when you turned and caught her staring. fucking faltering. she always does it.why am i so fucking scared? she grits her teeth, willing herself not to pull over when tears start to pool. she's nearly home, anyway. yeah, she narrowly avoided death trying to merge with blurry vision and some asshole in her blind spot. but she just wants to be home.

it's like drowning in shallow waters; she should be fine, but something is holding her hostage. something keeps her holding her breath, something's weighing so heavy on her that she can't pull herself out. there's always something ugly working behind the scenes to keep her from living. whether she's conscious of it or not, there's a memory or an instinct that rears its head. nightmares, flinches, even a small gasp—it's as if her body remembers it more than her mind.

a hand near her head, it makes her think her hair will be yanked.

a movement too sudden, it makes her want to brace for impact, only for it to be the gentlest embrace.

ellie hates it. she hates the way you pull back with a crease worrying your brows and that cloying tone of voice ringing in her ears, the apologies and the check-ins. because she loves the touch. it felt so freeing to admit such a thing for the first time. ellie loves to touch you, but she's so scared, still, and what's worse is that pit of guilt that forms in her stomach every time she fails.

she needs this—to no longer be so alone, and to take up space, and to touch. for the little girl she once was, who was not given the grace to do those things. 

if healing was measurable, that would make this simpler. but it's easy to get lost in the wishes and the goals. it's not so easy to think about the journey it takes to meet those goals.

"ellie? ellie. did you mean to call? or did you butt dial?"

"no…" ellie murmurs. she holds her phone against her ear and closes her eyes. she definitely made somewhat of a spectacle by calling and saying absolutely nothing in return when you answered. "i wanted to call. just… want you to talk to me."

"oh… okay," you reply. she can hear the pleasant surprise in your voice, that and something like fondness. "that's kinda cute, els. you dropped me off two hours ago."

"yeah, i, uh— i miss you." the phone doesn't catch her sniffling, but it carries the shaking current in her words. "can you start talking my ear off now?"

"what— well, yes, but what's wrong?" 

"nothing, what do you mean?"

"come on, ellie," you groan, and she can picture you pinching the bridge of your nose like you always do when she's said something silly. but really, it's far from that. you're pushing your phone up to your ear and spamming the volume button so that you can hear her over the sound of your own increasing heartbeat, fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. "you're being all standoffish and stuff. like you've got something you need to get off your chest."

"uh… no." she clears her throat quite roughly, her free hand swiping at her eyes. "i just wanna hear your voice."

you know you shouldn't push. ellie will come to you when she's ready, like she always does, but this gnaws at you. it's hard to find a new topic when your brain drifts into all the possible explanations for ellie's hurt.

you never want to be the reason she's hurting. and if you are? what if you are? if you pushed boundaries today, or if you're just moving too fast? 

"okay, well, i miss you too," you begin. "i really like it when we hug. it's so warm and, like, comforting."

"i like it too," she says slowly. "you left a lil petal in my car."

"oh, right, that was probably from that coughing fit i had," you muse. "it really hurt, actually."

"you were very loud about that."

"how am i supposed to be quiet about choking?" you snort, but the moment is short lived. you're getting to the bottom of this. "can you please tell me what's wrong? we don't even have to dwell on it. just let me know."

"ah, it's just…" she lets out a flustered sigh, then starts to mumble. "just feeling generally shitty. that's all. i'm stressed. it's nothing you need to be worrying about."

"it's you, els, i do need to worry about it." you choose your words carefully but they flow easily. loving ellie has never required effort. you've spent years waiting for her to see it, and now it's the easiest it's ever been to show her. "i care. and i will always be here. i'm never going to vanish. i think i've made it very fucking clear i don't plan on doing that. i'm stubborn."

"yeah…" ellie swallows thickly and rests her chin in the palm of her hand, eyeing her lonely bedroom. "it's guilt. for… i dunno… just…"

you let ellie fall into silence. she's gathering the words to explain herself with—at least, you hope she is—and that is something you do not want to be pushy with.

"i hate how long this is taking," she says finally. "i want it. i'm ready for it. but my mind is just— it's like it's on a completely different track. i love you. but i'm so pathetic. i've made you wait so long."

"this isn't about me," you say. "i waited for you because i wanted to, and i'll wait as long as it takes. actually, i'm really impressed by you. you're making progress."

"but it's not fair. i hate that you have to be cautious. i wish— i mean, i wish i was normal. i wish i could snap out of it."

you stop her before she spirals further into a self deprecating rant, hushing her very gently. "you are normal. you're learning how to react to things that happened to you that should have never happened. and you're taking huge steps towards healing. and i am so proud of you. i really am."

"i'm scared, but it's not even about touch anymore," ellie murmurs, this time her sniffles sounding clear down the line. "i don't want to be too much. i don't want you to leave."

"i'm never leaving," you reply, voice softening like a blanket. "i love you, ellie. you couldn't get rid of me even if you tried."

by all means, you should be dead right now. you were knee deep in the grave when ellie came back and she battled her way into pulling you out. brute force and fear and love combined had made a new version of ellie, one who was determined to walk you out of that hospital.

"i just… can't.. accept myself," ellie says.

"you can't accept the journey," you correct, "look at the bigger picture, els. you are able to live life now in a way you could never have imagined one year ago. i haven't seen you wearing gloves in a while. that's incredible."

"i figured they were holding me back," she mumbles sheepishly. "i try not to wear them unless i really have to."

"see? that's amazing." you smile. "when i think about the past year, i think about all the milestones. i think about the first time we held hands, then when you traced my face, then when you sat in the hospital bed with me. i think you forget that this is a process and that you're gonna struggle with it sometimes, but that's just realistic. you can't make any progress at all if you won't allow yourself to fail."

