#X male reader

[carnalcrows]

Terms and Conditions Applied

pariring: gangster! male OC x male reader [profile]

summary: You're a single dad, drowning in debt, barely holding it together for your daughter. But when loan collectors come knocking a little too hard, you find out your debt belongs to someone far more dangerous: Felix Marino, the quiet but infamous head of one of the most powerful mafia syndicates in the world. He makes you a deal—your freedom, for a job. One job. But nothing is ever that simple in his world. Especially when you're not sure what terrifies you more: the blood on your hands, or the way Felix looks at you like you belong to him.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, explicit violence, blood and trauma aftermath, mild panic attack / dissociation, threats and coercion, organized crime themes, single parenthood under duress, mild sexual content, handjob (reader receiving), power imbalance, emotional manipulation, PTSD-like symptoms.

word count: 4.9k

The knocks came hard and fast.

They rattled the apartment door like gunfire—three hits, pause, two more, and a final slam that made the hinges groan. You froze mid-step, a half-unpacked grocery bag dangling from your fingers. Inside it, a bruised apple rolled to the floor.

Not again.

You scanned the room automatically, as if the act of tidying clutter might somehow soften the blow of reality. But the apartment was already bare. Sparse. Clean, in that way that says we don’t have much, but we’re trying.

A soft voice drifted from the hallway behind you. “Papa?”

You turned. There she was—your daughter. Four years old, hair mussed from a post-nap world, her favourite stuffed rabbit trailing from one hand. She rubbed her eyes with the other, blinking at you.

Your heart clenched.

“It’s okay, baby,” you said quietly. “Go back to your room, yeah? I’ll be right there.”

“But who—”

“Just the mailman,” you lied, kneeling down to smooth her hair. “He’s loud today.”

She stared up at you for a beat longer than usual, as if her tiny brain could already tell something wasn’t quite right. Then she nodded solemnly and padded back down the hallway, the rabbit dragging behind her like a weary soldier.

The knocking came again. Louder this time.

You straightened up, set the bag on the counter, and took a breath.

When you opened the door, the two men standing on the other side looked like they'd been born in leather jackets—one tall, one squat. Neither looked thrilled to be here, but they sure weren’t leaving empty-handed.

“Morning,” said the taller one, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. “Nice day, huh?”

You didn’t respond. He took that as agreement.

“Mr. [Last Name],” said the shorter one. “We’re here about the debt.”

“I know.”

“Good.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you also know your payment was due four days ago.”

“I told you,” you said. “I’m working extra shifts. I’m doing what I can.”

The taller man walked a slow circle around your living room, peering at the cheap furniture like it offended him. “A place like this, I’m surprised you haven’t sold the kid’s toys yet.”

Your jaw tensed. “She’s four.”

The shorter man clucked his tongue. “And if you don’t have something by Friday, you’re going to be explaining that to the Boss in person. You know how he feels about delays.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder.”

They left without another word. The taller one flicked a crumpled cigarette onto your doormat and stomped it out as a parting gift.

You shut the door. Locked it. Then leaned against it with your eyes closed.

⋆｡°✩  

The silence in the apartment returned slowly, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft patter of small feet against tile.

“Papa?”

You opened your eyes and looked down. She was back, rabbit in hand.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She wrapped her little arms around your leg, hugging you as best she could. Her cheek pressed against your jeans. “You’re not sad?”

You knelt again and pulled her into your arms properly, breathing in the smell of strawberry shampoo and comfort.

“I’m okay now,” you whispered into her hair. “Because I have you.”

⋆｡°✩  

You made pancakes for dinner.

It wasn’t your best work. The batter was too thin, the pan unevenly heated, and the only syrup left was the cheap, knockoff kind that smelled more like corn than maple. But she still grinned when you put the plate in front of her, legs swinging from the dining chair as she kicked at nothing in particular.

“Can I put peanut butter on it too?” she asked, already reaching for the jar.

“Only if you save a piece for Mr. Bun.”

“I always do,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it were some sacred pact between her and the stuffed rabbit.

You watched her eat, chewing slower than usual, trying to stall the moment. The kitchen light flickered overhead. The stack of unpaid bills on the counter seemed to grow by the day, and rent was due in less than a week. You didn’t know how you were going to pay off the collectors by Friday, let alone face the man behind them— the one they called their boss, in hushed, clipped tones.

A name you’d never heard until two weeks ago. A name that now haunted every idle moment.

You’d tried not to ask too many questions, but the way the others spoke about him made your skin crawl. Not loud, not showy — but dangerous. Not because of violence, but because of how controlled he was. And how rarely he needed to raise his voice to get things done.

You only owed him money because your original lender sold the debt off.

It wasn’t supposed to get this far.

“Papa?”

You blinked out of it. “Yeah, bug?”

She looked at you with peanut butter smeared on her chin. “Can we read the owl book again tonight?”

You smiled, even if it felt thin on your face. “Of course.”

⋆｡°✩  

She fell asleep curled beside you on the couch, mid-sentence, head tucked against your arm. The copy of The Owl Who Wasn’t Afraid of the Dark lay open in your lap, thumb still pressed to the page.

You didn’t dare move her. Not yet.

The room was quiet now, except for the muffled hum of the hallway outside. You could still hear footsteps every now and then—neighbours coming home, doors opening and shutting. It was the kind of rundown apartment block where the walls had ears, but no one cared enough to listen.

You leaned your head back and stared at the ceiling, one hand gently smoothing your daughter’s hair.

Then came the buzz of your phone.

You fumbled for it quietly, careful not to wake her.

Unknown Number

You stared at it. A second buzz followed — a text.

[ The Boss would like a word. You’ll want to make yourself available.

Tomorrow. 10 PM. Zia’s Diner. Come alone. ]

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to. Whoever sent it would already know you’d be there.

⋆｡°✩  

Zia’s Diner looked like it hadn’t changed since the '80s. Flickering neon sign. Red leather booths dulled from wear. Grease-stained menus laminated so many times the corners curled like dying leaves. It was the kind of place that smelled like burnt coffee and fried onions no matter what time of day you walked in. The kind of place where someone like you belonged.

Someone like the one you owe money to? Not so much.

You got there ten minutes early. Sat in the back corner booth, facing the entrance like you’d seen people do in mob movies. Ridiculous, really — like knowing who sat where would make any of this easier.

The waitress came by once, chewing gum and offering you a tired, sceptical look. “You ordering, or you waiting?”

“Just coffee,” you muttered, and she poured you a cup without a word.

You kept checking the time.

10:00 PM sharp, the bell above the door jingled.

He didn’t walk in with an entourage. No theatrics. No broad-shouldered bodyguards or gaudy suits. Just a man in a black wool coat, collar turned up against the wind, dark hair swept back with the ease of someone who didn’t need to try.

He didn’t look like a loan shark. He looked like he could be an architect. Or maybe a violinist. His features were clean-cut but strangely gentle, like someone who hadn’t always belonged to a world like this.

And then he looked at you.

A quick once-over. Not judgmental. Just... observant.

He made his way over with unhurried steps, slid into the booth across from you, and removed his gloves one finger at a time. The silence stretched, thick and taut.

“I’m glad you came,” he said at last. His voice was low, smooth, but not performative. Not like someone trying to play a role. “I didn’t want this to become unpleasant.”

You swallowed hard. “I figured it already was.”

He tilted his head slightly, almost like he was considering you. “It doesn’t have to be.”

You didn’t answer.

The waitress reappeared, looking more alert this time. “Coffee?”

“Tea,” he said, without looking at her. “Chamomile, if you have it.”

You blinked. Tea?

Once she left, he turned his gaze back to you. “You’re a difficult man to track down, considering you haven’t left your apartment in three days.”

Your jaw clenched. “I’ve been with my daughter.”

“I know.” His tone didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes now. Not softness — but interest. “She’s the one who likes the owl book, right?”

You stiffened. “You’ve been watching us?”

“I have people. They were concerned. It’s their job.”

“Concerned about what?”

He paused. Then: “About how a man ends up this deep in debt when he’s clearly not reckless.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Because the worst part was— he wasn’t wrong.

He leaned back, resting his hands on the table. His fingers were long, elegant— with tattoos running across them.

“I didn’t call you here to threaten you,” he said calmly. “If I wanted to scare you, I’d have sent someone else.”

“So why did you call me here?”

His lips parted slightly, like he was about to answer. But then the tea arrived. He thanked the waitress with a quiet nod, waited until she was gone again.

And then he said:

“Because I don’t think you belong in this mess. And I’m interested in seeing how you get out of it.”

You stared at him, not sure if it was a trap. A test. Some kind of manipulation.

“Why?” you asked, voice quiet now. Honest.

He stirred a packet of honey into his tea. No rush. No tension. “You remind me of someone.”

That shut you up.

Not because you knew what it meant, but because of how he said it. Like it hurt to say. Like the memory was still raw, even if the delivery wasn’t.

He took a sip of his tea, eyes never leaving yours.

“Let’s talk about your debt,” he said.

⋆｡°✩  

You tried to read him. Failed.

Everything about him was composed — the measured way he spoke, the way he held his tea with both hands like it was a habit rather than a choice. His voice was quiet but sure, like he’d never once had to raise it to be heard.

He didn’t move like a man used to violence, but you knew better than to trust that.

“You said you wanted to talk about my debt,” you said after a beat, keeping your voice steady. “So talk.”

He gave a soft hum, almost amused. “Alright.”

From the inside pocket of his coat, he pulled out a thin leather folio and opened it on the table. You caught your name on one of the papers. Your signature on another. A string of numbers you didn’t want to look too closely at.

“I assume you know how much you owe.”

You nodded once. “Too much.”

“You’re not wrong.” He tapped a finger against the paper, not unkindly. “You took out the first loan eighteen months ago. Medical bills, yes?”

You stiffened. “My daughter was in the hospital. Pneumonia. We didn’t have insurance.”

He nodded like he already knew, which he probably did.

“And the second loan,” he continued, “was for rent, food, and utilities. You were out of work.”

“My hours got cut,” you muttered.

“And the third?”

You looked away. “Funeral expenses.”

Silence settled again. Not judgmental. Just quiet.

He closed the folder gently and folded his hands on top of it. “There are… less generous men you could’ve borrowed from. Men who would’ve already left a message on your doorstep. Or through your window.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice in where the loans came from,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.

He didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Just watched you like he’d been expecting that edge to come out eventually.

“You’re right,” he said. “You didn’t. But you have one now.”

That gave you pause. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back, eyes steady.

“It means I’m offering to restructure your debt. Reduce the interest. Extend the timeline. Provide resources, if you need them.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He didn’t smile — but his mouth twitched, like he almost did.

“I told you. You remind me of someone.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is to me.”

You didn’t know what to do with that. Couldn’t decide if this was some twisted act of pity or a long con. But you weren’t used to people giving you anything. Especially not someone with this much power—with hands that clean, a gaze that calm, and a reputation like his.

He took another sip of his tea.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said, almost kindly. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. But I want you to understand— I’m not doing this to trap you.”

“Then what do you want?”

His fingers paused on the edge of the cup.

“I want you to keep your daughter,” he said simply. “I want her to grow up safe. With her father.”

Something in your chest twisted. You looked down, jaw tight.

“That’s not your business.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve made it mine.”

You looked up again, and this time, there was no softness in your voice. “What do you get out of it?”

A longer pause.

He studied you, not like a man considering what to say, but like he was wondering how much you could handle. Like he’d already made up his mind.

“I’m not the villain you think I am,” he said finally. “But I’ve been one before. I know what it takes to get out.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Your hands curled around your coffee cup, suddenly aware of the chipped ceramic, the cool air from the vents brushing your neck. A waitress refilled a glass of soda at another table. The world kept moving.

He stood slowly, gathering the folder and slipping it back into his coat.

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he said. “But I’ll have someone drop off the new terms tomorrow. Look them over. Think about your kid.”

He turned to leave, then paused and glanced back at you one last time.

“And think about who you want to be when she looks back on this.”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

⋆｡°✩  

You didn’t expect it to come in an envelope.

White. Thick. No return address.

It was on your doorstep when you got home from picking Nora up from daycare — tucked under the welcome mat like some dead thing left by a cat. You stared at it for a full minute before bending to pick it up, heart low in your chest.

She tugged on your sleeve. “What’s that, Daddy?”

“Nothing, bug.” You smiled, but your voice didn’t rise with it. “Go on in. I’ll be right there.”

She slipped past you with a squeal, barreling into the apartment and tossing her little backpack onto the floor. You shut the door behind her, thumb tracing the edge of the envelope as you walked to the kitchen. The light through the window was already fading to that washed-out grey of too-late afternoons. You tore it open without ceremony.

Inside: four pages, paper thick enough to feel expensive. No header, no signature — but you recognised the same smooth, sparse formatting from the mans’s folder at Zia’s—the new terms.

You skimmed.

Then read slower.

Then stopped.

He was serious.

— Outstanding balance: reduced by 40%. — Interest: frozen, pending further review. — Monthly payments: deferred for 3 months. — Conditions:

That last part made your stomach twist.

1. You will be reachable at all times. 2. You will submit proof of employment weekly. 3. You will meet with Mr. Marino in person at a time and place of his choosing. Frequency: open. 4. You will not attempt to renegotiate through any party other than Mr. Marino himself. 5. You will not disappear.

Regards, 

Felix Marino

That last line wasn’t underlined. But it didn’t need to be.

You sat down, the chair scraping across the tile.

It was clean. Too clean. He’d carved out the brutality and left behind something you could stomach — just enough rope to pull yourself up. Or hang yourself with.

In the distance, you heard Nora humming a song from her cartoons.

And you realised: you were already considering it.

⋆｡°✩  

The house is quiet after Nora falls asleep, sprawled out in her tiny bed with her stuffed rabbit tucked under her chin. You'd cleaned the chocolate from her face, tucked her in, and kissed her forehead like always. Pretended like nothing was wrong. Like there wasn’t a folded letter in your coat pocket that felt like it weighed more than your whole damn life.

You sit at the kitchen table, hands steepled, staring down at it again.

Felix Marino’s terms are clear:

Six months of contracted work

Weekly check-ins at a private location downtown

No questions asked about the nature of the work.

No outside contact with “competing interests”

Nora is off-limits. Her name isn’t even mentioned.

That part almost makes it worse.

Because you don’t think Felix left her out of the contract out of kindness.

You think it’s because he sees her as yours. And what belongs to you, by extension, belongs to him now.

You grip the paper until the crease deepens. This is a deal with the devil, no matter how cleanly it’s written. Still, you’ve seen worse. You’ve lived worse. And if this means keeping Nora safe—keeping your home, your job, your sanity—then what choice do you really have?

You’ll meet his terms. But you won’t let him sink his claws in.

You won’t let him think he has you.

Your phone buzzes on the table. A message. Just a location, a time.

[ Tomorrow, 11 AM.

Wear something decent. ]

You stare at the screen for a while before flipping it over and standing up. You clean the counter. Rinse the mugs. Check the locks on the doors twice. It’s routine, but you do it slower tonight.

Just before bed, you peek in on Nora one more time.

Her tiny chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. There’s drool on her pillow. You swallow the knot in your throat.

You hope to god she never has to know how close you came to losing everything.

⋆｡°✩  

The address Felix gave leads to a storefront with blackout windows and no signage. Inside, it's cleaner than expected. Sleek. Minimal. You’re greeted by a man in a tailored suit who doesn’t ask your name — just waves you through with a nod like you’re already known here.

You are, apparently.

A hallway. A door. A quiet room with a view of the city skyline. Felix is seated behind a polished desk, flipping lazily through a folder.

He doesn’t look up when he says, “You came.”

“Not like I had a choice.”

“Sure you did. You just didn’t like the alternatives.”

He gestures to the chair across from him. You sit, tense.

He finally lifts his gaze, eyes still unreadable. “How’s Nora?”

You narrow your eyes. “Fine. And she’s not part of this.”

“I never said she was.” He leans back, steepling his fingers. “Though you should know, this isn’t charity. You’ll work. I’ll watch. If I don’t like what I see, the terms change.”

“And if I don’t like what I see?”

“Then I’ll be disappointed,” Felix says, smooth as silk. “And trust me — you don’t want that.”

There’s a pause. You hate how calm he is. Like this is all part of some carefully laid plan. Maybe it is.

“You always recruit desperate dads into your service?”

“Only the interesting ones.”

You clench your jaw. “Why me?”

Felix shrugs, almost too casually. “Doesn’t matter.”

But it does matter. You can feel it.

The way he looks at you sometimes. Like he’s trying to find someone else in your face. Like you’re unfinished business.

You stand. “I’ll do what you asked. But keep the personal shit out of it.”

Felix watches you with that same unreadable gaze. “Whatever you say.”

But you can tell he’s already rewriting the rules.

⋆｡°✩  

You’d expected something bloodier.

Maybe it was the envelope. Maybe it was Felix’s eyes, the way he looked at you like you were already halfway his. Or maybe it was just the way his name lingered like a shadow behind every line of those new “terms.” Whatever it was, you thought there’d be blood. Screaming. A pipe wrench. Something straight out of a bad movie.

Instead, you’re standing outside a warehouse that looks too clean to be dangerous, which somehow makes it worse.

You glance down at the slip of paper again. One name. One address. Gallo. That’s all he gave you. No instructions. No backup. Just the duffel bag in your hand and a phone in your pocket that vibrated exactly once with a location pin and then went dead silent.

You should walk away. You should. But you think of Nora. Think of the groceries on the table this morning — not from your wallet. Think of the sharp suits you saw at your building’s entrance yesterday. Men who didn’t belong there. Men who made eye contact just long enough to remind you that you were being watched.

So you step inside.

The warehouse isn’t abandoned, but it’s not busy either. The air smells like oil and dust, and the lights overhead buzz faintly with age. You follow the sound of metal scraping across concrete until you see him — mid-40s, thick arms, cigarette tucked into the side of his mouth like it’s permanent.

“You Gallo?” you ask.

He looks up, unimpressed. “Who’s asking?”

You don’t answer. Just unzip the duffel and pull out the envelope inside — thick, sealed, and marked with the same insignia that was embossed into Felix’s letterhead.

He snorts. “About time.”

You hand it over. He rips it open, eyes scanning quickly. You can’t see the paper, but whatever’s written on it makes his jaw twitch.

