#I want to dissect them under a microscope | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

millermouth · 4 months ago

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Part IV

Summary: Tensions rise as the three of you try to find clarity in the aftermath of lines crossed and feelings laid bare. In the weeks that follow, you begin to wonder if something this messy could still become something that lasts.

|| smut MDNI 18+, some mentions of pregnancy, angst and feelings, some fluff, dirty talk, pinv, blowjobs, love triangle (?), no outbreak, jealousy, possessiveness, power play, joel talks you thru it of course, fair warning this isn’t exactly healthy, bad communication, don’t do this ok EDIT TO ADD: threesome, some dubious consent at first then reader fully consents. Tommy is an asshole || notes: eeeehhehe okay I love this one. its a long boy! I listened to you and didn’t delete any of it lmao I love this dynamic so much and it makes me so happy to know everyone is as filthy as I am // pic of Joel & Tommy is mine //

“So, when you saw them, what went through your head, Tommy?” Dr. Servopoulos asked. The office was neat, almost unnervingly so. The walls were bare except for a few framed photos—serene lakes, white sailboats drifting across still water. A false sense of calm in a space built for unraveling things that weren’t calm at all. The air smelled faintly of old books and lavender, a weak attempt to soften the weight of conversations like this.

It had taken a lot to convince either of the men beside you to come today.

Bringing anyone into this mess was hard enough, but laying it bare for someone outside the three of you, having someone watch, analyze, pick apart what happened behind closed doors felt like something private was being dissected under a microscope.

Joel hated this. You knew he hated this. He was a man who carried his feelings in silence, whose apologies lived in things left unsaid. He didn't do this—didn’t sit in stiff chairs like this, in stuffy offices like this, didn't put words to things that made his throat tight. Yet, he still agreed to be here.

And Tommy—you knew this was hard for him too. Not just because of what had happened, but because sitting here, having someone else pick at the wounds, meant acknowledging that things weren’t okay. That they couldn’t just fix it themselves. That you had invited someone in to see the cracks that had formed over the past few months.

It made the walls feel closer, the chairs feel stiffer, the quiet feel too loud.

You watched Tommy as he sighed beside you, his fingers rubbing at his brow. His eyes flickered to the doctor before dropping to the floor. “I don’t even remember,” he muttered. “S’like I’ve blocked it all out.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I do remember the right hook I gave ‘im when Joel was tryna say somethin’ to me.” His voice darkened. “Ya know. When they were finally dressed.”

The last word dripped with bitterness.

You flinched. Your fingers curled together in your lap, knuckles pressing tight.

Joel shifted beside you, the slight movement drawing your attention. He sat stiff in his chair, his thumb rubbing absently at the bruised, purple swell on his cheek—the evidence of Tommy’s fury. He hadn’t said a single word since the session started.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to meet the doctor’s gaze. “Dr. Servopoulos—”

“Tess,” she offered smoothly.

“Tess,” you amended. “We never meant… this was never supposed to get this far. I just want him to know I never—” You turned to look Tommy in the eyes. “I never intended for this to happen.”

Tommy let out a rough scoff, shaking his head. His arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, well, neither did I.”

A quiet beat.

Tess glanced at Joel then, waiting.

Joel felt the weight of her stare and finally looked up. His dark eyes met hers, unreadable.

Tess raised a brow. “Anything to add?”

His jaw ticked. “What d’you want me to say?”

“You tell me, Mr. Miller.” Tess mused, tapping her pen against her notepad. “What about how you ended up sleeping with your brother’s wife?”

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. His knuckles flexed. “Didn’t start out that way.”

Tess hummed. “Right.” She flipped to a page of her notes. “So let’s lay this out. You—” she nodded at you, “wanted a baby. You—” she pointed at Tommy, “were willing to ask your own brother to be a sperm donor, which then turned into you—” she turned to Joel, “what, just doing your brother a favor? By sleeping with his wife?”

Joel’s fingers drummed against his knee. “I did say no at first. But yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Tommy mumbled under his breath, “Yeah. A real big favor.”

You swallowed.

Tess scribbled something down. “Okay,” she said, flipping her pen between her fingers. “So when you three agreed to try for a baby in this… hands-on way, you never foresaw the possibility of… complications?”

You shook your head, stomach twisting.

“Not once?”

“I didn’t think about it,” you admitted, voice small. “I thought we were just—we were focused on the baby.”

Tommy snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah? Well, neither of you seemed focused on it when you were sneakin’ around.”

You flinched again.

Joel finally looked up at him, his expression dark. “We weren’t sneakin’.”

“Sure as hell felt like it,” Tommy shot back.

Tess sighed, leaning forward, her gaze flicking between the three of you. “Alright, let’s just call it what it is: things got complicated. Lines that were there for a reason got crossed. And the problem wasn’t you trying for a baby—it was everything that happened outside of that agreement.”

She gestured between you and Joel. “You broke the boundaries you set. Maybe you ignored it, maybe you thought you could handle it, but now you’re here. And not because the plan failed, but because you broke your own rules. You had sex outside of what you all agreed to.”

A brief pause. Her eyes scanned each of you, as if silently asking any of you to deny it, before she tilted her head.

“So let’s cut to it. Why are you here? What do each of you actually want?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know, okay?” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—I ain’t ready to throw away my marriage, but I also ain’t stupid enough to pretend like nothin’ happened.”

Tess nodded, absorbing his words before turning to you. “And you?”

Your throat felt tight. “I—” Your hands fisted in your lap. “I don’t want to lose either of them.”

Tommy’s head snapped toward you.

Joel’s fingers twitched.

You swallowed, your voice steadier now. “My marriage with Tommy is important to me. He is important to me.” You turned toward your husband, eyes pleading. “But things are complicated. Because Joel is important too.” You hesitated, shifting your gaze to Joel’s hands, his knuckles tight and white where they pressed together. “I don’t want to just cut him out of this just because of one mistake.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t interrupt. His fingers drummed against his knee, his gaze flickering between you and Joel like he was waiting for something.

Tess sat forward slightly, pen poised. “And Joel?”

Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t wanna make things worse than they already are,” he muttered, voice low, unreadable.

Tess hummed, unimpressed. “That’s not really an answer.”

His fingers tapped against his knee. “Ain’t got another one.”

You turned toward him, heart pounding. “Joel.”

His jaw flexed, his eyes staying downcast away from you.

You didn’t push right away, letting the silence stretch between you before trying again, voice softer this time. “What do you want?”

His throat worked, but he didn’t speak.

Tess glanced between you both. “It doesn’t have to be a speech, Joel. Just say what’s in your head.”

Joel breathed in a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the heel of his hand over his mouth. His fingers dragged across the stubble on his jaw. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked onto his brother. “I know what we agreed to,” he said, voice steady but low. “I know this was supposed to be your kid, that I was just…” He trailed off for a second, shaking his head, like the word didn’t sit right with him. “That I was just helpin’.”

The room felt very still.

Joel shifted, his knuckles flexing against his knee. “But shit changed, Tommy.” His voice roughened. “I can’t just—" He exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. “I won’t just step back like this don’t mean nothin’ to me.”

The weight of it settled between all of you. Tommy’s knee bounced, his hands gripping his own upper arms where they were crossed. His mouth pressed into a hard line, but he didn’t speak, didn’t argue.

Joel swallowed, gaze flicking downward for a second before lifting again. “I ain’t askin’ for—” He hesitated, his jaw flexing like the words were hard to force out. “I don’t even know what I’m askin’ for.” His eyes flickered to Tommy’s. “But I do know I ain’t gonna be left out to dry.”

“No one said you would be,” you tried to soothe, your hand reaching to rest on his forearm, shaking your head. His skin was rough, warm, solid beneath your touch.

Your eyes traced the worn lines of his face, the quiet tension in his jaw as he looked at his brother. He was handsome in a way that felt etched into him, shaped by time and hardship, by everything he’d carried.

And you knew—better than anyone—how much Tommy meant to him. That neither of them trusted anyone as much as they trusted each other. That this needed to be amended before anything else could carry on between the two of you. You took your hand away from his arm.

Tess let out a slow breath. “Okay,” she murmured, nodding slightly. “Thank you, Joel. I think everyone needed to hear that.”

Joel’s fingers flexed again, and this time, his gaze flicked toward you, studying you for the first time since you arrived. There was something there—a charge, a quiet pull that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and you were only noticing it now, now that everything had changed.

You let the silence stretch as you kept your eyes on his, trying to read between everything he wasn’t saying. That he wanted to be part of this, that he wasn’t going to give this up easily.

Then Tommy sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Then we gotta figure out what the hell we’re actually doin’ here.”

Tess tapped her pen against her notepad. “Right. So let’s talk about our options.”

“Options?” Tommy echoed, his voice edged with skepticism.

Tess nodded, uncrossing her legs only to recross them the other way. She leaned forward slightly. “The way I see it, there are ways to make this work—even if none of them are simple.” She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. “But make no mistake: it’s going to take work.”

Her pen tapped lightly against the paper as she continued. “Let’s start with the obvious: you can walk away from this entirely, go your separate ways—but none of you seem too eager to do that. Or, you and Tommy could stay together, work on the marriage, and Joel can remain in the background. Be some kind of father figure to this child and nothing more.”

She lifted a brow and looked directly at him. “But I’m not sure, with how far this has gotten, that that’s actually what you want.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, tension shifting through his shoulders as his eyes dropped to the floor.

Then, quiet but certain, Joel said, “It’s not.”

Your chest tightened. The urge to reach for him surged again, stronger this time, but you didn’t move. You let him sit in the silence he’d chosen, even as it said more than anything else could.

Tess gave a small nod, like she’d expected that answer.

Joel didn’t elaborate. Didn’t look up. But the shift in the room was immediate. Whatever this had started as—it wasn’t just about the baby anymore.

Tess paused, giving the moment space before she spoke again.

“So the third option…How do we feel about the possibility of an open relationship?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged.

Tommy looked at you. You looked at him. Then at Joel. Joel stared at the floor, his jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Tess leaned her elbows on her knees, voice calm but direct. “I’ll be honest—I rarely see that work in situations like this. But it’s an option. If you’re willing to set clear, honest boundaries—and actually respect them.”

Tommy let out a breathy, humorless laugh, running a hand down his face again. “Boundaries. We’d need real ones this time. Ones that actually get followed.” His voice was edged, not cruel, but firm. “Not just shit we say and then ignore the second someone gets all… worked up.”

You tried not to let the flush creep onto your face as you kept your eyes on Tess as she went on.

“Now, let’s talk about Sarah.”

Joel immediately stiffened, his eyes shooting up to look at the doctor. Tommy did too.

“She doesn’t need to know about any of this,” Joel said, voice sharp.

“Not right now,” Tommy agreed. He turned to his brother, “But eventually, she’s gonna ask questions. And if we’re talkin’ about raising a baby together too, we can’t just not think about how this looks to her.”

Tess nodded, writing something down. “And if you don’t figure out what you actually are to each other, she’s gonna pick up on that long before you’re ready to have the conversation.” She flicked her gaze between all of you. “Kids are perceptive. The more unsure you are, the more confusing it’s gonna be for her.”

“When the time comes,” Joel said, measured, “I’ll tell her.” He glanced at Tommy, then at you. “Not before. Not unless she starts askin’.”

Tess watched him closely. “And if she does?”

Joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Then I’ll explain it to her. In a way that makes sense.” His eyes flickered between you and Tommy again. “She don’t need to know more than what’s right for her age.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. “Alright.”

Tess closed her notebook. “Alright. It’s a start. But you’ve got work to do. This isn’t just about a baby anymore.” She looked directly at Tommy. “It’s about your marriage. About your relationships with each other.” Then her gaze flicked between you and Joel. “And whether or not you two can actually handle boundaries, or if this is just a slow crawl toward something blowing up in your faces.”

You swallowed. Joel’s hands clenched.

Tommy just sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The walk into the parking lot was a quiet one, with the buzzing of unsettled energy between the three of you. Once outside the door, you all seemed to turn to each other, waiting for someone to speak.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice soft. “Both of you. For coming to this. I know it was…” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Weird,” Joel offered, with a dry edge.

“Necessary,” Tommy muttered, crossing his arms.

You nodded, arms folding across your chest. “So…” you trailed off, unsure what came next. None of you were.

Tommy gave a short sigh and looked off toward the lot. “I’ll go grab the truck.” He didn’t wait for a response—just turned and walked, shoulders tight, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

You and Joel stood in the stillness he left behind.

He glanced at you, then away, rocking slightly on his heels. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say right now.”

You huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. Me neither.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, like something was caught just behind his teeth—but he didn’t speak.

And you didn’t reach for him, even though you wanted to. Even though your hand twitched like it might. To squeeze his, to graze his wrist, to pull him close and maybe even kiss him goodbye. But it was still too weird. Too soon.

So instead, when Tommy pulled up and the tires crunched on the pavement, you stepped forward and let your fingers brush lightly over Joel’s shoulder. Just for a second. Just enough to say something without having to speak.

The window on Tommy’s side rolled down, elbow braced on the edge. He was watching his brother with a resigned look in his eyes.

Joel met his eyes. They exchanged a short, silent nod. Nothing more.

You climbed into the passenger seat, heart thrumming. Joel stayed standing where you left him, hands in his pockets, watching as the truck pulled away.

And even though nothing had been said… it felt like something had shifted. Just enough to make it through the rest of the day.

For mid-October, the sun sure was baking you in the bleachers. But it was the good kind of heat—cozy, not oppressive. The air smelled like dust and hay and horses. Behind you, the fair buzzed with life—kids screaming on the roller coasters, bells ringing as prizes were won, music from the concert stage floating over the field like static.

The Austin Fall Festival was in full swing.

Tommy sat beside you on the sun-warmed metal bench, one hand deep in a bag of kettle corn, the other resting easy on your knee. Down in the arena below your seats, another bull rider went airborne, thrown like a ragdoll into the dirt. The crowd let out a collective wince.

“Damn,” Tommy said, watching the guy scramble to his feet. “That’s gonna bruise.”

You snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Bruise? That man’s spine just folded in half.”

Tommy grinned, leaning in. “Bet I could do better.”

You raised a brow. “You can’t even get outta bed without your back crackin’ like fireworks.”

He laughed, mouth full of popcorn, then pressed a quick kiss to your lips—warm and familiar. “True. But I’d still look good tryin’.”

You smiled as you sipped your soda. The air smelled like caramel and something fried—probably the funnel cake stand you passed earlier. You sat close enough to the arena that you could hear the thud of hooves, the pop of the announcer’s mic, the wave of cheers and groans rolling through the stands behind you. It felt electric.

Sarah was up soon. Her first barrel race. She’d been buzzing about it for weeks.

You leaned into Tommy’s side, and he brought his arm up to wrap around your shoulders, giving you an affectionate squeeze.

This was good. A sense of normalcy again.

Then, a familiar face caught your eye making his way up the bleachers. Joel had a bag of cotton candy in one hand and was weaving through the crowd with ease up the stairs. He reached your row and slid in beside you, a small smile already on his face.

“Just left Sarah with her trainer,” he said, a little out of breath. “She’s up in the next few.”

Then he leaned in to greet you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek meant to be just a casual familial ‘hello’. But still, his stubble scraped your skin just enough to leave a spark, and he smelled like horses and leather and that subtle cologne he always wore. It hit somewhere low in your stomach, but you didn’t let it show.

He greeted Tommy with a nod, and popped a puff of cotton candy into his mouth.

You made a face. “Ugh. How can you eat that stuff?”

Joel grinned around the sugar, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s what makes me so sweet.”

You laughed, shaking your head and taking another sip of your soda. Tommy reached down for more popcorn, his arm brushing against your back as he dropped his hand from your shoulder, and Joel leaned forward to watch the next event being announced.

You sat between them, shoulders brushing, the sun warming your back, the crowd rising around you.

For a moment, it almost felt like things could settle. Like the three of you could fit into this new normal—comfortable, easy, like it was supposed to be this way all along. At least you hoped.

The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, calling out Sarah’s name, and your heart gave a little skip.

“There she is,” Joel said, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.

You leaned, too, eyes scanning the gate. Sure enough, Sarah was there behind the posts on her horse, nerves painted all over her posture even though she tried to play it cool. Even from here, you could just make out the furrow in her brow—the same quiet, determined look she got from her dad.

“She’s gonna kill it,” Tommy said beside you, resting his hand high on your thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze, leaning into you as he said, “Ain’t no way she don’t win.”

You smiled, but it felt slightly delayed. Joel’s knee pressed against yours as he leaned close on your other side, eyes still locked on the arena.

“Hope she don’t cut that second barrel too close,” he muttered, mostly to himself, his voice low and rough. “She keeps doin’ that in practice. Gets excited and leans too early.”

“She’ll be fine,” you said, but you could hear the tension in your own voice. Joel’s hand had come to rest behind you on the bench, close to your lower back. Tommy’s fingers were still on your leg.

Sarah burst out of the gate, and the crowd roared. The three of you shot to your feet as her horse charged forward, hooves kicking up dust. She moved fast—tight, clean—rounding the first barrel like she’d done it a hundred times.

Joel was grinning ear to ear. “That’s my girl!”

His arm slid around your back, his other hand curled into a loose fist, pressed just beneath his mouth as if to contain the rush of emotion building in him. The hand at your back caught in the fabric of your blouse, fingers curling there, like he was tethering himself. Like he was bracing.

You tried to focus on Sarah, but all you could feel was the heat of his fingers, the way he clung to you, like your body was hyper aware of him.

You smiled, cheering, barely breathing, eyes fixed on her horse thundering toward the second turn. She hugged the barrel tight—too tight. A little wobble, a gasp from the crowd, but she corrected at the last second.

“She’s got it,” Tommy said beside you. His hand came to rest against the small of your back—right below where Joel’s hand was already bunched in your shirt. The two touches nearly met.

Neither of them moved.

Sarah charged toward the third barrel. Clean. Her final sprint down the home stretch brought the stands to their feet.

The three of you clapped, cheered, whooped, your heart racing, the electricity between the two men fizzing silently beside you. Tommy’s hand splayed wide across your backside. Joel barely moved, watching the timer screen flash across the display.

“That’s a good run,” he said, low and proud. His fingers loosened from your shirt, but he didn’t move his hand away.

“She’s gonna place,” Tommy agreed.

“She might win it,” you added, turning your head to look at them.

Both of them were already looking at you.

You smiled, flushed from the excitement—but something in the way they each looked at you made your skin feel hot for an entirely different reason.

Neither of them said anything, and for a second, the moment just… hung there. Their hands on you. The roar of the crowd fading into something muted.

Then the announcer called the next name, and the energy around you snapped back into motion.

Joel pulled his arm back to grab the cotton candy. Tommy slid his hand away like nothing had happened.