"yeah," ellie whispers. she's resorted to fiddling with the little black petal she took home, her heart swelling as she listens to your voice. the calm of it all, the patience that never dies. she blinks back tears, and then speaks up. "thanks baby."

"do you feel a little bit less like the entire world is about to crush you into tiny pieces?"

"yes." ellie lets out a halfhearted laugh, smiling. "can you please start yapping about random shit now?"

"ugh, alright. you're gonna make me lose my voice again. actually, that might be a good thing. then i won't be so annoying."

ellie lets you continue without interruption. she holds that petal up to her chest, balled into her fist, and mulls over the conversation.

she's got to keep trying.

burnt flowers became few and far between, your coughing spells less frequent than ever. ellie noticed this before you did, and it was the biggest encouragement to her conquering her fears. she was healing, finally, and so were you—all because of her. 

life has this sense of normalcy now. she doesn't bristle at the feeling of a stranger passing by, she goes without her gloves more often. she gets less stares in public. ellie can see her old best friend without him looking as though she did something bad anymore; she just isn't alone.

she can wake from terrors in the middle of the night and no longer does she have to face them alone, crying in the dark and curling into balls. you're there to bring her back down when fear shoots up her spine. you, and hope—the teddy bear, that is, but the figurative idea as well. the unwavering patience, the trust, the optimism. 

ellie can hold your hand. she can hold you. she can snuggle and play with your hair, and she likes hers to be touched too. she can feel herself never wanting to let go of you. things she only ever heard of in tales of romance and vows, that she never thought she'd get to have. things she didn't think she even deserved. 

she thought she'd die alone, and now she's drawing pictures of you in her journal and scribbling promises beneath them; forever, sweet girl.

"this is a lot of touching and not a lot of drawing," you say, laughing softly at her distraction. you don't mind one bit, of course.

when you were in hospital, and ellie had caressed every inch of surface on your face, she had tried to take it all into her memory. now, she makes a habit of it, and insists it makes it easier to draw. you think she's simply sheepish about how much she enjoys it after all these years of avoidance.

"then don't be so pretty," ellie murmurs, swiping her thumb over your lashes. your eyes flutter and she catches her lip between her teeth, stifling a sigh.

there is one goal she hasn't met yet. 

still, she hasn't kissed you. 

she comes so close and every time something stops her. at first it was her own reluctance, now, it's like life won't give her the chance. last time she tried, it felt like there was some divine being fucking with her—the sky started pouring over the both of you as soon as the moment stood still enough for her to lean in.

this time, ellie's going to seize the moment. it starts with the light urge to kiss every individual lash, then your browbone, then of course, her eyes flick to your lips as though it's instinct.

she wonders if you think she's going to chicken out again, but you're none the wiser to her intentions in the first place right now. she thinks she's putting signals out with her eyes so heavy on yours, but she hasn't seen what you see. she hasn't seen the way she looks at you on a daily basis—this is no different; her eyes are practically hearts. you feel her gazing upon your every move, never to judge, but instead to possess.

her thumb now moves to your lower lip, shaky but sure as she gently parts your smile. and your lips, no longer dry or sore, but now pillowy and smooth, are the catalyst for what she is about to do. it reminds her how long you have waited, how much you have suffered, and her the same. the neglect, the rejections, the simmering anxieties.

the final push is thanks to the shared progress translated by your lips, the healing on both ends of a love that stays ignited, crackling, and refuses to burn no matter how long it stays lit.

ellie closes her eyes and at last, her soul feels whole, lips meeting yours for the very first time. she knows it is the first of many, because even as she runs out of breath, she can't pull away. it's much like a standoff, neither of you urgent to let go of the other after all this time.

and it pains you to be the one who pulls away first, but you were beginning to feel increasingly faint. you open your eyes but ellie is sat still as a pole, her eyes sewn shut for seconds after the kiss, her cheeks ablaze.

"you nearly killed me," you mumble, giggling at the way that she glares at you after.

"you are not allowed to say that, remember?"

"it was too good not to say right now!" you erupt into laughter as she grunts and tackles you without a moment's waste, your back hitting the bed and face attacked in the softest way imaginable; her lips scouting every area, a kiss planted in each spot like a claim. "okay, easy, easy. i love you too."

🏷️ @dolleyedfemme @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace @gold-dustwomxn @yashirawr @httpsiluvizzy @areyna

thank you for reading as always ♡

[chara-cat5]

lads isekai au ch 11

reader is gender neutral, warning: swearing, mdni

masterlist

first 1

previous 10

next 12

(q/a for any confused readers!!)

you woke up with with a start, shooting up and grasping at your chest. disoriented, it took a long minute before you actually felt mia's hands on you, trying to stabilize you and your pounding heart.

"breath, breath. you're safe, it's okay."

you met her gaze, seeing the dark circles under her eyes. she shifted sitting back down on the chair next to the bed.

"what..."

you paused, swallowing at the dryness of your throat. mia sat up, grabbing a glass water from the table and handing it to you.

"try to relax a bit. i'll explain, just... sip the water and sit back."

you gave a hesitant nod, sitting back against the pillows and sipping the water.

"you've been asleep for about two days... we're not sure what happened. one minute you were fine and then you just- just passed out."

you blinked at her. two days? you spent two days in that dream-like world? not even dream- like, you were asleep!

you touched your hand to your forehead, trying to think back to your dream. it had felt so real. like you forgot everything and stepped into another life. your life, you were sure of it, but not your... current life. it had felt medieval in nature, like the far away past. but even as you think about it now, details slip from your memory.

"i don't k-know if it's something i did or- or-"

you blinked back into reality, seeing the way tears pricked the corners of her eyes. reaching out to take her hand with one of yours and wiping away her tears with the other.