“I paid last week,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You don’t move. Felix never said what to do after delivering the message. But you know better than to leave right away.

Gallo crumples the paper. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. Then louder, “Tell Marino if he wants more outta me, he can come collect it himself.”

You exhale slowly. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”

He steps forward, chest puffed. “No? Then how does it work, ragazzo di merda?”

There’s a tension now — heavy and tight, like the moment before thunder. You don’t flinch, even when he gets close enough for you to smell the smoke on his breath. But your fingers twitch.

This isn’t a test of violence. It’s a test of restraint.

And you’re not sure which you’re worse at.

He laughs like he’s already won. Then, just when the silence threatens to stretch too far, he spits — right at your shoes.

You move fast. Maybe too fast. You don’t pull the knife, don’t throw a punch, but your hands are around his throat in a blink, and you shove him back hard enough that he slams against a shelf with a clang. A box of screws topples somewhere behind him.

“Try it again,” you say, low and even. “See what happens.”

You don’t remember drawing the knife.

All you remember is the way the air changed — thick, metallic, sharp with panic. One moment, Gallo’s guys were just shouting, posturing like men with too much testosterone and not enough brains. The next one of them rushed you. Pulled a gun. A warning shot, maybe. But it grazed your arm, and that was all it took to tip something inside you.

The rest is a blur. Screaming. A crash. A warm spray across your face that wasn’t your own.

You’re not trained for this.

You’re not supposed to be the guy standing in a warehouse full of broken bones and gasping, bloodied men, clutching a blade that’s slippery in your hand. You were a barista three years ago. A father. A husband, once.

But right now, you’re just a wreck. Shaking, breath jagged, body slick with sweat and blood — most of it not yours. The knife hits the floor with a metallic clatter. Your legs feel like paper.

The phone in your pocket buzzes once.

A location pin.

No words.

Your hands are still trembling as you stumble out into the alley, back pressed to the cool brick wall as your knees threaten to buckle. You press your palm to the wound on your arm, but you can’t even tell if it’s deep. All you can feel is the adrenaline, burning like acid through your veins.

The car pulls up exactly two minutes later.

Sleek. Black. Expensive in the quiet, menacing kind of way.

The passenger door opens, and Felix is already waiting inside.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then you climb in, dragging the bloodied duffel with you. You don’t speak. You can’t.

He says nothing at first. Just watches. His gaze skims your face, your hands, the splotches on your shirt. His nostrils flare, faintly. His jaw clenches.

Then his voice comes, low and velvety.

“You did well.”

You flinch.

Well?

Is this what “well” looks like?

You open your mouth to say something — anything — but it all dies on your tongue. You feel like you're floating outside yourself, like your body isn’t quite yours. Like you're going to pass out.

Felix notices. Of course he does.

He leans in, slow and deliberate. His hand moves to your jaw— firm, and tilts your face toward him.

“You’re shaking.”

No shit. You laugh — a broken, awful sound that doesn’t feel real.

Felix hums, then shifts in his seat. The partition behind you slides up without a sound, cloaking the two of you in soft shadows.

“I told you I wanted to see what you could handle,” he murmurs. “You didn’t disappoint.”

“I almost died,” you manage to whisper.

“Mm,” he says, thumb brushing along your cheek. “But you didn’t.”

You don’t realise your hands are clenched in your lap until he notices. He undoes your seatbelt. Leans down.

“I can help,” he says softly, fingers already trailing down your thigh. “Let me.”

You’re still bloodstained. You still feel sick. But your cock betrays you — twitching in your jeans under his touch like it doesn’t care that you’re half-feral from adrenaline and trauma.

He smiles faintly. Like he expected that.

“Poor thing,” Felix says, voice thick with amusement and something deeper. “All wound up. All that fear. All that pressure.”

His hand slides over the bulge in your pants, slow and possessive. Your breath catches.

“You’re shaking so much,” he murmurs. “You need to calm down. Just relax.”

You don’t. Can’t. But your hips twitch anyway.

Felix is patient. Cruel in his gentleness. His fingers undo your jeans with practised ease, and the second he wraps his hand around your cock— warm, firm, steady— you nearly choke on a gasp. The pleasure spikes sharply and fast, edged with guilt and something darker.

You shouldn’t want this. Not now. Not here. Not after—

“Don’t think,” he says quietly. “Just feel.”

Your head hits the seat behind you. Your hands tremble uselessly in your lap as he strokes you—not fast, not slow, just right. His thumb circles the head on every upward pull, milking soft, breathless moans out of you.

“You’ve been good,” he whispers, voice like velvet steel. “Brave. I take care of what’s mine.”

You don’t know when that happened — when you became his. But it’s too late now. His hand keeps working you through it, coaxing you toward a high you didn’t ask for but can’t stop chasing. Heat pools low in your belly. Your eyes squeeze shut. You’re going to—

“Come for me,” he breathes, leaning in. “That’s it. Let go.”

And you do.

It rips out of you like a sob. Messy. Shuddering. You curl in on yourself as your body wracks with release, nerves flayed raw.

Felix doesn’t flinch at the mess. He just wipes his hand, then guides your head down to rest against his shoulder. You’re still panting, still dazed, blood drying on your clothes — and he strokes your hair like you’re something precious.

Like you're his favourite broken thing.

⋆｡°✩  

You leave the bathroom light on.

Not because Nora’s scared of the dark anymore. She’s been sleeping through the night since she was three. It’s for you.

You’re the one who wakes up in cold sweats now. You’re the one who flinches at door hinges creaking and cars idling too long outside the window. You’re the one staring at the nursery monitor like something might crawl through it.

There’s no crying. Just the soft hum of static.

She’s curled up on her side, one arm flung above her head, mouth open in that completely unselfconscious way only kids manage. Her stuffed bear is trapped beneath her chest like a casualty, and you don’t dare move it. You don’t dare move anything.

You sit on the edge of your bed, clothes still crusted in spots with things you scrubbed off hours ago. You’re not sure how you’re still breathing. Or why you are.

Your hands shake. Not like before—this is quieter. Numb.

Your phone buzzes once on the nightstand. You don’t check it. You already know who it is.

You already know what he’ll say. Good work. I told you you could handle it. You’re not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or a warning.

The monitor hisses softly, then goes silent. You keep watching it anyway.

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ఌ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑

w.c › 6.6k

warnings › bottom male reader. A faceclaim for him, if you need visuals. Based on my short Drabble. Changed some things to keep it fresh.

plot › a stalker (you) who becomes an idol, experiences withdrawn feelings from not being able to stalk your bae anymore due to scheduling issues. So your sister forces you to make some online friends, one you get particularly close to.

kinks › phone sex

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Arakawa Naoki had a stalker.

Naoki couldn’t exactly remember when you began watching him. He just randomly noticed you appearing in places you weren’t before. At first he was creeped out—wondering what trusted adult he should tell.

Until he saw you trip over your own shoelace when trying to discreetly follow him into a grocery store.

Then he just started seeing you as a kid who wanted attention but would rather die than directly ask for it.

You were pretty harmless. After six months of your ‘stalking’, you began leaving him gifts and food. It was mostly his favorites too. How could he not appreciate you?

Once he had graduated middle school and moved to high school, he honestly expected to never see you again. Until he noticed you in his assigned classroom. Judging by how quickly you shoved a book in your face—you weren’t expecting him.

His luck.

That’s when he learned your name.

Momoi (Name).

Your last name was cute. Peach well? Adorable even.

He couldn’t find you scary at all. Though your classmates seemed to disagree. No one would talk to you or even glance your way unless they had no choice. He didn’t understand why, you were cute.

Sure, you didn’t put any efforts into your looks. Your tie was a mess, white shoes that were caked with dirt, cardigan missing buttons, a strange black stain on your blouse. Your face was permanently in a frown, eyes staring off into space if they weren’t looking at Naoki.

Okay.

Okay, maybe you weren’t cute to the average person.

But Naoki saw past that. He began paying attention to you—how could he not? He noticed that you were into music. One of the rare times you actually did something that wasn’t dedicated to him.

He saw you staring almost longingly at the music club last week. But you didn’t attempt to walk into the room, opting to quickly walk away.

You hardly knew how to hide your diary, having it out on your desk, wide open even when you left to the restroom. It made sense, no one ever went near you at all. Only Naoki cared enough to see what you could’ve possibly written.

5月10日 Arakawa-San recently got a bad haircut.. it’s really bad… but he’s still cute… so I’ll ignore it

5月11日 Sis keeps bothering me to audition, stupid. How do you nicely tell someone to shut up?

5月16日 Sis told me writing in the diary everyday would help me but honestly I feel like a psycho. Besides, I’m not sure what to write sometimes, should I just put nonsense?

5月17日 クククククククククククククククララララララララララ, おぉ〜 ??????? 悲しい嬉しい !!!!!!!! What if I jumped in front of the train, would it be an instant death? Hm

Mostly nonsense for the most part. Especially after May 17th. Seemed like you gave up actually writing your feelings in it. Oh well, it was a nice look into his weird stalker.

“Don’t you think Momoi-San is a bit… strange…?”

Naoki glanced up from your diary. He had taken it up from your desk yesterday and it seemed you hadn’t noticed yet. You were both now seniors and were once again in the same class.

“What do you mean?” Naoki questioned, glancing back at your diary. His friend, Nakamura groaned as he rubbed at his hair. He scooted closer which caused Naoki to quickly position your diary so Nakamura couldn’t get a passing glance.

“I feel like he follows you around! I’ve just started noticing!”

Naoki held back a laugh. Nakamura was about four years late.

“You’re imagining things. Why would anyone follow me? I’m not anyone important.”

“I guess… but…”

10月4日 Momo-Chan died yesterday. I didn’t think hamsters could live ten years. Sis really cared for that rodent

11月7日 I’ve been watching 悪い髪 for four years now but I haven’t even spoken to him this is bad, I got rejected from the university he applied to I haven’t even told mom and dad I only applied to one… they’ll kill me

12月19日 forgot I had this stupid thing sis is dragging me to an audition next year maybe by then she’ll forget I can just be a full time stalker

3月23日 she didn’t forget—it’s next week. Oh god, 行きたくない、行きたくない！姉さん、お願いだから

“Naoki! Since when did you read???” Nakamura snapped his fingers, catching Naoki’s attention.

“What?” Naoki closed the diary and shook his head, “you have no proof. No sense in getting paranoid over hearsay. Just leave it alone.”

Nakamura sighed and rolled his eyes, “fine. But I’m not being weird, that guys a freak. I won’t be surprised if he has nothing going for him after we graduate.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

もとも

To say Nakamura was dead wrong would be an understatement. You and your sister must’ve went to that audition and passed with flying colors. Because next thing Naoki knew was that you were on a poster at his part time job with your sister, teasing your debut. Mo to Mo.

You had cleaned up nice for the photoshoot, Naoki felt validated for thinking you were cute underneath all that ‘dirt.’ It seemed the agency was leaning heavily into an alternative and more edgy look with you and your sister.

Naoki didn’t think he’d ever seen your bare arms before until that poster. That stare that your past classmates saw as terrifying was oddly sensually. He was happy that you had something going for yourself, his stalker.

But…

He didn’t expect that meant he’d only get to see you on the tv from now on.

2 years later

“(Name), stop wallowing in your stolen hoodie please. You can’t keep getting so sad every time it’s his birthday.” Hiyori, your sister said, kicking your back as she walked past you to the kitchen.

You only whimpered, curling into Naoki’s sweater that you stole on December 19th, your 2nd year at high school. He had left it in his locker one day and you just wanted it, luckily he often forgot to lock his locker.

“But… Sis…” You whined, wiping away a few tears with your hand. “I only know what university he went to… I have no time to see him anymore.”

“It’s not like you ever spoke to him.” Hiyori muttered, tossing an apple up and down as she walked back over to living room. She kicked you once more before plopping down onto the couch, resting her feet on your body.

You made no effort to move. “But… I liked seeing him… even if didn’t say anything to him. Seeing him.. helped.”

“You’re lucky he never noticed just how insane you are. You could’ve been in jail right now.”

“Mhm.” You glanced over at your phone, tapping on the screen. “Do you think he’s having a good birthday?”

Hiyori only hummed, “maybe. Arakawa Naoki, right? How’d you even start stalking him?”

“He helped me.”

“Helped. Yea, that’s enough information,” Hiyori shook her head, deciding she was done with you for the time being. She began tapping away at her phone, occasionally giggling. Probably her girlfriend.

You watched the time tick on your phone, right when it reached midnight. The day was now December 25th, Christmas Day. No longer Arakawa Naoki’s birthday. You groaned and turned off your phone, glancing over at Hiyori.

“Merry Christmas…”

“Merry Christmas. Let’s go to the aquarium, that’ll cheer you up.” Hiyori said, taking her feet off your body.

“Aquarium…” You muttered, shifting over to glance up at her. “Tokyo Sea Life Park?”

“If that’s what you want. It shouldn’t be too busy when we go.”

It was very busy.

“What the hell?” Hiyori groaned, pulling down her hat to cover her face. She squeezed past a group of students pressed against the windows. “Tch, these kids have no respect. Hogging up the glass, can’t even see shit.”

You hummed absentmindedly, glancing around. “It’s fine. I just want to see the voyagers.” Your face was properly covered with a mask and sunglasses, a hat resting on the top of your head.

“It’s a Sunday—why are so many people here! I’m sweating too much.” Hiyori complained, her mask slipping down a bit. “Go off without me, I need a water.”

“You sure?”

“Go!” She waved you off, already walking away.

“Ah, okay..” You only shrugged. Better to let her cool off than aggravate her any further. You dodged and weaved through the crowds, coming across couples and families that were taking photos of the fish. It had been two years since visiting Tokyo Sea Life Park in Edogawa City.

You’d come frequently on Mondays and Wednesdays because Naoki would usually have baseball practice. Despite how much you loved him, watching him practice could only be so much fun after awhile.

“Look, isn’t he cute?”

“Ah, don’t point at him! It’s rude.”

“Is he a model?”

“You can’t even see his face, his hat’s hiding it!”

You glanced over at the two girls whispering about, not paying any attention to the fish swimming behind them. Ah, young love. Cute. You shook your head and looked over at the sign on the walls. Voyagers of the Sea… Voyagers of the Sea…

“Excuse me, are you looking for something?”

“Ah,” you glanced up, coming face to face with an employee. They were dressed a bit weird. Wearing a hat and mask. Could employees wear something like that? “Uh, hm, where’s the Voyagers of the Sea? It’s been awhile since I’ve been here.”

The employee turned their head to the map on the wall, muttering to themselves. Shouldn’t an employee know where everything is? You were about to just tell them to forget when they suddenly reached over and grabbed your hand.

“I found it. C’mon.” They sounded like a man. You gasped as he tugged you along. The path was bumpy, constantly having to skid to a stop due to the large crowds. You winced each time you bumped right into his back. Gosh, he had broad shoulders.

Two more sharp turns and another knock to your nose on his shoulder, you arrived at the Voyagers of the Sea. You rubbed your nose, groaning to yourself before glancing over at the tanks.

You couldn’t help but grin. “It’s still pretty.” You whispered mainly to yourself, stepping close to the glass. “Bluefin tuna,” you pointed as it swam past, “eagle ray, scalloped hammerhead.”

“Y’know,” you glanced back at the employee who was standing near you. He hadn’t left yet surprisingly. “Bluefin tuna are the largest tuna species. My sister says they’re also the tastiest. And scalloped hammerheads have a 360-degree vision, but then that means they can’t see in front of them. One time, when I was here as a student, one of the fishes was hiding in front of the scalloped hammerhead’s nose. And—”

“—You really like these things. Are you a marine biologist?” He suddenly interrupted you, tilting his head.

“Oh, sorry. I’m not. I couldn’t study something like that.” You didn’t elaborate. You glanced down at your hand, the employee’s hand casually holding yours. “Uhm. You, uh, don’t need to—”

“—Sorry.” He quickly dropped your hand as if he was burned. “Sorry. You just have… soft hands. Very comfortable.”

“Thanks,” you glanced at his name tag. “Nakamura-San.”

“Naka—?” He interrupted himself letting out a laugh, nodding slightly. “Right, right… I’m Nakamura.”

“Mhm. That’s what your name tag says.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Nakamura laughed. “Do you have anymore fish facts?”

“Aren’t you working right now? I don’t want to bore you.”

“It’s okay. I’m interested in learning.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, hammerheads give birth to live pups, and usually a female hammerhead can fertilize her own eggs without a male. But as soon as she has the pups, the baby hammerheads learn how to survive all on their own.”

“Really? They don’t need a parent?”

“No. They do just fine.”

“Self sufficient.” Nakamura hummed, pulling down his hat. “You’re interesting. Are you in school?”

“No. I uhm, work in the music industry.”

Nakamura perks up at that, looking over at you. Though you weren’t too sure due to his hat covering his eyes. “Really? Do you know Mo to Mo?”

You felt yourself freeze. “Ah, uhm, I’ve heard of them…”

“My friend really likes them. She blasts their music all the time, I think I know the lyrics by heart by now.”

“Mhm, they’re good, so I’ve heard.”

“Yea, have you—”

“—It’s Momoi Hiyori!!!!”

“Hiyori-San, sign my tits please!!!”

“Sign my forehead!!!”

“Momoi Hiyori?” Nakamura whispered as you felt yourself panic. The sounds of fans grew louder with the accompaniment of loud heels clicking against the floor.

There, your sister, hat long gone and mask off entirely, was sprinting your way. She was frantically motioning for you to start running as a crowd of fans were right on her heels.

“Crap.” You whispered, ready to book it but Nakamura grabbed your arm.

“Wait! Can I get your LINE ID?”

“LINE ID?” You whispered in shock. Only your family and manager had your LINE ID.

“Hurry up, Seabrain!!!!” Hiyori yelled, rushing past you.

You cursed and pulled out your phone, fumbling to open up LINE and show your QR code. “Here, here. Just scan it and add me.”

Nakamura rushed to scan the code, humming once he got it. “I got it. Let’s—” but as soon as he glanced back up, you were long gone.

“—hang out sometime…?”

He pulled off his hat and rubbed at his head. “He’s fast…” he glanced down at his phone and looked at your account.

Account Name: シーブレイン

“ぱらぱら” — 好きです

The profile picture was of a koi fish, a hand reaching into the pond to touch its scales.