But your body remembered. And so did theirs.

After catching up with Sarah after her event, she was still buzzing with adrenaline. Practically bouncing.

“Did you see how fast he took that last curve?!” she gasped, practically skipping between you and Joel. “I was freaking out when the second barrel started to tip—did you see that?! Were you guys watching?!”

Joel was all pride and smiles as he walked beside her, teasing and nodding along, soaking in every word. She rambled on about her trainer’s horses, how they’d competed at Rodeo Austin for real, how she couldn’t wait to do it again. Eventually, she managed to talk the three of you into a round at the BB gun booth.

All four of you took a stance—Sarah coached dramatically, and you, predictably, failed miserably your first try. Joel and Tommy moved to the next round, and you watched from the side with Sarah, both of you hollering in support.

“Hit it! Hit it!” Sarah screeched at her dad. You let out a whoop as Tommy nailed the bullseye again and again.

When the game runner handed him a giant teddy bear, Tommy swung it into your arms with a triumphant grin before kissing you full on the mouth, unbothered by the crowd.

You laughed against his lips, hugging the bear tight, bouncing a little despite yourself.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah groaned, tugging at his arm until he pulled back from the kiss, grinning at her wide-eyed look. “Win me one too! Please?”

Tommy’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Joel, clearly amused that he was the one winning today. Joel rolled his eyes, but you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long as he glanced at your oversized teddy hitched on your hip.

“Go on, then,” Joel said, nodding toward the booth. “I’m gonna grab another beer.”

“I’ll join you,” you added quickly, glancing toward Tommy. But Sarah was already dragging him away, his hands back on the BB gun, ready for round two.

You and Joel peeled off quietly, heading toward the food and drink stands.

“Sarah was beggin’ for a funnel cake earlier,” Joel said, hands in his pockets. “Okay if we stop by one of the stands?”

“Yeah, ’course,” you murmured, falling into step beside him.

The walk was quiet—not awkward, exactly, but the air between you had thickened. Every step felt like it carried the weight of something unsaid.

You hadn’t talked much since the therapy session. Not really. Not about anything that mattered. The three of you had agreed to give it space—to breathe, to not immediately push into definitions or rules or boundaries.

But space didn’t feel like clarity. It felt like walking on eggshells. Like waiting for someone else to speak first, only no one ever did.

You weren’t sure what this was supposed to look like now. The idea of exploring an open relationship had been thrown out into the room like a life raft, but no one had said if they were actually ready to grab onto it. Not Joel. Not Tommy. Not even you.

You made it all the way to the counter before either of you spoke again.

“Make that two funnel cakes, please,” you said, just as Joel ordered Sarah’s.

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” you laughed, lifting a shoulder. “Can’t help the cravings.” You reached for your wallet. “I’ll get Sarah’s too.”

Joel stopped you, his hand catching your wrist as you moved to your back pocket.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, already pulling out cash.

Then, quieter—low enough that the vendor wouldn’t hear, but just loud enough for you—he added, “Guess that sweet tooth runs in the genes.”

Your heart stumbled a beat. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t smirk, didn’t wink, but you could swear there was a twinkle in his eye when he turned back to you as you both stepped aside to wait for your order.

And just like that, the silence settled back in—only now it wasn’t neutral. It was charged.

When the funnel cakes came, you didn’t hesitate—tearing off a bite, still warm and soft, powdered sugar sticking to your lips.

You sighed in delight. “Oh my God.”

Joel was watching you when you looked up. That slight smirk on his face.

“What?” you asked, mouth full.

“You got a little somethin’,” he said, gesturing vaguely near his own mouth.

You licked your lips automatically, tongue sweeping the corner.

“Nope,” he murmured, chuckling. “Still there.”

Before you could try again, his hand reached out. Fingers warm and rough as they curled under your chin. His thumb dragged gently across your upper lip, brushing away the sugar with a slow swipe.

You froze—your breath caught somewhere in your throat as your eyes searched his face. The lights from the festival sparkled in his eyes, and behind him the sky had deepened into a wash of orange and violet.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he moved.

His lips brushed yours—soft, hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if this counted as crossing a line, or if the line had disappeared altogether. But he didn’t pull back right away. Instead, he paused there, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your mouth, and for a second neither of you moved.

You stood still in that sliver of space where touch becomes choice, where you could pretend it hadn’t happened yet. But then his mouth pressed into yours fully, slowly, like he was tasting something he already knew. It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate, drawn out and gentle.

His hand stayed at your chin, his thumb pinching just barely as if to steady you, and your lips parted instinctively beneath his. You felt the sigh in his chest more than you heard it, like something deep inside him had let go the second your mouths met.

Your hands stayed at your sides, fist clenched around the paper tray still holding your funnel cake, the other hugging the teddy bear to your side, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. It wasn’t a kiss born from adrenaline or jealousy—it wasn’t the kind of kiss that begged for permission. It simply was.

When he pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. It was slow, like he didn’t really want to stop, but knew he had to. His lips hovered a moment longer—just close enough that you could still feel the heat of him—and then he stepped back half a breath. You didn’t dare move. Couldn’t. You stood there staring at him, your lungs burning like you’d been holding your breath the entire time. Joel’s eyes dropped to your mouth again, and then, with a subtle flick of his tongue, he licked the last trace of powdered sugar from his bottom lip. The gesture was unthinking, automatic, but the sheer sight of it landed somewhere low and electric in your stomach, like a match being struck.

And then the world came rushing back in.

The noise of the fairgrounds—the buzz of voices, the bark of game operators, the soft whir of rides—returned all at once, like someone had turned the volume back up. You swallowed hard and looked away, trying to force air into your lungs, trying to stop the trembling in your fingers. Joel didn’t say anything. He just nodded once, almost to himself, and turned to start walking back toward the game booth. You followed beside him, the heat still high in your cheeks, your steps too careful, like if you moved too fast you might lose your balance.

You glanced up at him once, just to see if he was as composed as he acted, but the faint pink flush at the tips of his ears gave him away.

“Dad!”

Sarah’s voice snapped your head up. She was running toward you, a giant stuffed horse clutched in her arms, nearly half her size. She was beaming. “Can I go find Claire and Maddie again? They’re headed to the ferris wheel!”

Joel handed her the funnel cake without hesitation, “Yeah, go on, just stay where we can see you.”

“Thanks!” she chirped, already spinning away with her prize in tow, the funnel cake tipping dangerously as she ran off.

But your eyes weren’t on her.

They were on Tommy, just catching up to you—beer in one hand, the other stuffed in his front pocket, a smile on his face as he watched her go. When his eyes found yours, they flicked to Joel beside you, and something in his expression changed. Not angry, not suspicious… but aware. Like he was conscious of some shift between the two of you.

You tried to will the pink from your cheeks, steady the pulse in your throat as you stepped toward him and offered your funnel cake like nothing had happened.

“That kid had me goin’ three more rounds to get her that prize,” Tommy chuckled, clearly trying to break whatever tension had settled back between the three of you as he tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth.

Joel let out a quiet laugh, eyes following in the direction Sarah had run off. “Better go catch up with her before I lose ’er.”

Tommy nodded, then glanced at you. “Think we’ll call it a night after this. She’ll be wired for another hour and then crash hard.”

You smiled, grateful for the exit.

As Joel nodded and began to step away, Tommy called after him casually, “Hey—when you drop her off, mind swingin’ by the house? Think I left that box of tools in your truck bed last week.”

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure.” his eyes landed on you for the briefest moment, “See ya in a bit then,”

Tommy gave him a two-finger wave, then turned his attention back to you, the last bite of funnel cake pinched between his fingers, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walked out of the fair.

The drive home wasn’t long, but it felt like it stretched forever.

Tommy’s hand had been on your thigh from the moment he slid into the driver’s seat—steady at first, but now, it was creeping higher with every turn he made. His fingers flexed just at the top of your leg, the pad of his thumb brushing over your jeans in slow, distracting strokes.

“Tommy,” you said, a quiet breath more than a word.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, too casual for the way his fingers were moving now.

“You’re bein’ handsy.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “Yeah, well. You’re lettin’ me.”

This wasn’t like him.

Yes, Tommy was affectionate—always had been. Touching your lower back as you passed through a crowd, brushing his lips over your shoulder while you stood at the sink, nudging your knee under the table just to remind you he was there.

But his gestures had never been… naughty.

Never anything that lit a fuse under your skin like the way his hand was gripping your thigh now. Never anything that made your breath stutter in your chest just from the press of his fingers curling possessively around your skin.

He was usually more careful with you. Gentle.

Tommy was the kind of man who waited until you were both tucked under the covers, warm and safe, soft and sleepy, before climbing over you with a smile and a kiss to your neck. The kind of man who made you smile first, made sure the world had quieted before he pulled you under.

You turned your head, looking at him from the passenger seat. He was focused on the road, jaw tight, eyes hard on the curve of the pavement as he turned into the neighborhood. But there was a spark there, flashing hot and alive beneath his usual easy exterior.

Your gaze slid down as he shifted in his seat, and your eyes caught on the undeniable shape in his jeans.

Heat bloomed in your face. Your chest. Lower.

The tight bulge in his lap pulsed like a secret between you, and it made your thighs press together involuntarily. But it wasn’t just the fact that he was aroused—it was that he wasn’t hiding it. That he was feeling you up in the front seat of the truck, on your quiet neighborhood street, away from the safety of the four walls of your bedroom.

Tommy, who usually waited until the house was dark and the doors were locked. Who kissed you slowly, slid his hands under your shirt and whispered “you okay?” even after years of being together.

He just slid his hand between your legs and gripped your inner thigh like he’d been thinking about it all night.

It sent heat rolling through you, sharp and dizzying. Not just from the touch, but from the awareness of how out of place it was. How unlike him it was to let go like this, to need like this, especially outside the safety of home.

And God help you—you liked it.

You pressed your legs together, your breath catching in your throat, trying to remember how to sit still while every nerve in your body screamed at you to climb into his lap and ride him right there in the middle of the road.

He felt your squirming as he pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching softly over gravel. The second the truck shifted into park and the headlights clicked off, the cab was swallowed in quiet shadow, only the streetlamp catching the edge of his jaw.

He turned toward you, that smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth—the kind that made your stomach flip. His hand slid from your thigh to the top of your seat, arm stretched across the backrest, his gaze drinking you in from the other side of the bench.

“C’mere,” he said, low and smooth, nodding for you to slide over.

You bit your lip, heart thudding, and obeyed without a word—scooting across the cracked leather until your thigh brushed his.

His hand dropped from the headrest to cradle the back of your neck, warm and firm. The other left the steering wheel, finding your cheek, fingers spreading across your jaw like he needed to anchor you in place.

And then he kissed you.

Not the sweet, half-thought kisses he’d given you throughout the day. Not careful, not playful. This was deep. Needy. Starving. Like he’d been holding it back for too long and didn’t care anymore if it showed.

His mouth slanted over yours again and again, open and hot, tongue sweeping past your lips like it belonged there. The soft sounds he made—those low, growling hums that rumbled in his throat—sent heat surging through your core.

Your breath stuttered as his grip on your neck tightened, his other hand trailing slowly down from your face to trace along your body until it was back at your denim clad thighs. He gripped hard, his palm sliding up along the seam of your jeans, squeezing just enough to make you shift in your seat.

When he tugged gently at the base of your hair, just at the nape, a moan slipped from your throat before you could catch it.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

He huffed a breath against your skin, already moving to your neck, kissing a line down the column of your throat. His mouth was open, his tongue slow, dragging heat behind every press of his lips, and then—teeth. A soft bite that made your body jolt.

“Wanted to get my hands on you all day,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled against your skin. “Lookin’ so pretty,”

You whimpered, nails curling into the fabric of his shirt as he worked lower, pushing your neckline aside with one hand just to mouth at the new skin he found there.

You were panting now, flushed all over, your thighs pressing together as he kissed, bit, sucked like he was trying to brand you.

“Tommy,” you breathed, completely undone, and when he looked back up at you—lips swollen, eyes dark—you barely recognized the hunger in his face.

“Get your ass inside,” he rasped. “Now.”

You climbed out the passenger door, giddy like a teenager all over again, your skin still tingling from his hands and mouth and voice. As you made your way up the walk, Tommy’s hand came down in a playful smack against your rear, making you squeal and laugh over your shoulder at him.

He didn’t smile—not fully. His eyes were too dark, too focused. But the edge of his mouth twitched like he was barely holding himself together.

By the time you reached the door, his chest was already at your back, his arms snaking around you, mouth grazing your ear. “You drive me crazy, baby… you know that?” he murmured, voice low and breath hot.

You fumbled the keys, giggling as he pressed closer. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to himself.”

“And you didn’t stop me,” he whispered, nuzzling your jaw. “Didn’t want to, did you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

The door clicked open and the second you were inside, his hands were on you again—spinning you around, backing you up against the wall just inside the entry. His mouth crashed into yours, deeper this time, slower but no less desperate. His hands slid up your sides, over your waist, thumbs hooking into your belt loops to keep you flush against him.

He kissed you like he hadn’t touched you in weeks. Like he’d been starving for you.

By the time you pulled apart for air, you were both breathless and a little dizzy.

“Upstairs,” he murmured, voice ragged, his hands slipping down to grab yours, guiding you behind him.

At the top, he didn’t even pause—just pulled you straight into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind you with one solid thud. And then his hands were back on your hips, his mouth on your throat, and whatever this was—it wasn’t slowing down anytime soon.

Your back hit the bedroom wall with a soft thump, and Tommy barely gave you time to catch your breath before his mouth was on you again, pressing into the curve of your neck, open and hot, his hands splayed across your hips like he couldn’t keep his hands still.

You gasped as he nipped at the base of your throat, your hands tangling in his shirt, gripping the fabric tight. He groaned softly against your skin, one hand sliding up under your top, rough fingers skimming over your ribs like he needed to feel all of you.

“Tommy—” you breathed, but it came out more like a sigh.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling hard, eyes dark and locked onto yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head before the words even formed. “Don’t.”

That was all he needed.

He tugged your shirt up, slow but sure, breaking contact just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His eyes dropped, sweeping over your bare skin like it physically pained him to look away. One of his hands slid behind you and unclasped your bra in a smooth motion, and let it slide from your shoulders. His hands were reverent, warm and wide as they came up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the groan that left him was raw, almost pained.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, like a thought spoken out loud.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his stomach and chest. He helped you the rest of the way, yanking it over his head and tossing it behind him. His mouth was back on you before you could get a good look, lips trailing heat down your collarbone, your sternum, the swell of your breast. He kissed your flesh until you were arching into him, fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands moved to the button of your jeans next, and you gasped when he popped it open and dragged the zipper down, his knuckles grazing the skin just below your belly. You toed off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the carpet barely registering over the pounding in your ears. His hands slid to your waist, and he dropped to his knees, pulling your jeans down inch by inch, kissing the skin he uncovered like it was a map he already knew by heart.

By the time he got your jeans off, his mouth never left your skin, kissing along your hip bone, his breath hot and shaky. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and worshipful—until they weren’t. Until they were gripping.

His fingers dug into your flesh, pulling you closer as he moved up to kiss your stomach, chest, throat—claiming every inch like it was his and his alone. You were breathless by the time he kissed you again, and when he pushed you back onto the bed, you went willingly, your back sinking into the sheets, arms stretching above your head.

He hovered over you, eyes tracing every inch of your face. And then something flickered there. Something sharp.

“You let him touch you like this?” he asked, voice low but tight, as his hand moved between your legs, cupping you over your panties. The lace was already damp beneath his fingers, your arousal bleeding through the fabric. He dragged a finger along the center, slow and deliberate, and you felt the heat bloom deeper as the pressure built.

Your breath caught. “Tommy—”

“Just tell me,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your throat. “Did he touch you like this?” He pressed the heel of his palm in, slow but firm, dragging a moan from your lips even as your brows pulled together.

“Stop,” you breathed, trying to push up on your elbows. “It doesn’t matter.”

But he shook his head, his hand sliding your underwear down your thighs, slow and rough all at once. “It does to me.”

He kissed you again—deeper this time, almost bruising until his hands guided you to roll over, his touch less gentle now, more insistent. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, chest pressed into the bed, your face turned toward the pillows. You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt him—hot and hard, the blunt weight of his cock pressing against you.

You arched back into it instinctively, needing him to forget everything else, to just feel this—feel you.

“You’re mine,” he breathed, pushing into you with one steady thrust that made you gasp, your fingers curling into the comforter. “Always been mine.”

You moaned, eyes shutting tightly as he moved inside you—rougher now, his rhythm firm, controlled, but not cruel. Just desperate. Like he had something to prove.

Every sound that left him was strained, thick with emotion—his hands spreading across your hips, his thumb trailing up your spine like he needed to feel every piece of you to believe this was real.

The sound of your moans and Tommy’s grunts filled the air, the sheets rubbing against your skin beneath you, it was almost loud enough to drown out the front door opening.

But then you heard his voice.

“Tommy?”

Your eyes flew open, breath catching in your throat. That was Joel’s voice coming from downstairs. Your mind scrambled to remember why the hell he was here. And then you remembered Tommy’s request. Some stupid tool box he needed.

Tommy stilled for half a second—just long enough for your heart to lurch—before he started moving again, slower this time, deeper. Like he was doubling down.

You grunted, biting your lip to swallow the moan that threatened to give you away. Your hand scrambled for the edge of the sheets, something to grip, something to hold you to earth.

Your blood ran hot and cold all at once.

Joel’s voice came again—closer. “You home?”

“We’re up here,” Tommy called back, voice completely steady.

No.

Your entire body tensed under him, your head whipping to the side, eyes locked on the closed bedroom door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, panicked, but he only dropped more of his weight onto you, one hand pressing flat between your shoulder blades, the other tightening around your hip. You were locked in place beneath him, your breath coming fast.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Tommy cooed, his voice sweet but mocking as his hips kept moving, slow and steady and deep. “Ain’t gonna stop now.”

There was a creak on the stairs.

Your heart slammed into your throat.

“Tommy,” you hissed again, but it came out half-broken, your voice catching in your chest.

And then—

The door swung open.

“Jesus—” Joel flinched hard, turning away with a grunt and lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “What the hell, man!?”

Tommy didn’t stop.

His grip on you tightened, his thrusts slowing just a hair—but only to lean down, breath hot against your ear as he rasped, “That what you wanted, huh? Him seein’ you like this?”

You whimpered, caught between mortification and a heat that made your knees weak.

“Tommy—please—” you gasped, struggling half-heartedly beneath him.

But he was gone.

“Think you can just fuck my wife whenever you want?” Tommy growled, looking over at Joel now, chest heaving, voice thick with rage and something else—something darker. “Think you do it better?”