"hey, hey, mia. it's okay. i'm awake now right? and... i don't think it was your fault. i actually got some new information."

she sniffed, eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

"new information? what are you talking about?"

you let out a sigh, slipping your hand from her cheek. geez, you always put your foot in your mouth, huh?

"my dream. i think... i think it was a memory, not just a dream. it felt too real."

she let out a huff, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of your hands. she said your name, a conflicted look passing over her features.

"... are you sure it's not just a dream..."

you nodded, squeezing her hands.

"i'm sure. i just need time to sort it out."

a knock on the door startled the both of you, caleb poking his head in. a look of relief crossed over his face and he entered the room. the mouth watering smell of food following him.

"hey, poppy. how are you feeling? i got your favorite."

mia stood up so he could get by, putting the tray over your lap.

"thank you, caleb. it smells amazing."

he and mia made eye contact before shuffling out of the room. you watched them with full cheeks and raised eyebrows. you heard their mumbling, a few minutes passing before caleb came back in. he sat on the edge of your bed, watching you eat.

"what was that about?"

"don't worry too much, poppy."

he put he hand on the top of your head, gently ruffling your hair.

"how are you feeling? well rested?"

you huffed at his joke, pushing away his hand.

"i'm okay, caleb. why'd you kick mia out though."

"she hasn't been resting. i told her i could take care of you while she sleeps."

you nodded, feeling guilt over stressing her out like that. why did that happen and what did it all mean? more questions and less and less answers.

"anyway, i'm more curious about something else."

you hummed, turning to meet his gaze, only to startle and lean back. okay, he's close. he grabbed your shoulder, pushing you down into the mattress. in any other situation, you might have blushed, but the dark look in his eyes made your blood run cold. his voice feel into the darker one he used for colonel duties.

"you're gonna tell me who you are and what you know about this 'sylus'."

you felt your heart skip a beat, swallowing nervously. he wasn't supposed to know about him! and if he learned about him, what kind of ramifications would that even have.

"s-sylus? whose that?"

he huffed softly, using one hand to hold himself up while the other slid through a chunk of hair by your face.

"don't play dumb. i heard you and mia talking about it. you made it seem like he was oh so important to her, so i need to know. who is he?"

shit shit shit- he's not gonna let this go, is he? you looked away, your hands shifting to push at his shoulders in an attempt to get him to back off.

"he... he's just a friend of her's. i had a disagreement with him and was worried she'd get upset with me..."

that didn't seem to convince him, his hand sliding from your hair to your chin, making sure you held his gaze.

"he must be important if you think she'd choose him over you, huh? doesn't sound like 'just a friend' to me."

"i- i can't tell you, alright? it's not for me to tell you..."

maybe it was shitty to put it on mia to explain, but it was her problem. thats what happens when you try to juggle five men.

but caleb just seemed to take it as a challenge, sweetening his tone as he tilted his head to the side. that sticky sweet tone contrasted his dark gaze in a way that made your stomach flip.

"can't you give me a little hint, poppy? you know i only want you and mia to stay safe."

"caleb, no. get off."

you tried again, pushing at his shoulders, but it was like pushing at a wall. he seemed to give in though, sighing and going back to sitting on the edge of the bed. you let yourself take a deeper breath, watching him close his eyes as he rubbed his face.

"... i really do want to keep you two safe, poppy... 'm sorry if it comes off too much."

you tugged your knees to your chest, watching him closely. course you knew how he was. he was overprotective to a fault. you also understood why. his past was cruel and trauma made people do shitty things.

"you don't have to apologize for it. just be conscious and do better. i know you care about mia and i know you just want her to be safe and happy- i do too. but she's her own person and can make her own choices. we just have to be here to back her up."

he turned his gaze to you, taking in your words for a moment before putting his hand on your arm. his eyes were softer now, almost puppy like as he tilted his head slightly.

"i care about you too, poppy. don't just count yourself out."

you blinked back your surprise, glancing between his hand and face.

"ah- i just mean that you care about her more, you know... i mean, you're closer to her, right?"

"sure, i guess."

he scrunched up his face, squeezing your arm.

"but that doesn't mean you aren't important. remember what i told you before i left for the academy?"

you swallowed, hesitantly shaking your head. hopefully he wouldn't think it was too weird to forget...

"i told you that you're apart of our family too."

he huffed softly, letting go of your arm as he stood up. his face shifted between a few emotions before he gave you a friendly smile.

"and since i'm the oldest, i have to look out for you two. try and get some rest, 'kay? i'll check up on you later."

he left you there, processing his words. part of their family... you were really that close? maybe you need to review your past again...

.

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affinity l̷e̵v̸e̷l̸ [e̷r̶r̶o̷r̸]

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affinity level [3̷̛̣̱͖̯̐̉̚0̵͖̓̉]

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taglist: @sleepisfortheweakpooh @plzdonutpercieveme @young-adult-summer @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @asakiyu @leftpoetrymoon @hon3yydew @anemobabygirl @clandestienly @crimsonrubie @beaconsxd @yuurisfavblog @cutiesgaloree @udejoenrlddo @mephisto-with-a-knife @poptrim @rhoswen-drake

hello!! chapter before bed anyone??

i'm bout to hit the hay myself. just gonna finish this episode of solo leveling. (i love jinwoo. shadowy guys are just my type i guess).

anywho, stuff is happening, blah blah blah, system glitches and all... oh, affinity level 30, huh caleb? hmmmm...

also!! i got fan art from @sleepisfortheweakpooh and it was AMAZING!! thank you so very very much! i absolutely loved it!!

thank you for reading! i value each everyone of you!