“Seabrain? Cute.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

ナオイス

シーブレインちゃん, hi~ it’s ’Nakamura’

“Good, good. Lean down further, please. Beautiful.” The photographer said. The sounds of camera flashing and continuous talking almost caused you to miss your phone ringing. Which was strange.

You had little to no contacts. Who could be texting you? It had been nearly two weeks since you had went to Tokyo Sea Life Park. You opened LINE and were surprised to see a request.

“Naoise? Naoise?” You struggled to pronounce the name, tilting your head. What type of name was that? It was just nonsense. “Seabrain-Chan? Is he making fun of me…?” You huffed and turned off your phone, placing it face down on the table.

“Who’s making fun of who?”

You squeaked, glancing up to see Hiyori. She was dressed in a skintight bodysuit, hair slicked back with copious amounts of gel, sharp dark eyeliner and black lipstick. “Hah, answer me.” She said, reaching over to grab your phone.

“Ah, wait!” You reached over to stop her but she easily grabbed both of your wrists in one hand and unlocked your phone.

“Hm? N-Nao-Naoise? Hm, strange name. Seabrain-Chan, hi, it’s Nakamura. Who’s Nakamura?”

“Just an employee at the Tokyo Sea Life Park. He asked for my LINE ID before we had to leave.” You grunted, trying to pull your hands free. How the hell was your sister stronger than you?

“Aren’t you going to answer him? He’s your first contact that’s not family or a coworker. Here, I’ll answer for you.”

“Wait!!”

シーブレイン

(⌒▽⌒)☆ hey, Nakamura-Kun~ I thought you’d never text me

“Are you insane?! Why did you use the a text face?!” You whined, as Hiyori showed you the text she sent. “And I sound so desperate!”

“Why not? It’s cute.”

“Cute?!” You groaned. “Not at all, only kids use that!”

“Not true. My girlfriend sends them to me all the time.” She released your wrists and hands over your phone, pulling out her own to text her girlfriend. “Anyway, talk to this Nakamura guy, maybe he’ll get you to forget Arakawa.”

You frowned. There’s no way you’d ever forget him. Not someone like him.

ナオイス

Aren’t you cute? 悪いな, 海洋くん。

I got busy, my parents and siblings came to visit me since they missed my birthday Couldn’t refuse them

Marine-Kun? You rolled your eyes. Well, it wasn’t like he knew your name. You didn’t really feel like entertaining this any longer but you thought about how your life has been so far. Sure, you technically had fans but you did feel a bit lonely.

Back then, you could watch Naoki and feel moderately okay. Just seeing him was good enough to brighten your mood. But you haven’t been able to see him in two whole years.

Maybe you should… try to forget him?

You shuddered at the thought. Okay. Not forget him. Just, gain a friend.

シーブレイン

気にしない 。

I was busy too. I have to prepare for an upcoming single

ナオイス

Single? Woah

Are you a producer? Songwriter?

シーブレイン

Ah

“Sis!!!” You suddenly shot up, startling Hiyori. She glared at you. “What should I do?”

“What? Why are you screaming?”

“I told him I have to prepare for a single! But! I don’t know what to say? Who do I pretend to be? A singer? Or maybe a makeup artist? Songwriter? I told him I worked in the music industry, I can’t possibly be a makeup artist, oh what should say—!”

“Just say you’re a backup vocalist and are participating in the music video.”

“Ah.” You grin. “Smart. You’re so smart, Big Sis!” You give her a wet kiss on the cheek that she quickly wipes away with a groan, turning your attention back to your phone.

シーブレイン

Backup vocalist. I was just asked to participate in the music video.

ナオイス

mjk? すごい！

You’re cool. I’m just studying meteorology.

Probably become a weather forecaster ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

シーブレイン

Weather forecaster? Is that what you want?

ナオイス

No way

I was a baseball player but

Fucked up left leg, it was bound to happen, I already sprained it once

シーブレイン

それな are you okay now?

ナオイス

Yea. It’s been a year now, I’m

ksnjdnwbdow

You froze, raising an eyebrow. “Ksnjd… is this roman alphabet slang I don’t know?” You began typing the letters into the search bar when he suddenly texted you again.

ナオイス

悪いな。

I need to head back to work, almost got caught by my boss (＞人＜;)

See ya~ シュモクザメ (^_^)/~~~

“Hammerhead shark?” You grumbled, unable to hide the slight smile on your lips. “He’s going to call me everything in the ocean…” you finally took the time to actually see his profile picture. It was of a teddy bear, brown with an eye missing, close to the camera. Though you could still see the background of beach sand.

“That was fast, did you forget about Arakawa by now?”

“Never!”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I’m not doing that again, Nakamura, those aquariums are stressful.”

Naoki sighed, shoving his phone into his back pocket. His hair was pulled into a ponytail as he slipped on some gloves. He began cutting up some fish.

“Why are you even in the kitchen?”

Nakamura rolled his eyes, “it’s my mom’s restaurant, I can go wherever. But c’mon, please? They’re only free on Sunday and I used up most of my vacation days already.”

“Sorry, I can hardly handle standing in here for three hours straight. I’m not doing your job for you again.” Naoki held up the knife, pointing it at Nakamura when he attempted to get close.

“Didn’t you get some guys LINE ID because of me?”

“Because of you?” Naoki chuckled, shaking his head. “Keep talking and you’ll replace this tuna.” He slid the knife clean against the tuna’s body, the head off without a second slice.

Nakamura rubbed his neck. “Sheesh. Fine fine. I’ll figure something out… so cruel. Ah, that Momoi kid is having a comeback soon. Do you still keep up with him?”

“No.” Naoki muttered, pulling out the spine from the tuna. “I haven’t since my accident. He stopped stalking me.”

“I still can’t believe you actually liked that he was stalking you.”

“You wouldn’t get it. But I’ve gotten over him, alright?”

“I’m glad I don’t. Try to form a healthy relationship with this new guy, okay?”

“Stop asking me to take your Sunday shifts for your mysterious babe, okay?”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

4 years ago

You were a senior in middle school, staring down at the lake beneath you. Your shoes were placed down beside you. Your backpack resting on the ground as you peered over the railing. You were a bit short back then, still lagging behind the other boys who were finally getting tall.

Hiyori had teased you’d probably end up her height. Lo and behold you were only an inch taller than her in the present.

“Is that… hm, what’s that one?” You whispered, pushing on your toes a little, trying to see what was floating above the water. It was a bit hard to see—the sun going down being your only source of light.

“They really need to make more light posts.”

You pulled at your uniform to only to feel your button pop loose, falling into the lake below. A curse was on the tip of your tongue as you looked down. It fell with a quiet plop, not even making enough noise or movement to seemingly bother the inhabitants of the lake.

The drop wasn’t high by any means. But the lake wasn’t safe for people to get in. It was deep and the current was surprisingly fast. Once you got swept in, it would be hard to leave. You were honestly wondering if this was actually a lake. It had to have been a river that was just unnaturally wide.

As you pondered what to actually call the body of water underneath the bridge, you heard someone yell.

You glanced to your left just before you tackled to the ground. A delayed cry left your lips from the sudden force. You awaited the pain but didn’t feel anything. The person who tackled you had managed to take the fall damage, now that you were laying atop of them.

You slowly gazed down, noting their middle school uniform, and to your shock—a leg brace on their left leg. A shocked gasp left your lips, catching sight of their forgotten crutches on the ground not too far from you.

This person… was insane?

Said person began to cough violently, their hands digging into your back. You sat up and made sure to not accidentally touch their left leg. The sunset was your only light at this point. Yellow-orange rays shined down on the boy beneath you.

His black hair formed around on the ground, resembling a halo. A little cut on his cheek. On his right cheek there was a mole, almost directly on his cheekbones. His hands slowly slide down your back before falling limply to the ground.

“Hey… Oi. Did you hit your head?!” You whispered, reaching down to touch the back of his head. Sure enough, as you brought your hand back, there was a bit of blood on the tip of your fingers.

You fished out your phone and quickly called for an ambulance. As you waited, you heard a little laugh. You glanced down to see the boy staring up at you, his lips slowly pulling into a little grin.

“At least..” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “The ambulance is for me.”

“What…? I—did you think I was going to jump?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze unfocusing. You gently rubbed his cheek, hoping to keep him awake.

“I was just looking at the water. I’m sorry, please don’t be too hurt because of me…” You frowned. The only reason your shoes were off was because the right shoe had torn open. You were just waiting for Hiyori to get back from the nearby convenience store with some flip flops.

Now you were waiting for an ambulance.

“Prob… just a concussion.” He suddenly whispered, humming slightly. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t fall asleep. What’s your name?”

“Arakawa.. Naose.”

“Naose?”

“Se?” He began to giggle. “Did I say se? Nice? Ki… meant Ki.. Naoki…”

“Naoki?”

“Hm?”

“Stay awake, please. They’re almost here. Think about, ah, maybe the amount of sea life that can live in a river. How they live different to like, uh, ponds or lakes? Do you like koi fish?”

“Sorry… but that’s really boring…” He muttered, groaning. “I’m falling asleep.”

“Sea life is boring to you?”

“Very… but it’s nice that you like it. I think.. I like.. the sky? Dunno, heheh. Koi fish, is that your name?”

“Huh?”

“Koi-Kun, you… hehe, should be… hm… what was I gonna say?” He began to giggle, raising one hand to gently point at your nose. “Do you, poke fish noses?”

“Fish noses?”

“The weathers nice.” He changed the subject, eyes struggling to stay open. “Y’know… legs’ real ‘urt. Tink ade t rse. Heheh.. ably never play gain.”

“Play what?” You gently patted his face, causing him to open his eyes again.

“Baseball. Mhm… just for a second… lemme..”

You tapped him again. “Stay awake please.”

“So mean…” he gazed over at you, a little smile on his lips. “You…. Pretty.. in a weird way. Koi-Kun.”

The sound of sirens caught your attention before you could respond. “Ah, they’re here! Hey, hey, Naoki-San, Naoki-San!”

That was how you met him, giving him a concussion and perhaps ruining his baseball career.

Young love (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

ナオイス

くらげさん, おはよう～(・ω・)ノ slept well?

シーブレイン

Jellyfish? That’s new, are you going to stick with a nickname or just keep calling me new ones each time?

ナオイス

∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ of course～ でも！you know the kanji for jellyfish, right?

シーブレイン

海月? Umi? Tsuki?

ナオイス

Ya, Sea Moon, if you directly translate it in English wwwww

It’s what I think of you, cold and deep, so mysterious, like the sea～ and round, bright, and shiny, like the moon～

シーブレイン

Bright? The moon?

Most people wouldn’t agree with that, the moon doesn’t provide its own light

ナオイス

Right

But it still shines, even if it needs some help

Think of me as your sun, helping you shine,

Sea Moon～ (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

Later, I have class

“Holy shit.” Hiyori cursed, staring at your phone in shock.

You and ‘Nakamura’ have been chatting for around two months now. The conversations were pretty boring for the most part. Honestly you assumed he’d stop talking to you due to how dry and cold you were. But he’d always respond quickly.

He always made time to respond to you. He even said his name wasn’t ‘Nakamura’ but he never told you his actual name. Not like you asked, you probably should.

He was really into using text faces. At first you viewed them as childish but you got used to them. They could be cute, occasionally.

You two shared pictures but never of yourselves. Just of dinner or any other item that was interesting enough.

“He.. he must like you!” Hiyori whispered, looking over at you. “Who could say something so.. casually?!”

“He can’t. He doesn’t even know what I look like! Or who I actually am! He’d freak out.”

“I doubt that.” Hiyori sighed, rubbing her hands through her hair. “You should try sending something, see if he’s just those friends who are poetic platonically.”

“What would I send?”

“Something sexy.”

“No way.”

You sighed, rubbing at your face as you stared down at your phone. Okay, you’ve always had a problem with saying no to your sister’s ideas. After some goading, you reluctantly took a video.

Hiyori already told you what to say once you pressed send. The video was just of you recording yourself in one of the outfits for your recent music video. It was one of your more scandalous outfits, skin tight pants with holes throughout. A see through shirt and a choker. Chains decorated the outfit.

It was a whole thing.

The video was only about ten seconds. You made sure to have your face out of frame as you pointed your phone down at your pants. There was a mirror right across from you, you laid on a couch, legs spread out, back slightly arched. Your hand was shaky as slid down to your crotch.

Pants button was already open as you gently gripped the edge of your shit that was tucked into the pants, slowly pulling it out. The slightest glance at the thin, tight black briefs you wore before quickly ending the video.

Hiyori’s ‘excuse’ was a simple and planned: “oooh, sorry sorry! I didn’t mean to send this video!” Then you’d send a normal video just showcasing your outfit in the mirror, standing up.

Good enough excuse since you could feign innocence, both videos did have you in the same outfit. And so long as you goaded ‘Nakamura’ into asking for what you wore for the video—it’d make sense.

Hiyori had said that ‘Nakamura’ would either forget and push past the video, or get horny.

You didn’t know what exactly you wanted.

You were a bit scared at the thought of making him uncomfortable—losing your first and only friend you have right now. But there was a small little part of you that was curious, deadly curious to how he felt about you.

ナオイス

Did you go to bed yet?

I can’t sleep (｡ ́︿ ̀｡)

You shot up from bed, staring at your phone.

This was your chance.

シーブレイン

Still awake

Is everything okay?

ナオイス

I’m ok (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) just a bit of pain in my leg again

But it stops after a few minutes

What～did～you～do～today～？ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ

シーブレイン

I filmed the music video

It was for a b-side song for the artist’s album that came out a few weeks ago

Very fun, so busy, the outfits were nice

ナオイス

wowowo ♪( ´θ｀)ノ すごいね！

What were the outfits? The singer didn’t make you wear trash bags so you wouldn’t outshine them, right~? (ﾟoﾟ;;

Today I just had class, my friend was blasting Mo to Mo’s new album, it’s catchy

シーブレイン

ww no they didn’t do that

We got good outfits

Oh, you changed your profile pic

You glanced at his picture, taking note of the new one. It was of that same teddy bear now directly in the sand. A human hand held out a peace sign, acting as if that was the teddy bear’s own hand.

シーブレイン

You really like that teddy bear

ナオイス

You noticed?

Yea, I do, it was given to me in my senior year at middle school

Don’t remember who gave it to me, just woke up in the hospital with it in my arms

Mom said the person left a note, just telling me sea life isn’t boring wwwwwwww ╭(╯3╰)╮

Anyway~ send send!!

You paused. Sea life isn’t boring? No, it couldn’t be. You shook your head. Sure, it was very specific, but—you couldn’t be the only person to write a note like that. Besides, that teddy bear is basic. Yea, it’s not you. No way. No, way.

You rubbed your face as you pulled up the video. You hesitated. Should you really do this? Wouldn’t it be more mature to just ask him if he might like you romantically? That would be smarter. Less manipulative.

Not like you could talk. You stalked a boy for four years straight. The only reason you stopped was because your schedule was overwhelming and any free time you had, you just wanted to sleep. Besides, you didn’t know where Arakawa Naoki really was anyway.

Sure you knew the school but it was a well known and large university. There were so many students. You didn’t even know what major he went in for. It’d take you awhile to find him.

Just as you were debating to yourself, your finger pressed against the screen. You glanced down to see that you sent the risky video.

Well—

You almost screamed in panic, ready to unsend the message but it was too late. It showed that he saw it. He viewed it. He more than likely just finished watching the full ten seconds.

Oh god.

It was a slow and agonizing minute as you stared at your phone, almost waiting for him to cuss you out. But instead, you got a video.

Your finger hovered over the video before pressing play. You quickly paused it though, reaching over for your headphones. Even if your room was on the other side of the shared apartment, you didn’t want to risk it.

After a deep breath and the little beep telling you the headphones were connected—you pressed play once more.

The video was a bit dark, the soft glow of the moonlight being your only light. A shuddered sigh left ‘Nakamura’ before he pointed the camera to his pajama pants. He tugged at the waistband, pulling it far before letting it snap right back against his skin.

A tight grunt left him just as the video ended.

ナオイス

Am I overthinking things?

It wasn’t an accident, right?

シーブレイン

It technically was

But I recorded the video with you in mind

Silence. You almost wondered if you went too far.

ナオイス

Can you show me more?

シーブレイン

Like another video?

ナオイス

Yea

I’ll send too

Not even a second later, he sent another video. You didn’t hesitate to play it. The video was mostly silence, the sound of sheets rustling as he kept the camera at his pants. His free hand returned to the waistband and tugged, but this time his pulled it further down.

You expected him to have been wearing boxers but to your surprise, his cock was now free. It was already leaking wet—coating white pre cum on his soft stomach. Now free, his hand grasped his cock, his thumb rubbing the pre cum across the head.

ナオイス

Kinda, hard to type one handed

Do me a favor

Masturbate like you’re alone

Don’t hold back

Your body involuntarily shivers as you reach over and turn on your fairy lights, allowing a little bit of light. You pointed the camera to your lower half, kicking the sheets off the bed.

You hesitated for just a moment before pressing record. Should you talk? You didn’t really speak a lot in general unless spoken to. Shaking your head, you slip two fingers into your mouth and suck, coating them with your saliva.

Despite feeling a little anxious, you didn’t attempt to muffle the wet sounds. You pulled your hand away and reached down, using your thumb to pull down your boxers. Your cock plopped out free, beginning to harden due to your rising excitement.

A low sigh left your lips as you reached down between your legs. Because of the angle, he wouldn’t be able to see much. But he would be able to hear the squelch as you easily slipped in two fingers inside your ass.

He would be dumb to not realize you must’ve masturbated an hour or so ago.

You ended the video just as your cock sprung to life, pressing send immediately. The wait for his response almost felt like torture. Your cock leaking dejectedly on your stomach. Your legs shifted on the bed as you tried not to continue on to reach your third orgasm of the night.

Not even a minute later he replied to you.

His video was straight to the point—the teasing long forgotten.

His hand grasped his cock as he jerked himself off. The sound of his shallow breaths and wet gasps filled your ears. You forgot all about recording another video, thrusting your fingers in and out, easily reaching your prostate.

You dropped your phone and gripped your cock, sighing at the relief. His moans were driving you insane—you wanted to hear it in person. Wanted to be the one touching him. Hearing every sharp gasp, watching his body shake from the pleasure.