Joel turned slightly, eyes caught somewhere between fury and disbelief. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind—”

“Have I?” Tommy snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he fucked into you harder now, like he was trying to prove something with every movement. “’Cause she’s drippin’ all over my cock right now. You seein’ this?”

You let out a broken sound, face buried in the mattress. You wanted to crawl out of your skin—and yet the way Tommy was holding you, the filthy things coming out of his mouth, the heat between the three of you…

It was too much.

Joel’s mouth opened like he was about to say something else—but he didn’t.

He stared.

He stayed.

And your heart nearly exploded as Tommy chuckled low in his throat, thrusting deep and slow again like he wanted Joel to see it.

“That’s right,” Tommy said, never looking away. “Go on. Watch. See what it looks like when a man takes care of what’s his.”

“Call this takin’ care?” Joel said, voice low, sharp with something mean and taunting beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked up, wide, and found his—and the heat there made your breath catch.

“Tell me, little brother,” Joel drawled, “you ever felt her come all over that dick of yours?”

Tommy’s movements faltered. Just for a second.

You felt it—his grip loosening slightly on your hips, his breath catching.

Your heart was in your throat, beating so hard it hurt.

Joel stepped forward, slow, measured. His eyes dragged over your body—not like it was new to him, but like he knew every inch of it already. Like he could trace it blind, by memory alone.

“Didn’t think so,” he murmured.

Then his gaze locked with yours.

“Should we show him, sweetheart?” he asked, and your stomach dropped clean through the mattress. “Show him what he’s been missin’?”

Your mouth parted, no sound coming out.

Joel tilted his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Think my pissy little brother needs some pointers?”

Tommy let out a rough breath behind you, a mix between a growl and a scoff, his hand sliding up your spine possessively.

“She’s my goddamn wife,” he snapped, but his voice wasn’t steady anymore.

Joel’s gaze flickered up, darkening, “Then fuckin’ act like it.”

The silence was deafening—so thick you could hear your own pulse in your ears.

Tommy’s hands flexed on your hips again. And then he thrust—hard. Deep. A sound ripped out of you that wasn’t quiet at all.

And Joel’s expression changed. Softer. Almost smug. Almost… proud.

“She sure makes the prettiest sounds, don’t she?” he said, and he approached the bed. Your skin felt like it was on fire as Tommy stilled completely, but he was still hard inside you to your surprise.

“Turn her over,” Joel said steadily.

Tommy’s head snapped toward him. “Get the hell out.”

“You invited me in here, little brother.” Joel’s tone was exasperatingly calm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Both men. In the room with you while you were naked and taking your husband’s cock.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, wild and uneven, like it was trying to warn you. Or maybe it was just overwhelmed.

You didn’t know where to look. Joel, standing there with that infuriating calm like this was just another Tuesday. Tommy, still inside you, bristling with fury, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as he tried to process what was happening.

And you—trapped in the middle, hips pinned beneath the man you married, body still burning for the one you hadn’t stopped thinking about since that first night.

You should’ve felt humiliated. You did. But your skin still tingled everywhere Joel’s eyes touched.

Tommy was quick to snap at his brother, “And now I want you out.”

Joel didn’t flinch. “And what do you want, sweetheart?” he asked, gaze cutting to you, his head tilted slightly as his eyes took in the flushed features of your face.

You exhaled slowly, your lungs feeling like they’d deflated. Your mouth was dry, but you licked your lips anyway, then turned your face to look back at Tommy, biting down gently on the inside of your cheek.

Tommy’s face twisted in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Just…” you breathed, heart pounding in your throat, “let’s just see. It could be fun.” You swallowed. “We haven’t made any rules yet.”

Tommy looked between the two of you—his jaw tight, his eyes wide, stunned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before he finally pulled out of you, breath ragged. “Alright. Turn over.”

You moved quickly, your skin flushed and glowing, body still trembling as you flipped onto your back. The sheets were warm under you, your thighs still slick, still open.

Behind you, you heard the unmistakable rustle of clothes—the metal clink of a belt, the soft drag of a zipper—and then Joel was there.

The heat of him hit you first. He was so warm, and as he stepped to the side of the bed, the mattress dipped slightly with his weight.

“This is so fuckin’ weird,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head as he moved to kneel between your legs again.

You sat up a little, cupping his face, dragging your hand down the center of his chest, his stomach. “I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. “If you don’t want this, we stop. Say the word.”

Tommy stared down at you for a long second. His lips pressed together, pulled inward like he was thinking too hard. His eyes flicked to Joel, then back to you.

He sighed, jaw clenching. “Just this once. And if it doesn’t work—”

“Never again,” you finished softly, nodding.

Only then did you glance up at Joel.

He nodded once, slow and assured, his hand already moving to the bulge in his briefs. Your eyes followed—broad chest, tan skin, strong forearms—and you couldn’t help yourself. You leaned back, just slightly, hand drifting up to cup him through the fabric. Joel exhaled, low and rough, eyes fluttering shut as your palm rubbed against him.

“Show him,” you said softly.

His eyes opened again, sharper now, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Not sure he deserves it after all that attitude,” Joel muttered, voice teasing but laced with heat.

“Joel—” you warned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes—but his voice was dark now, thicker. “But then it’s my turn.”

You watched him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down with one slow motion that revealed all of him—hard, heavy, already flushed. Your breath caught at the sight, heat flooding through you like a second pulse.

He fisted himself gently, watching you, waiting.

Above you, Tommy shifted. You turned to look at him and his mouth was drawn tight, eyes hard with conflict. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he moved closer, settling between your legs again, hands sliding up your thighs.

You stared up at him, unsure if he’d really go through with it. But then he lined himself up, his cock dragging through your folds, and you gasped at the contact.

He sighed low, almost like relief, as he sank into you with one long, slow push. The weight of him settling into your hips, the feeling of him filling you again—it made your head fall back, your mouth falling open.

The tension in the room turned molten.

Tommy’s hands slid to your thighs, gripping tight like he needed something to hold on to. His eyes flicked up to Joel, who was still settled at your side, close enough now that you could feel his presence, warm and electric.

You barely registered Joel moving until you felt his hand close around your wrist. Firm. Certain. He guided your hand to his cock—thick and hot and heavy—and curled your fingers around him like he was placing something sacred into your palm.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t hesitate.

You wrapped your lips around the head, soft and swollen and already leaking, and sucked—slow, reverent, like you’d been dreaming of this since the last time. And you had been.

Joel hissed through his teeth, his hand threading through your hair as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled him deeper. “Good girl,” he muttered. Your entire body clenched at the praise.

Tommy groaned above you, building up his thrusts, erratic and messy as you pulsed around him.

“Slow down,” Joel said, calm, instructive. “Long, even strokes. Deep.”

Tommy cursed under his breath but obeyed, grinding into you with a slower, heavier rhythm that made your whole body arch forward, your mouth taking Joel deeper.

“Good,” Joel murmured. “Now thumb her clit.”

You whimpered around his cock, the sound thick and broken. Tommy’s thumb slid over your swollen clit in soft, careful circles, and your whole body clenched around him.

“She’s grippin’ the hell outta me,” Tommy breathed. “Fuck.”

Joel’s voice was right above you now, rough but steady. “Spit on it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Spit on her clit. She likes it messier.”

You moaned, mouth full of Joel, your thighs twitching.

Tommy grunted again, but when you felt the warm wet hit of spit on your skin, you moaned loudly, hips bucking. His thumb slid through the slickness building there, the glide smoother, filthier, perfect.

“That’s it,” Joel growled. “Keep her right there. Thumb her just like that. Don’t stop. Her throat is squeezin’ me so good when you do that.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your body was clenching up, something coiling in your spine and hips as he kept up the pace. Joel’s cock dragged across your tongue, thick and pulsing, while Tommy thrust into you—slower now, more precise, but still not quite enough.

You loved Tommy’s rhythm—the care in it, the way he was doing everything to get you there, the way he wanted to get you there. But your orgasm wasn’t building the same way. It was harder to catch, harder to ride. Joel’s cock had a weight, a stretch that reached something deeper in you—something that made your body respond instantly. With Tommy, it took more. He was only slightly smaller, narrower, not lacking, just… different.

Still good. Still yours. But different.

“She’s close,” Joel said, voice ragged now, eyes locked on your face. “I can feel it.”

Tommy groaned, cock twitching inside you as you clenched down hard. “Jesus, she’s—fuck, she’s so tight.”

“You wanna come for Tommy, sweet girl?” Joel asked, still beside you on bed, one hand fisted in your hair where it spilled across the bedspread, thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his—and in the same breath, Joel guided his cock back between your lips, sliding into your mouth with a slow, deliberate push that made your throat stretch and burn in the best way.

You gagged softly, the movement rippling through your body. Tommy moaned at the sudden convulsion of your walls around him, his one hand gripping your hip so hard it would leave bruises. The other kept circling your clit with his thumb, your eyes warring between rolling back and trying to focus on Joel.

“Fuck—she just—goddamn,” Tommy breathed, his hips faltering for half a second before finding that rhythm again. Deep, slow strokes that had your whole body arching beneath him.

Joel pulled back with a wet pop, a string of spit and precum connecting your lips to the flushed tip of his cock. You were gasping for breath, whimpering and moaning as he leaned down close, hovering just over your face, thumb wiping at your mouth like it was his.

You were hovering now, your spine tingling with the build up. So close. But not there yet. Your body wanted more.

And Joel knew.

Of course he knew.

“Tommy’s got you so full, huh?” Joel murmured, voice like gravel soaked in honey in your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Still not enough to make you come, greedy girl?”

His breath brushed the shell of your ear, and your whole body twitched.

You couldn’t answer—not with words. But your eyes found his, wide and pleading, glassy with need. You looked up at him from where your head rested on the sheets, Joel crouched beside you now, shadowing over your face like he could read everything you couldn’t say aloud.

And he could. He always could.

Your chest rose with a broken breath as your mouth parted—no sound, just air. One of his hands stayed tangled in your hair, grounding you. The other drifted down, palm dragging with reverence over your chest, and when it reached your breast, his touch went still.

He watched you as if testing the waters. The second your back arched into his palm, just a little, the faintest tremble of pleading… he smirked.

“There she is,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your nipple slowly and deliberately before twisting and palming, kneading your flesh. Your thighs jerked and your eyes fluttered closed, breath stalling in your throat.

Joel leaned in, voice like silk soaked in heat.

“Gonna have to beg him for it,” he murmured, this time loud enough for his brother to hear, dragging his thumb over you again as your back arched once more. “Go on. Show him how sweet you sound when you’re right at the edge.”

He kissed your temple, lips warm and just barely there before sitting up again.

“Show him what you gave me.”

Your breath was a broken thing, chest heaving, your legs locked around Tommy’s waist as his cock filled you over and over again, his thumb grinding against your clit with every thrust. You could barely speak—but you tried.

“Please,” you whispered, blinking up at Tommy. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes were wide, blown out, sweat dripping from his brow, “Fuck,” he muttered. “Say it again.”

“Please, Tommy,” you gasped, fingers gripping his arms. “Please let me come—need it—need it so bad.”

Joel’s hand moved from your hair to stroke slowly over his cock at the edge of the bed, gaze flicking between your face and Tommy’s. “There it is,” he murmured. “You hear that? That’s yours, little brother. Make her fuckin’ come on your cock.”

Tommy’s rhythm picked up, driving into you with slow, hard strokes that hit deep, his thumb never stopping the delicious circles over your clit just like Joel had told him.

Your head fell back. Your thighs shook. Your whole body started to come apart.

As your jaw fell open, Joel took your mouth again—his cock thick and slick as it pressed past your lips, filling your mouth with one steady thrust. You welcomed it greedily, your moan muffled and broken, your tongue flattening beneath the weight of him.

Your back arched off the bed, body seizing with pleasure as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave—white-hot, all-consuming. Joel’s hand was back in your hair, holding you down, guiding your mouth as your throat fluttered around him, his cock pressing deeper with every pulse. The other squeezed and twisted your breast as you rode your high.

Tommy groaned loudly above you, his voice rough, desperate, like he’d just been torn open.

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, and his hips jerked once, twice—then stilled.

You felt it. The heat of him spilling into you, thick and heavy, your cunt already so wet and wrecked it only made you twitch harder around him. His breath stuttered out in harsh bursts, body shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside you.

“That’s it,” Joel growled. “That’s a good girl, baby.”

He fucked your mouth with slow, controlled strokes—gentle now, reverent—before finally pulling out, letting you fall back against the bed with a gasp, your chest heaving as your climax still rippled through your body.

Your vision blurred at the edges, nerves lit up like static. You barely felt Tommy at first—his hands adjusting on your hips, his breathing shaky.

Then, after a long, weighted pause, Tommy slowly eased back, slipping out of you with a wet drag that made your entire body jolt. You gasped softly at the loss, walls still fluttering from your orgasm, sensitive and aching.

The room went quiet again, thick and buzzing under the surface. You could hear Tommy’s breathing above you, could feel the shift in his body as he sat back on his heels, one hand sliding down your thigh as if to steady himself. He moved slowly to sit against the headboard, breathing heavily.

Your pulse thrummed at your neck, loud in your ears. You turned your head toward him, your skin flushed, lips swollen, heart racing. Tommy’s eyes found yours—dark, uncertain, something different behind them. Not anger or sadness, but something new and raw.

“Tommy,” you whispered, voice low, hoarse. You swallowed. “Can he…?”

You hesitated, heat prickling across your cheeks. You weren’t even sure what words you were looking for. You just knew what you needed.

“Can Joel… please?”

Tommy’s eyes scanned your face, then dropped to where your thighs were still parted, to the slick between them, to the tremble in your breath. He took a slow inhale, like he was weighing the cost of the question. Then he nodded. “Go on then. Show me what’s worth all this trouble.” You could swear there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a faint crinkle at the edge of his eyes. Not quite a smile. Maybe a dare.

Joel was already moving.

His hands found your body—confident, warm, rough as ever—as he pulled you up onto your knees and flushed your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you easily, like they belonged there. Like he knew this body like the back of his hand.

You inhaled sharply at the feel of him behind you—solid muscle, the heavy press of his cock nudging against your lower back. He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. His voice was low, rich, and dripping with something that made your skin tighten.

“Hope you’re payin’ attention, little brother,” Joel murmured, his grip tightening on your waist. “Gonna show you just how sweet she sounds when she gets what she needs.”

You watched Tommy’s jaw clench, and you muttered a short warning to Joel, “Stop,”

Joel ignored you and his hand slipped down between your legs, fingers gliding through the mess Tommy left behind, gathering it in his fingers and spreading it through your puffy center, making your thighs shake.

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Still so wet.”

He let his fingers trail back up to your hip, palm splaying across your stomach as he held you there—against him, for him, like he was staking his claim right in front of Tommy.

Then he shifted. You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, thick and already slick from your mouth. Your breath caught.

“Hold on to me,” Joel murmured. His other hand slid up, cupping one of your breasts, his mouth brushing just behind your ear as your arms held tightly to his splayed over your torso.

And then he pushed in—slow, deep, deliberate.

Your body seized the moment he started to push in. The stretch was immediate—thicker, deeper, unforgiving. Your legs trembled, a broken moan slipping from your throat before you could stop it. It felt like your body forgot how to breathe, how to think—every nerve lit up as he filled you, inch by inch, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

Pressure bloomed deep in your core, sharp and aching, and still he kept going, his cock dragging against every hypersensitive spot until your thighs were shaking, your nails biting into his arm.

You gasped—"Joel!" sharp and high—and your head fell back against his shoulder like you couldn’t hold it up anymore. Your mouth parted, but no words came out. Just sound. Just a helpless, wrecked whimper that made Joel groan behind you.

Joel gritted his teeth, voice strained through a groan. “Fuck. Always so tight for me, baby. Takin’ me so good. Feels like he barely even touched you."

“Fuck off,” Tommy snapped from somewhere below you, voice rough, and you didn’t need to look to know he was watching—his breath hitched, uneven.

Joel noticed, too.

“My little brother’s gettin’ all worked up again,” he rasped, his cock sliding deeper, arms tightening around you. “Look at him, baby. Watchin’ you take my cock like this.”

You lifted your head just enough to find Tommy’s face—jaw locked, hand slowly fisting his already hardening cock as he sat back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

Joel’s hand slid back between your legs, fingers circling your clit with unrelenting precision as he fucked you slow and deep.

“Talk to her, Tommy,” Joel said roughly.

Tommy shook his head, jaw clenched. “I—I don’t—”

“C’mon,” Joel grunted, thrusting into you harder, making you cry out. “You don’t want me talkin’ all this shit? Huh? Even if it makes her this wet—” his fingers slid lower, gathering slick, “—thinkin’ of us fightin’ over this sweet, perfect pussy?”

He fucked up into you hard as he growled, and it made you gasp in pleasure.

“Then talk, dammit.”

Tommy’s breath stuttered. You looked at him—desperate and open, mouth parted. You watched his throat bob as he tried to swallow whatever pride or hesitation was left.

Then, finally, his voice came low, rough, uncertain.

“You like this, baby?” he rasped, the words strange in his mouth but soaked in truth as he leaned forward, looking up at you. “Like me watchin’ while he fucks you?”

You moaned, the sound unholy and obscene as your body twitched. You tried to nod while Joel’s cock dragged deep again, slow and relentless, the stretch still too much, still perfect.

“Oh, she fuckin’ loves it,” Joel growled in your ear. His palm slid up your chest, fingers curling over the other breast as he kept your back flush to him. “That look on her face? All fucked-out and needy.”

Tommy let out a shuddering breath. His eyes never left yours.

“Look at you,” he said, a little bolder now. “You’re so pretty like this. Letting us ruin you.”

Your breath hitched. Your thighs were shaking again, a whimper escaping as Joel’s fingers found your clit once more, slick and swollen. He rubbed you just right—tight, insistent circles that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel grunted. “You close again, baby? I can feel it. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

Tommy leaned forward, looking up at you as he reached for your trembling legs, rubbing your skin and kneading it in his hands as his cock twitched in his hand, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for us. Show us how much you love bein’ ours.”

That did it.

Your body clenched hard, a cry ripping from your throat as the orgasm slammed into you—fierce, fast, and overwhelming. You trembled violently, hips jerking, mouth open but wordless as you came again, harder this time, unraveling between them.

You were still shaking when your body started to shift—Joel's cock still buried deep, grinding against your overstimulated walls with every slow, hungry thrust. You reached forward, chest dropping toward the bed, bracing yourself on your hands as you whimpered through the aftershocks.

But you weren’t done. Not even close.

“Tommy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and half-broken. “Let me—please, let me touch you. Wanna make you come again.”

You reached for him blindly, your hand finding his thigh as he knelt close, cock hard again in his grip.

He looked stunned, blinking at you like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, and he looked up at Joel, “How the hell are you still goin’ after that? The way she gripped me when--”

Joel gave a low, breathless laugh behind you, his thrusts never faltering. “Not my first time, remember?”