-chara <3

[onlyonewoman]

Just discovered this lovely youtuber Matt Bernstein, here discussing the problem with using antisemitism as an excuse to dehumanize Palestinians and how some influencers make use this to make a name for themselves, while ignoring or downright applauding the fact that the Israeli government is guilty of genocide in Gaza. It is VERY important in this day and age, especially for people who are too young to remember the 2nd intifada in 2000, to learn how to spot the difference between antisemitism and legitimate critique of the Israeli government. And this isn't just a matter of speaking up for literal Palestinian children being bombed, starved and burned to death in Gaza - EVEN IF IT SHOULD BE FUCKING ENOUGH! - but it's also about not spreading the narrative that being a Jew is equal to be pro Israel no matter what the state does. If you honestly believe that protesting against murdering children who literally can't escape because they live in what's essentially an outdoor prison for an entire population, is antisemitic, you haven't just lost the plot, but your own humanity AND the lesson you should've learned in history class about the Holocaust. There is NOTHING Jewish about murdering children and it's absolutely horrifying how all too many people don't realize that's the core narrative in this. Aside from all the Palestinians here and now and in the past who were and are suffering from this, not only in Gaza but on the West Bank as well - something that has been CONDEMN BY THE UN - equalizing being Jewish to be a supporter of Israeli war crimes, may very well lead to MORE antisemitism. If there are any survivors in Gaza once this genocide is over, do you expect them to stand in the ruins of their homes, where their dead friends and families are stuck underneath, rotting away instead of getting the last human decency their is, which is a proper burial, and think "this was the best way to get rid of antisemitism because we don't want another Holocaust". No, you don't, because I genuinely hope you're not stupid or cruel - or an antisemite. The children of Gaza are no different from the children of the Warsaw Ghetto and waving a Palestinian flag is NOT equal to wave a Nazi flag! I'm old enough to remember the 2nd Intifada clearly and the way the Israeli government and its extremist groups have gradually increased their ILLEGAL occupation, control and harassment of the Palestinian people to a point that truly can't be called anything but a deliberate genocide. Supporting genocide ISN'T A JEWISH VIRTUE and I can't stress that enough! Also: it's not fucking difficult to protest against the Israeli government and the extremist groups encouraging this atrocity without using antisemitic language. Seriously, it's not! Being a Jew isn't the same as being an Israeli, for starters. And being an Israeli, isn't the same as being a right-wing zionist, just as being a Palestinian isn't the same as being a Hamas supporter! And for those who think that this is justified as long as Hamas gets obliterated and that the Palestinians who suffer and die are acceptable collateral damage: You. Can't. Bomb. Away. Religious. Extremism. Hamas WELCOMES this! It's so much easier for them to keep control over the Palestinian people when the rest of the world constantly shows them that they don't care how many children are murdered. Like, don't you realize that as of now, Hamas doesn't even need to make up lies and exaggerations and horrid antisemitic tropes, because the people of Gaza now live in a literal 24/7 nightmare where they are treated like vermin in the world's now largest outdoor prison. You now, much like the Jewish people in the ghettos over 80 years ago. Is the intentional murder of Palestinians of all ages, regardless of their connections to Hamas, really the way to honor their memory?

[dualityvn]

Okay I'm over the moon with the new update!!! I've played as much of it as possible but with how many options you put especially with the nsfw it didn't fit in my time yet. I'm writing this from work anyway lol.

First of all: THE DESIGNS!!! I thought I'd drop my hat with how good they looked especially with the few new poses!!! Tenebris still looks a good mix of cute and "scary" and Keith — his face is really sweet, that's all I'm saying with my name intact. I love how your art now has cleaner, thinner lines and a more lively shading(don't get me wrong I loved it always but it's just noticeable that you improved, especially with seeing Keith standing next to Melissa(? I'm at the moment praying I got the name right) who still has the old art style). The backgrounds seem interesting? They look amazing and very fitting for the game!!! It's just a little weird for them, especially the forest to not be colourful but it just takes getting used to. Now,:

DAY 5 SPOILERS

I really love how the story went forward, I like that seemingly the fae are more up our ass for some reason maybe besides hanging with the boys. The glitchy effects and those eyes? Perfect! Scared the living spirit out of me at first so it works well. I'm a little confused about us being able to sense Keith's thoughts but like only in one rout? Like I'm not sure how that's possible or why that didn't happen with Tenebris or maybe I just skipped something accidentally, but oh lord that was so nice!!! To kinda know what Keith is thinking?? Chef's kiss. I feel like in those thoughts more was shown of what we've seen here on the blog kinda? Especially when in that moment before having s-x(does tumblr have an issue with these words? Idk) he was worried we'd leave in the morning. Some of these small things really said more about his character. Although the nsfw scenes were ofc hot, I did enjoy more so how especially some of them gave a bit lore actually intimacy? Especially with before and after some small moments were just so sweet. (Ofc out of players curiosity I let my MC snoop a bit in some rounds and Keith's dairy? Damn it's sweet but holy f—, Tenebris's lil box is just kinda sweet/sad but it was such a nice little detail) The non nsfw routes actually struck me a little more this time tho. Tenebris being afraid of thunder is of course something I remembered from here but it's still adorable. Seeing him actually be a little more open and cuddly is always welcome, and the fact he purrs is still my favourite. With Keith's moments again I feel it's more of what we know from here put into the game, like how his parents don't see him much because of how raising them was, him trying to mold into an "easier" person and make up for the "trouble" of being around them. It honestly broke my heart a little cus I just would've wanted to hug him and tell him he's worth having supernatural beings wanting us dead(I'm happy we got to comfort him!!!). And I was quite shocked they killed that thing, from both of them, Keith a little more but still. I'm not quite sure about their reactions afterwards since both confused me a little but I'm sure I'll understand with time or from here. Keith's eyes getting red was sure something that surprised me but it's an interesting part. I did not all understand Tenebris's end, the getting sick? I guess stress can do that but asking us what we are and being scared? What the hell did he see/what happened?? I'm so intrigued with this story!