“….gonna.. cum…”

A grunt your lips at his words. It sounded as if he struggled to even say those two words, his voice wet and shaky. You couldn’t hold back anymore. Being overstimulated from your previous masturbation didn’t help. A rub right against your prostate and a wet stroke of your cock, you were cumming right as he released a wet whimper.

You bit your lip to muffle yourself as much as possible, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head. Your phone pinged again just as you remembered you forgot to record something.

ナオイス

Sorry, haven’t really

Properly masturbated in awhile

Did you cum at least?

シーブレイン

ええ

I came early too, don’t worry about it

It’ll be longer next time

ナオイス

Next time? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Do you like me, Sea Moon~?

You paused. You liked him enough to masturbate but. You wiped your dirty hands on your boxers. The word like was always associated with Arakawa Naoki.

Even now. Even after your little session with ‘Nakamura’…

You could only see a mole on a cheek and messy hair.

No. You didn’t like him.

Just as you were about to respond, he sent a picture. You opened it without a second thought, expecting a risky photo.

But the sight caused you pause.

It was of him.

‘Nakamura’.

Even with only the moonlight as your guide, you knew him. You knew Arakawa Naoki. Even if only half of his face was visible. The infamous teddy bear was in his arms. Half of his face resting on the pillow, a shy grin on his lips.

The mole rested on the same spot it always has, greeting you in the moonlight.

His hair messy and wild. You wondered if you were delusional for thinking it looked like it formed into a halo on the pillow.

ナオイス

Since you can’t actually see me

Post sex wwww (*ﾉωﾉ)

Pretty, right~?

神ってるね?

You couldn’t think. What should you say? Of course he was pretty. He’s been the only person you’ve ever constantly thought about. Even in two years that you haven’t seen him—he’s only gotten more beautiful.

But, you couldn’t possibly do this to him. Stalking him for four years and suddenly you had semi phone sex with him. Sure Hiyori never out right said anything but you knew she wanted you to act more ‘normal.’

Especially with you now in the public eye. You can’t just watch him in the shadows. You were an adult, you had fans, two years of leaving Arakawa Naoki alone to live his life peacefully.

You should end it here.

But here’s the thing about you.

You needed Arakawa Naoki as much as you needed air to breathe.

And here he was, offering himself on a silver platter.

Two years without him and it felt like torture. It felt as if you couldn’t live without him. Before you could watch him from afar and survive but now…

Now you can’t stand by anymore.

You’ve experienced life without Arakawa Naoki and you promised yourself to never experience it again.

シーブレイン

荒川直樹

ナオイス

???

Huh? How’d you get my name?

From my account? Did I tell you and just forgot?

You smirked at your phone, going to your account and changing your name. It really was him. To think he returned your affection after all these years.

シームーン

You probably don’t even know my name, but I’ve been watching you since our senior year in middle school

I thought I lost you

But you’re here, it’s like you were waiting for me

Were you, Arakawa-San?

ナオイス

Momoi-San…?

Did you

You knew this entire time?

You ignore me for two years then knowingly make me believe I’m texting someone else this whole time?

You’re sick, is that singing career of yours not fun enough? Your girlfriend?

Some man you are — I hope the videos were worth it

He was typing too fast for you to even respond to one of his messages. Girlfriend? You didn’t know he was Arakawa until today, what the hell was he talking about?

シームーン

What? What are you talking about?

Hello?

Arakawa-San?

Each message you sent was sent with an error. You tore off your headphones as you sat up, staring down at your phone in complete shock.

He blocked you.

Lol. Yall want a part two? You’re basically turning into a yandere btw. Comment if you wanna be tagged!

Words/Slangs:

クククククククククククククククララララララララララ, おぉ〜 ??????? 悲しい嬉しい !!!!!!!! — Kukukukukukukukukukukukuku Klaralalalalalalalala, ohhh ??????? Sad and happy !!!!!!!!

悪い髪 — bad hair

行きたくない、行きたくない！姉さん、お願いだから — I don't want to go, I don't want to go! Please, sister

“ぱらぱら” — 好きです — “parapara” I love it (it’s the Japanese onomatopoeia for rain sounds)

悪いな, 海洋くん — sorry, marine-kun

気にしない 。— don’t worry

mjk? — まじか (majika) Roman alphabet slang. Means “really”

すごい！— amazing

それな — Sorena, to express sympathy

くらげさん, おはよう～ — morning, Jellyfish-San

でも — but

wwwwww — Japanese’s lol or lmao

ええ — mhm

神ってるね? — heaven-sent; out of this world. He’s basically asking if his looks are godly

シームーン — sea moon

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @tehyunnie @star-3214 @ning1e @anchoredphoenix @cherry-blossoms-187 @kiiyoooo @chill-guy-but-cooler @iwishtobeacrow @mello-life25 @smellwell @ofclyde @yuzuukix @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @castocipher @tomoeroi @love-kha1 @secretivemessenger @bensontrechic

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

That lil image just makes me think about

What if since the reader got told by Damian that she/he can't be a Robin or Batgirl she trys to get the best next Wayne

Like trying all the things that Bruce, Thomas or Martha do and be in the eyes of the public the perfect Wayne or something like that

To be spiteful to the batkids

*COUGH COUGH* had to blow the dust of this sorry this took me so long yeesh BUT IM ON IT!!!

I can just imagine it: you, dear reader, acting all charming and sweet in public, being the perfect Wayne in the eyes of the public, while your siblings act like hoodlums, either ruining things or ignoring the paparazzi. You're not afraid to give the cameras a smile and give them a teasing wave. At galas, there's always a crowd around you, girls and boys talking to you about your clothes, but you're not like your father. You entertain them, of course, but it's nothing serious. You'll tease and charm your way out of things or use your charisma to get something you want. You're the Thomas/Martha Wayne of the family; there are no scandals against you, but for the others, you can't say the same. Damian was caught chewing some woman out at the gala for petting his head or pinching his cheeks. "Children, you know, always so childish," you say, a teasing gleam in your eyes, and he has the right to call you immature. Dick is flirting with another woman just for you to brush your hands through her hair and whisper, "Be careful, dear; he'll be through with you by tomorrow night." You cackle, walking away, just to leave her following you. Jason starts a fight at another house party. "I swear, Bruce needs to stop picking up these roughnecks off the streets." It leaves him speechless; who knew you could be so cruel? "Oh, he's not really that smart; he only got the title 'cause he's one of Bruce's trust fund sons." The whole gala laughs, leaving Tim embarrassed. How could you outwit him? Usually, you were the butt of the joke, the little wallflower in the corner, but that small flower has grown and tangled all around the room, so now there's no way anyone can ignore you.

[starboye]

dark!stepbro!rafe x sweetheart!reader

rafe who didnt even want a step sibling until he saw you and knew he needed you bad, he didn't care if his dad and your mom were dating that didn't stip him from sneaking in your room every night to jerk off to your sleeping figure, you were just such a cute sleeper how could you blame him

sneaking pictures of you all the time, you and him had a shared bathroom which means it was only a matter of time before he installed a hidden camera in there and jerked off to you showering, saving the pictures and fap material for later

he acted like he was just the regular to cool for you bro when you guys were around other people but when you and him were just alone he was always trying to make his move on you, riding his hand up and down your thigh but you were to oblivious to get the hint

so what better way to get you to unwind than some weed that was way to strong for you and had the room spinning for you in minutes, you were spilling a bunch of secrets that he didnt give much of a fuck about until you admitted you had never had sex

he was so excited to hear that, knowing you were all pure for him, never had a guy take your virginity, never had him kissing you up and down you neck while pumping in and out of you so he piped up "why dont i teach you" he scoots closer to you "we cant we're step siblings" you retort "so what im just trying to help my step brother out" he shrugs getting closer and closer until uis face was inches away from yours

and in your high state you agreed and in no time rafe was sliding his cock into you, reveling in how he made you moan his name, your hands clasping onto his back, he wanted to pound you into oblivion but that would ruin his chances of ever doing this again so he took his time until you got comfortable and let him go faster

you were so tight it had him wanting to cum right away but he held back to make you feel so good, taking a puff of his blunt before grabbing your cheeks to blow it into your mouth, watching you become more shy as he fucked you more, he loved the sight of you below him, sprawled out in his bed taking his cock, smoking his weed, he was gonna make sure you dont forget this either

"shit im gonna cum" he groans rocking his hips harder into you "you want me to cum in you" he smirks down at you shaking your head no "c'mon it'll feel so good i promise" he turns your face to look at him and after a little convincing you bod your head yes "fuck take it baby" he grunts spurting his load into you, your legs shaking as he does until you both come down from your high

"how was that for your first time" he grins at your fucked out expression "more" you begged tightening around him "whatever you say" he koves his hips back and forth, he couldn't wait to get you obsessed with him until all you begged for was his cock

xoxo, starboye 💋

(probs more to come from this idk yet)

taglist: @mailmango @boypied @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac @r0mcom-8ngel

[ashnnix]

"I fucked your husband, till he's dumb"

Sukuna x Married male reader

Warning: NTR, Overstimulation, Noncon, spanking, crying, no lubed, cheating, PWP, fingers on mouth, nipple play. Neglected reader. Based on manga named "I fucked your wife till morning"

“Stay safe, honey,”

you spoke softly as you watched your husband leave for work.

“Hmm,” he replied without emotion, closing the door behind him.

Your heart ached the moment it clicked shut.

It had been three years since he last showed you affection–three years without real conversations or sex.

At first, you thought it was just work stress. But even if he was tired, he could’ve still come to you. You would’ve let him use you to relieve his stress. You would’ve done it again and again, just for him.

You looked down and quietly made your way to the living room to start cleaning.

You missed feeling loved. Missed being wanted. He never used to be like this. Even before marriage, he was affectionate, sweet, and had a high sex drive. Now, he barely looks at you. He treats you like a maid.

‘What did I do wrong?’ you thought.

You always did your part–woke him up with breakfast ready, said yes to whatever he asked, and gave him consent whenever he was in the mood.

So why? Did he get bored of you?

You sighed after finishing the living room. It was already afternoon. Time to cook lunch.

A ring from the doorbell caught your attention.

You walked over and gently opened the door.

Standing there was your old college friend with benefits, Sukuna.

He smirked, red eyes looking down at you. “Hey Y/N, long time no see.”

You frowned and folded your arms. “Hello. Why are you here?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “Not inviting me in?”

You sighed and stepped aside. He walked in, closing the door behind him and taking off his shoes while watching you walk ahead.

You grumbled as you opened the fridge. “State your business.”

Sukuna chuckled, his thoughts drifting. ‘Fuck, I missed that cocky mouth.’

“Your husband asked me to pick up the folders he forgot.”

You blinked, glancing over your shoulder as you set the vegetables down in the sink. ‘Right, I forgot he works for our company.’

You gave a small nod and walked toward your husband's office. On the desk was a brown envelope. ‘This must be it.’

You picked it up and carefully handed it to Sukuna, who was still staring at you with that same hungry gaze… like before.

“Here,” you said, feeling a bit uncomfortable under his intense stare.

You turned your back. “If you’re done, then get ou–”

You didn’t get to finish when you suddenly felt his hand squeeze your ass.

“What the!” you shouted, quickly stepping back. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

Sukuna chuckled. “What? You used to like that before.”

You glared at him. “That was before. I have a husband now!”

Sukuna stepped closer, his large frame towering over you. You swallowed hard, feeling a little intimidated.

He leaned in, his voice low as he whispered, “You look neglected... like a wilted flower.”

Both of his hands grabbed your ass again, and he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Let me water you. Spray you with something again?” he whispered with a smirk.

You let out a soft gasp. This—this was what you’d been craving.To be touched again. To be wanted.

But not by him by your husband. ‘No, my husband I can’t…’

You pushed against Sukuna’s muscular chest, looking down to hide your flushed face.

“Please respect me and my husband's relationship,” you said quietly. “I can get you fired.”

Sukuna slowly backed away, still grinning as he watched your reaction. “I wouldn’t mind risking it to fuck you.”

You clenched your pants tightly, your body betraying you.

He left, walking out of your home,but not without a plan in his mind.

He had left you hot, needy just like before.

You put a hand over your crotch.

‘Fuck… I need to stroke it.’

--------------------

The very next day, your husband left quietly again as if you didn’t exist.

And that day, Sukuna came back. He wore a tight-fitted button-up shirt with a black necktie, showing off his muscles, paired with fitted black pants. It looked so tight, it almost seemed like he had a third leg.

You gulped and were about to close the door, but his hand stopped it.

Sukuna easily pushed the door open and slowly stepped inside. “Relax. I’m just here to grab something again,” he said casually.

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re not here to touch me? Because I swear, I’ll get you fired.”

You turned and walked into the living room, letting him in.

Sukuna took off his shoes and entered, his eyes fixed on your backside. He licked his lips, a slow smirk forming.

“Like your husband would care.”

“Wha–” Before you could finish, you felt him touch your nipples through your clothes.

“Ng–what the, Sukuna!” you gasped, biting your lip as he teased your sensitive nipples, twisting them playfully.

“Haa… ngh…” Your legs felt weak just from the stimulation. After three years of celibacy, your body has become far too sensitive.

Sukuna didn’t respond, he was too focused on corrupting you all over again.

You gripped his hands as he continued playing with your chest. “P–please, stop… S-Sukuna! My husband…!”

Sukuna tilted his head and spoke calmly, “He’s overworked today. You know that, right?”

You whimpered, your resistance fading. You grabbed his hand and pressed it over your mouth to muffle your moans. “Nhm~ mhmp!”

Sukuna chuckled as he remembered your wedding –the wedding where his co-workers were also invited by their boss. “Man, that wedding was hilarious. To think you were getting married? Seeing you wear a white suit to a wedding when back in college...”

He leaned close to your ear. “You were my fuck toy.”

You immediately shot back, “That’s because you took advantage of my drunken state! Ah!”

Sukuna lifted your shirt off. You felt tears forming in your eyes–was it from fear? Or excitement? “No!”

Sukuna continued to play with your perky nipples. “I really missed these nips!”

He recalled the day he first fucked you. “At first, I just saw your nipples when you lifted your shirt while you were drunk. There was no way I could stop myself that day after seeing these cuties,” he smirked, licking your neck, making you shiver from the warmth of his breath and the coldness of his saliva.

Your mouth trembled. ‘That’s right, this man stole my virginity that night.’

Suddenly, Sukuna went under your arms to suck your nipples.

“Ahn! Hmm~♡” you whined like a slut.

Sukuna nibbled on them while speaking. “I still think about these while masturbating. I miss fucking you.”

Your brows furrowed as you felt him pull your pants down and touch your boxers.

‘Stop…’ You felt your body tingle and grow needy. It was so hot you grabbed him even more, even though it felt wrong. ‘What’s with this feeling?’

Sukuna pulled your boxers down, his gaze never leaving your face. “You were a cute pet who’d changed his style to my taste.”

Your body trembled as his tongue licked your cheek. ‘Stop, don’t make me remember’

Sukuna felt something wet down your shaft as he touched it. “Oh?”

He looked down, seeing your dick twitch already hard and leaking pre cum. “I only mentioned the past, and you’re already leaking pre? HAHAHA!what a fucking whore.”

Your nipples twitched from the cold air while your body trembled against him. “N-no,” you shook your head as you felt the familiar tip grinding on your hole.

“I’m his husband now! I’m not your–”

THRUST!!!

“Ahn!!” Your mouth opened wide, tongue out, as you felt a hard tip poke your prostate. It burns, but it also feels so fucking good.

“Haaa! So thick! Sukuna!” you said between breaths, trying to adjust to his size.

FWAP FWAP!!

Sukuna immediately thrust without caring that there was no lube used his precum covered for that.

He leaned close to your face with a wide smirk. “Squeeze your ass tight! Stick your tongue out!”

Like before, you obediently opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him to kiss you deeply.

“Mhm! Hmmp!” You moaned while he devoured your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt his dick fuck your prostate, hitting deeper inside your guts. Your legs shook, feeling vulnerable and already fucked. Every sensation felt like electricity, making you dumb on his dick.

You were about to lose yourself to the feeling of his dick when suddenly you remembered your husband’s face. ‘No! No!’

Sukuna somehow noticed you weren’t focused on him, so he thrust deeper and played with your dick.

FWAP FWAP FWAP!!

Your body shook as Sukuna pulled away from your mouth. “Ngh! Slow down! You’re too de-deep! My gu-guts!” you whimpered as you felt his fingers playing with your tip.

Suddenly, he pushed you to the ground, and your phone fell in front of you.

Your head rested on the floor while your ass raised up. He kept thrusting so fast you felt like you were going to cum.

Your body trembled, feeling his thick dick filling you up.“Cum-cumming! Ku-kuna ngh!” you gasped.

He ignored you and kept thrusting.

“Cumming♡♡!!” you cried out, arching your back. Your eyes rolled back, your tongue out, drool leaking onto the floor.

Sukuna’s thrusts didn’t stop, he kept going brutally.

You tapped the floor helplessly, moaning and crying, tears running down your cheeks.“No…kuna…so de-deep. Eek!!”

PLOP PLOP FWAP!!

Sukuna grinned as he looked at your body. “Don’t try to build a home when you’re just a fuck toy.”

He pulled your head back, making you arch, your ass grinding deeper into him.

‘Hurts! So harsh!’ Your head leaned back, tongue still out, crying from the mix of pain and pleasure.

Sukuna looked down at your pathetic state.“Aren’t you embarrassed?”

You nodded, completely dumb like he had made you before. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!♡ Ahhhn!”

Sukuna let go of your hair and slapped your ass, spanking it red.

You squeaked from the sting “Eek! Noo!”

Sukuna watched his fat cock disappear as your ass swallowed it whole. ‘So tight. Still hasn’t changed. Still so fucking good!’

He grunted, feeling himself about to cum.

FWOP FWOP!!

“Mhm! Ngh~ ahhn! Hugna!!” You whined, drool staining your hair. Your tears ruined your face –ruining yourself again for him.

Sukuna clicked his tongue as he pushed his fingers inside your mouth.

“Mhngh!” You shuddered, swallowing and licking his three fingers as he played with your tongue.

Your eyes saw a message notification from your phone, coming from your husband. You closed your eyes tightly.

“Cummingh!” Your moans were muffled because of his fingers. Your body twitched again as you came, your dick spurting semen and staining the floor.