He leaned forward over your back, his voice rough and possessive in your ear.

“She gets like this,” Joel said, fucking into you harder now, making your arms tremble. “Once you open her up, she just needs. Can’t help herself, can you, baby?”

You moaned, loud and desperate, your hand finally wrapping around Tommy’s cock again, bringing it into your mouth.

Your husband groaned, hips twitching toward your touch. “Fuckin’ insatiable,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

Joel grinned, lips brushing your shoulder before pulling back to straighten, gripping your hips. “She’s gonna milk us dry.”

You moaned at the filthy words, too far gone to be embarrassed, too full to care. You rocked between them, wrecked and desperate—Joel’s cock dragging deep inside you with each powerful thrust, your mouth stretched wide around Tommy’s length, tongue flattened along the underside.

Every time Joel thrusted forward, it shoved you farther onto Tommy’s cock. Your throat clenched, gagging slightly, and both men groaned—low and guttural at the dual sensation of your body constricting around them.

Your eyes watered, spit pooling at the corners of your lips as you tried to breathe around it, the slick sounds obscene in the best way.

Tommy’s hand came to your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your jaw as he looked down at you. His face was tight with restraint, flushed and glassy-eyed, jaw twitching, “Look so pretty with a cock in her mouth, doesn’t she?”

Joel grunted behind you, slamming deep, making your body jolt forward. “Sure does,” he growled. “Takin’ us both so good, baby. Just like that.”

You whimpered, the only sound you could manage, body fluttering with overstimulation, throat spasming around Tommy’s cock as he hissed through his teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened, his thrusts getting faster, more desperate, and you could feel the wave starting to build again—relentless, all-consuming. You didn’t know how much more your body could take.

“Come on, baby,” Tommy groaned. “Fuck—your mouth feels so good, sweetheart. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Joel leaned in, his voice thick with heat. “You gonna come again with your mouth full, baby? Think you can come for both of us this time?”

Your whole body responded—tightening instinctively, like those words alone triggered something deep inside. Joel’s hand slid beneath you, and you flinched with a soft gasp as his fingers found your clit again—soaked, swollen, aching from how close you already were.

It was too much. Too good. You couldn’t take it, and yet your body begged for more.

The touch was too light at first—then perfect. Circling. Pressing. Your spine arched, your thighs trembled, and your moan vibrated around Tommy’s cock, still heavy and hot on your tongue.

You could barely register where one of them ended and the other began—just pressure and stretch and friction and heat. Joel’s thrusts stayed deep and punishing, perfectly timed with the slow drag of his fingers.

Suddenly your whole body locked, muscles spasming as another orgasm tore through you—sharp and blinding, your vision whiting out as you clenched hard around Joel’s cock, milking him through every brutal thrust.

You moaned around Tommy’s length, the sound desperate and guttural, and that was all it took for either of them.

Joel cursed behind you—low, rough, wrecked. He thrust once, twice more, then buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a broken growl. His hands were shaking where they gripped your hips, holding you there like he couldn’t let go.

The hot pulse of him filled you completely, thick and heavy, and the sensation only dragged your orgasm out longer, your legs trembling violently beneath you.

Tommy let out a choked moan above you, his hips stuttering as your throat fluttered around him. His hand cupped your cheek, and with one more shaky breath, he came—spilling into your mouth with a soft, desperate, “Fuck, baby.”

You took it all, swallowing around him as gently as you could, the muscles of your throat still spasming from Joel’s final, deep thrusts.

Then—finally—everything slowed.

Tommy pulled back with a groan, slumping onto the bed beside you with a heavy exhale, one arm flung over his face as he tried to catch his breath. Joel eased out of you from behind, and you whimpered at the emptiness, already missing the stretch of him, the weight. Your body felt boneless, dazed and trembling, as you rolled to your side and melted into the mattress beside Tommy.

Joel didn’t stay far. Within seconds, he collapsed on your other side with a low, satisfied grunt, still half-wrapped in heat and sweat. His arm slid beneath your head, pulling you gently against his chest until you were tucked in close, skin to skin, your cheek resting just below his collarbone.

You were fully tangled between them now—Joel’s leg brushing yours, Tommy’s chest warm against your back, his hand finding your thigh and resting there like a grounding weight.

The heat of three bodies lingered in the air—sticky and quiet and strangely comforting.

Tommy’s hand found your stomach and gave it a slow rub, and when you looked over at him—he was watching you, not angry, not brooding. Just… tired. And stunned.

You let out a laugh. A small, breathless one, but real.

Then another.

Your face tucked against Joel’s arm, shoulders shaking with laughter, and Joel chuckled too—low and lazy, like he couldn’t even muster the energy to be smug, “Troublemaker.”

Tommy let out a breathless huff, still holding you tight, and nuzzled into the curve of your neck. “I’m not sure I survived that,” he murmured, and then he started laughing too—open, surprised, stunned, “Feel like I blacked out halfway through,”

You turned your head toward him, smiling wide, and kissed the side of his mouth. “You were perfect.”

The three of you fell into an easy silence, wrapped up in sweat and warmth and the quiet hum of something unspoken—something new.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, his chest shaking from a chuckle, “Think we’re gonna need a bigger bed.”

And for the first time in a long time, the three of you were laughing together.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes

#family matters #joel miller #tommy miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller has feelings #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller tlou #tommy miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

Text

ANXIETY FINAL PART | CL16

an: and this series comes to wrap! thank you to all of those who were interested in following it - i hope this end does it justice, thank you for supporting my writing. much love <3 i may have some drabbles in mind lemme know what you guys think

wc: 8.6k

warnings: smut, mdni 18+ hehe written by the beloved @iimplicitt

part one | part two | part three |

SHE WAS DRIVING HIM CRAZY.

This was her form of revenge, it had to be.

Charles sat in his usual chair in the library, the book in his hands long forgotten. He hadn't turned a page in at least twenty minutes. His jaw was tight, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper, but his mind wasn’t with the words. It was on her.

It had only been a day since that conversation—since she'd looked at him with those eyes, seeing through him, picking him apart, laying him bare without even trying.

And now?

Now she was everywhere.

Floating in and out of the room, trailing her fingers along the spines of books, standing too close behind him when she reached for something on a higher shelf. She let her touch linger when she passed by, featherlight, barely there. But he felt it like a brand.

She was testing him.

He wasn't stupid.

He knew she had read those books in his library, knew she had picked apart his weaknesses, dissected his mind the way a scientist would a specimen under a microscope. And now—now she was toying with it.

Because she had realised.

She had realised that he was the one teetering on the edge now. That the dynamic had shifted. That she held all the control.

It terrified him.

And worse?

It thrilled him.

He had spent weeks keeping her in place, watching her movements, calculating her reactions, ensuring she never tipped too far one way or another. But now.

Now she was the one watching him.

Now he was the one bracing himself every time she stepped near, unsure if she would touch him, unsure if he wanted her to or if he’d crumble beneath it.

And she knew.

He could see it in the way her lips curved ever so slightly whenever he tensed. The way her fingers skimmed his sleeve just long enough to make him ache with the need to either pull her closer or bolt from the room entirely.

She was relentless.

And he was losing.

The book snapped shut in his hands, the noise breaking the quiet hush of the library.

She turned from where she stood by the window, blinking at him.

He forced his voice to remain steady. "Do you need something?"

She tilted her head, studying him like she was debating how far to push.

"No," she said eventually, "I was just thinking."

"About?"

Her gaze flickered over him, slow and deliberate.

"You."

His throat went dry.

He stood abruptly, turning away before she could see the effect she was having on him. "I need to—" He didn’t even bother finishing the sentence before striding from the room.

Her quiet laughter followed him down the hall.

It was taunting.

Charles barely made it to his room before closing the door behind him.

His breathing was uneven, his hands shaking as he raked them through his hair.

She was doing this to him. On purpose.

He knew it.

The worst part? He couldn't even blame her. He had stolen her life, caged her like some helpless bird, played mind games with her for weeks. And now?

Now, she was winning.

Because she knew.

She had figured him out, unravelled his layers with every book she had read. She knew about his disorder, knew how his mind worked, knew that deep down, beneath the cold, calculated exterior he had worn for so long—

He was desperate.

He needed.

And she was testing just how far that need ran.

Charles sat on the edge of the bed, gripping his knees, trying to breathe. He had spent years trying to suppress it, trying to push down the unbearable, gut-wrenching fear of being left, of being unwanted, of being a burden.

But she saw it now.

She saw him.

And she wasn’t running.

She wasn’t screaming or fighting or trying to claw her way back to the life she had before.

She was staying.

And worse than that—

She was pulling him in.

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

He felt her everywhere.

In the walls, in the shadows, in the air thickening around him like a noose.

He clawed at his own skin, nails biting into the flesh of his arms as if he could peel her out of him—out of his head, his thoughts, his bones.

His breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling too fast, too sharp, like he couldn’t get enough air no matter how hard he tried.

She knows. She knows. She knows.

The thought was a drumbeat in his skull, relentless, suffocating.

She had seen him. Seen every pathetic, twisted, needy part of him. And she wasn’t running, she wasn’t screaming, she wasn’t even fighting anymore.

She was just watching.

Toying with him like he had once toyed with her.

And he deserved it.

He deserved all of it.

A sob tore its way out of him, raw and broken, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could force the shame back inside. His chest ached with the weight of it, the suffocating, unbearable weight of himself.

He was evil.

He had taken her.

He had played with her mind, broken her down, twisted her into something else just to make her stay.

And now—

Now, she was the one in control.

His fingers fisted in his hair, pulling hard enough to sting.

You’re disgusting.

You’re a monster.

You don’t deserve—

A quiet knock at the door.

His whole body stiffened, breath shuddering to a halt.

She was there.

Right outside.

And she had heard him.

The knock at the door came again, softer this time.

“Charles?”

Her voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to breathe, but it only made it worse. His chest locked up, his throat tightening like a fist was closing around it.

No, no, no—she couldn’t see him like this. Not her.

He pressed himself back against the headboard, his body curled in on itself, hands still tangled in his hair, his skin burning where his nails had dug too deep.

The door creaked open.

He wanted to tell her to go away. Wanted to force out something—a warning, a snarl, leave me alone. But all that came was a wrecked, gasping sound as he struggled against the panic clawing its way through him.

She hesitated in the doorway, then stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her.

He couldn’t look at her. He could feel her gaze, though—steady, unreadable.

He turned his face into his knees, but it was too late. She had already seen.

The way his shoulders trembled. The way his whole body was curling in like he was trying to disappear.

Like he had nowhere to run.

And then—

A soft rustle of fabric. A shift of weight on the bed.

She sat down beside him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

His breaths were short and fast, hitching in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs like a caged animal.

Then—

“Breathe,” she said quietly.

He let out a sharp, broken laugh, but it only made his chest tighten more.

“Breathe?” he choked. “You—” Another gasping breath. “You’re telling me to—?”

But he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He felt her move before he saw it—slow, deliberate. A hand, warm and steady, holding his.

He flinched.

She didn’t pull away.

Just kept her hand there, a grounding touch, not demanding, not forcing—just offering.

His mind was spinning.

His body wasn’t used to this—her being the calm one. Her being the steady one.

“Breathe in,” she said again, quieter this time. “Hold for four.”

Her voice was gentle, measured. The same way he had spoken to her that time in the office—when she had been the one gasping for air, when she had been the one drowning in panic.

His chest was tight, painful.

But he listened.

He dragged in a breath—ragged, unsteady—held it.

“Now out,” she murmured.

He let it go, but it shuddered on the way out.

“Again.”

He obeyed.

In. Hold. Out.

Again.

His head was still spinning, but—slowly, slowly—the crushing weight on his chest loosened.

The air started to return.

The trembling in his hands softened.

He swallowed hard, then finally, finally let his head tip back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut. His pulse was still too fast, his breathing still uneven—but he wasn’t drowning anymore.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, he forced himself to look at her.

She was watching him, her expression unreadable.

The strangest, sickest part was—he had never felt more exposed in his life.

Not even when she had been his prisoner. Not even when he had forced her into submission, played with her mind, made her his.

This—this—was so much worse.

Because she had seen him.

The real him.

The weak, pathetic, broken him.

And she hadn’t run.

She hadn’t screamed.

She had stayed.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and charged. His breathing had steadied now, though his hands still trembled faintly at his sides. He felt drained—like something had been ripped out of him, leaving him raw and aching.

And then, out of nowhere—

"Why me?"

His stomach twisted.

He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to look at her. Not while she pulled her hands away.

Her voice had been quiet, but there was an edge to it—something sharp, something demanding.

He exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple.

"I don't—" His throat tightened. "Don't do this."

"I need to know."

His jaw clenched. He forced himself to his feet, suddenly desperate to put distance between them.

But she followed.

"Charles," she said, and there was something different in her voice now—something that sent a cold shiver down his spine. Understanding.

He looked down, facing his sheets, but it didn't matter. He could feel her gaze burning into him.

"You planned this," she said, and it wasn’t a question.

He swallowed hard. "I took advantage."

She stilled.

The words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was barely above a whisper. "Explain."

He let out a low, bitter laugh. Explain? How could he possibly—

But he owed her this much.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. His voice was hollow when he finally answered.

"I saw your meds." His throat was dry. "I saw your emails with your therapist."

A sharp inhale from behind him.

"I knew you were vulnerable," he went on, hating himself with every word. "I knew how to break you."

A pause. Then, she whispered, "You chose me because you knew I’d crumble."

His eyes squeezed shut.

He wanted to tell her no, that she was wrong, that it had never been about that.

But wasn’t that exactly what he had done?

Used her struggles against her. Bent her mind to need him.

And now—

Now she was sitting in front of him, not running, not screaming—just sitting there.

And somehow, that was worse than if she had put a knife through his heart.

The air between them felt razor-sharp, stretched too thin, like it might snap at any moment. Charles kept his gaze down, his eyes focused on the sheets, but he wasn’t seeing them. He could hear her breathing, steady but too quiet, as if she were holding something back.

She should be screaming at him. She should be trying to run.

Instead, she just sat there.

"You knew how to break me," she repeated, softer this time.

His fingers twitched at his sides. "Yes."

"And yet... here we are."

That made him turn. He expected anger, disgust—anything but the look she was giving him. It wasn’t quite pity, but it wasn’t hatred either. It was something else. Something he couldn’t decipher.

His pulse pounded in his ears. "I never wanted you to know."

"But I do."

His breath hitched.

Her eyes scanned his face like she was trying to see inside of him, and he hated how bare he felt beneath her gaze.

"I thought I was going insane," she murmured. "The dreams, the way I started needing you, the way I made excuses for you even when I knew I shouldn’t. You made me this way."

His stomach twisted painfully. "I know."

She inched closer. "And yet you were the one falling apart tonight."

He exhaled shakily, shaking his head. "I—"

"You pulled at your hair," she interrupted. "Just like I did, that time in the office."

Charles swallowed hard.

She kept going, her voice quiet but relentless. "You couldn’t breathe. You thought you were being watched. You felt like you were losing yourself."

His jaw clenched.

"That’s what you did to me."

Her words landed like a punch to the ribs. He shut his eyes for a second, as if that might shield him from the weight of them.

But then, before he could say anything, she did something he didn’t expect.

She touched him.

A light press of fingers against his wrist. Not forceful. Not demanding.

Just there.

His entire body went rigid.

Her voice, when it came again, was barely above a whisper. "You knew exactly how to break me, Charles. Because you are just as broken."

His breath hitched.

And she wasn’t wrong.

Charles felt like he was standing on the edge of something—something vast, something dangerous. Her touch on his wrist was barely there, but it burned like a brand. He should move away. He should make her move away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let himself look at her, really look at her. The defiance was still there, flickering beneath the surface, but something else had taken root alongside it. A dangerous, quiet understanding.

"You think you’ve figured me out," he murmured. His voice sounded rough, unsteady.

Her fingers twitched against his skin. "Haven’t I?"

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I don’t know."

It was the truth. He didn’t know anything anymore.

She studied him, her gaze tracing the shadows beneath his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. And then, in a voice so soft it was almost cruel, she asked, "What happens now?"

Charles stiffened.

She wasn’t asking him to let her go. She wasn’t demanding freedom.

She was asking what happens next—as if she already knew there was no escape.

He should tell her that nothing happens. That she should still hate him. That whatever shift had begun between them was wrong, twisted, sick.

But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, "I don’t know."

Her head tilted slightly, as though she’d expected that answer.

Then, before he could stop her, she did something that made his stomach flip.

She turned his wrist over, palm up, and pressed her thumb lightly against his pulse.

Charles shuddered.

His heart was pounding.

"You’re scared," she murmured.

He flinched. "I’m not—"

She squeezed his wrist, just enough to make him stop talking. "You are."

She was right. Of course she was right.

Because for all the control he had taken—stolen—from her, for all the ways he had manipulated her, somehow, against all logic and reason, she was slipping through his fingers.

And he was letting her.

No, worse.

He wanted her to.

The silence between them stretched, thick and unsteady, like a fragile thread pulled too tight. She hadn’t let go of his wrist. She hadn’t moved away.

Charles could feel the warmth of her fingers against his skin, the steady press of her thumb against his pulse. It was unbearable. It was intoxicating.

She was still watching him, waiting—though for what, he wasn’t sure.

"You're doing it again," she said quietly.

His brow furrowed. "Doing what?"

"Pulling away."

Charles inhaled sharply, only just realising that he was—not physically, not yet, but in the way he tensed, in the way his breath had caught, like he was bracing himself for something inevitable.

She didn’t let him.

Instead, she shifted, closing the space between them, her legs tucked beneath her as she faced him fully. Her presence was overwhelming, a quiet force pressing against every carefully built wall he had left.

"You’re not supposed to be this close," he murmured, though he didn’t move.

"Neither are you," she countered.

His mouth went dry.

Charles had always been the one in control. From the very beginning, he had dictated how close she was allowed to get, how much she was allowed to see. But now—now—the balance was shifting, tilting wildly in a way that made his chest ache.

She was letting him see her.

Worse still, she was choosing to see him.

Her touch trailed from his wrist to his forearm, fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his sleeve. It sent a shiver up his spine.

She noticed.

Charles swallowed hard, his breath coming a little faster now, a little less steady. "You should stop."

Her lips parted slightly. "Do you want me to?"

No.

God, no.

But he didn’t say it. He couldn’t say it.

Her touch moved again, fingertips ghosting over the back of his hand before curling lightly around his fingers.

He closed his eyes for half a second, and when he opened them, she was even closer.

"Tell me to stop, Charles."

His pulse thundered.

He couldn’t.

His free hand lifted of its own accord, trembling slightly as his fingers brushed against the curve of her jaw.