All together I'm really happy the boys are getting more comfortable/open and the story progress always has me on the edge, I loved the update for sure!!!(This doesn't necessarily need a reply, I just wanted to point out what I liked[and maybe gush about it] a little)

Hope you rest a lot after this!! Take care Nightmare ❤️🍒

Aaaa, this was a delight to read. Thank you so much! I'm very happy you enjoyed this update!!

Sensing Keith’s thoughts is something that happens because of a combination of narrative convenience and the general chaos of Date 5 as a whole.

And yes, the endings will become a little more clear in the next update.

[freyalooove]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who acts like he's not obsessed (but he is). He doesn't parade you around—but his hand never leaves your lower back. He walks one step behind you in hallways, always watching, always aware. His jealousy is quiet but deadly. His love, feral but poetic.

"You think I'm letting you walk in there alone, bella? he'll say adjusting your collar with those long fingers like it's nothing—like it's not claiming.

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who speaks in low voices and loaded phrases. Theo doesn't waste words. He says things that haunt you. Things like:

"You looked better with my shirt on."

"You moan my name like a prayer. What does that make me?"

"I'd set fire to the world if it ever laid a hand on you." And he means it every time.

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who's a menace in private. In public, he's composed. In private? He's sinful. Fingers always drifting beneath your blouse, mouth on your neck, making you sit on his lap during long study nights just to feel you squirm. He'll read a book with one hand and finger you under the table like it's nothing.

"Focus," he says, smirking. "You said you could handle multitasking."

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who get's mean when he's turned on. Not cruel—mean. Filthy. Arrogant. Growly. His smile gets dangerous when you're wet and needy, and he'll whisper the dirtiest things in your ear while keeping full eye contact.

"So desperate already? Pathetic little thing—don't worry, I'll take care of you."

And he does. Thoroughly.

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who loves watching you in his clothes. Nothing makes him lose control like you in his oversized sweater and nothing else. He'll pull you into his lap, run his hands up your thighs, and murmur:

"Look at you. You're mine, every inch. Even when you're stealing my clothes, you're begging for my hands."

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who makes love like he's unraveling. There are nights when Theo fucks you like he's angry. But there are others—slow, reverent nights—when he kisses you like a secret, holds your face like he's afraid you'll disappear. Like he wants to be ruined by you.

He keeps eye contact the entire time, lips brushing your cheek as he whispers, "Don't look away. I need you to see how much I want you."

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who remembers everything. Your favorite tea. The exact way you like your book pages folded. What makes your breath catch. What makes your legs shake. He doesn't forget. He files it all away and uses it when you least expect it.

"You always clench around me when I whisper in your left ear. Should I stop?"

You beg him not too. And he doesn't

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ᴛʜᴇᴏ who's not afraid to go soft—but only for you. No one else sees this side. Only you get the quiet kisses on your temple. Only you get the way he lays his head in your lap like he needs you. Only you get the unspoken, whispered "stay" when you try to leave his bed.

[burrythebusy]

Hey bestie can you talk about how much damage the word "repulsed" has done 😔✌️

Man can I ever.

Firstly, I'm gonna give some people the benefit of the doubt in saying that there were honest and lovely hrkg fans who were put off by chapter 28 due to the thought that, oh no, Hirano really is very uncomfortable with close physical contact, and Kagiura hugged him twice and pushed that boundary, and we know he values physical contact, how can they be in a relationship if this is the case blah blah blah. But it is unfortunately also very reductive to take that from chapter 20, or 28, and onward. And of course, there are the people who aren't reading it in good faith at all, but why they reacted the way they did is self-explanatory: they think Hirano is uncomfortable overall with Kagiura, that he's been being pushed and pulled unwillingly, that Kagiura is, for lack of better word, abusive, etc.

Now, my biggest issue with both of these scenarios boils down to the same thing, which is the lack of understanding context and subtext, or just generally not being understanding of the characters individually, their motivations, their biases, what leads them to think what, and then taking what they say or do at face value. Sensei has written her characters to say things that make no sense all the time, or that is obviously not how they truly feel, etc, so it baffles me when people pretend this isn't the case when it comes to hirakagi, i truly don't get it. I can name very few, if any, pieces of media where the author didn't deliberately show us things or imply things that weren't explicitly said. While the fandom can be wrong about their interpretations of these implications, I think it's important to at least think about what they could be regardless.

And what kills me is that, I can guarantee a good chunk of the people entirely put off from hirakagi from the past, what, two chapters, are people who do not care. These are people that read the dialogues and the monologues and look at what they're doing and don't think any deeper than that, or if they do, it's not to look into the characters at all, they skip over that and head straight for societal context, which would be fine if they, you know, put the character first??? And they also decide to put this character into said societal context dictated by how they view who they are, their identity, their inclinations, and they use their surface level interpretations to confirm or deny what they already decided to think.

This is why when people read that Hirano was "repulsed" by the hug, they take it to be so freaking literal. For some, this proves their Hirano ace hcs as they related to him. For others, it proves Hirano doesn't or "can't" love Kagiura back in the same way. And then the ones who scream "WAHHH KAGIURA DID SOMETHING HIRANO WAS UNCOMFY WITH WAHHH". I have never in my life seen people act so morally superior over a hug. GENUINELY. The word used being "repulsed" was like the water in the desert for people that needed something to confirm what they already think about hrkg, or hirano or kagiura individually, conclusions they came to by not giving a fuck about their actual characters. Characterization. Subtext. What is implied. etc.