“Fuck… I’m cumming!” Sukuna grunted as he felt you tighten more around his thick cock, twitching inside you as he came.

Sukuna pulled out his now soft cock– watching his semen come out your hole like before. He smirked as he stood up, putting on his pants again “Make sure to change your style like before. And get lubed up tomorrow”

He left your body trembling and messy.

You felt the familiar warm, thick, and slimy feeling inside you. Trailing down your thighs.

‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll revert back to being his slut♡’

--------------------

“I’m home.”

Your husband grunted as he closed the door. His eyes widened at what he saw.

“You changed your style? You look good”

His gaze traveled over your body. You used to wear baggy clothes, but now you wore tight, revealing ones. You even changed your hair and were wearing makeup.

You shyly looked down.

“Thank you. I love you, darling♡”

[miange1]

can you make a patrick bateman and male reader?

like reader is a suck up(aka good boy) for patrick and always wanting to please him?

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 — suck up

tw: manipulation, toxic relationship, 'friends' with benefits, office sex, scratching, cock stepping, kneeling, somewhat pet play, light use of good boy, collaring substitutes, choking, Patricks ego, some of y'all lowk didn't watch the movie

note: chat im flopping so hard

you were annoying to him. just another person getting in his way, gawking over him like a fruit fly suckling for juice.

you were always fluttering by him, buzzing like a bee. 'do you need anything Mr. Bateman?' , 'oh, i can get that for you, no worries!' , 'anything you want Mr. Bateman'

it was killing him, felt like you were constantly nagging and poking at the inside of his brain for God's sake couldn't you ever leave him alone?

but sometimes, he couldn't stand when you took days off. sure, everyone always got on his ass but he preferred when it was you. the way you'd perk up like a little dog when he called for you or even when you saw him.

that big smile you put on your face, you may as well stick your tongue out and breathe heavily like a dog. though, it wouldn't be as great as your heavy breathing close to his ear while your legs spread up in the air.

the way your feet would curl and the way you'd claw along his chest needily, your head shaking from side to side as if you were trying to clear your head from the overstimulation.

or the way you'd actually stick your tongue out when you were beanath his desk, his shoe stepping on your cock as it was hard and leaking through your black suit slacks.

when you'd melt at his small praises. "like this? do you like it like this?" your voice breathy and little tiny whimpers mixing in with your questions needy with validation. all he needed to say was you were being a good boy and you wouldn't let up.

you were surprisingly good at riding him, only issue was you broke his chair once.

he'd always make a habit of harshly grabbing at your waist, crescent shaped nail indents digging into your skin which would only make you speed up and chase more of that sickeningly sweet touch he gave you.

your head thrown back, obscene and obnoxious moans and grunts echoing off of his office walls. your button of slipping off your shoulders with that cock drunk expression on your face.

every single- "Mr. Bateman, Mr. Bateman!" was better than the music he'd constantly drown himself in.

sometimes he would make you crawl on the ground and put papers in your mouth and give them to him, and he'd only keep your tie on and tug it harshly. he'd enjoy looking at the way you'd gasp, that lovesick look in your eyes.

you were crazy, stupid, weird in his eyes. but you fueled his needs so desperately, and you probably didn't even know how high of an ego boost he got from you.

too bad you weren't in. such a shame—

"sorry im late Mr. Bateman, i promise i'll make it up to you." luckily you never, ever broke your promises.

[nouearth]

nothing's right about this.

john walker x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. you make john feel everything he’s spent years burying, so he buries himself in you instead.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [4.7k].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 us agent!john walker 〳 enemies with benefits 〳 repressed desire 〳 power struggle 〳 brat taming 〳 internalized homophobia 〳 top!john walker 〳 bottom!reader 〳 rough!sex 〳 bruising 〳 spitting 〳 sweat 〳 possessiveness 〳 jealousy 〳 angry!sex 〳 degradation + praise 〳 breeding kink 〳 belly bulging 〳 cumplay 〳 size kink 〳 choking (r!receiving) 〳 overstimulation 〳 breeding 〳 mild dubcon tones

John tells himself he’s above this. Above you. Above the way your eyes flash when you’re mouthing off, the lazy confidence in your step, the way you stretch before a mission like you know people are watching. Like you know he’s watching. He grits his teeth when he sees you laugh too loud, when your body moves too free, too proud, too unashamed.

You don’t carry the same weight he does. Don’t feel the world press against your ribs every time you think about what you are, and what you want.

And John? John’s sick of pretending he doesn’t notice. Sick of pretending that the ache in his gut when he looks at you is just anger.

But before it starts, there’s that moment—thin, sharp as glass—when the tension crackles just beneath the surface. John watches you laugh at something someone else said, too loud, too easy. The sun slants across your cheek, and you look too free, too light.

His jaw tightens.

His chest feels like a loaded gun.

It starts with a fight. It always does.

You say something smart. "Still trying to play hero, huh?" Tossed over your shoulder as you walk past, catching sight of him hunched over the holo-screen, scrubbing through mission footage like he’s about to rewrite history. A little jab, just enough to sting.

The words hang in the air like smoke, curling under John’s skin. He grits his teeth, shoulders tensing beneath the weight of your voice.

It’s not just the tone. It’s the timing. The way you tilt your head, half-daring, half-knowing. Like you want him to crack. Like you know he will.

The lights are low in the common room. Most of the team’s retired for the night, and there’s a cold cup of coffee sweating on the counter, forgotten. The TV plays some late-night rerun, volume down, casting restless flashes across the metal walls. The hallway to the private quarters starts just behind you, but neither of you’s moved.

The air’s too tight.

John scoffs, finally looking up. “You ever stop running your mouth, or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

You hum, smile sharpening. “Please. If I wanted to hear something hollow, I’d bang on that tin star strapped to your chest.”

John’s eyes flick over you: lips curled into that infuriating smirk, eyes glittering with something that feels too close to understanding. His stomach twists. His hands flex at his sides.

You look too proud. Too sure. Like you're trying to make him angry. And worse, you’re succeeding.

He steps forward.

“I swear to God,” he mutters, voice low and rough, “You just can’t help yourself.” Your mouth is a loaded weapon, and the moment you smirk, he knows he’s already lost.

“Careful, soldier,” you say, leaning in just close enough to test him. “You might bruise something delicate.”

His jaw ticks. Hands on his hips, he stares you down. “You think I give a damn?”

He doesn’t. Not once his hand is fisted in your collar, shoving you back until your spine hits the door, and his mouth is on yours. Bruising, furious.

There’s spit on your lips, your teeth clash, and still, he kisses you like he hates you.

And maybe he does. 

Maybe that’s why his hand rises, slow but certain, wrapping around your throat—not enough to cut air, not yet. Just to feel it. To feel your pulse stutter under his palm. To remind you who’s in control.

Like he’s angry at himself for liking it. His forehead presses to yours, hot and damp, and for a second he just breathes—like he’s trying to ground himself, like the feeling of your throat under his hand is the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“You think this is a game?” he mutters against your mouth, lips slick with spit. His thumb presses just under your jaw, tilting your head up, forcing you to hold his gaze. His eyes are wild: hurt, furious, starved. “You think you can look at me like that, run your mouth, and not pay for it?”

His grip tightens deliberately.

A warning.

A promise.

You let out a shaky sound, something caught between a gasp and a whimper, and he groans, like the noise cuts straight through him.

You manage a breath, your voice raw around it. “I didn’t know it’d take so little to—”

But you don’t get to finish.

His fingers clamp tighter around your throat, and whatever was left of your sentence dies in your mouth. His pupils blow wide watching your lips falter, eyes flutter, jaw tense beneath his palm. There’s a flush creeping up his neck, one he doesn’t bother to hide.

His other hand twitches at his side like he doesn’t trust himself to touch you with it.

And then you feel it.

His hips twitch forward. Instinctive, hungry.

The thick press of his cock through his pants, shameless and heavy, grinding into your hip like he couldn’t stop it if he tried. The fabric’s stretched taut over it, obscene in how hard he is—how deprived.

A brutal kind of want, swelling by the second.

“You don’t get to talk,” he growls, breath hitching. “Not like that. Not when you’re looking at me like you want this.”

And God, the way your expression shifts under him. That flicker of defiance melting into something desperate, your lips parting soundlessly—it nearly undoes him.

His grip stays firm, but his hand trembles, just slightly. Not from hesitation.

From restraint.

Then his other hand shoves your leg up, grinding into you hard, like punishment. Like penance.

“Mine,” he says again, quieter this time. Almost desperate. His palm flexes where it grips your neck. “Say it.”

You smirk, even through the mess. “If you want a pretty little yes, you’re gonna have to do a hell of a lot better than this.”

He hates how you look at him like you know him. Really know him. Like you see the parts he tries to bury: the longing, the fear, the twisted thing inside him that wants to ruin you.

His grip is rough. Shoving you back onto the bed, dragging your clothes off in angry, fumbling bursts. His hands tremble. Not with fear, but with the rage of wanting something so badly it terrifies him.

He yanks your pants down with a sharpness that says he's already lost the argument in his head. His breath is ragged, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling like he just sprinted a mile, like this is the only way he knows how to stop himself from screaming.

But there’s a hitch in his grip, just a second of hesitation. His fingers ghost along your waist, rough calluses dragging over bare skin like they’re memorizing it, punishing it, worshiping it all at once.

His jaw tightens. There’s spit at the corner of his mouth, eyes wild when he flips you over, ass-up.

No prep.

It’s not carelessness, it’s desperation. The kind that burns.

The kind that ruins.

He spits into his palm and slicks his fingers with shaking urgency, teeth grit like he’s trying not to say something soft. Or maybe like he’s trying to drown out the voice in his head that says this is wrong.

Then he’s forcing one in, then two, scissoring fast, deliberate into your tight hole. Your thighs twitch. Your back arches, and you begin fisting the sheets beneath you from the onslaught of John's wrath, squeezing cotton until they've patterned your skin.

And still, John doesn’t say a word. No words. Just heat, rage, and spit. You're already whining, writhing against the mattress, your cock leaking between your thighs. His fingers digging inside of you forces you to rut your own cock against the sheets on his own accord.

“Fuckin’ desperate,” he mutters. “Always actin’ like you don’t want it, then melt the second I touch you.”

You laugh, breathless. “Like you’re any better.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just scoffs—sharp and humorless—at the sight of that smug little smile still clinging to your lips. The kind of smile he’ll remember to wipe off later with something rough, something thick, something that’ll make your jaw ache.

His hands move to his belt, undoing it with slow, deliberate movements. There’s nothing rushed about it.

This is control.

This is a man who knows exactly how hard you’re watching him. The zipper comes down, the fabric shifts, and his cock springs free; flushed dark, already heavy with blood, curving up like it’s spoiling for a fight.

Thick. Veined. Angry. The kind of thing that makes you flinch and ache in the same breath. That stretches you just from the sight alone.

He watches the way your ass involuntarily moves for him, your breath catching, your throat working around nothing. That smugness of yours? Slipping.

Then he drops to his knees. Grabs your ass cheeks, spreads them wider. His gaze falls to your entrance: swollen, flushed, twitching with need. Still untouched, still clenching on air.

He exhales, almost reverently.

“Look at that,” he mutters, voice gone gravel-deep.

One hand reaches down, guiding himself closer. The tip of his cock drags along your rim, slow and teasing. He nudges the head against you, circling it, just to see how you shiver. How you twitch. How your hole tries to take him even before he’s inside. He chuckles to himself.

You do somewhat take him, breathless, latching onto the string of thick pre-cum that spills from him as he squeezes the base. It dribbles down in lazy strands, warm and glossy, catching against your skin.

Your hole glistens with it—slicked and shining, haloed in the mess of him. The way it clings there, pooling in the swell of your rim, dripping down your thighs; it’s filthy.

Shameless. Perfect. Like your body’s been marked before he’s even inside.

His heavy balls tighten at the sight.

Something in him buckles.

Whatever restraint he had left—the slow rhythm, the teasing control—shatters in a breath.

He growls, low and feral, flipping you onto your back again, holding your legs up, and his hips jerk forward without warning. The head of his cock breaches you in one unforgiving push, and the sound you make—wrecked, raw—nearly drives him insane.

He pushes in slow. Painfully slow. To watch your face twist. To watch your bravado break. You’re so tight around him it’s obscene, clenching like you’re trying to force him out, but your body’s a traitor. It wants this.

His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in like he needs to hold you still or he’ll split you apart. He thrusts again. Deeper. Harder. Forcing you to take every swollen inch.

“Yeah,” he pants, voice breaking as he rams in to the hilt. “That’s it. That’s what you needed, huh?”

The stretch is brutal, unrelenting. He watches your face twist, the way your lips part in a silent cry, your brows pulling tight from the sheer pressure.

“Fuck. Look at that,” John growls. “Stretchin’ around me like you were made for it.”

Your hands scrabble against his chest, trying to ground yourself. His cock is thick, wider than anything you’ve taken, and the way he grinds in makes your spine arch.

The slick sound of him moving inside you fills the room—wet, fast, obscene. You’re dripping with him now, the mess of pre-cum and spit and need painting your thighs, the base of his cock, everything. Your body shudders, tightening around him like you don’t know whether to fight or surrender.

But he knows you’re his.

He can feel it in the way your hole sucks him in, desperate and greedy, no matter how you gasp or claw.

He leans over you, breath hot against your ear.

“You run that mouth,” he snarls, “but your body knows who owns it.”

John’s eyes flick down. His palm presses over your belly, fingers splayed, and for a second, just a second, he forgets to move.

The sight stops him cold.

The outline beneath your skin—faint at first, then more defined with every savage roll of his hips. Your stomach, stretched and straining around the shape of him. A thick, blunt bulge rising with each thrust, sliding up under your navel, then sinking as he pulls back.

His cock.

Your stomach is swollen with the shape of it, obscene and beautiful and his.

John stills for just a moment, hovering over you, chest heaving as he stares. His hand moves down—broad, shaking fingers splaying across your belly, pressing just enough to feel the shape of himself inside you. The sensation makes you twitch around him, makes your spine arch off the bed like you’re being electrocuted from the inside out.

"Fuck,” he breathes, voice hoarse with disbelief. “Look at that…”

There’s something raw, unfiltered in his eyes now. Worship twisted into ruin. The animal thrill of knowing he’s inside you this deep, this hard—that your body’s giving way to him, shaping around him.

His other hand curls under your thigh and drags you closer, impossibly close, locking you in place as he starts to move again.

Harder now, rougher, chasing the high of that bulge returning again and again with every thrust.

“Keep your eyes on it,” he snarls. “Wanna see you watch what I do to you.”

You can’t look away.

Not from the brutal rise and fall of your stomach beneath him, not from the way his cock moves inside you like it’s claiming space that no one else ever will.

Your hand finds its way between your bodies, shaking, slick with sweat, wrapping around your cock like instinct.

You stroke in time with his thrusts, desperate, frantic, eyes glazed with something between awe and disbelief. The pressure, the stretch, the sight of your own body swelling with his large cock—it’s too much.

You’re falling apart beneath him, undone by the sheer filth of it.

John sees it. Feels it.

There’s a whisper of shame in his gut. A tight coil of something hot and bitter that he’s too scared to name. He tells himself this is about control. Dominance. Power. But the way his hand lingers, slow, reverent, almost trembling, betrays him. His thumb brushes over the outline of his cock inside you, and his throat makes a strangled sound.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Look what I’ve done to you.”

You groan beneath him, squirming, and he grips harder, like holding on is the only thing tethering him to sanity. Like the line between wanting and needing has long since blurred, and all that’s left is this: your ruined body, your wrecked moans, and the way your hole still flutters around him like it wants more.

John swallows hard, his mind splitting between shame and wonder, guilt and heat. And still, he doesn’t stop. There’s a bulge there, deeper. His cock, thick, hot, rooted so deep inside you it’s obscene. He moans low and dark, almost like a prayer.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “You feel that? That’s me. That’s all me.”

He sets a brutal pace. The bed slams the wall with each thrust. Sweat drips from his brow, down his chest, soaking where your bodies grind together. The smell of sex clings to everything; salt, spit, the heavy musk of his scent. It’s in your mouth, your throat, your skin.

He grabs your hips harder. Bruising. Forces your legs higher. Fucks up into you so deep your stomach bulges every time. You can’t speak anymore. Just drool and whimper and take it.

“Thought you were a tough guy,” he pants. “Look at you now. My good little hole, all stretched out, beggin’ for it.”

Your head rolls back. You’re flushed, soaked, completely undone. Your legs shake as he slams into you again and again, your body wrecked from the inside out.

In his mind, there’s a war. One part of him is screaming to stop, to pull back, to get the hell out before someone sees. Before he sees himself for what he’s become. But another part, deeper, darker, burns to see how much further he can push. That part lingers on the bruises forming beneath his fingertips, on the thick outline of his cock pressing against the inside of your stomach. It thrills in the sounds you make. Wrecked, needy, shameless.

He remembers his father’s voice, sharp and cold, warning him about weakness. About what it means to be a real man. And yet here he is; moaning into your throat, marking you with spit and sweat and cum, watching your body take him like you were made for it. There’s guilt, sharp as broken glass, lodged somewhere behind his ribs. But there’s also awe. Desire. A sick, perfect satisfaction at seeing you beneath him, full of him.

He doesn’t know which part scares him more. One side says this is wrong. That he’s not this, not gay, not weak. That if anyone saw what he was doing now; sweating, trembling, chasing his release deep in a man’s body, they’d strip him of everything. The shield. The legacy. The illusion. He grits his teeth, mouth tasting of salt and shame. The need claws at him from the inside, hungry and black.

But the other voice—the louder one—wants more.

It screams when he hesitates, clawing through the self-loathing. More, it demands. Deeper. Mark him. Own him.

His hand drags down your stomach again, fingers spreading over the curve of your belly, sticky with sweat and cum. The bulge is obscene, tender to the touch, and it draws a guttural moan from him, because that’s him, all of him, inside you.

John swallows hard, eyes locked on your wrecked form. He should be ashamed. Maybe he is. But the sight makes him feral. Possessive.

“You’re mine like this,” he growls, pressing down until you squirm. “No one else gets to see you fall apart.”

And he’s not done. Not nearly. He pulls back only enough to see you clench, stretched wide, glistening, and then pushes back in slow—torturously slow.

The drag of him inside you makes your toes curl.