She exhaled, her breath warm against his skin.

It was maddening. It was inevitable.

She leaned in first.

And then he closed the distance.

The second their lips met, it was like something broke. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks—months—finally cracked open, spilling over in a way neither of them could control.

Charles barely had time to process the heat of it, the way her mouth moved against his, before panic clawed at his chest.

He tore himself away, breath ragged, heart hammering.

"This is—" His voice was hoarse, like he had been drowning in her and had only just come up for air. "This is wrong."

She didn’t even hesitate.

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, gripping tight, and before he could talk himself out of it, she pulled him back in.

The second kiss was nothing like the first.

It was desperate, heated, intentional.

She felt him stiffen for a split second before he gave in with a low, shuddering whimper, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, fingers slipping into her hair as though he had wanted to do it for far too long.

She kissed him harder.

A noise escaped him—something between a gasp and a groan—and then suddenly, he was the one pulling her closer, pressing her down against the bed until she was beneath him.

He was shaking.

She could feel it in the way his hands hovered, in the way his breath hitched when she parted her lips against his.

Charles had spent so long controlling everything—controlling her—and yet here he was, completely at her mercy.

And she knew it.

Her fingers skimmed the nape of his neck, feeling the slight tremor there, the way he whimpered at the contact.

He broke away for a second, forehead pressing against hers as he tried to steady himself.

"You're not afraid," he murmured, half-disbelieving, half-dazed.

She could feel his breath on her lips, still uneven, still wrecked.

"Should I be?"

His grip on her tightened.

"Yes."

But he didn’t move away.

She wasn’t sure she had ever seen such unadulterated longing before. It was an odd thing to try and come to terms with.

“I want you in a way I’m not sure either of us can handle,” his voice was rough and gravelly. A rasp dancing up from the back of his throat.

When his grip tightened on her, perhaps to ground himself, the sound that left her made them both freeze.

Only a moment. A tick of the clock.

Charles was all over her.

His hands slid from her face, down and down, dancing over her throat as his mouth collided with hers harshly. Two stars crashing into one another and lighting up the night sky in diamonds.

Charles twisted them around, guiding her as if they were in a pas de deux. Her mind was spinning and rationality was cut right off her shoulders. All she felt was him. All she could think about was him. How he was touching her. How wonderful it felt.

Stumbling through space, she wasn’t scared as she fell because she knew Charles had her. The way his rough hands held her as he laid her down on the sheets beneath them, making sure she knew she wasn’t going to get hurt.

Her breath was coming out hot and heavy, erratic as her fingers dug into his hair and pulled slightly. Delighting in the way he moaned into her mouth,

tongue sliding against hers. Exploring and greedy.

Charles climbed over her, slowly, giving her time so she didn’t think she was being trapped. She felt the mattress dipping with each adjustment and it made her heart stumble over itself. Not in fear. But in anticipation. Closer and closer.

She could still tell between the kisses and needy hands. He was still hesitating. Terrified he’d frighten her. Scared she’ll change her mind and leave.

“Charles,” she spoke his name softly, her own hands trailing down from his unruly brown hair to his face. Taking in how truly stunning he was and the technicolor that were his eyes.

She brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones, watching him as he watched her. His shoulders slightly coiled in tension.

For the first time in what felt like ages she smiled, “I want all of you. Every piece.” She could physically see the relief pulse through his veins at her words. His eyes glowing as he pressed his forehead against hers, her heart beat thrumming in her ears as she felt the weight of his hips settle against hers.

The hardness of him. How warm he was. The comfort of his body so close to hers.

“Give me everything,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, a little bit harder. His fingers pressed a little bit further into her neck. Inching but not quite. Being treated so delicately while knowing he was trying to hold back was driving her crazy. She wanted to know. Needed to know. What he was like.

Sudden determination slammed into her, making her lose her breath for a moment before it caught up again.

Her hand danced up into his hair again, and then she yanked. Hard.

A wince left him but something else lingered. Darker. More sinful.

“Charles,” she practically bit out the plea. “Everything. Please.”

His eyes flicked between hers, his pupils blown wide with desire. “I don’t want to hurt you, mon ange.”

“You won’t.” She didn’t hesitate in her response.

So neither did he.

She cried out into his mouth as he ground his hips into her. One hand tight on her throat and she immediately felt dazed. His other hand snaked down to her knee,

hiking it up around his waist so he could grind into her harder. A better angle. His cock running directly over where she needed it most and the sounds that we’re leaving her didn’t seem real.

Her head was spinning. Her mouth falling open on its own accord as he explored every inch of her mouth with tongue. His hand still squeezing. Applying the perfect amount of pressure to cut off blood flow but not

air.

Charles’ mouth found her jaw, danced down her throat, teeth grazing against her skin. Wanting to take in all of her. Terrified this was some dream he might wake up from. His breathing was unsteady, frenzied. Hungry.

Her own breathing came out in stuttered gasps, her hands everywhere. All over him. Dancing over his back, shoulders, his face. His wild hair. Her fingers tugged at his roots as he sucked on a space just below her jaw, getting carried away. A clear bruise being left by his mouth.

It was clear she wanted him to be rough with her. The trust she was handing him made his heart stutter.

He could. Be rough. It’s what he was good at. What he was familiar with. But with her… his heart was aching. Feeling as though it was lodged in his throat as he explored her sweet skin with his mouth. He wanted this to last.

Charles’ fingers danced under her shirt, feeling her gasp and responding to his touch. Arching as he slowly pushed the fabric up and out of the way. His tongue slowly ran a line up from her navel to her throat. She tasted heavenly. Sweet.

He was unraveling. Her soul pulling at the threads of his own, yanking and yanking.

He wanted to kiss more of her but her stupid fucking clothes were in the way and before his brain could catch up with what he was doing he had torn her skirt off, ripping her underwear in the process and the threads of cotton were frayed in his hands.

His eyes met hers, wild and glittering.

Her chest was heaving. “Please.”

Charles leaned down, tossing the torn fabric aside and brought her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. Eyes glowing. A dragon unfurling at the sight of gold.

“Beg me to.”

She inhaled sharply, her pupils blown wide and lips swollen.

It was twisted. Fucked up. A horrible, awful thing to ask her.

She did it anyway, words tumbling out and greedy hands reaching, nails digging into his skin and he practically shattered in her palms. Her fingers hooked into the belt loop of his trousers, yanking him closer. Desperate.

When he freed himself, he took in her face as she stared down at him. Her hair falling over her shoulders, eyes glazed, swallowing. Looking like an angel.

He took hold of her chin, making her look at him as positioned himself before sinking into her, shuddering and a moan left him as his forehead fell against hers. Always watching, taking in how her lips fell apart, her brows furrowed, the sharp intake of breath as he bottomed out.

She was warm. Tight. Hot velvet and he felt like he was slipping under an opium induced haze as he slowly pulled back out. Finally he looked down at where he was connected to her, gripping her chin to tilt her head. He needed her to see.

“Look at you.” Charles sank his cock back into her. “You take me so well.”

“Charles,” his name left her lungs in a trembling breath, her nails raking down his back. Leaving red streaks he wanted imprinted into his flesh for forever.

He leaned back, taking hold of her hips in a bruising grip. He wanted her to feel everything. Every touch. Wanted her to remember everywhere he had touched her. The thought of marking her up would’ve terrified him, but when he looked at her and she nodded, he snapped.

His fingers dug into the flesh and bone of her hips, his own nails digging crescents into her skin as he pulled out and thrust back in. Setting a brutal pace. Each roll of his hips was barely tempered, dancing on the edge of violence.

She clenched down hard around him, throwing her head back into the sheets and crying out. His name dancing out into the heated air.

The lewd sound of skin hitting and how wet she was, was echoing around the room. Sounding like the bells of heaven in his ears.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He pressed one hand down just below her navel to feel his cock as he fucked her, his other hand rubbing circles into her clit and the combined sensations made her hips buck into him.

“Oh my god—“

He laughed lightly, drowning in her. “Not quite.” He pressed down a bit harder, feeling the way his cock dragged in and out of her. “But you can pray to me, if you’d like.”

frewffgghjfdx

Her own laugh left her, but it was cut off by a choking cry of pleasure. “I’m going to—“ her hips rose to meet his.

Charles snapped into her harder, leaning down on his elbows to drive his hips forward, rolling, dizzying. Pressing his forehead into hers as he caught her mouth in a kiss, breathing in her moan with his own as he felt her come undone beneath him. Stars danced behind her eyes as she came.

Her cunt squeezed him and he shut his eyes, shuddering. “Fuck me,” he lowered his head and bit into her neck, his pace now sloppy and erratic. Messy. Sweat coating their bodies.

Her nails dragged against his scalp, trembling beneath him. Her voice shaky, delicate. “I’ve got you, my love.”

He came with a cry of his own, teeth sinking even further into her throat and her wince turned into a near mewl as he rode through his high. His stomach clenching as he buried himself as deep as he could.

Their panting breaths danced in the air and he felt light headed as he lifted himself with his arms, his eyes taking in the marks he left, scattered constellations of bruises and broken blood vessels.

His eyes danced down, down, hissing as he slowly pulled out and watched as his cum spilled out of her.

Charles’ body acted on its own accord, his conscious on the back burner as his fingers danced down her stomach, grazing over her clit and gathering what had spilled out, fucking it back into her pussy with two fingers.

“Charles,” her moan was guttural.

He seemed to snap out of it, rationality catching back up to him and he only just realised what he was doing. He flinched back, trepidation crawling up his spine. Too much, too much—

“Don’t you dare,” her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand back to her scorching skin.

God, how he had gotten so lucky?

Charles let his body guide itself again, his fingers trailing up.

“Open.”

Her lips parted, her eyes glazed over as she did as told.

His breath hitched as his fingers slid into her mouth, dragging against her warm tongue and he felt like he could come again as she sucked on his fingers.

He dragged the digits back out, the pads hooking on her teeth to pull her towards him and he kissed her. Tasting a mixture of them both and he groaned.

His hand slipped around her neck, hands twining in the hair at the nape of her neck. His other arm snaked under her waist, flipping them around so she straddled him and his hands fell to her hips, gently tracing the bruises that were starting to develop and the crescents of his nails he had left. Marks of greed.

Charles looked up at her, stars in his eyes.

And they started again.

Charles lay awake.

The room was silent, save for the steady rhythm of her breathing beside him. The sheets were tangled around their bodies, clinging to sweat-dampened skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—fractured, spiraling, unable to settle.

She had undone him.

Not just physically—though the memory of her hands, her mouth, the way she had taken control still burned through his nerves like a brand—but something deeper than that. Something irreversible.

His fingers twitched against the sheets.

She was asleep, or at least pretending to be. He didn’t dare turn to look. If he saw her eyes, saw the quiet calculation in them, he didn’t know what he would do.

Because she had him now. Completely.

Charles swallowed against the tightness in his throat. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was the one who had taken her, manipulated her, crafted every careful thread of her dependency. He was the one who had made her need him.

So how had it come to this?

Why was he the one who felt like he was unravelling?

She shifted beside him, just slightly, and his pulse spiked. The movement was small, barely noticeable, but he felt it like a ripple in his bloodstream.

For a terrifying moment, he thought about reaching for her. Pulling her closer. Burying his face in her hair and breathing her in until his mind stopped racing.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew—he knew—if he touched her now, it wouldn’t be him holding her in place.

It would be her letting him.

And that was worse. So much worse.

Charles exhaled shakily and closed his eyes. But even in the darkness, he felt her presence pressing in on him, inescapable.

She wasn’t running.

She wasn’t screaming.

She was staying.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure whether that was his victory—

Or his downfall.

He lay rigid, staring at the ceiling, his mind an endless loop of static.

The room was too quiet. Too still.

He could hear the faintest sounds—the whisper of her breath, the rustle of fabric when she shifted in her sleep—but it wasn’t enough to anchor him. It only made the thoughts spiral faster.

His body ached, not from exertion but from something deeper, something he refused to name.

He had given in.

He had let her pull him under, let her take control, let her do to him what he had once done to her.

And he had wanted it.

That was the part that unsettled him the most.

He had wanted it.

Needed it.

Somewhere between her lips on his skin and her voice in his ear, he had stopped being the one holding her in place. And now, lying here in the aftermath, he felt something curdling inside him, something dangerously close to desperation.

Because she could leave.

She had always been able to leave, he knew that now. The locks, the walls, the carefully constructed prison—it had never been those things keeping her here. It had been him.

And if she ever decided she no longer wanted to stay, he would have nothing left to hold her.

A slow exhale.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to steady, but then—

A shift.

A quiet inhale.

And then the subtle change in her breathing that told him she was awake.

He felt it before she moved, before she even opened her eyes. The weight of her awareness pressing against the space between them.

He didn’t turn to look at her.

Didn’t dare.

But then—softly, tentatively—

"Are you awake?"

Her voice. Groggy with sleep but clear enough to cut through the silence like a blade.

His fingers twitched.

"Yes."

A pause.

He could feel her looking at him. Studying him in that unnerving way of hers, peeling him open with nothing but silence.

"Charles."

The sound of his name sent something sharp through his chest. He exhaled carefully, measuring his voice before he spoke.

"What?"

Another pause.

And then, quieter—

"What now?"

The words settled heavily between them.

He swallowed. What now? As if he had an answer.

For months, he had dictated the course of things. Had controlled every moment, every breath between them. But now, in the aftermath, it wasn’t his decision to make.

He didn’t know what was worse—the uncertainty or the fact that he was waiting for her to decide.

After a moment, he finally turned to face her.

She was watching him, eyes unreadable, her hair a tangle against the pillow. She looked different. Not softer—no, she had never been soft—but something had shifted.

She looked like she knew.

Like she had all along.

His throat tightened.

"What do you want it to be?" he asked, the words tasting foreign in his mouth.

Her gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. She was silent for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer.

But then—

"I don’t know," she admitted.

Something in his chest twisted.

Neither of them knew.

For the first time, they were on even ground.

And that terrified him.

The silence between them stretched, taut and expectant.

Charles felt the weight of it pressing down on his ribs, making it harder to breathe. He had spent so long crafting their dynamic, pulling her strings, manipulating every interaction to keep her where he wanted her. But now…

Now she was the one leading.

"You never answered me," she said at last.

His brows pulled together. "About what?"

She studied him, head tilting slightly against the pillow.

"What now."

Charles exhaled through his nose, glancing towards the ceiling as if it might have the answer.

"I don't know," he admitted. The words felt foreign. He wasn’t used to not knowing.

"Liar," she murmured.

His jaw tensed.

Of course he knew. Of course he had spent the past hour running through every possibility, every outcome, every way this could all fall apart. He had been raised to plan ahead, to anticipate, to always have control.

And yet, here he was, utterly at her mercy.

He turned his head slightly, looking at her properly now. Her gaze was steady, unnervingly perceptive.

"Tell me about them," she said suddenly.

His stomach twisted.

"Who?" he asked, though he knew exactly who she meant.

"Your family."

Charles stilled. His fingers curled slightly against the sheets.

"Why?"

She shrugged, but there was intent behind it. "I just… want to know."

His throat felt tight. He had spent so long keeping her separate from that world, keeping everything controlled. His family was expectation, obligation, duty. She was chaos, unpredictability, something that he had slipped through the cracks of his carefully constructed life.

He shouldn’t let the two overlap.

And yet—

"They expect things from me," he found himself saying.

Her brows lifted slightly. "Like?"

He swallowed, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "Like a wife. An heir. A life that fits into the perfect little box they’ve built for me."

She blinked. "And do you want that?"

He hesitated. Then— "I want the inheritance."

A humourless huff of laughter left her. "Honest, at least."

Charles shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to talking about this, not in any real way. Not with someone who actually wanted to listen.

"My father left conditions in place," he went on, voice tight. "If I want my inheritance, I have to be married before I turn thirty."

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture did. A slight shift. A subtle awareness.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty-eight."

Another pause. She sat with that for a moment, then—

"So you're running out of time."

He didn’t answer.

Because she was right.

Another silence settled between them, thicker than before. But then—she moved.

She sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around her waist, bare skin catching in the dim light.

Charles stilled.

He looked—just for a second—before guilt curled through his chest like something rotten.

He shouldn’t. He had already taken too much from her.

His gaze dropped away, jaw tightening.

But then—fingertips, warm and soft, trailing over his cheek.

He flinched, just slightly, but didn’t pull away.

Her thumb brushed over the sharp edge of his cheekbone, slow and deliberate, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. Measured.

"Why don’t we then?"

His breath caught.

His eyes snapped to hers, searching, desperate, trying to figure out if she was toying with him again, if this was just another way to tip the scales back in her favour.

But her gaze was steady.

Unwavering.

His pulse hammered in his throat.

He had wanted control over her. Had wanted to make her his.

But now, looking at her, watching the way her lips curved just slightly, the way she ran her thumb over his skin like she was memorising him—

He realised she had already won.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop her.

Charles swallowed, his throat tight, his mind caught between a dozen conflicting instincts.

Her words hung between them, weighty and deliberate. Why don’t we then?

He should have laughed. Scoffed. Told her she was insane.

Instead, all he could feel was the unbearable pressure of his own pulse.

His fingers curled into the sheets.

"I’m scared," he admitted.

It was barely a whisper, but it felt like a confession, like something ripped from the darkest part of him.

Her gaze didn’t waver. She was still close, still watching him like she could see straight through his skin.

"Why?" she asked, voice soft.

Charles forced out a breath. His thoughts tangled, chaotic, but she was waiting. Expecting.

"Because," he said, voice strained, "you already have too much of me."

A flicker of something passed through her expression. Not triumph, not cruelty—just something knowing.

She didn’t move her hand from his cheek. Instead, her thumb traced over the skin again, slow and deliberate.

"You know how I work better than I do," she murmured. "I know how you do. It’s perfect almost, no?"

His chest tightened.

Perfect.

The word lodged itself inside him, curling in the spaces between his ribs.

She wasn’t wrong.

He had built this. Had shaped her mind to fit against his own, had twisted and moulded her fears until she couldn’t breathe without thinking of him.

And now—

Now she had done the same.

Not by force, not by manipulation.

By knowing him.

By understanding him in a way no one else ever had.

His stomach twisted painfully.

It should have terrified him.

Maybe it still did.

But as he looked at her, bare and unflinching before him, something else stirred beneath the fear.

Something far, far worse.

He wanted it.

He wanted her.

And perhaps, in some strange, awful way—

She wanted him too.

What Charles hadn’t expected was for things to go the way they did.

For the shift to be so seamless.

For her to stay.

And yet, here they were.

She slept in his room now. Not because he made her, not because of some unspoken rule, but simply because she did. Because she climbed into his bed at the end of the day, settled against the pillows like she had always belonged there.

She moved around the house with familiarity, no longer stepping carefully, no longer treating it like a place she was trapped in. It unnerved him.