Everyone in the world is biased to some degree about many things, so it's not like I'm saying you have to read without that. You just have to be deliberate enough to recognize it and look a little deeper, listen to other perspectives, and, you know, read and comprehend the story. Sensei's characters are all very complex, imo, even side characters. None of them are "simple", all are pretty damn dimensional and well-rounded, so to read 28 and come out of it with the world repulsed in your hands says more about you than anything else, honestly. I thought the same thing about 30; reading chapter 30 and coming out of it with just complaints about the kiss is just as annoying. It's how I know the people that yell the most about the unhealthy, one-sided, terrible dynamic between hrkg don't care to read anything beyond the things they can point to and go "See! There!"

Facts: Hirano is an unreliable narrator. I know, SHOCKING right. Like, Hirano, the guy that has BEEEN saying he wants to be with Kagiura more than anything (in more ways than one), saying his feelings for Kagiura aren't enough, or love. Saying he doesn't feel his heart race when touched so "I can't love him, duh." Nevermind the fact that he is so comfortable with Kagiura that he is willing to try things out just for his sake, even though he would straight up say no if he didn't want to, or if it were anyone else. Nevermind the fact that physical contact has always been normal between them, hence why it feels normal. Nevermind that fact that despite this, he feels happy to be close with Kagiura, he loses track of time, he extends the time they get to touch, but much of his gripes don't come from how he feels personally about the physical touch, it's what Kagiura is doing/showing him...

Facts: Kagiura is constantly contradicting himself. He has this hangup about how physical touching should be with someone you love, possibly brought about by heteronormativity and the standard he has set due to others (past relationship) and his parents (what he wants out of a marriage). It has to be like this and that and this and that. Except everyone had been clocking how weird he was with Hirano since... forever. Wow Hirano is really close to his roommate and gets defensive of him in the LIGHT NOVEL. Kagiura misses Hirano and thinks the dorm is empty without him in the LIGHT NOVEL. Hirano's memories of receiving those damn earrings is all bright and sparkly and beautiful in the LIGHT NOVEL. They have been loving on each other for a long ass time, and they have been touching normally, though more closely than they do with anyone else. Kagiura has clung to him and grabbed his wrist and his shirt and all that shit. So the only difference is that Kagiura is just overwhelmed by his own feelings and desires that he thinks, at this point, "I can't touch Hirano in any other way" because he thinks he'll be pushing a boundary (oh whats this? Kagiura is very aware of boundaries? DUMBASS OF COURSE HE IS).

"I feel one way that Hirano doesn't feel. If I touch him, someone that loves him and feels a certain kind of desire for him, he will be uncomfortable because he doesn't feel that way about me. So my solution is to start limiting how I touch him in a controlled environment with an agreement, in which he understands that the connotation is meant to be romantic, he'll understand how I feel without me being too much or overwhelming him!" Kagiura Akira, you are 16 fucking years old thinking that you can't touch your, forget crush, BEST FRIEND in a normal way because you think your feelings are too much. That's not normal man. And what makes it worse is that by limiting himself, Hirano doesn't fully understand how Kagiura's desire functions ("If me touching you makes you happy, look happy when I do it.")

For a little analogy, let's say you have a friend that makes you your favorite food when you're hungry. And not just hungry, but you're incredibly hungry, ravenous even. They make you your fav food and put it in front of you and is like "Dig in!" and you going "nah I'm good" and just stare at it. Then the friend that made it for you is confused because they know it's your favorite, they're letting you eat it, but you just won't. And one day they make it again for you and then you go, "How about I eat it in little bites" and they go yeah sure, so you take tiny bits off it. And they're confused again because it looks like you don't want it even if you keep saying you do. Now, similarly, if you did immediately eat it, you didn't have to go all in; you could've taken your time. You could've took a break for a drink, coulda had a conversation over the meal. But since you deprived yourself on purpose, time and time again, now you are literally starving and one day, you might take too big a piece, too big a bite, out of nowhere, out of desperation. It's like that.

Lowkey this analogy sucks but the point is that Kagiura deprived himself of even touching Hirano regularly in a normal way, and is forcing himself to only do it "like lovers" for ten seconds a day. Not only is it painful for him because he feelings are so full with no outlet, because he's holding himself back, Hirano sees him about to burst and sees this pain and is like wtf. I thought you liked this. For a while he was afraid Kagiura was forcing himself to do it, like he didn't actually like doing it because Kagiura is making himself go hungry on purpose, making himself take tiny bites on purpose like it hurts and it does, and then of course, one day, the flood gates will open. His hunger will get the best of him. And I can't believe that, after all this time, after thousands of years of literature, we got to a point where the overflow of his feelings leading to a hug pissed people off. People's reactions to chapter 20 actually killed me. I understand if you don't like hugs/they make you uncomfortable, I too am not big on hugs unless I'm close to the person. BUT, in the context of this story, you cannot sit here and tell me that was some cardinal sin committed by a guy i love with his best friend. Like, really. A hug? And then of course, 28, when he asks for it, and his hand got a little low and Hirano flinched, again, mfs go WAHHH OH MY GOD HE TOUCHED HIM WHERE HE WAS UNCOMFORTABLE WAHHH he didn't even do it on purpose. And of course, we arrive at the "repulsed" descriptor. Again, diction matters. Even if repulsed isn't an inaccurate translation, it indeed changes how people interpret the scene. Repulsed sounds and feels worse than discomfort or even dislike. "I am repulsed by strawberries" isn't the same connotation as "I dislike strawberries" or "strawberries make me uncomfortable".