“You gonna take it again?” he asks, breathing hot against your cheek. “Let me fill you ‘til you can’t think?”

"W-Walker-"

Your voice breaks into a whimper, and he takes it as a yes. One hand grabs your jaw, forcing your face to his, kissing you with filthy, bruising heat. The other cups your belly again, slow, reverent.

He starts moving. A rhythm drawn not from anger, but from hunger. From worship. You feel him everywhere, in your gut, your throat, your bones. Each thrust is deliberate. Deep. Milking himself in you like a man starved.

John breathes your name. Not a curse. Not a threat. A need.

And somewhere in the chaos of it, in the sweat and scent and sin; John lets himself believe, for one fractured second, that maybe this is more than just control.

Maybe it’s the only time he lets himself feel whole.

Your hand’s slick, trembling, barely able to keep pace with the rhythm he’s forcing into you. Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, his cock driving up deep enough to punch a sound from your throat that’s more sob than moan. The bulge in your belly rises and falls in time with your cries, a visual of just how thoroughly you’re being ruined.

John watches you fall apart with something close to reverence—like this is what he’s been working toward since the first time you ever looked at him like you weren’t afraid. His jaw is clenched, knuckles white where he grips your thigh and belly, holding you down like he knows you’d try to squirm away if you could. Like he wants you to try.

He wants to ruin you. Leave bruises no suit could cover; mottled purples and deep reds blooming over your hips, your throat, the backs of your thighs. Proof. Markers. His signature etched into your skin with every thrust, every grip too tight, every bite too sharp. He wants the reminders to linger when you're back on duty, hidden under your uniform. Wants you to feel them ache when you move. Wants you to know, even in silence, that he was there. That he claimed you, punished you, needed you so badly he lost himself. He wants to bite your throat and mark your ass and pump you so full of cum you’ll be leaking down your thighs for hours.

Because you don’t hide. You laugh, you flirt, you live. You let your body feel pleasure and you don’t apologize for it.

He hates that.

He wants to control it.

“You take me so well,” he grunts, licking a stripe of sweat down your neck. “You were made to be fucked like this.”

He spits in your mouth, and you moan like it’s a kiss.

Your hand speeds up without meaning to. You don’t even realize it at first—that you’re rutting into your own palm like you’re starving, chasing that edge like it’ll save you. Your mouth is open but nothing coherent comes out—just gasps, shuddering little whines, noises you’d be ashamed of if you could think.

But you can’t.

All you can do is take it.

His balls slap your ass, soaked and heavy. You can feel the tension in his body. Every muscle flexed, his thighs trembling, the head of his cock pulsing against your walls.

He’s close.

His breath grows ragged, catching in his throat as he fucks into you faster now, each thrust raw and punishing. His grip tightens; one hand bruising your hip, the other splayed across your belly, holding you steady like he’s anchoring himself to the sight of his cock bulging inside you. He watches your body take him again and again, every inch stretching you wide, wet and flushed and glistening with spit and sweat. You’re slick everywhere, the air thick with the slap of skin and the low, guttural growls punched out of him as he chases it.

The pleasure burns, raw and overwhelming, until your vision starts to white out at the edges. You clamp down around him, body seizing, cock twitching helplessly in your hand.

And then you break.

You come hard, violently, hot release painting your chest, your hand, your stomach. Your hole clamps around John like a vice, sucking him in deeper, your body spasming beneath his as the pleasure slams into you like a freight train.

"G-god," you cried out behind a cum-covered hand.

John groans low, head dropping to your neck, biting down hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck.” he snarls, and it’s broken, frayed. His cock twitches deep inside, the veins throbbing, leaking pre-cum in thick spurts with every thrust. Your walls clamp around him like a vice, greedy and sucking, making him hiss through his teeth. “So tight. Still so fucking tight. Gonna lose it in you, fuck.”

He shifts your legs higher, pushing you open, wide and helpless beneath him. You’re bent in half now, his weight pressing down, his body trembling like a live wire. You feel everything.

The slide of him. The scrape. The unbearable fullness. His cock pulses with every beat of his heart, flushed and angry, and you swear you can feel it throb in your throat. Your whole body arches, overstimulated, overwhelmed.

John slams forward with a grunt, burying himself to the hilt, and you feel the moment he starts to break—his cock swelling, twitching violently inside you. He pants your name like a curse, like a prayer, a mantra unraveling on his tongue.

“Take it,” he growls, spit flying, eyes wild and unfocused. “Take all of it. Gonna fucking fill you up. Breed you like you need it.”

He ruts harder, frantic now, losing rhythm.

His eyes roll back, hips snapping in stuttering thrusts as he cums, hot and hard, spilling deep into your guts.

It punches out of him in thick waves, jerking through his length as he grinds in deep, forcing it further. The first shot knocks the wind out of you, the second makes your hole flutter around him involuntarily. You feel it gush inside you, thick and messy, coating your insides, your walls clenching as if begging him to never leave. 

John moans a deep, wrecked sound. His mouth finds your throat, biting, panting, murmuring filth. “So fuckin’ full of me... just like you should be. Like I fuckin’ own you.”

He stays locked inside, his cock still twitching as aftershocks pulse through him.

He doesn’t move. Just breathes. Heavy. Shuddering. Shaking.

He doesn’t ask permission. He never has.

And then he starts again. Slower. More deliberate. Breeding you in long, deep strokes that make your gut clench and your mouth fall open with something between a moan and a sob.

But he doesn’t pull out.

John stays buried, breathing hard, holding your trembling thighs around his waist.

You’re gonna take all night,” he mutters, low and rough against your ear, hips rolling in deep. “Gonna fuck you until I see myself leaking out your ruined little hole.”

He rolls his hips slow. Deep. Milking himself. Filling you further.

Each drag of his hips is drawn out, obscene. You feel every inch of his cock slide through your slick walls, dragging thick and hard and hot. His hands stay on your stomach, pressing down, watching the way it bulges when he pushes deep. His eyes are heavy, drunk with it.

Like it’s not just lust; it’s envy.

Reverence.

Grief.

Your moans hitch in your throat as another wave crests through your body. You’re too full. Too raw. And yet, your hole flutters like it’s begging.

“Good boy,” he breathes, voice husky. “Gonna take another load for me. You want it, don’t you? Want to feel me breed you slow. Like you’re mine.”

You nod, nearly sobbing.

His hand cups your belly again, thumb brushing over the bulge of his cock as he thrusts deeper. His own eyes are glassy now. Dazed.

There’s awe in his voice, but also something darker.

A desperation.

Why does it feel like love? he thinks. Why does it feel like need?

The room rocks gently with the rhythm of his slow thrusts. Each roll of his hips is languid, drawn out with a purpose that feels almost reverent. His breath stutters in your ear, warm and uneven, the way a prayer sounds when spoken through clenched teeth.

He watches your face closely; hungry, almost desperate for each flutter of your lashes, each gasp punched from your chest.

His hand doesn’t leave your belly, tracing the swell again like he’s mesmerized. You feel him twitch inside you, and it’s not just from lust; it’s from the weight of what this is becoming. From the way your body molds around him, stretches to welcome every inch. His thumb ghosts up to your sternum, trailing a line slick with sweat.

“You feel this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with something too tender to name. “Feel what I’m doing to you?”

You nod, voice broken with need, and he groans like the sound undoes him. Like your surrender, so quiet and wrecked, means more than the way you clenched him tight. More than any bruise or mark he could leave.

The thrusts stay slow. Intentional. Less like fucking, more like being pulled apart and put back together.

Again and again and again.

The bed creaks under you. You’re both sweat-soaked and shaking. Your stomach gurgles from the sheer volume he’s already filled you with. And still, he gives more.

When he cums again, it’s slower. Deeper. A heavy, aching release that leaves him breathless, slumping over you, groaning as he floods your guts a second time.

You’re ruined. Bruised. Dripping.

He grits his teeth, forehead falling to your shoulder as he groans. “How the hell do you live like this? So free. So fuckin’ open. You don’t even know how lucky you are.”

His voice cracks at the end, and you twist your head to look at him, spit-slick and ruined.

"I live like this ‘cause I stopped caring what broke men like you think."

He won't meet your gaze. Instead, he thrusts in again, slow, hard, dragging the edge of pain and pleasure like a punishment. For both of you.

“You’re mine,” he says again, quieter this time, as if trying to believe it. “Even if I gotta break you to keep you.”

"You already did. And I’m still here."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[elryuse]

So, What Are We?

H1-Key Yel X Male Reader

Tags : Romance, Complex Feelings, Childhood Friends Yel, Drama, Vanilla, Sweaty, Kissing, Cogwirl, Creampies, Pussy Eating Words : 7,543 Words

The ping of a notification on my phone pulled me out of my work haze. I glanced down, expecting another email, but instead, I saw a name I hadn’t seen in months: Yel. My heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t reached out since… well, since everything happened.

I hesitated before opening the message. What could she possibly want now? The last time we’d spoken, she’d been distant, caught up in her new college life, her new boyfriend, her new everything. I’d faded into the background, like an old piece of furniture she no longer needed.

The message was simple: “Hey! It’s been a while. How have you been?”

It felt casual, but I could sense the weight behind the words. Yel wasn’t one to reach out just to chat. Not anymore.

I typed back, trying to keep it light. “Hey, Yel! I’m good. Busy with work. How about you?”

Her reply came almost instantly. “Not great, honestly. Can we meet up? I need to talk.”

I stared at the screen, my mind racing. What could’ve happened? The last I’d heard, she was still with that guy—the one who’d taken her away from me. But something in her tone felt off, like she was holding back tears even through text.

“Sure,” I replied. “Where and when?”

We met at a quiet café tucked away from the bustling city streets. I arrived first, nerves twisting in my stomach. When she walked in, my breath caught.

Yel looked… different. The usual spark in her eyes was dimmed, replaced by a hollow sadness. She spotted me and forced a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She slid into the seat across from me, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her sweater.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. “It’s been a while.”

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the table. “Yeah… I’m sorry I haven’t reached out sooner. Things have been… complicated.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. “What’s going on, Yel?”

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly. “You’ve probably heard about… the pictures.”

I froze. The pictures. The ones that had been leaked online, spreading like wildfire. I’d seen them, of course—how could I not? But I’d avoided thinking about them, avoided thinking about her.

“I did,” I admitted, my voice gentle. “I’m sorry, Yel.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand. “It’s been… awful. Everyone turned on me. My friends, my classmates… even him.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and I felt a pang of anger. Her boyfriend. The guy who’d been supposed to protect her, to stand by her side. Instead, he’d thrown her to the wolves.

“He’s an asshole,” I said firmly. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I replied without hesitation.

For a moment, she just stared at me, as if she couldn’t believe someone was actually on her side. Then, to my surprise, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.

I froze, unsure of how to react. Her body was warm against mine, her chest pressing into me with a softness that made my heart race. Yel. The girl I’d had a crush on for as long as I could remember. The girl I’d thought I’d lost forever.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve been so alone… but you’re here.”

I hesitated for a moment before wrapping my arms around her, holding her close. “I’m here,” I said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes glistening with tears. “Promise?”

“Promise,” I said, my voice steady.

She smiled—a real, genuine smile this time—and iIt felt like the sun breaking through the clouds. But beneath the warmth, there was something else—a tension, a pull between us that I couldn’t ignore.

“I missed you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were always so kind to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You always deserved it,” I said, my voice firm.

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like we were kids again—inseparable, carefree. But then she pulled back, breaking the moment, and I felt a pang of disappointment.

“We should hang out more,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Like we used to.”

“I’d like that,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

She smiled again, and this time, there was a glint of something in her eyes—something that made my heart race.

“Good,” she said, her voice teasing. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck, and I quickly looked away, trying to hide my reaction.

“So,” she continued, her tone playful now, “what have you been up to since I’ve been gone?”

I hesitated, unsure of how much to share. But then I looked at her—the girl who’d always been my biggest weakness—and I knew I couldn’t lie.

“Not much,” I admitted. “Just… waiting for you to come back.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, and I thought I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by that teasing glint.

“Well, I’m here now,” she said, her voice soft. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

We lapsed into silence, the tension between us thickening with each passing second. But before I could say anything, she stood up, her movements graceful.

“I should go,” she said, her tone regretful. “But… we’ll talk soon?”

“Definitely,” I replied, standing as well.

She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, her body inches from mine. I could feel the warmth radiating off her, could smell the faint scent of her perfume. It was intoxicating.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes meeting mine. “For everything.”

And then, before I could react, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. It was quick, almost chaste, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

She pulled back, her cheeks flushed, and I saw something in her eyes—something that made my heart race.

“See you soon,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

And then she was gone, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding in my chest.

This… this changes everything.

The café was dimly lit, the kind of place where the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of cups created a cocoon of intimacy. Yel was already there when I arrived, sitting in a corner booth with a cup of coffee cupped between her hands. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, and she looked up as I approached, a tentative smile playing on her lips.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made my chest tighten.

“Hey,” I replied, sliding into the seat across from her. The air between us felt charged, like the quiet before a storm. “How are you holding up?”

She sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Better, I think. Thanks for asking. It’s… nice to have someone to talk to.”

I nodded, letting the silence hang for a moment before I spoke again. “You said you wanted to talk about our shared past. What’s on your mind?”

Yel hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how close we used to be. How different things were back then.”

Her words tugged at something deep inside me, a memory of childhood summers and stolen glances. “Yeah,” I murmured. “We were inseparable.”

She looked up, her eyes searching mine. “Do you ever wonder what happened? To us, I mean?”

I leaned back, considering her question. “I think life just… got in the way. We grew up, went to different schools, met new people.”

Yel’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “I guess. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I feel like… I let something slip away. Something I didn’t realize I had until it was gone.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet, letting her fill the silence.

“Do you remember that time we went to the beach?” she asked suddenly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “When we were, what, twelve?”

I chuckled, the memory instantly flooding back. “How could I forget? You dared me to jump off that cliff, and I ended up scraping my knee on the rocks.”

Her laugh was soft, almost nostalgic. “You were so brave back then. Always doing whatever I asked, no matter how crazy.”

I shrugged, feeling a warmth spread through me at her words. “Anything for you, Yel.”

Her smile wavered, and she looked away, her fingers tightening around her cup. “I miss that,” she whispered. “I miss you.”

The air between us grew heavier, and I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. “I’m still here,” I said quietly. “I’ve always been here.”

She met my gaze again, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I know. And that’s why I’m so grateful. You’re the only one who’s stuck by me through all of this.”

I reached across the table, gently placing my hand over hers. “You don’t have to thank me, Yel. That’s what friends are for.”

She studied our hands, her thumb brushing against mine in a way that sent a jolt through my veins. “But what if… what if I want more than that?”

My breath caught, and I felt my pulse quicken. “Yel—”

She cut me off, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just… I feel like I don’t even know you anymore. The real you. And it scares me.”

I tightened my grip on her hand, my mind racing. “You do know me. Better than anyone else.”

She shook her head, her tears spilling over. “I don’t. Not really. I was so caught up in my own world, in him, that I didn’t even notice what I was losing. And now… now I’m afraid it’s too late.”

“It’s not,” I said firmly, my voice low and steady. “It’s never too late, Yel.”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and searching. “Then tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me who you are. Really.”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of her words settle over me. “I’m the same person I’ve always been,” I said finally. “The one who’d do anything for you.”

Her lips parted, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—the fear, the hope, the longing. “Even now?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Especially now.”

She stared at me for a long moment, her breath shallow, and then she pulled her hand away, wiping at her tears. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, her voice breaking.

“Don’t say that,” I said firmly, leaning forward. “You deserve everything, Yel. And if I can be a part of that, then I’m here. No matter what.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with a vulnerability that made my chest ache. “What if I mess it up again? What if I lose you?”

“You won’t,” I promised, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the table again. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “How to… be close to someone without ruining it.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said softly. “Together.”

Her eyes met mine, and for the first time that evening, I saw a glimmer of hope. “Together,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

We sat there in silence for a while, the weight of our conversation hanging in the air. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence—it was the kind that felt like the first step toward something new, something fragile and beautiful.

Eventually, Yel spoke again, her voice soft but steady. “Can I tell you something? About… him?”

I nodded, feeling a pang of unease but pushing it aside. “Of course.”

She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. “He was… charming, at first. Funny, confident, the kind of guy who made you feel like you were the only person in the room. But after a while, I started to notice things. Little things, at first. The way he’d get jealous if I talked to other guys. The way he’d make me feel guilty for spending time with my friends.”

Her voice was calm, but I could see the pain in her eyes, and it made my chest tighten.

“And then, it got worse,” she continued, her voice trembling. “He started to control everything—what I wore, who I talked to, where I went. And when I tried to stand up to him, he’d just… twist it around, make it seem like it was my fault.”

I clenched my fists under the table, but I kept my voice steady. “He was an asshole, Yel. You didn’t deserve that.”

She nodded, her tears spilling over again. “I know… now. But back then, I just wanted him to love me. I thought if I could just be enough, he’d treat me the way he used to. But he never did.”

I reached across the table again, gently taking her hand in mine. “You are enough. You always have been.”

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For saying that. For… everything.”

I squeezed her hand, feeling a surge of protectiveness. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re here. With me.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. “Me too,” she murmured.

The tension between us was palpable, a quiet hum of something waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of us spoke, neither of us moved. We just sat there, our hands intertwined, our breaths syncing in the quiet stillness of the café.

And then, slowly, tentatively, Yel leaned forward, her eyes searching mine. “Do you think…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think we could ever…?”

Her words trailed off, but I knew what she was asking. And the answer was there, in the way my heart raced, in the way my gaze lingered on her lips.

But before I could respond, before I could even think, she pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have—”

I cut her off, my hand tightening around hers. “Don’t apologize, Yel,” I said softly. “Not for this.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide and uncertain, and I felt a surge of something I couldn’t quite name—something that made me want to close the distance between us, to erase the pain in her eyes.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I leaned back, giving her the space she needed, even as my heart screamed for more.

And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

The café was quiet, the soft hum of a distant espresso machine the only sound that broke the silence between us. Yel’s fingers traced the edge of her coffee cup, her eyes downcast, but there was something in the way she looked at me—something that made my heart skip a beat. The air between us felt charged, electric, as though we were on the brink of something neither of us had the courage to name.