Because it wasn’t control keeping her here anymore.

It was something else.

Something he didn’t know how to name.

He still caught himself slipping. The disorder was a living, breathing thing, curled in the depths of his chest, waiting for a reason to claw its way out.

Every time she left the room for too long, every time she didn’t respond to something he said, the thoughts would creep in—She’s leaving. She’s changing her mind. She’s going to realise what you are and run.

But then—her hand on his arm, her voice pulling him back.

"I’m here, Charles."

"I’m not going anywhere."

"Breathe."

It was unnatural, this thing between them.

It shouldn’t have worked.

And yet, it did.

Somehow, it did.

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen now, watching as she stirred sugar into her tea. She was still in her nightdress, her hair loose, her bare feet silent against the tiled floor. She looked soft in the morning light, nothing like the girl he had taken all those months ago.

She caught him watching.

Her lips twitched slightly. "What?"

Charles shook his head, exhaling. "Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was this.

The domesticity of it. The ease. The way his world had been rearranged without him even noticing.

And the strangest part?

He wasn’t sure he minded.

He had never thought this would be his life.

Not because he hadn’t wanted something like it—not because he hadn’t craved the warmth of another body in his bed, the certainty of knowing someone was there—but because he had always known he was broken.

He had known it since childhood, since he first realised that his love felt different from other people’s, that his need for closeness was something raw, something desperate, something people recoiled from when they saw it too clearly.

He had never imagined there would be someone who stayed even after seeing the worst of him.

Yet she had.

She had stayed through every manipulation, every cruel game, every attempt he had made to own her, to keep her.

And now, somehow, impossibly—she wanted to stay.

This time he watched her across the room, curled in the corner of the sofa with a book in her lap, one leg tucked beneath the other. She looked so at ease, as if this had always been her place.

It still startled him sometimes, how quickly things had shifted.

How easily she had taken control of him.

And when his parents next came unannounced, he wasn’t forcing her to play a role.

He thought of the time he had put a knife to her throat and forced her to be his fiancée. The way he had held her so tightly, whispering threats in her ear, making sure she played along.

And now?

Now she did it willingly.

He hadn’t even had to ask.

She had smoothed down her dress, glanced at him once, and slipped into the part as though she had always belonged in it.

His mother kissed her cheek. His father nodded in approval. The conversation flowed.

Charles sat beside her, his fingers twitching slightly against his knee, his mind caught between past and present.

He had made her into this.

But she had remade him in return.

It was late. The kind of late where the house felt like it existed in its own pocket of time, separate from the rest of the world.

The fire had burned low, the glow casting flickering shadows along the walls. She was sitting at the foot of the bed, her legs crossed beneath her, watching him.

"When was the last time you left the house?"

Charles blinked. The question was so unexpected, so out of place in the quiet, that it took him a moment to process it.

His fingers flexed against his knee. "I went into the garden last week."

She gave him a flat look. "Out, Charles."

His jaw clenched slightly. "Since the day at the office."

Her expression didn’t change, but he saw the flicker of understanding behind her eyes.

"Because of me."

It wasn’t a question.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Because I was scared that if I left, you’d be gone when I came back."

Silence settled between them. Not heavy, not uncomfortable. Just there.

Then, after a moment, she tilted her head. "We should go out."

Charles tensed. "Out?"

"To celebrate our engagement."

His stomach twisted.

It’s a trick.

That was his first thought. His immediate, panicked, irrational thought. That she would get him out of the house, that she would leave—slip away, disappear into a crowd, and he’d come back to an empty home, to silence, to nothing.

She must have seen it on his face, because she sighed, lifting her left hand, holding it up between them.

Her ring finger was bare.

"I won’t leave," she murmured. "And anyway—" she glanced towards the door, then back at him—"the front door has been unlocked for far too long. I would have done it earlier."

His breath hitched.

She wasn’t lying. He knew she wasn’t lying.

She had seen the worst of him, and she was still here.

And now, she was asking him to trust her.

He swallowed hard.

Maybe it was time to see what happened when he did.

Charles stood, dousing the last of the fire with the poker, watching as the embers faded into darkness. The warmth in the room dulled, but the air between them remained thick with something unspoken.

She was waiting for him. Already beneath the sheets, watching as he moved through the motions of closing the house for the night. It was strange, how natural this had become. How effortless.

He slid into bed beside her, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Then, as he did every night, his fingers reached for her hand.

And, as she did every night, she placed it on his chest.

The tension in him melted—just enough. Just enough to let sleep take him.

Morning came gently. Light filtered through the curtains, spilling golden across the room. Charles stirred, feeling the absence of warmth beside him before he heard the soft shuffle of movement.

He blinked up at her.

She was standing near the dresser, pulling her hair away from her face, already dressed.

In the clothes he had bought her.

A simple dress. Modest. Nice. Something unassuming, something she had never objected to, never even commented on.

And yet, seeing her in it now, he felt something shift inside him.

Because she had chosen to wear it.

Not because she had to.

Because she wanted to.

His throat felt tight as he sat up, watching her.

"You’re staring," she murmured.

"It suits you."

She glanced at him in the mirror, eyes unreadable. Then, after a pause—"Good."

Charles watched her move around the room, the quiet rustling of fabric filling the space as she finishing taming her hair. She didn’t need to ask for help, didn’t need his input. She simply got ready, as though it was something so ordinary, so simple. Yet for him, it was another reminder of how much had changed.

He sat up slowly, still watching her from the bed, the sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains. The golden light made her skin glow, made everything in the room feel warmer, more familiar. Her movements were so natural now, and it unsettled him—this—the way she seemed to fit, like a puzzle piece finally snapping into place.

When she finished adjusting the dress and her hair, she turned to him, meeting his gaze. There was something different in her eyes now, something more certain.

She wasn’t running. She wasn’t pretending.

He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly thick. "You look…"

She raised an eyebrow, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. "I know."

He couldn’t help but chuckle, even if it was a small, dry sound. There was no need for words anymore, was there? They had learned each other so well, learned how to communicate in the silences between their sentences.

She walked towards him, the hem of her dress brushing the floor with each step, and paused just before him. Her eyes flickered to his hand, then back to his face.

"Do you think we’re ready?" Her voice was soft, steady.

He didn’t know what he was ready for—what they were ready for—but he reached for her, his hand trembling slightly. When she placed her fingers in his, there was an unspoken understanding between them, something that hadn’t been there before.

"I think so," he replied, his voice low. "But I’m still scared."

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she placed her hand gently over his, holding him as if to steady him, as if she were the one in control now.

"We’re both scared," she whispered. "But that doesn’t mean we have to stop."

The front door loomed before them.

Charles hesitated. He hadn’t stepped beyond it in months.

But then—her fingers in his, firm, grounding.

"Come on," she murmured.

And so, together, they stepped outside.

The air was sharp, cool against his skin. The world stretched out before them, vast and open.

And for the first time, Charles didn’t feel like he was losing her.

Not as long as she was still holding his hand.

the end.

taglist: @charlesgirl16 @lilorose25 @obxstiles @mimiastroos @theoslove @taetae-armyyyyy @fastandcurious16 @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @n0vazsq @dying-inside-but-its-classy @hzstry8 @oikarma @amyelevenn

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zhampip · 4 months ago

Note

AU question, because I adore it!!

Do the townsfolk ship stobotnik or believe the two are a thing (dating, married, wtv)?

Since Robotnik needs time to come to terms with his feelings, learn that it's okay and all that, I doubt he'd react well to being called a cute couple, or Stone's husband or whatever, if it ever happens.

Alsooo, has either Shadow or Stone ever gotten hurt on their bikes? Maybe not a car crash, but just taking a curve too fast and falling?

I just love this AU so muuuch I need to dissect it and analyse it under a microscope.

I actually wrote about the townsfolk believing they're a couple in a fic i abandoned! I'll post a bit. Robotnik is just about managing to navigate friendship, if someone said to them about being a couple he'd probably lock himself in the lab/observatory for 2 days and beat himself up over not being ready to outright confess. Then come out and act like nothing happened.

(i'll answer the second part in a different post cos i'll doodle something) and thank you!!

“We’re not really looking to travel right now,” Mr. Stone tells me.

I pause for a moment, at the short interruption. Of course, how rude of me! I of all people should know better! It’s not exactly a secret that the doctor has a particular sickness, even just judging from his emaciated appearance. I smile kindly.

“My husband of forty years passed away ten years ago–”

“Good for him.”

“--he lived with metabolic bone disease,” I say over the doctor’s weary sigh. “So I know what it’s like to live with an illness. Which reminds me, while i have the ear of a doctor; i have this lump–”

“Stone,” Dr. Robotnik says gravely. “I’m going to unalive myself.”

For some reason this comment sends Mr. Stone into a panic. The kind young man jumps to his feet and gestures at me erratically. Perhaps the doctor is not feeling well…

“With all due respect, ma’am. Kindly shut your pie hole.”

I gasp in surprise. “Oh, you’re right! I did forget to pick up the pork pies for the WI. How embarrassing it would be if I turned up without them!”

“I want boba,” Shadow says. “It looks good.”

Mr. Stone nods. “We’ll get some on the way back to the evil lair–back home.”

What a funny little quip, they must be playing heroes and villains with their boy. How cute.

“Further down the street, the Taste of Taiwan makes good boe-bah, so my granddaughter tells me. It’s also a ‘vape dispensary’ if whatever that is, is useful to you,” I point in that direction. “If you’d like, I can show you–”

“ARFGH,” the doctor makes a strange barking noise.

“That’s okay, ma’am!” Mr. Stone quickly assures me. “We’re exploring at our own pace! You should really go and get those pies, those bags look very heavy!”

The young man directs the doctor away with a hand at his waist. What a lovely couple. Mr. Stone is right, I really should go get those pies!

#ask #observatory au #stobotnik #agent stone #dr robotnik

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medusas-daughter · 1 month ago

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I don't want to participate in any targeted discourse but I do wonder in general about these things because allegedly if a women talks about decentering men then she's still centering them because she's talking about them and if she portrays herself sexually (wich from what I heard women do have sex but I am asexual so I may be wrong) then she's sexualizing herself and setting women back centuries and she's worse than men because we expect this from men but women should uphold feminism at all times and if she's not speaking about feminism every second of everyday she's not a feminist but if she is then she's obsessed with men and centering men and if she's not proud of her sexuality then she's also succumbing to the patriarchy by slut shaming other women and being scared of her sexuality and letting the voyeur in her mind win and if you don't act feminine then you're a pick me but if you act too feminine then you're pandering to the male gaze but actually if you don't act feminine you're also pandering to the male gaze by being the pick me cool girl trope and if men lust after you then you're definitely pandering to the male gaze and if they don't you're a pick me like Idk it's almost as if existing as a woman in a patriarchal society exposes you to sexism no mater what you do but noo choice feminism is stupid which yes we don't just want choice feminism and success in a man's world we want to dismantle the patriarchy but I fear being at each other's throat and dissecting everything women do and holding it under a microscope to judge if it's virtuous enough is not actually the opposite of choice feminism it's just misogyny but Idk I may be wrong

#just yappin #feminism #sabrina carpenter #but not just her this keeps happening over and over and it's exhausting #medusasdaughter

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wavesalwayscrash · 4 months ago

Note

sorry for the long ask lol… lots of musings about things

i really, really appreciate the way you write abusers in this comic. it may be a bit of a weird thing to say, but so many write abusers as just one dimensional characters who are bad when they’re… Not. they’re people, who do bad things, with reasonings that could be all sorts of things (which doesnt mean their reasonings are Justified). i feel like the narrative around “abuser one dimensional bad” makes it harder to recognize how complicated actual real life abuse can be. a character can still be bad, in the wrong, and an abuser while genuinely caring and having some semblance of a reason in their head for what they do. in my experience abusers don’t tend to realize they are in the wrong/tend to try to justify it, they’re not always fully consciously acting bad just because/for the sake of causing harm, and theres not always a premeditated plan out of it, either.

this was all sparked by reading some of your asks about the king. about how love can co-exist with abuse (and that doesnt negate the abuse, either, but makes it harder to realize and break out from). it isn’t as black and white as it seems, i like seeing the depths of that more than the portrayal of an abuser being wholly morally black and terrible

i’m super excited to see more of the king, i’m putting him under a microscope. analyzing his actions. he disgusts me but i’m compelled. i want to put him in a microwave just to see what would happen. im especially fascinated by mariner, too, he’ll be a fun beast to dissect (i looove the taixu pmv and how it contrasts him and the king)

and of course - i really appreciate how you write lain’s response to all this! it can be a lot to unpack. i simply feel like i always see more appreciation for the writing of an accurate deconstruction of trauma versus the writing of a good abuser (good in the sense of the writing, not the character). thank you for all the work you put into this wonderful comic! i feel (so far) its an excellent reflection of all the muddy in-between that goes into motivations and actions. there seems to be some semblance of a power corrupts theme going, too, and im super excited to see that develop (whether im proven right or wrong there)

(and because im sending this publicly i don’t condone abuse, i just enjoy dissecting abusers in fiction. enjoyment of a character does not mean i condone those actions in real life)

Hey, I really appreciate this ask. A lot of my writing and my thoughts regarding abusers come from both my own experiences with them as well as interacting with other abuse victims like. everyday (my wife and people in my close friend group). And I agree with everything that you said here. I don't really like the "abuser is one dimensional bad" kind of idea, and in fact kind of works against how hard it is to realize you were abused in the first place. Making abusers Bad All The Time has made me think "well what I went through wasn't that so it couldn't have been abuse" before. Which isn't the case. Abusers can be kind, can be caring, can comfort you when you're upset, can help you out, and can still abuse you. While not the only reason, it's one of the reasons why it's so hard to leave an abusive relationship/realize it was abuse in the first place.

I'm trying not to get super into my own experiences of abuse (I don't wanna just trauma dump on ya lmao), but a lot of the parental stuff in regards to The King is drawn directly from my own experiences (The sexual part is drawn from my wife's (again with permission/encouragement)). I know intimately that a parent can love their child and still treat them like shit. It was only when I started going to therapy and telling people about my experiences that made me realize what I went through Wasn't The Norm and I was in fact abused.

As well, the reason I write abusers like the King and Mariner having reasons for their actions is honestly just a comfort thing for me. I will never know why my abusers treated me the way they did. I will never know the reasons as to why they did what they did, I'll never know what was going on inside of their head. I can guess, but I will never get that kind of closure in my real life. But in this fictional world, I do get to make reasons for their actions. I can give them reasons and justifications and I (the author) get to decide why. and that, at least to me, offers the smallest bit of comfort.

+I'm glad you're enjoying the story <3 Mariner's one of my favorite guys, he's a little freak and I love him soooooooo bad.

#ask #kyruiz #obviously my writing isn't perfect or anything #What I get out of writing about abusers and abuse just might not be for someone else #and that's perfectly okay as well.#I'm trying to be upfront that a lot of this comic is for my personal preferences and the preferences of my wife

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uzurimisery · 10 months ago

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the space between two bodies. / satosugu x reader / (part 2)

Warnings: MDNI, smut, happy ending, DP, unprotected sex, hints of baby trapping, squirting, praise kink if you squint, still some unhealthy dynamics bc thats what a relationship with the two of them would be, use of ‘girl’, a hint of objectification, no sorcery au, unedited

wc: 9k

part one

Two painfully slow and tense weeks dragged on. Each day you spent doing your best to avoid Suguru, and Satoru who had just come back to town from a shoot. Every time you locked eyes with one of them it felt like the walls were closing in.

But there are traditions you can’t weasel out of and so, like clockwork, the biweekly get-together your friend groups had for years will happen. Suguru, Satoru, Utahime, Kento, Shoko, and you, sometimes a few extra people or dates, would crowd around a table of some izakaya in between all of you. There’d be too many beer glasses on the table, but another round would be ordered anyway.

You used to laugh until your sides hurt, sharp cramps from overuse, push the limits of intoxication and your aging body. Couldn’t drink like you were 20 anymore, but you could sure as hell try.

Simpler back then.

Being young.

Things were easier, so less complicated. You were entangled in a web of responsibilities, bills, and regrets that pockmarked your life.

Shoko slammed her pint glass on the table. “Anyhow have you guys been? Feel like I haven’t seen anymore in 80 years.” Her smile was normally so infectious, the bags under her eyes endearing. Too many late nights and endless shifts at the hospital made them a permanent feature.

“I’m okay,” you replied too quickly, voice wobbling slightly.

Suguru’s gaze fell on you immediately. Sharp and heavy, like he was peeling back the lie. His eyes were too much, too painful. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, but he says nothing. Just let the weight of his stare speak for him.

“Just okay?” Now Satoru’s eyes flicked over to you, his normal lighthearted expression gone.

A specimen under observation. You were under the microscope, both of them dissecting you, searching for answers you weren’t ready to give.

You forced a shrug and a weak, unconvincing, laugh. “Yeah, just okay.” The all too familiar lump formed in your throat again. “Still job hunting, still freeloading off these two in the meantime.” It felt wrong to joke, swallow, and brittle.

Your shoulder shook, trying to sell it, but Satoru’s eyes couldn’t be fooled.

“I think the board members at Shibuya General are hiring for an admin. Want me to put in a good word? The HR guy likes me,” Shoko offered. Always trying got be so helpful, so genuine.

Utahim snorted, smushing her face against her girlfriend’s arm. “That’s because he wants to fuck you.”

“Not true.”

“He texts you toomuch for a guy who just wants to be friends.”

“Well last I knew I’m still a lesbian.”

You cut through the lover’s quarrel. “I thought you were still at the University of Tokyo?”

“No, I moved to Shibuya General about two months ago.” Her tone was casual but it made you wince.

“Oh, yeah!” you scramble to try and cover up your blunder. “Sorry, I knew that. I guess the beer’s getting to me more than usual.” The smile you give is half-hearted and forced.

Satoru took the opportunity to turn the conversation towards himself, regaling the group about his latest project.

You stared at your beer, tuning out the chatter around you. The carbonation inside the class fizzed softly. Each little bubble rose to the surface before popping. They were so small, so insignificant. Guess that’s like society. Insignificant people all clamoring over each other, doing nothing really, but adding to something in the end.

Maybe that's all you were, a little bubble in the sea of society, drifting along with everyone else. The collective group matters, but on the individual level they didn’t. You didn’t. Maybe you never had. Maybe you were just another fleeting presence. Born to fade into the background of someone else’s grander, more important life.

It’s what you deserved. All that greed in your heart. The quiet pain and dissatisfaction gnawing on your bones every single day. Everything you wanted just fucking unreachable goals, and you wanted it all but everything shimmered and gleamed just out of reach like a mirage.

Your nails dug deep into the flesh of your palms, cutting the skin.