Not to mention Kagiura quickly changed how he was hugging him because he recognized Hirano flinched. Not to mention Hirano did sink into the hug. Not to mention that I think there are many reasons Hirano reacted the way he did that wasn't "Hirano doesn't and will never like to be touched/hugged". I think it's somewhat to do with a vulnerability thing, and also a "No one has ever touched my lower back so it surprised me" thing (because the translator initially described his discomfort as something not necessarily "negative" idk how true that is though). Hirano was fine initiating touching because of control, but also because I think there's a certain level of vulnerability he is not used to. Being in someone's arms is one of them. And it was an awkward ass hug too like it wasn't even normal. Again with Kagiura and his weird "lovers do this like this" where do you get these ideas from man. Like I know your parents never hug each other like this. Or maybe they do idk. Anyway.

And then of course, people haven't let that go. Chaper 29 people were acting like Hirano had that whole convo with Ichinose and Kagiura after for no reason. Suddenly the sky imagery and "that's not the only way to express your love for someone" and "I want to be with you more than anyone else in the world, that's what love means to me" don't mean shit. Acting like Hirano hasn't been feeling that all this time. Acting like hirano hasn't been feeling his heart beat faster without any prompting from Kagiura because his heart is realizing Kagiura is expressing love for just being with him, around him, being cherished by yours truly. None of that means anything for some reason because last chapter Kagiura hugged him and Hirano felt off for a split second. Okay.

Now it's chapter 30 and there were like 40 pages prior to the last three in which we are seeing Hirano and Kagiura be in love, be youthful, be true to each other, we see just how much Kagiura pays attention to Hirano and how he is, how much he treasures that about him, how much he looks up to him and recognizes his hard work, and then we see Hirano be an unreliable narrator, downplaying his own feelings because he doesn't want to hurt Kagiura by giving him "expectations", not giving his feelings any credit at all because he, like Kagiura, doesn't want to hurt the person he loves. Kagiura gets overwhelmed by the hunger and kisses him WAHHH CALL THE FUCKING FBI HE'S A SEX OFFENDER holy shit yall. Is this your first BL? No no, is this your first story? Ever? Have you ever read words on a page? Are you three years old?? Like you cannot be fucking real. Do I even have to say anything else??

So yeah. Repulsed did a number on people's psyche. I think I went off on a tangent in the middle of that butttt you get the picture.

[effy-writes]

Nanami-Aphrodisiac p.3 (smut)

part 1, part 2

notes: mentions of sa but nothing too detailed, oral sex (f receiving), face riding, short oneshot, maybe rushed

summery: nanami was piiiissed after finding out gojo helped you a little too much, so he decided to do the same thing

~~

"You two did what?" Nanami clenched his fists, eyes glaring mostly at Gojo, but still a hint in disappointment in both of you.

Currently the two of you were sitting on your couch (Gojo named it the cum couch and you hated that).

"I was just doing what you told me to do," Gojo put his hands up in defense with a smug expression.

"It's not like we fucked," You added on, "Gojo did follow orders, and I consented."

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long exhale, "Gojo, I strictly told you that this was not for your sake, it's for Y/n's. I don't want her to get taken advantage of again."

You gripped the couch cushion and clenched your teeth.

"Again?!" Gojo laughed, "What happened before I met her?"

~~~~

"I'm sorry, I don't want anyone else, I want you to help me. I'm so tired of other sorcerers assaulting me because of this stupid technique!"

He looked away from the field and glanced at your teary eyes, relaxing his face and stance. "What do you mean assault?"

You bit the inside of your cheek and exhaled a shaky breath, "Back in my home town there was only a small portion of us. It was me, 3 girls, and 8 guys. They all knew what happened to me prior, and after some awkward, emotional conversations they would help me when absolutely needed. I would ask for simple hand stuff but it quickly turned into...other things...I don't want to go through that again for the millionth fucking time! Please Nanami I'm begging, don't make me find someone else."

~~~~

You and Nanami kept quiet. "That's none of your business. It was inappropriate of you to perform other things."

Gojo groaned and laid back on the couch, "FYI, after our little session she was stronger than before. More pleasure = more cursed energy."

"I'm aware that's the case, but I'm afraid that's far too intimate." Nanami only wants the best for you, making sure not to make you uncomfortable. After hearing the full details of how you developed this he became even more uptight about these sessions you have to do with him (and rarely Gojo).

"I'm completely fine taking your place." Gojo smirked.

"You will never do that until I say so."

~

You and Gojo still kept in touch, but Nanami was watching like a hawk. Gojo is known for crossing boundaries, and Nanami was kind of getting worried.

For 3 months of knowing and mentoring you, he witnessed you crying and being visibly upset of this aphrodisiac shit. He reassured as much as he can, and when it comes to these morning sessions he wouldn't stop asking if this is alright and if you're okay, in which you always reply yes.

You feel so comfortable being around him that you're getting scared that he'll mess it up.

Next morning comes, and at exactly 7 AM Nanami knocked on your door again.

The regular ritual happened. You sitting on the couch with legs spread, wearing the same skirt, Nanami wearing non-latex gloves, asking if you're ready for the millionth time.

He was about to slide a finger in but you stopped him, "If only you're comfortable...can you try eating me out?"

Nanami stiffened, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I was fine and grateful that Gojo did it, the same for you. I really don't mind it at all." A sweet smile appeared on your face.

You gotten comfortable with him over the course of these months that's for sure. You no longer feel embarrassed around him, it was almost a little too natural for you, like as if you two were in a relationship but that can't ever happen. Nanami agrees in that sense. He is starting to enjoy it, which scares him.

Your mentor finally agreed, so with that you pulled down the skirt to your ankles, spreading your legs a bit more to where your pussy was parallel to Nanami's red flushed face.

He still wore the gloves, which is completely fine for you because his tongue was about to do all the  work and holy shit he's thinking to himself, that's the prettiest pussy he's ever seen. He didn't know that Gojo felt the same way, but got more jealous that Gojo did all of that to you first.