“You’re the only one who’s stayed,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone else just… left.” Her eyes met mine, and I could see the vulnerability there, the raw need for connection that she’d buried so deep for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said firmly, reaching across the table to take her hand in mine. Her fingers were warm, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she intertwined them with mine, her grip tight, as though she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.

“You always were too good to me,” she said softly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You’ve always deserved it,” I replied, my voice steady even as my heart raced. “You just… forgot that for a while.”

She looked at me then, her gaze searching, as though she was trying to see past the words, past the surface, to the truth beneath. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. Not when she was looking at me like that.

“What if…” she started, then hesitated, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “What if I want more than just friendship?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy, loaded. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. I could only stare at her, at the way her cheeks flushed pink, at the way her eyes darted away, then back to mine, searching for an answer I wasn’t sure I could give.

“More?” I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, her hand tightening around mine. “I don’t want to lose you again. Not like before. Not… not like everyone else.”

I could feel the heat of her gaze, the intensity of her words, and it was all I could do to keep my composure. But there was something else, too—something that made my stomach twist, my chest tighten. Something that made me want to pull her close, to kiss her until she forgot all the pain, all the heartache.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I leaned forward, our faces inches apart, the warmth of her breath ghosting over my skin. “You’re not going to lose me,” I said, my voice low, steady. “Not now. Not ever.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away. But then she leaned in, her lips brushing against mine, soft, tentative, as though she was testing the waters. It was a kiss, but it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a question, a promise, a plea all rolled into one.

And then she deepened it.

Her hands slid up to my neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck as she pulled me closer. Her lips moved against mine with a hunger that sent a shiver down my spine, her tongue teasing, coaxing, begging for more. I could feel the heat of her body pressed against mine, the curve of her breasts brushing against my chest, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to give in, not to let myself get lost in the moment.

But I couldn’t. Not here. Not like this.

Reluctantly, I pulled back, my breath ragged, my heart pounding in my chest. Yel’s eyes were dark, her lips swollen, and I could see the confusion, the hurt, in her gaze.

“I—” she started, but I cut her off, my voice soft but firm.

“Not here,” I said, my hand reaching up to cup her cheek. “Not like this.”

She stared at me for a moment, her brows furrowed, and then she nodded, her shoulders slumping in resignation. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” I repeated, my thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “But this… this isn’t just about us. It’s about you. About what you need. What you’re ready for.”

She looked at me then, her eyes searching, and I could see the vulnerability, the fear, the hope, all swirling together in her gaze. “And what if I’m ready?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if I’m ready for more?”

I hesitated, my mind racing, my heart pounding. Because the truth was, I didn’t know. I didn’t know if she was ready, if I was ready, if this was the right thing to do. But I knew one thing for certain: I couldn’t hurt her. Not again. Not like before.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” I said finally, my voice steady even as my heart raced. “Together.”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw a flicker of hope, of happiness, in her gaze. And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

The air between us was electric as we stood in the dimly lit hallway of my apartment. Yel’s back was pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her eyes, wide and vulnerable, locked onto mine, searching for something—reassurance, permission, desire? I wasn’t entirely sure. But the tension was unbearable, and the way she looked at me—soft lips parted, cheeks flushed—made it impossible to think clearly.

My hand found its way to her waist, fingers grazing the curve of her hip as I stepped closer. Her breath hitched, a small, almost imperceptible sound that sent a shiver down my spine. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way she trembled slightly under my touch. My other hand lifted to her face, cupping her cheek gently. Her skin was warm, and she leaned into my palm, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again.

“Yel,” I murmured, my voice low and rough, “are you sure about this?”

She hesitated, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then, slowly, she nodded. “I need this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need you.”

That was all the confirmation I needed. My hand slid from her waist to the back of her thigh, lifting her leg gently as I pressed myself against her. Her breath escaped in a soft gasp, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as if anchoring herself to the moment. My lips brushed against hers, tentative at first, testing the waters. Her response was immediate—she kissed me back with a hunger that took my breath away, her hands tangling in my hair as she pulled me closer.

The kiss deepened, our lips moving together in a rhythm that felt both familiar and entirely new. Her body molded against mine, and I could feel the heat building between us, the way her heart raced in time with mine. My hand traveled higher up her thigh, fingers teasing the hem of her skirt before dipping beneath it. Her breath caught again, and she broke the kiss, her eyes wide and searching.

“Wait,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. “I… I want to show you something.”

I pulled back slightly, giving her space, even though every fiber of my being ached to close the distance again. “Whatever you need,” I said softly, my hand still resting on her thigh.

Yel looked down, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. With trembling fingers, she reached for the hem of her sweater and began to pull it up. My breath caught as she revealed her soft, pale skin inch by inch, until the sweater was completely off, discarded on the floor beside us. She stood before me in nothing but her bra and skirt, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself as she looked up at me, unsure.

“You’re gorgeous,” I whispered, my voice filled with awe. I couldn’t take my eyes off her—the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, the way her skin seemed to glow in the dim light. She blushed furiously at my words, her hands still shielding herself, but I could see the small, shy smile tugging at her lips.

“You really think so?” she asked, her voice small and unsure.

“I know so,” I replied, stepping closer. My hands gently reached for hers, pulling them away from her chest. “Don’t hide from me, Yel. You’re beautiful.”

Her breath hitched as my hands brushed against her skin, and she slowly let her arms fall to her sides, revealing herself completely. I couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped my lips as I took in the sight of her. Her bra clung to her curves, accentuating her full breasts, and my fingers itched to touch her, to feel her skin beneath my hands.

“You’re so stunning,” I murmured, my voice thick with desire. My hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer as my lips found hers again. This kiss was deeper, more urgent, our bodies pressing together as if trying to erase any space between us. Her hands slid up my chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons of my shirt until it was open and discarded beside her sweater.

The heat between us was almost unbearable, every touch sending sparks through my body. My hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine before stopping at the clasp of her bra. I hesitated, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. “Can I?” I asked, my voice husky.

She nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

With trembling fingers, I undid the clasp, letting the fabric fall away. Her breasts were even more beautiful than I had imagined—full and soft, her nipples hard and pebbled under the cool air of the room. I couldn’t resist the urge to touch her, my hands cupping her breasts gently, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. She let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into my touch.

“You’re so perfect,” I murmured, my lips trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, until they found the softness of her breast. She gasped, her hands tangling in my hair as I kissed and teased her sensitive skin, her moans growing louder with each touch.

“I… I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s like… I can’t think, I just… I need more.”

My lips returned to hers, silencing her words with a kiss that was both tender and desperate. Her hands roamed my chest, exploring every inch of my skin as if trying to memorize the feel of me. Our bodies pressed together, the heat between us growing with every touch, every breath.

“Tell me what you want,” I murmured against her lips, my hands trailing down her sides to the waistband of her skirt. “Tell me, Yel.”

Her eyes met mine, dark with desire and something else—something deeper. “I want you,” she breathed, her voice filled with need. “All of you.”

Her voice lingered in the air, trembling with a raw vulnerability that made my chest ache. “I want you,” she had said, and those three words echoed in my mind like a mantra. I knelt before her, my hands resting on her hips as I looked up at her. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and I could see the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice low, my hands sliding down to the hem of her skirt.

She nodded, her lips parting slightly as she whispered, “Yes.”

Slowly, I hooked my fingers under the fabric of her skirt, pulling it down her legs. The sound of the fabric brushing against her skin was soft, almost muffled by the pounding of my heart in my ears. Her thighs were warm beneath my palms, and I could feel the faint tremor in them as I leaned in closer, my breath hot against her skin.

Yel let out a small gasp as I pressed my lips to her inner thigh, my hands squeezing gently. “Oh God,” she breathed, her fingers tangling in my hair.

I moved slowly, savoring the taste of her skin, the way her body responded to every touch. My lips trailed higher, and I could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her legs trembled as I got closer. When I finally reached the delicate lace of her panties, I paused, looking up at her.

Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes were half-lidded with desire. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I didn’t need any more encouragement. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down her legs. The air between us was electric, and I could feel the tension building as I leaned in closer, my breath hot against her.

The first touch of my tongue against her made her gasp, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Yes,” she moaned, her hips arching slightly towards me.

I took my time, exploring her with my tongue, savoring the taste of her. Her moans grew louder, more insistent, and I could feel the way her thighs trembled against my shoulders. Her hands pressed down on my head, urging me closer, and I obliged, deepening my strokes.

“Oh God,” she cried, her voice trembling. “Just like that.”

Her breathing grew ragged, her moans more desperate, and I could feel the tension building in her body. She was close, so close, and I wanted to push her over the edge. I wrapped my arms around her thighs, holding her steady as I continued to stroke her with my tongue.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I kept going, my tongue moving faster, more insistently, until I felt her body tense, her thighs tightening around me. She let out a loud, desperate moan, her nails digging into my scalp as she came undone.

For a moment, she was still, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Then she looked down at me, her eyes dark with desire. “Come here,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

I stood, my body pressed against hers, and she reached up, pulling me into a deep, passionate kiss. Her lips were soft, her tongue hot against mine, and I could taste the remnants of her on my lips. Her hands roamed my body, desperate and needy, and I could feel the way she pressed herself against me, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her release.

“I need you,” she breathed against my lips, her hands fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. “All of you.”

I didn’t stop her as she pushed my shirt off my shoulders, her hands immediately going to my chest. Her touch was electric, sending shivers down my spine, and I could feel the way she trembled as she kissed me, her body pressed tightly against mine.

Her hands slid down to the waistband of my pants, and I could feel the way she hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly. “Is this okay?” she asked, her voice soft, uncertain.

I nodded, my hands resting on her hips. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

She slid her hands under the fabric, her fingers brushing against the hard length of me, and I let out a low groan. Her touch was tentative, almost shy, but it was enough to send a jolt of pleasure through me.

“You’re so hard,” she whispered, her fingers wrapping around me.

I let out a low groan, my head falling back as she stroked me. Her touch was light, almost teasing, but it was enough to make my knees weak.

“Yel,” I groaned, my hands tightening on her hips.

She looked up at me, her eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I didn’t know how to answer her. I wanted so much, more than I could put into words. But I also knew that we had already crossed a line, that this moment was fragile, delicate.

Before I could respond, she leaned in, pressing her lips to mine in a deep, desperate kiss. Her body pressed against mine, her hands still wrapped around me, and I could feel the way she trembled with need.

“I want you,” she whispered against my lips, her voice breaking. “All of you.”

Her lips were still pressed to mine, her breath hot and ragged, when she suddenly broke the kiss, her eyes locking onto mine with a wild, almost feral intensity. Before I could even process what was happening, Yel’s hands were on my shoulders, and with a surprising strength, she pushed me backward. I stumbled slightly, my legs hitting the edge of the bed, and then I was falling, the soft mattress catching me as she followed, her body landing on top of mine in a tangle of limbs.

Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, and her skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling as she straddled me, her warmth pressing into me in a way that made my head spin. My hands instinctively found her hips, anchoring myself to her as she began to move, grinding against me with a urgency that sent sparks racing through my body.

“Fuck,” I muttered, the word escaping my lips in a breathless gasp. Her name followed, “Yel….”_

She didn’t respond with words, only a low, throaty moan that vibrated through her chest and into mine. Her hands moved from my shoulders to my chest, her fingers splaying as if she wanted to feel every inch of me. Her eyes were half-lidded, dark with desire, and her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. She was completely lost in the moment, and I was right there with her.

Her hips moved again, slower this time, but with a deliberate rhythm that had me gripping her tighter, my fingers digging into her soft skin. She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to where our bodies were pressed together, and then her hands were on mine, guiding them upward.

“Touch me,” she whispered, her voice husky and raw. “Please.”_

Her hands brought mine to her breasts, and I didn’t hesitate. My palms cupped them, the weight of them filling my hands, and I could feel the way her heartbeat quickened under my touch. She let out a shuddering sigh, her head tipping back slightly as I began to knead them gently, her skin warm and impossibly soft beneath my fingers.

“More,” she breathed, her hips still moving against me, the friction maddening. “Don’t stop.”_

I didn’t. I couldn’t. My hands roamed over her, exploring every curve, every dip, every inch of her that I could reach. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and her movements became less controlled, more frantic. She was everywhere—her scent, her warmth, her sounds—and I was drowning in her, completely consumed.

Her lips found mine again, the kiss deep and hungry, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that had me groaning into her mouth. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling slightly, and I could feel the way her body trembled above mine. She was so close, teetering on the edge, and I wanted her to fall.

“Yel…” I managed to whisper against her lips, my voice strained with the effort of speaking through the haze of desire. “You’re so beautiful…”_

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, she just stared at me, her chest heaving. Then she smiled, a small, almost shy smile that was so unlike anything I’d seen from her before. It was pure, unguarded, and it took my breath away.

“I need you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need all of you.”_

Her words sent a jolt through me, and my hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer still. She gasped, her body arching into mine, and I could feel the way she was unraveling, her control slipping away. Her nails dug into my shoulders, and her lips found my neck, biting down gently as she moaned against my skin.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please… don’t stop.”_

I didn’t. I couldn’t. My hands moved to her thighs, squeezing gently as I urged her to keep moving, to keep grinding against me. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, and her breaths came in short, shallow gasps. She was so close, so close, and I could feel the way her body was tensing, the way she was holding herself back.

“Yel…” I whispered again, my voice rough with need. “Come for me…”_

Her hips stuttered, and then she was falling, her body going rigid as a loud, desperate cry tore from her lips. Her hands gripped me tightly, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on my skin, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was her, about the way she was coming undone in my arms, about the way her body trembled and shook with the force of her release.

Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving as she collapsed against me, her forehead resting on my shoulder. Her body was still trembling, her skin slick with sweat, and I could feel the way her heart was racing against mine. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stayed there, pressed against me, her breath warm against my skin.

I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to even begin to process what had just happened. But I didn’t need words. Not right now. All I needed was her, and the way she was holding onto me, like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Yel…” I started, my voice soft, tentative.

She lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine, and there was something in her gaze—something raw, something vulnerable—that made my chest ache. She didn’t say anything, just reached up, her fingers brushing against my cheek, her touch so gentle it almost hurt.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please… don’t let go.”_

I didn’t. I couldn’t. My arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, and I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She sighed, her body relaxing against mine, and for a moment, everything was still, quiet. It was just us, just this moment, and I never wanted it to end.

But then she shifted slightly against me, her body moving in a way that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. She looked up at me again, her eyes dark, her lips parted, and I could see the desire still burning in her gaze, even now, even after everything.

“More…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need more.”

Her breath hitched as she whispered, “More…” and her voice trembled with a need that mirrored my own. I could feel her body trembling against mine, her warmth pressing into me, begging for something neither of us could deny anymore. My hands slid down her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine, and she let out a soft gasp as I pulled her closer. Her lips found mine again, hot and desperate, and I kissed her with a hunger that surprised even me.

Her hands moved to my chest, pushing me back gently until I was lying flat on the bed. She straddled me, her thighs pressing against my sides, and I could feel the heat of her core against my stomach. She leaned down, her lips trailing kisses along my jawline, down my neck, and across my chest. Her tongue flicked over my nipple, teasing it until it hardened under her touch, and I groaned, my hands gripping her hips tightly.

“Yel,” I breathed, my voice rough with desire. She looked up at me, her eyes dark and filled with a need that sent a shiver down my spine. She smiled, a wicked, knowing smile, and then her lips continued their descent. She kissed her way down my stomach, her hands sliding over my hips as she moved lower. My heart raced as I realized where she was going, and I could feel the anticipation building inside me like a wildfire.

Her lips brushed against the inside of my thigh, and I tensed, my breath catching in my throat. She looked up at me, her eyes locking onto mine, and then her tongue darted out, teasing me, tasting me. I moaned, my hips lifting off the bed as her tongue circled my aching core, slow and deliberate. She took her time, exploring every inch of me, her hands gripping my thighs to keep me from squirming away.

But I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay right here, lost in the pleasure she was giving me. Her tongue flicked over my sensitive bud, and I cried out, my hands tangling in her hair. She moaned against me, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through my body, and I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” I begged, my voice shaking. “Yel, please…”

She didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, she intensified her movements, her tongue circling me faster, harder. Her fingers joined in, sliding inside me with ease, and I gasped, my back arching off the bed. She curled her fingers, hitting that spot inside me that made me see stars, and I screamed her name as I came undone, my body trembling with the force of my release.

She didn’t stop, though. She kept going, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drag another orgasm out of me. I was panting, my body shaking, but she didn’t slow down. It was too much, and yet I didn’t want her to stop. My hands fisted the sheets, and I clawed at the mattress as she brought me to the brink again and again.

Finally, she pulled away, her lips glistening, and she looked up at me with a look of pure satisfaction. I was boneless, my body still trembling, and she crawled up my body, her breasts brushing against my skin as she moved. She kissed me, her lips soft against mine, and I could taste myself on her tongue. It was intoxicating.

She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Your turn,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I flipped her over onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. She gasped, her eyes widening, and I smiled, lowering myself to kiss her deeply. My free hand slid down her body, teasing her breasts, her stomach, and finally finding her core. I slipped two fingers inside her, and she moaned, her hips lifting off the bed to meet my hand.

I moved my fingers inside her, curling them just the way I knew she liked, and she cried out, her nails digging into my arm. Her body jerked with pleasure, and I watched her face as she came undone, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

I didn’t stop there. I wanted to push her further, to make her feel as good as she had made me feel. I pulled my fingers out of her and positioned myself between her legs, my hardness pressing against her entrance. She looked up at me, her eyes pleading, and I thrust into her, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

She gasped, her legs wrapping around my waist, and I began to move, slow and steady at first, but quickly building into a frantic pace. Her nails raked down my back, and I groaned, the pleasure-pain only driving me on. Her moans filled the room, growing louder and more desperate with every thrust, and I could feel her walls tightening around me as she got closer to the edge.

I reached between us, my thumb circling her clit, and she cried out, her body jerking with pleasure as she came. Her walls clenched around me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I buried myself deep inside her, my own release washing over me in waves as I filled her.

We collapsed together, our bodies tangled and sweaty, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing filling the room. Then she turned to me, her eyes soft and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Again,” she whispered, her voice a plea, and I knew I couldn’t say no.