Satoru’s laugh rang in your ears, echoing on and on. It hammered in your skull with every chuckle. Mocking you, throwing everything you’ve ever told yourself back in your face. Every lie you’ve told. Every way you’ve wronged him. It grew louder and louder, pressure building in your skull.

You slammed your hands on the table, glasses knocking into each other, the wood shuddering from the force. Everyone stopped, staring at you as you pushed the chair back.

“I’m gonna do smoke,” the words are barely audible as you stumble out of your seat and make for the back door, their gazes heavy on your back.

The door slammed shut behind you. Panic clawed at your throat, a bitter acrid taste clinging to your tongue. Your throat felt clogged, the lump growing bigger, chest tightening like a boa constrictor coiling around its prey.

Hands shaking, you reach into your shoulder bag, fumbling to pull out the half-empty pack of menthol cigarettes. You had quit smoking four years ago but you were back at it now. The icy taste is a fleeting distraction, a brief reprieve from the reality around you. At least they tasted better than the regular filter ones.

As you sparked up your lighter and took the first drag, the burn seared your throat. Familiar pain echoing the mess inside you. The smoke circled in your lungs, searing as it went. A cough snuck out before you took another drag, dropping into a crouch. Your weight in your heels as you rest your head against your knees.

“Why can’t you be normal about things?” you whisper to yourself.

It was always the same. People, feelings, places, everything-- all you had to do was the right thing and you kept fucking it up.

How many more times could you fuck things up before everyone turns their back on you? How long was the end of the rope you were so desperately clinging to? If you let go, would it end it all? Would the rope wrap around your neck and put you down like the dog you were?

“Get your shit together.” You mutter to yourself, cigarette pulled to your lips, voice hoarse and raw. You took another drag, the smoke stinging your eyes as it hung in the air.

“You just gotta get through tonight…”

And then the night after that.

And after that.

And all the never-ending nights that came stretching into the horizon. An unbroken chain of sleepless hours testing your resolve to be a person. All of them blurring together in a haze of regret and longing, each passing moment a reminder of everything you were trying to escape.

“So what’s really wrong?”

It was Shoko, leaning casually against the wall. The shoulder of her cream jacket picked up the dirt of the building. She pulled a cigarette out of her own pack, reds as she always smoked, and lit it.

“Nothing,” you replied, but your voice cracked, thick with phlegm, and weighed down by self-hatred. Tears threatened to spill as you stared at the ground, unable to meet her eye.

“That’s bullshit, and we both know it,” she shot back, exhaling away from you. The accusation stung, but there was warmth in her tone.

“I fucked up Shoko. I fucked up.”

The confession hit heavy. It shattered the glass, broke the dam holding back your emotions. The tears finally fall as you look up at her, vulnerable and afraid.

Concern washed over her face as she crouched down next to you, a silent offer of comfort. “What’d you do?”

You shook your head, shame squeezing your heart, beating it like a drum. “I can’t tell you or you’ll hate me.”

“Doll face, I could never hate you,” she spoke softly, stubbing her cigarette out against the asphalt, her focus now purely on her. One of her hands, warm compared to the night air, reached out to cup your chin. Gently, she compelled you to meet her eyes, to keep your own on her.

The floodgates being this open felt like you were drawing in your misery. But in Shoko’s eyes, you found no judgment, only empathy and love. It made the deep, aching wounds of solitude and loneliness you bear bleed again, cutting through the scar tissue to stitch them up again so they'd heal properly.

“I slept with Suguru.” it came out as a broken sob, bursting out of your chest, each word cutting like glass against the balms of your hand after punching your mirror. Betrayal, guilt, confusion, and greed all pour out in a single gut-wrenching truth.

Her eyes widened at first, surprised by the admission before they softened.

She didn’t pull away, she stayed close, thumb brushing over your cheek repetitively and soothingly. Shoko didn’t speak for a moment, just let your admission hang in the air, the gears turning in her head.

“You… you slept with Suguru?” She spoke as if she was weighing the words, chewing through them, trying to understand the depth of what had transpired, trying to understand how it had happened.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you choked out, voice trembling. “It was a mistake. I was angry, I wasn’t thinking, and I just… I fucked up everything.”

Shoko’s silence said more than words ever could. You could tell she was holding back from asking you a thousand questions. But there was one she had to ask.

“Does Satoru know?”

You shook your head, the motion barely noticeable.

“No. I-I don't know how to tell him, or if I should.” you sniffled gaze drifting off “Sometimes I think it’d be better if I just disappeared.”

“Hey,” she moved closer, hand dropping to squeeze your own, trying to anchor you to the present and remind you that you weren’t alone. “You can’t just disappear. I don’t know how, but things will work out okay. And I won’t tell anyone, but you need to tell Satoru, both of you do.” She was firm but her voice had a compassionate edge, trying to gently nudge you to face the reality you were so desperately trying to run from “I think it’ll turn out better than you think. They both love you.”

“Okay.” You whispered, voice barely audible. So small. So fragile.

Shoko smiled like you were a little kid seeking comfort from a scrapped knee “Good.” She wrapped her arms around you tight, making you sob again, tears quickly dampening her shirt.

Shoko held you like this for some time, just letting you cry. Her hand rubbing circles on your back. She didn't rush you, try to stop you from crying. She just held you.

After what felt like an eternity you had cried all you could cry, eyes puffy now. You felt so drained, so exhausted, but better overall. A bit lighter. The weight of it all is now shared with someone else.

Shoko finally pulled back, resting on her heels.

“It’ll be alright. Just gotta take it one step at a time.”

For the first time in forever, it felt like you could breathe a little bit easier.

“I can’t go back there tonight, Shoko, please… can I stay with you?”

“Of course, you can”

It’s easy passing it off as a girls' night when you’ve gone inside to collect her things and Utahime. No one questioned it, though Satoru did raise a brow in suspicion but chose not to comment. At least you’d have this one night to just ignore it all.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“Sometimes I feel like you create so much space between us,” Satoru speaks from over on your bed. It’s one of his rare days off and he’s taken to hanging out in your room while you applied for jobs.

Normally him being in here would be comforting, a nice presence to get you through the mundane clog of applications. But it’s not anymore. It just makes you feel guilty.

You look over at him, long limbs spread out over your duvet. Pausing your typing you speak for the first time in 30 minutes. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows to meet your eyes. “You create space between us. Randomly. Put up a barrier and keep me out, like you're purposefully hiding from me.”

Your eyes dart back to the screen.

“It’s not intentional,” you murmur. “I just… there’s a lot on my mind.”

“I get that, but you can talk to me about it. I’m always here for you.”

Hiding things from him was the worst.

“I… there’s just some stuff-”

Satoru pats the bed next to him, sitting up crisscross. “Sit and talk.”

You hesitate for a moment, the decision swinging in the air like a pendulum, before you stand and go to sit next to him. There’s an attempt to take a deep breath before you start, to remember everything Shoko had said.

“I need to keep you something, and I don’t know if it’ll change how you think about me.”

His warm, soft hands reach out to hold your own. Countless manicures kept them baby-smooth.

“Whatever it is I’m here.”

You looked down at your entwined fingers, the guilt rattling around you once again. “Suguru and I had sex.” his grip tightened “Not full on, but oral. It-it was a mistake and I’m sorry. I understand if you want to kick me out. I’ll leave, and you never have to see me again. I just couldn’t keep pretending like things were fine and I know now you probably hate me and want me gone. But I just--”

You were cut off by his lips crashing against yours. His lips followed yours as you tried to pull away confused. Satoru’s kiss was urgent, needy, and oppressive almost as if he kept you in tow. He grabs your waist, fingering and digging into the fat, squeezing so tightly. It felt like he was anchoring himself to you, refusing to let you do. Blindingly white teeth bit down into your bottom lip, begging you to let him in.

You could never say no to him, you were always so weak to his charm. So you let him in.

His tongue was warm and wet in your mouth as he brushed it over yours. You respond in turn, letting him decide the kiss. Sartoru’s free hand untangles from your own and goes to the back of your neck, half in your hair. He tilts your head back, leaning forward on his knees to deepen the kiss. The hand on your waist somehow squeezed tighter, thumb rubbing against the ribbed fabric of your tank top.

When he pulled away, a small strand of spit connecting the two of you, his eyes were wild with fear and possession.

“Don’t,” his eyes searched yours with an intensity you had never seen before. “Don’t say you’ll leave, don’t ever say that again.”

You were panting, confused, failing to understand what just happened. “I’m sorry?” It's whispers as you catch your breath. “I just thought you’d want me gone.”

He tilts your head to the side and kisses the length of your neck. “You don’t get to leave me.” The words as muffled as he places a kiss between each one.

Satoru bristles and pushes you back into the bed. Climbing on top of you, he cages you under him and pins your wrists together in his hand above your head. His eyes a wild, pupils fully blown out and it scared you. He’s crying now. One of the tears hit your face and he wipes it off, so gently and sweet, with his free hand before collapsing on top of you.

His body wraps around your own, his face tucked into your neck. He’s shaking slightly. As if the thought of losing you really brought him to this point. That you actually leaving would break him.

You wiggle your hands free and hug him, rubbing up and down his back as you do.

Notoriously, Satoru was not good with people he cared about leaving. Be it for work trips or temporarily, he didn’t do well with people not being accessible to him. He was filled with a desperate need to keep the people he cared about exactly where he wanted them. It was to the point he’d forsake his own well-being, his own feelings, for the sake of it.

You feel the vibrations against your skin before you can process what he said.

“I can’t lose you.”

“Satoru,” you try to pull away but his grip is too tight. “I slept with your fiance and you want me to stay?”

He nods, hair tickling your chin. “It’s okay if it's you.”

“You can’t just be fine with that doe the sake of keeping me around. What about your relationship?”

When he finally pulls out of your neck, his eyes still hold that same intensity. “Sleep with me too.” He hovers over you, noses nearly touching.

“I can't just-”

“Do you think he didn’t tell me?” he bends down and kisses you again. “We reached an agreement a long time ago. So fuck him, fuck me, fuck both of us I don’t care. What will it take to keep you here? I’ll give you anything, everything you want.”

“Satoru-”

“Don’t try and tell me it’s not okay. You’re not leaving. The three of us, Suguru, you, and me, we stay together. We’re better together.” He shouts the first word and you wince.

“You’re scaring me.”

That snaps him out of it.

He clamors off of you, leaping across the room.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushes back over as you sit up collapsing on his knees in front of the bed his head resting on your thighs. “Don’t leave please I’m sorry.”

“Satoru calm down—“

He rambles into the skin of your thighs, hands grabbing your own. “It’s okay, he told me the night it happened. I wasn’t mad, I’m not mad. I was a little jealous but because I wasn’t there too. I told him that we needed to talk to you about it first but he told me we needed to wait because you weren’t doing well and then he goes and does this.”

“Satoru,” you’re stern with him now. “Calm down.”

Satoru was an anxious individual under all the bravado. It’s been years since he had a moment like this. Normally the medication he’s on prevented it from getting it this point.

It took a few minutes, you pulled him onto the bed with you and made him lie down before he was calm enough to talk again. He’s lying on his side, mirroring you, his feet dangling off the bed.

“One day I realized I understood why he felt that way towards you and that day I started feeling the same.”

“Are you saying you’re in love with me too?”

He nodded

“Since when?”

“I can’t pinpoint when. There was the trip to Vietnam. It was raining, but you didn’t care though. You ran out from the umbrella and danced around, jumping, and smiling. It had been the first time in what felt like ever that I had seen you so carefree and happy that I ran out after you. I think that that's when things really started to change for me, start to blur the lines between romantic and platonic. But I knew for certain when Haruki cheated on you I was already in love with you by then. I was so mad. At him for doing that to you, and at myself for thinking how much better I could treat you.”

He reaches out and strokes the face of your face.

“Suguru and I used to argue about this when we both realized how we felt towards you as individuals and then as a couple. He was against saying anything. Leaving things just the way they were. No point in trying to fix what isn’t broken and risk our relationship. I had always thought it’d be me that cracked first. Tell you all the grimy little details of how sickly in love with you I am. It was like a bet with myself, not telling you, especially when we were both sure you felt the same way. Neither one of us wanted to pressure you into anything thought, especially because you live with us.”

“Jesus,” you looked up, LEDs blinding as you blinked back tears “So that's what he meant when he said you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s our fault,” He pulled you towards him, your face resting against his chest “We should have told you about this before. I’m sorry.” He kisses the top of your head, voice thick with emotion as he starts crying with you.

The two of you were always in sync like that. If one of you cried the other was right behind. It’s why Suguru hated watching romcoms with the both of you. At the end of the Notebook, you both had worked yourselves up so much that the two of you fell asleep on the couch cuddled up together.

A choked sob wracked your body “I’m sorry. I love you too, and I love Suguru.” The words were more of a whine as you cried “I’m sorry for being greedy.”

Satoru’s own tears picked up in time with yours “You’re not greedy.” his voice trembling “If you’re greedy I’m greedy.”

You clung to him, feeling warm in his embrace. Feeling almost whole again “I just don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m such a mess.” You were quiet as you spoke, the fear that's been eating you up slipping out.

You were so scared of fucking things up between all of you more than you had already fucked it up. Everything you touched felt like you broke and you didn't want to break them too. They were so pristine and perfect without you there. Maybe you’d only ruin things, stain them, muttle them unrecognizable. You could have ruined things for them already.

He held you tighter as if he was trying to blend the two of you together.

“I’m so scared of ruining everything and losing you both.” you sob out.

Satoru gently shifted the two of you so he could place a chaste kiss against your lips.

“You could never ruin anything.” his breath was warm against your skin.

“I feel like I have.”

“You are the most wonderful person I have ever met. If there want anything ruined by you, it was meant to be broken. Jsu because somethings broken doesn’t mean it doesn’t have beauty, or value, or isn’t deserving of love.”

This time you took the initiative and kissed him again, his lips soft against yours. It was tender, filled with all the love that was between the two of you. Quiet. Peaceful. Serene.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Since Suguru was still out at the office, dealing with a client, Satoru and you took to making dinner for the three of you. A simple katsu curry and rice with some vegetables. It’s simple, not overly complex, but it feels routine to make. Nothing too deviant. As you were cooking, Satoru and you intermittently cried and stole kisses. Gentle touches on the arms arm or side, nothing that hadn’t happened between the two of you before. Satoru had always been touchy but now they carried so much more weight. So much more meaning, each passing brush of his fingers against the expanse of your skin singing praises.

You sliced the vegetables carefully, occasionally glancing at Satoru as he worked on the curry. His hands stirred the sauce with practiced ease. It was always surprising to learn he was the one who did the majority of the cooking as he was a picky eater. You could almost be offended that he looks so beautiful stirring sauce.

Every so often he’d pause, look at you, and give a small reassuring smile. It made you feel lighter. As if he was telling you everything was going to be okay.

You sidled up next to him to sauté the vegetables and Satoru turned the heat for curry to low, letting it shimmer. He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder. His arms make you feel secure and stable.

“This just feels right,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your cheek, urging you to lean back in his embrace. You do so willingly, letting yourself sink into the warmth and comfort he offered.

“It does,” you agreed. He was right.

It felt like coming home after a long shift, feet aching and joints creaking and climbing into a warm bath that soothes your aches and pains. Like the sudden realization of happiness, that everything was going to be okay. Like driving down the road in the summer, the windows down as the sun starts to set, music blaring on the radio, and everyone singing along. There was no awkward moment of overthinking how things were or would be, but just living in the moment and accepting things as they came to you overthinking and drowning in your thoughts.

You could sit here and stress about what you’ve done, why you’ve done it, and how that would change the future. Spiral into a mess of anxiety and regret. Or you could live in the moment.

Let go of the need for control that you so desperately craved, and ran after. And just let yourself float. Let yourself be cared for this time.

Wrapped up in Satoru, with him placing soft kisses on your neck, neither of you noticed the door quietly closing. You didn’t hear Sugur slide off his shoes, exchanging them for house slippers, or as he padded into the kitchen. He stood there, watching on for a moment. Seeing how entangled the two of you were, the way you filled How Satoru placed small kisses to your neck that made you giggle. How the two of you blended together.

You had always brought out the best in Satoru, parts of him that would go head to head with Suguru’s own stubborn nature. Always bring out the best in him too.

“What happened while I was at work today?” his voice made you jump, breaking through the moment, and making you drop the spatula from your hand. It clattered against the counter.

“Hey Suguru,” your voice was soft, warm as if the sound of it could pull him into the comfort as well.

Satoru let go of your waist and turned to face Suguru, smiling widely as he saw him. “Welcome home.”

There’s something in Satoru’s casual nature, how he said it like nothing changed between you all.

The three of you stood there for a long moment, still, silent. Painful longing, the desire to have always had things be so straightforward between the three of you. You felt frozen, unsure how to act, unsure what he was feeling. The curry simmering on the stove was the only noise in the room.

And then, Suguru’s face crumpled, and tears began to spill from his eyes. Satoru rushed to his side first, with you not far behind him, wrapping his arms around him.

Suguru’s shoulders shook with the force of his sobs as the two of you wrapped around him, sandwiching him in the space between your bodies. You were only a step behind, your own arms reaching around him.

“We’re here Suguru,” Satoru expressed “We’re right here.”

Suguru buried his face in Satoru’s shoulder, his hand clutching the front of your shirt as if he was afraid to let go.

“I was so scared” he choked out between sobs. “Fuck, I was so scared.”

You gently stroke Suguru’s back, your own tears wetting his shirt, your cheek pressed to his shoulder “I’m sorry.” The apology felt like too little, both right and wrong.

“I thought I was going to lose you both.” his voice cracks on the confession.

“You’re not going to lose us,” Satoru reassures him, kissing his forehead. “ We’re not going anywhere.”

The three of you stayed like that for a moment, all wrapped in each other’s arms. Letting the emotions, the tension, and the resolution wash over. Eventually, the tears started to subside and the three of you agreed to talk after eating and somehow things felt normal again. You all fall into the rhythm you’ve followed for years. Suguru talks about his projects while Satoru talks about an upcoming campaign.

They’re still as careful as they’d normally be when it comes to talking about your affairs. But they pushed more to know how your art was going. Since you’ve been unemployed it's been something you’ve been working more on.

It should be strange, you thought, that there is no overwhelming pressure between the three of you. If anything this is the lightest your friendships have felt in years. Maybe things really were always meant to work out this way. Shoko used to say the only person who could stand to be with the two of them, even platonically for long stretches, was yourself. That you just seamlessly fit them.

“I just… I don’t want to feel like a secondary attachment to the both of you.” you’re holding a mug filled with hot green tea, watching the steam rise from it. Dinner’s long since been finished but you’re all still around the table.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. “Why would you be one? You’ve never been one before.” His voice is as casual as ever, but there’s a firm undercurrent. As if his word is law.