Your pussy tightened around Nanami's finger. He was only gone for three days and was looking forward to this again. He wanted this to be professional at first and left no strings attached, but he couldn't help but to crave you. He partially blames it on the aphrodisiac and tries to denies these feelings.

He curled his finger while adding another, your greedy pussy was begging for his mouth (and dick but that won't happen). You bucked your hips, mentally telling him to put his mouth over your swollen clit.

Nanami leaned his head closer to your pussy, and with closed eyes his tongue swirled around your clit. He gently sucked, too afraid to hurt or overstimulate you.

You softly whimpered as your hands traveled to his kept-up hair, tangling your fingers around his locks, "M..More," You breathed out, pushing his head tighter against your pussy.

Nanami lightly grunted as he slid his coated gloved fingers out. With him still gliding his tongue against your folds he picked up your legs to where it sat nicely on his shoulders, gripping your upper thigh.

A noticeable tint formed in his tight slacks, but you were too unfocused to see how hungry this man was. He softly moaned against your clit as his cock was pressing tightly.

"Mm—fuck, Nanami." You leaned up from the couch and gently pushed him down onto his back, not unlatching himself on your pussy.

He let out a surprised grunt as his hands instantly gripped your hips to hold you in place as you grind against his mouth.

He wanted to grip your ass but he held back trying to remind himself that this isn't for his pleasure and only for yours, but when he opened his eyes and watched you moaning out his name and riding his face, legs trembling against his shoulders, he wanted to (gently) push you off and fuck you right then and there.

"Ffuck!...Im so close." You pulled your shirt up, exposing your bouncing tits that was selfishly being covered by your bra. With one hand Nanami rubbed his clothed dick, begging to feel some physical pleasure.

With a loud moan your back beautifully arched as your climax flooded. Nanami continued through your orgasm, stroking your clit drawing out your pleasure until you were practically trembling on his face.

When your shaking body subsided you lifted yourself up and rolled off of him, sitting beside of his head while you caught your breath. Nanami looked at your flustered face, a small smile developing on his face.

Before you could look at him he quickly leaned up and tried to cover his boner, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable.

"Thanks," You quietly said.

"No need to thank me." Nanami stood up and reached his hand out for you.

You quickly got dressed as Nanami adjusted himself, and after the two of you gathered yourselves he went back to training you. Neither of you mentioning the sex.

[bradshawed]

Rafe cameron request!! So i was thinking about criminal minds evolution right and the entire Voit storyline currently in season 18 so hear me out now, reader works for the BAU and Rafe cameron is their biggest target rn and he experiences amnesia like voit & reader has to keep interviewing him and they fall for each other along the way??? (idk if this sounds good but i just saw the last episode of penelope falling asleep in his room and it made me think of this😭)

hi pretty, thank u so much for requesting!!!!! i haven't seen criminal minds: evolution 🫣 butttt i did speed read through voit's cm wiki page so please ignore any inaccuracies. i also made a few changes to the request since i'm not a fan of falling for a criminal considering what voit's character did esp to rossi, so i hope this is alright xx

warnings — fem!reader, use of y/n, pet names, 18+, swearing, criminal minds themes, reader x luke alvez undertones, mentions of abduction, torture and murder, references to psychopaths, and some inaccuracies

masterlist, sleeping beauty

...

"You're joking. What the-" Luke pulled you into a vacant room, closing the door behind you. "Luke, come on, a fucking coma?" The brunette didn't say a word, lips tight as his eyes followed you as you proceeded to curse up a storm under your breath, burning a hole in the floor.

"Y/N. Y/N! Cariño!" You paused, glancing up at his pretty eyes to ground you. "How did this happen?"

Luke gestured for you to sit down, handing you a coffee you hadn't realised he'd been holding, "Cameron was jumped by two inmates in the laundry room. He's currently in a coma in a room down the hall. The MRI shows brain scarring from the traumatic brain injury." You clenched your fists, "and the other two inmates?" Luke sighed, "in the morgue, he stabbed them in self-defence".

You closed your eyes listening to Luke explain that there will be guards posted around the clock, with a sensor under his wrist to alert them if and when he comes around. "The lucky son of a bitch."

...

Months later and Sleeping Beauty was awake but there was a slight hiccup. Retrograde amnesia. That [insert colourful language here] couldn't remember a single fucking thing. He couldn't recognise his own name or pictures of his sister or Rossi, thinking the latter was his father which would've been funny if it wasn't for the circumstances.

So here you were sitting across from the man who had abducted two of your colleagues, not to mention the countless others he abducted, tortured and killed, and it was your job to try and recover his memories (and your case against him) without waking up the sleeping killer inside. Lucky you.

...

"You planning on staring me down like that the whole time sweetheart?" You tried to suppress the urge to shiver, "Sorry princess, forgot only your boyfriend was allowed to call you that." Your stare hardened at the mention of Luke, with visible disgust at his new pet name of choice.

"So, Rafe..." You pulled out a photograph of a fire at a family home that resembled a mansion, placing it in front of him. The blonde reached out, his handcuffs clinking against the metal table as he traced the image with a fondness you hadn't seen before. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

"You know I can't."

"Try."

Rafe pushed the photo away, his patience wavering. You pushed it back. "Stop! Just- just stop. I've already told you, I don't remember." Maybe this anger is what you needed, "you could if you tried hard enough but you've never tried for a day in your life, raised on a silver platter, no need to prove anything to anyone so you grew up weak and-" Rafe slammed his fists into the table, the sound echoing through the interrogation room, but you didn't flinch.

"You're trying to piss me off, to bait me into revealing something I can't remember. It's not working and it won't work. Give up agent." His voice was like ice, cold, calm and calculated. You stood up calmly leaving the room with a smirk on your face. He might not remember anything but he was in there and you weren't about to give up.