Before you can protest, Suguru chimes in. “He’s right. It’s always been the three of us.”

“I feel like one.” you shift in your seat awkwardly, insecurities prickling your skin.

“The person who could be between us is you.” Suguru doesn’t miss a beat. There’s no room for doubt with the way he says it. It’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t want to fuck this up. You guys have been together for years… you’re literally engaged.”

Satoru delicately grabs your hand, the engagement ring cool against your skin. “There’s no fucking this up.” He looks to Suguru to add on.

“I’m more worried I’ll fuck it up given my track record so far.” Self-deprecation laces his tone, but there’s sincerity there too. “But we’ll figure it out. Take it slow.”

You smile a little at that. The nerves won't go away anytime soon, they churn in your stomach. Hearing both of them say it, both of them so willing to figure out the absolute mess you’ve found yourselves in together, made it a bit easier to breathe.

“Sure. That sounds good.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

A month passes by. Leaves change, and the winds get colder, but you’re filled with a warm sappy feeling. Like syrup in your veins it runs thick and sticky. But at the same time, it’s as if nothing changes. There’s no dramatic queue that signals you all to change your actions. Yet somehow, somewhere, things snap into place violently. Colliding with each other like asteroids, you wake up and feel it in your bones.

It feels like either man’s lips were destined to crash into the mantle of your skin every minute of the day.

Both were so hesitant at the start, afraid to scare you off like wild fauna. Afraid to delve into too deep of waters too early into something so fragile. They treated it like Tiffany blow glass. You were held so tightly by them. Seen so wholly.

Satoru had been the most overt with his physical affection. It was easy for him to pull you into his lap while you watched TV, his solid chest behind you. He tucked you into the nooks and crannies of his body, affection spilling out of him both verbal and nonverbal.

But it had really been Suguru who changed the most.

Tender love in his every action, every press of his skin against yours. A guiding hand on your lower back. Adjusting your shirts and sweaters. Standing on your left when you were standing for a long period, remembering your previous knee injury, so you could lean on him.

Both of them soothed you in ways you didn’t know you needed soothing before. Neither one moved in particularly new ways, sans the making out and heavy petting, but not you could recognize the true driving emotion behind them.

It wasn’t Satoru bringing your coffee order in the morning because he was on that side of town for a meeting with a client. His client was on the other side of town, but he had seen you frown at something so minor, so miniscule, that morning he trekked across Tokyo to go to your favorite place.

To be loved is to be known, but to be known so loudly, so intimately, made you feel vulnerable in a way. But there is certainty in it too. That this was the way things were always meant to be between the three of you but by circumstance, it only happened now.

So you found yourself in Satoru’s lap again, some cheesy early 2000s romcom on the TV in their bedroom. You had taken to watching movies in there due to their super king bed giving you room to spread out that the couch couldn’t. Sugaru was next to the both of you, arm around Satoru’s shoulder. He’s got some braids in between his fingers spinning it round his flesh.

None of you have anything on the agenda tomorrow, other than meeting up with your group of friends in the early evening.

Satoru has slumped over as the movies went on, his chest pressed against your back. Hot breath hits your neck every time he exhales, sending a constant chill down your spine. You’re not even sure what the last 20 minutes of the movie have been about, too distracted by the growing warmth in your core.

You shift as Satoru exhales again when you feel it. He’s incredibly hard right now. His erection slides against the swell of your ass.

The three of you haven’t been intimate, something you insisted on, and now a month’s worth of pent-up sexual need has come back into full focus.

Satoru drops his head. Nose pressed against the skin of your neck, he wraps his around around your waist. One of his hands sits splayed on your ribcage, right under your breast. You’ve never been more aware of your lack of a bra at home than now. His thumb moves and you stiffen.

He pauses for a millisecond before kissing your neck. The heat pooling in your stomach grows hotter. You’re so on edge that when he bites into your skin, the moan you let out startles you, your head falling to the side. Suguru catches your gaze, his eyes low, heavy with desire. There’s a rush of adrenaline that courses through you, no doubt dissimilar to what a prey animal feels when it's hunted.

Satoru’s teeth graze your skin, leaving a trail of darkening marks as he went. His hands move up to your breasts. He’s gentle, at first, squeezing them, testing the weight in his palms, before he pinches at your nipples. Gasping, your hips jut forward as if to grind against something.

Suguru stalks over, sliding over the bed, to sit right in front of the both of you. He looks down at your shirt, a large oversized graphic t-shirt that once belonged to him. Sees how the fabric bunches around his finger.

His eyes dart back up to yours, an eyebrow raised. “May I?” he questions about removing your shit.

You nod, leaning back further against Satoru as Suguru slides your shirt off. Satoru’s hands pulled away for him to do so, but once your shirt was removed they were right back on your chest, tweaking your nipples again. Suguru leans back and just watches.

One of Satoru’s hands leaves your chest and moves down to your thighs. They roam over the fat of them. You lift your hips and he pulls at your shorts, unable to get them off with just one hand. Luckily Suguru is there to help, and they get them off. The cheeky cut panties you've been wearing feel nonexistent as he brushes your clit through them.

“Fuck,” Satoru groans, grinding his hips against your ass, “you’re so perfect.”

The praise goes straight to your head.

He lifts his head out of your neck to look at Suguru. “Aren’t they perfect?”

“You should see how they taste.” Suguru purrs, palming himself through his sweat.

Satoru nips your neck again. “What do ya say, sweetheart? Can I eat you out?”

“Oh god, yes,” you’re practically melting into his arms now, limp and pliable.

The two of them move you around and get you on your back in the center of the bed. They treat you like you’re a porcelain doll. Theirs to play with but gently. Satoru tugs at your panties, pulling them off of you in one clean go. Suguru places a hand on your knee, coaxing your legs open.

Satoru draws a short breath, seeing you fully exposed, and moans.

“Can’t believe you’ve had this the whole time and never shared with me.” He bends down, parts your lips with two fingers, a licks a long stripe up your core. His eyes flutter closed as he does. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

Satoru doesn’t eat pussy, he devours it.

Consumes you like it's the first meal he’s had after a month of starvation. Like you’re the finest delicacy he’s ever had. Something meant to be tasted fully and savored. It makes you dizzy with how much earnest desire, and love, are in his every movement. Every swipe of his tongue against your clit an ‘I love you.’

The pleasure gets to your head quick. Being this loved makes your skin flush and thoughts muddy. You reach out the hold Suguru’s hand. His fingers entangle with yours for a brief moment before he lets go and touches your jaw.

He taps your cheek. “Open.”

You open your mouth and his fingers push into it. He pinches your tongue between his fingers, pulling it out. The pink muscle is pliant under his touch, following his guidance religiously. “Fucking Christ you’re perfect.” He slides his fingers back into your mouth. “Suck.”

Following a command has never come easier. You suck on his fingers like they're a lollipop, rolling them between your tongue. He pushes them further down, nearly to the back of your throat. It almost makes you gag but you force yourself not to.

At the same time, Satoru picks up speed. His tongue flicking your clit back and forth rapidly. He eases a finger inside you, crooking it up as he pumps in and out. Shockwaves of pure ecstasy go out across your whole nervous system. Right before you cum Satoru pulls away, taking you right off the edge.

“Why?” you whine, panting. It’s muffled from Suguru’s fingers in your mouth. There’s a haze in your eyes.

“I want to try something,” He scoots to the side. “Suguru come here.” Satoru gestures towards you splayed out pussy.

Suguru removed his fingers and shuffled down to match Satoru’s posture. “You dirty dog.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking of it.”

“You know me well,” Suguru laughs, kissing Satoru softly.

You’re about to ask what they are talking about before both of them lower their heads and make contact. Both of them are eating you out, tongues working in tandem. You aren’t sure if they're making out with each other or your pussy.

“Oh god,” you choke out.

Satoru moans loudly, the vibration overwhelming, his tongue meeting Suguru’s over your clit. They battle for dominance, bumping and nudging your clit as they do.

Suguru pulls away for a brief moment, climbing over Satoru to reach into the nightstand and pull out a bottle of lube. He moves so quickly, flipping the cap open, and squeezing some out onto his fingers. Once he’s satisfied with the amount, he goes back to the messy make-out session on your clit. But this time you feel him toy with the opening of your asshole as Satoru inserts his fingers back into your pussy.

The combination of both of their mouths and fingers makes you cum. Your body goes limp but they don't stop. Suguru pulls back from your pussy, inserting another finger into your asshole, stretching it open.

Satoru hungrily takes over your clit, sucking it harshly. The overstimulation is too much, too little time between your first orgasm, too much pressure as Satoru presses down on your lower abdomen that before you can even recoup you’re cumming again. This time squirting over the both of them, liquid gushing out of you, with a pathetic whine.

Satoru pulls back from your pussy, face glistening. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

Both of them stare at you with wicked grins.

“Stop,” you shyly try and cover your face with your arms. “Don’t stare at me like that.”

Suguru thrusts his fingers in your asshole again. “You make it hard not to stare. Don’t they.”

Satoru’s gaze is heavy on you. He’s always had such an intense stare but it makes you squirm so much more now in your naked state. It piercing. He licks his lips before speaking. “I feel like we should lock you away so no one else can ever look at you.”

“Be normal and say I love you.” Suguru nudges him with his shoulder.

“I love you, oh god I fucking love you.” Satoru kisses your inner thigh. “I love you so much. Please let us fuck you? Please?”

“I love you too.”

He bites down hard enough there’s sure to be a mark there tomorrow. “Don’t make me wear a condom, please? I’m clean, he’s clean.”

“Satoru I’m not on birth control.”

Where you thought it’d heed caution from him, it only serves to amp him up. He moves down and kisses your clit. “If you get pregnant I’ll take care of you, please. I want to feel all of you.”

Suguru smacks the back of his head. “Don’t you mean we’ll take care of them?” He pulled him back by his hair. “Stop pressuring them.”

You giggle a bit at that. “It’s a safe day so just… pull out?”

The offer makes Satoru lunge forward and lift you up. He lays down on his back under you, your legs spread around his middle, his feet on the ground. His public area is clear and recently waxed, so you just meet skin, and erection standing straight up in front of you. It gently smacks against your stomach as you settle into position.

There’s never been a doubt in your mind that Satoru was strong. You’ve seen him shirtless so many times, you know the panes of his muscles by heart. But it's a different thing to feel that strength.

Satoru moves you like there is no weight to you. He lifts your hips up, positioning your core just over his erection. It’s Suguru who reaches between you two to properly align your hole with his cock. The way they already work as a team when it came to fucking you should scare you. You know how they are. The next time the three of you fuck, there’s no telling what they’ll do.

Satoru lowers you down on his length. You’re so loose and wet from coming twice in short succession that you’re able to fit his entire length with no discomfort in one smooth, fluid motion. He’s girthy regardless, so when he pulls you up and drops you down again, it feels like your breath gets squeezed out of your lungs.

“Oh my god,” you fall forward on his chest as he does it again.

Satoru raises your hips, holding you above himself, and gives a few slow, experimental thrusts up into you. His mouth meets yours in a messy kiss as you jostle with each thrust.

Suguru sidles up behind the two of you, more lube on his fingers. He circles the rim of your asshole, dipping them in and scissoring it. “You gonna let me fuck you too? Or do you want me to wait my turn?”

You are, by nature, incredibly greedy when it comes to them. How could you not be?

Looking over your shoulder, you speak. “Please. I want to feel you both.”

“So fucking sexy,” Suguru groans, pulling his fingers out and lining up his cock. “Can’t believe we let you date that loser. Should have been here between us the whole time.”

Sure, you’d have fingers in your asshole before, but Suguru’s dick was longer and thicker. The whine is instinctive as he stretches you open. Once he’s fully inside and gives a gentle thrust, it’s then you realize that you can feel them almost rubbing against each other.

Oh.

You could never go back now.

It feels so good.

You’re close to cumming again and they’ve barely done anything other than interest themselves inside you.

Suguru’s hands grab hold of your hips, holding you still, switching places with Satoru who holds your face. His white hairs is stuck to his forehead with sweat as beams up at you. “Tell me you’re sorry for dating Haruki.”

“I’m sorry.” You try to move your hips, to gain any sort of friction but Suguru holds you still.

“Tell me you’re never going to leave us.”

You try to move again. Any movement is again stopped by Suguru who in turn smacks your ass.

“Listen to him.”

Satoru squeezes your cheeks. “Promise me. Promise me and we’ll fuck you until you pass out, okay?”

“I promise, I’ll never leave you.”

“That’s my girl.”

It must have been something they discussed before because the moment Satoru gives the go-ahead, they set a pace so clearly set on breaking you apart and building you back up in the shape of them.

Both of them give full, long strokes. They move like a well-oiled machine, fucking you like they were designed to do so. Suguru circles an arm around your waist and lifts your back to be flush against his chest, one of your breasts in his hand. He bites and sucks on your neck while playing with your nipples.

They fill you to the fucking brim. It’s nearly indescribable, the electric sensation coursing through your body. The feeling is almost like a live current running through you that short-circuits your brain. Perhaps if you were more cognisant of it you’d be embarrassed of the noises you were making. All breathe whimpers and moans filling the room with the sinful slap of flesh.

With his hands-free, Satoru begins circling your clit with his thumb. The orgasm that has been steadily building growing closer and closer.

“Can feel you getting tighter,” Suguru growls in your ear. “You like it, huh? Like having us both inside you.”

Be it his possessive tone or words, it makes you tighten up even more.

Satoru picks up his pace toying with your clit. “You like it when he talks to you like that don’t you gorgeous.”

Your pussy flutters at the praise.

“You feel that Suguru?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You’re close aren’t you?”

It’s on the repetition of the question that you realize it is directed towards you.

Satoru pulls you down towards him, your chests pressed tightly together. Suguru takes advantage of the new angle, propping a foot up on the bed to fuck you even deeper. Your eyelids flutter closed and you whine into Satoru.

“I’m gonna cum.” you barely mutter.

“Cum for us.”

There’s an uncertainty about which one of them said it. Perhaps it was both of them, you aren’t certain as you clamp down on them, body stiff, and cum like you’ve never cum before. They don’t cease their movements, fucking you through it, moving in perfect synch. Your whole body shakes, heat flashing through your veins. The world starts spinning twice as fast.

“That’s it. You’re so pretty with that fucked out look on your face.” Satoru starts.

Suguru snaps his hips forward, sliding you against Satoru while he speaks. “Knew you’d let us fuck you like this.”

“Should use a vibrator next time. I want to see ‘em cum even more.”

“We can’t break ‘em Satoru. Don’t you know how to take care of your toys?”

“You’re so rude. They can hear you, can’t you baby?”

You can’t even hold your head up, so Satoru does it for you. Holding your head steady as it nearly lulls to the side.

“You can hear him can’t you baby?”

Your tongue feels like lead, it’s a struggle to speak. “I’m not- oh fuck - I’m not a toy.”

They keep fucking you, spreading you open further. Everything goes fuzzy around the edges in your blissed-out state. Every brush of their hands on your skin makes another ripple of your orgasm pass. You lose sight of where they end and you begin. Satoru gently lets your cheek rest on his chest.

“Bet your throat feels just as good.” Satoru kisses the top of your head

“He should try your asshole next.”

“I don’t know Suguru, this pussy,” Satoru’s breath is labored. “Feels fucking amazing.”

“Next round we switch.”

Satoru grabs your face again. “He’s never fucked a pussy before. You’re gonna make it so he never wants to fuck another one, aren’t you?” His brow draws knitted. “Clamping down on me like that. I love you so much.”

He kisses you again, whining into it. His thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated.

You pull back from the kiss, slightly more coherent. “Cum inside me please, I need to feel it.”

Satoru groans and increases his thrusts. “You’re killing me baby.”

He gives four more before hot spend fills you up. You can feel him pulsing inside you. He cums for what feels like a minute, spurts of cum spilling out of you before he pulls out and smears it all over your pussy.

With Satoru no longer inside you Suguru lifts you up to fuck you doggy style, your face nearly shoved in Sayorufs crotch. “Clean him up.”

Suguru starts a punishing pace, stretching your asshole further. His balls slap against your sensitive clit. You’re at a point where you don’t think you can cum anymore, but there’s whispers of an orgasm. You chose not to focus on that and instead on Satoru.

For being your best friend only a month ago, there’s no hesitation in these more than platonic actions he takes now. He taps his half-hard dick against your cheek, spreading cum over your cheek and lips. You open your mouth, and yak kitten licks at his length. His spend is salty on your tongue.

Suguru groans from behind you, gripping your hips tighter as he chases his own high. It doesn’t take much more for him to cum as well with nearly a growl. He hunches over you, extenuating the curve of your spine before he pulls out.

There’s the telltale feeling of some of his cum leaking out your asshole and dribbling down your pussy. Suguru scoops a mix of his and Satoru’s cum up and pushes it inside you. He makes sure to hit your G-spot as he does.

Exhaustion settles in your every fiber of being. Never have you been fucked so thoroughly. Made to feel so good.

Yawning, you try and stand up off the bed to go pee, but your knees buckle under you. You would have hit the cool hardwood flooring if it wasn’t for both men reaching out to grab you.

“My legs feel like jelly.”

Suguru smiles, feline as ever. “Can’t have you getting hurt after only round one.”

You straighten up. “Round one?”

“Don’t tell me you thought it’d end there?” Satoru chuckles.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The wood stood you normally perched on hurt like a bitch. Your entire lower half was sore and the lack of cushioning really was not helping. Satoru and Suguru had made good on their promise to fuck you until you passed out. They were “making up for lost time” if you asked them. But if someone asked you, your answer would be they were just freaks. Not that you minded. Clearly not given the array of marks over your neck, chest, and thighs all covered up by a turtle neck and long pants. Satoru really was a biter.

“I’m glad you made it this time Kento.” Utahime giggles, already tipsy from the one beer she's had. She’s leaning on Shoko’s arm, clinging around it.

Nanami is sat up straight across from her, politely sipping his beer. “Yes. My apologies for missing the last one. Tax season has me rather busy.”

Shoko laughs. “Don’t bullshit us, you just can't stand getting with us more than once every two months.”

He sighs. “Surprisingly I do actually enjoy your company. Even if you do annoy me.”

“Whoa! Kento don’t get soft on us.” Satoru claps him on the back. “Next think you know you’re going to tell us about your love life.”

“There is hardly anything happening in that department.” He eyes you, Suguru, and Satoru. “But I see that some of us have had some changes. When did the three of you get together?”

“WHAT?!” Utahime’s scream is shrill and she points a finger at you and the boys. “You guys are all fucking? I thought you guys were just all best friends”

Shoko shushes her, kissing the top of her head. “Baby, c’mon you didn’t realize the sexual tension oozing out of the tree of them the last time we saw them?”

“No,” she whines, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “No one tells me anything.”

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