I rolled her onto her stomach, her hips lifting instinctively, and I entered her from behind, my hands gripping her waist tightly. She moaned, her back arching, and I set a punishing pace, my hips slamming into hers with enough force to make the bed creak. Her moans turned into screams, and I could feel her orgasm building again, her walls tightening around me as she came.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. We moved together, our bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, and I lost count of how many times we came together. All I knew was the feeling of her, the sounds she made, and the way she clung to me as if I were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Hours later, we were still tangled together, our bodies spent but our desire far from sated. She looked up at me, her eyes half-lidded and filled with a hunger that matched my own.

“So what are We"?

[bigtedbear]

“ 𝐜𝗼𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫 “

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐩𝐭: 𝐲𝐚𝐧! 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝗼𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐭

content warnings: boss and employee, abuse of power (like that's the entire plot), yandere themes, nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, male reader, amab reader, gay sex, anal penetration, anal fingering, head (character receiving), hickies, hook-ups, friends with benefits (fwb) turned feelings relationships, cock-blocking, situationships, possessive-obsessive behavior, stalking, sunday as your crazy girlfriend (who u don't know is your girlfriend yet !!)

heavy on the yandere themes this time around!

not a lot of smut I fear <//3

warnings that this may not be my best work, it took me a LOONNNG ass time to finish this so the quality, tone, etc. may vary

apologies in advance :')

“ new contact noted! caller sunday has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

“ new contact noted! caller aventurine has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

If anyone were to ask Sunday about the first time he met you, his answer would depend on the person.

Strangers would receive a very basic, formal answer. You were assigned to lead the team in charge of his security.

Closer friends may get a different story, depending on how close they are, naturally.

The true story was a little bit embarrassing after all, caught staring a little too long at something you weren’t exactly supposed to see.

He was busy. He’d spent his morning darting to and from locations to make important meetings, be seen in all the right spots, shake hands with the right people, say all the right things. Consistent and careful cultivation of his reputation and his image seemed to be all he ever did with his time and that day was no different.

There was only one problem.

On the day that he first met you, his leads had run dry.

So instead of attending scheduled events, handling confessionals, or making sure he was on time to important meetings, he was left wandering the hotel Lobby on the off chance someone important might see him extending his consideration to Penacony’s regular visitors.

Despite how much the constant fawning grinded on his nerves, he reminded himself over and over again that it would all be worth it in the end. Still, no matter who was in the crowd, it blended together into a constant cacophony of “Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday!”.

“How kind you are, Mister Sunday!”

“It’s always such a joy to see you no matter the hour, Mister Sunday!”

“You’re such a gentleman, Mister Sunday!”

Realizing nobody of concern would be there to see him, he cut himself short. A polite smile here, a well-timed nod there, and a firm handshake with an older gentleman to tie a bow on the conversation, his mouth opened his mouth to say an all too familiar phrase.

“This has been delightful, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.”

With the nearly synced chorus of farewells behind him, Sunday began his retreat to the VIP floor of the Reverie. His contemplation drowned out the pleasant, if not repetitive sound of the elevator music flooding the little cramped metal box. As the doors opened, though, he was abruptly knocked out of his thoughts by the sight that greeted him.

Almost immediately, his eyes locked on to an all too familiar looking iridescent glint from the corner of his vision.

A charmony dove.

Then he really focused on it.

No, not just one charmony dove.

It just looked like one from where he was standing. From where he was, next to the elevator, the flock of charmony doves gathered around this one sitting area on the opposite side of the floor was small enough to make his brain think it was just one charmony dove a lot closer to him.

He glanced around him, making sure no visitors would see, before extending his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light of the chandelier above. He squinted, trying to make out what exactly caused all the birds to gather in the first place.

But his eyes failed him and he was left just as confused.

The wings on either side of his head fluttered slightly in indignation. With one of his hands still tucked behind his back, he ventured closer to the curious gathering of birds. The curved nature of the balcony meant it was still virtually impossible for him to ascertain what exactly he would find upon his arrival.

So imagine his shock when he saw a person in the center of the chaos.

Miraculously undisturbed by the hundreds of birds gathered around the table, even as they continued to sing and warble their signature tune, there was a man laying his head on the table.

Sleeping.

For a moment, Sunday stood at a safe distance, utterly dumbfounded. The next moment, he picked his jaw off the floor.

The charmony doves were more than happy to use the mystery man’s shoulders as a perch. Furthermore, the man was deep enough in his sleep that the brush of feathers and the sensation of little feet all over his arms and the nape of his neck went completely unnoticed.

He used his arms as a cushion for his head, cranium tilted to the side to make room for fresh air flow. Sunday’s eyes trailed just slightly lower, catching sight of a card in the man’s hand.

It was connected to a lanyard hanging off his neck, the ID clutched so tightly it bent with the curvature of his palm. Stranger still, the ID card was a work ID.

“Strange, isn't it? I didn't know what to think the first time I saw it either.”

Before Sunday could get a closer look, he was interrupted by an uncomfortably familiar voice. He jumped slightly, neck snapping to look at the source, “Gallagher.”

The man in question raised his hands defensively, shrugging nonchalantly. The charmony doves seemed to readjust themselves to suit the new rising tension in the air. Still, the sleeping man didn’t seem any more aware than before. “Relax, I'm not here for you.”

Sunday noted that Gallagher’s usually low voice was even dimmer than he remembered, not all that dissimilar to a whisper. Reflexively, he lowered his tone to follow suit, “I presume you're here for him then.”

“Yeah, he usually takes a nap on his lunch breaks,” the older man rumbled, “Hardly gets any sleep with his team leader running him around doing enough work for two people.”

Sunday raised a skeptical brow, “He does this often?”

Gallagher hummed, seemingly rummaging through his memory, “Every once in a while, when he gets assigned shifts near the VIP lounge.”

“The doves… do they gather every time he does this? Why hasn't anyone been made aware of this?”

The older bloodhound crossed his arms, “Didn't see the need to make a problem where there wasn't one. He’s not bothering anyone and he's off the clock.”

The head of the Oak Family frowned, brows pinching in bewilderment. “...I see.”

The two of them stood in silence for another moment before Gallagher looked down to his wrist to check his watch, “His lunch break is about to be over, he’ll wake up soon. You probably have somewhere to be, right?”

Sunday seemed to catch himself, blinking a couple times before nodding, “Ah- I- yes, I should've been on my way back to the Golden Hour.”

Gallagher gave a grunt in response, seemingly unimpressed.

The young halovian bowed his head, eyes darting back over to look at the man sleeping soundly once again.

Without thinking about it, his eyes lingered on the ID badge secured by the man's iron grip as he left. He registered only a few words before he pried eyes off of him for good.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Entry Level Security’

Naturally, Sunday’s inner thoughts and desire for complete control over a situation didn't allow him to simply roll over and accept a natural phenomena within the Reverie without a(n un)healthy dose of worry. Using the new recruit’s name and his extensive ties within Penacony, he pried open the hypothetical crate housing the answer to his burning question with a proverbial crowbar.

A Penacony native, one that came from an average family. Not much was noted about them, his mother and father were seemingly normal civilians that worked hard at their day jobs and landed themselves squarely in the upper-middle class. His mother was the one with ties in the Bloodhound family, the one that vouched for his resume and got him hired in the first place.

But then came the question, why was he constantly surrounded by charmony doves?

The answer to that question was MUCH harder to obtain and, consequently, took weeks of dedicated snooping to figure out.

There simply wasn't an answer.

By all accounts, the man was never particularly fond of them, but they'd followed him around since he was a child. Sunday only managed to find out through the man’s educational records.

He'd gotten in trouble with teachers when he was younger because they suspected he'd been feeding them while their backs were turned, but they later rescinded any accusations upon closer observation. He'd actually taken to trying to scare the birds off, getting into even MORE trouble with his teachers.

It'd started off with him shooing them away by running at them and yelling with his arms raised above head trying to intimidate some kind of angry predator. When they inevitably came back, it escalated to him smacking the birds for landing on him. Eventually, when he hadn't gotten anywhere with that, he started throwing rocks at the doves whenever he'd see them around the schoolyard.

Admittedly, Sunday dug a lot further into it than he'd expected. Worse still, he'd turned up empty-handed.

It frustrated him, to leave it up to a simple “it just happens”, but if this had truly been happening since childhood and had no presumable pattern… what options was he left with?

Eventually, as he got higher and higher within the order of the Family, his list of responsibilities grew longer and longer. The matter found itself buried in thousands of memories of other trivial nonsense he didn't have the luxury of entertaining anymore.

He was too busy tending to confessionals, honing the powers of the harmony, meeting with influential figures of the Family, and finally, taking his place as the head of the Oak Family.

By the time he'd met with you again, he'd almost completely forgotten any and all the strange details surrounding the first time he’d seen you.

It was a bit of a low point in Sunday’s life. He and his sister had chosen two different paths in life. While he was the head of THE most influential faction in Penacony, Robin had always longed to spread harmony to as many people as possible. Even if it meant she had to leave her brother’s side, she began her career as a performer and was signed for an intergalactic tour.

She’d left the week before Sunday was informed there was an extreme staffing overhaul within the Oak family.

The most notable change came in security, citing instances that sensitive information had been leaked to other factions. They couldn't accuse any member of the group specifically, which meant they had to clear out any potential traitors on the outside before they could zero in on any evidence of internal betrayal.

He took the hiccup in stride, but inside he was more than frustrated. Sunday hated change and there were suddenly a lot of big changes happening at once.

Still, like a good soldier, he put on a brave face and cleared a minuscule slot of time to introduce himself to the new officer in charge of the Oak Family’s security staff.

Very honestly, Sunday’s foul circumstances meant he didn't truly make an effort to give the new guy a fair chance at landing in his good graces. The meeting room was a cramped, newly cleaned out office that had a scratched-up, scrappy looking table with flimsy folding chairs. He'd come from a meeting discussing things with people who gave him a headache and barely cleared out fifteen minutes before another meeting with people who got on his nerves.

No matter what happened, Sunday would continue to be in a sour mood.

At least, that was what he thought would happen.

Despite the mounting pile of unfortunate circumstances, you didn't seem to be swayed. You sat in the weak excuse of a chair with your hands folded on top of eachother on the table in front of you with a pleasantly neutral expression on your face.

When the door creaked open, you stood up, as was the etiquette in Penacony.

As the meeting began, a sense of uneasiness washed over the head of the Oak family. There was a tingling sense of apprehension at the back of his mind as he shut the door to the tiny broom closet of a meeting room.

The man was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sunday’s inner dilemma only seemed to worsen when he caught the nearly imperceptible shift in the other’s eye. The man knew there was something off about his expression.

Despite that it didn't stop him from outstretching his hand to offer a greeting. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I hope I won't disappoint.”

Short, concise, polite.

The Oak family head noted, eyes trailing down to the ID card hanging on the man’s lanyard.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Oak Family Personnel’

The wings on either side of his face twitched with the sudden sense of recognition. Trying to remain as level-headed as possible, Sunday took your hand in his. He gave a firm shake. “I’m sure you won’t, you've been a member of the family for a while now.”

You nodded your head silently, going to take out a small folder. "There wasn't much time reserved for this meeting, but I wanted to still wanted to make a good impression. I brought a list of some of my past assignments, but a copy was already forwarded to your office."

A tingle ran down his spine the longer he made eye contact. There was a foreign feeling building up in the bottom of his gut, a feeling that made him apprehensive. "Yes, I'm afraid I'll have to take a look at these later, I have a meeting following shortly after this."

Your eyes crinkled at the corners with an unspoken kindness that tickled the recesses of his ribcage, ghosting butterfly kisses off each bone with tender reverence.

"Of course, sir," your fingers gingerly tucked the manila folder back into the bag you'd brought with you, "I'll be following your lead, starting today."

When you made eye contact, there was something piercing and holistic about the way you looked at him. In the dreamscape, he was used to a more glazed over, passive look no matter who he was speaking to. It was a natural side effect of being in a paradise hidden beyond the gates of sleep.

His response lagged for a second, an awkward pause before he seemed to snap back to his senses.

When he'd looked into it at first, as stated earlier, he couldn't figure out why wherever you went, the charming doves wouldn't be far to follow. The longer he looked however, the more and more he understood.

In a world where everyone bowed to the authority of rest, you were the first person the head of the Oak Family had ever met with such a sharp gaze.

Bright, alert, attentive.

A nervous grin crept up his cheeks, Sunday himself nodding to avoid eye contact. Quietly, he mumbled,

"...I suppose you will."

‘Have you seen Mr. Sunday lately?’ 

‘No, is something the matter with him?’ 

‘Why, it seems to me that Mr. Sunday is growing pretty smitten with a certain someone…’ 

Rumors constantly flit around Dewlight Pavilion, family members whisper hushed musings behind pristine gloves at all times. It is rare, however, that Sunday is seriously brought up in the quiet giggles echoing the corridors. 

A young Pepeshi woman chortles, ‘You should see how much he's brightened up these last couple of weeks.’ 

A cleaner with tousled hair underneath his uniform cap hums, ‘I don't know Mr. Sunday well, but he seems to have gotten some kind of weight off his shoulders.’ 

One of the intelleron consultants chews on a thought, ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about Mr. Sunday, more at ease.’ 

Even stranger, nobody seemed to follow up on those whispers to correct the record.  No members of the Oak Family shushing the loose-lipped gossip mongers usually meant something.  It could mean the gossip wasn't anything worth noting.  But when it came to the romantic status of one of the most sought-after bachelors in Penacony, really nothing was too small.

No, there was something else far more likely hidden in plain sight. 

The family wanted you to believe them.

Sunday wanted you to believe them. 

You swallow the urge to wring your hands nervously but it goes down feeling like the bile rising in the back of your throat.  Walking through Dewlight Pavilion never fails to make you feel like you’re going crazy.  

You hear your coworkers’ voices so clearly you could swear your life on it, but it’s like they have some magical sixth sense that lets them know the second before you’re going to look at them.  It’s like the second your eyes land on them, their lips are pressed into a thin line and the little group they were huddled in disperses to go back to work.  It’s like they’re taunting you.

The various workers depart to their station from the main hall, leaving a clear path for you to take up the stairs.  Each step makes you feel more nauseous than the last, the vintage lights and their golden visage spinning in your peripherals as you try to focus on the plush red carpet under your feet.  It’s soft, but it’s almost like you can’t feel it squished under the soles of your shoes. 

Your feet lead you, on autopilot, to the same office you were always summoned to just after the end of your shift.  There was a sudden surge of anxiety gripping your diaphragm, but you did your best to push it down.  Both hands reached to smooth the front of your uniform, shaking ever so slightly. 

That wouldn’t do.  

You took a deep breath in, clenching your hands into fists, the same breath escaping your nostrils as you let the same hands relax at your sides.  You ended up disappointed anyways, your fingers twitching as they wrapped around the handle to Sunday’s office.  Still, anymore stalling and you’d likely be late for your meeting. 

‘SQUEEEAK!’

Your eyes squeezed shut with a grimace, luckily still hidden by the large wooden door.  You inhaled sharply before wiping the expression off your face, pushing the squeaky door open enough to slip into the room. 

You didn’t need to look up to imagine the same pair of honey-toned eyes lifting from the stacks upon stacks of paperwork on his perfectly organized, polished wooden desk.  Even further, you didn’t need to look up to imagine him haphazardly pushing the stack of papers he’d been looking at to the side.  

“[name]?” 

You let the breath you’d been holding flow out through your nostrils, finally turning around to face him head on.  

Sunday, in all his pristine, well-kempt glory.  He set his pen down on the desk, a gloved hand loosely beckoning you forward.  He didn’t say anything, you didn’t either. The same red carpet covered the inside of his office, the same red carpet squished under your shoe as you walked closer to his desk.  

You didn’t miss the way his eyes followed you wherever you walked, certainly didn’t miss the way they lingered far too long for comfort. 

Opposite his desk, a chair with plush red cushions.  It felt far too fancy for someone as low on the totem pole as yourself, but you didn’t dare make any comment on it.  Making eye contact felt too direct, instead your gaze fell to your lap.   

“...Mr. Sunday,” you asked, attempting to rub your palms off on your slacks, “if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is the purpose of this meeting?” 

He pursed his lips and you feared you’d said something to upset him. “Just Sunday is fine, no need to act like a stranger.” 

The halovian wings on either side of his head opened up before resituating themselves back on either side of his head, his small smile seemed to widen, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind playing tricks on you at this point, “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that have been circulating lately.” 

Your pulse spiked.

“Ah, I-I suppose I have.” 

Your fists tightened into balls where they’d been resting on your thighs.  You could swear you picked up on some kind of twisted amusement dancing in his eyes, like he was toying with you.  

But it vanished just as quickly, his eyes growing downturned, as though embarrassed or understanding, “I understand it may be a tad bit awkward, talking about it I mean,” he rested his elbow on the cool wood, propping his chin up on an open palm, “but I wanted to hear your opinion on them.” 

“My…opinion?” 

He hummed, calm, as though he were asking for something as straight-forward as the color of the sky. 

You swallowed, dryly.  “Well, I can’t say I’m all that fond of them.” 

“Oh?” Even if he didn’t move all that much, his expression made him feel like he was leaning in on you, closing in.  “Do tell.” 

“It…” you paused again, looking for anything around the room except for Sunday to rest your eyes on, “It makes me feel as though my abilities are being brought into question.  People may assume I only got this job or keep this job because of some kind of feelings you harbor for me, but I earned my position just like everyone else.” 

He went to answer, but it seemed like all the feelings you’d been bottling up were surging past your lips like a tsunami you couldn’t hold back anymore.  “Rumors about a relationship aren’t good for your integrity and they aren’t good for ensuring I do my job without interference.”  Your expression got serious, brows settling into a firm line while your lips curved into a frown.  “For both our careers, I think it’d be better if there was a little bit more distance between us in the future.” 

“...”

Sunday was no longer smiling.

The silence was thick enough to suck the air out of the room, hanging in place like a misty fog.  Perhaps that was why it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The wings on either side of Sunday’s head made some kind of fluttering noise as he repositioned them once again, a little less elegantly than the first time.  

“I see.” 

The head of the Oak Family sat up abruptly, resting his other elbow on the table so he could interlace his fingers in front of the lower half of his face. “I wanted your input before I made any decisions handling the rumor mill.  It seems we’re largely on the same page.” 

‘Liar.’ 

It rang clearly in your head like a bell, but you obviously couldn’t say it to his face.  You chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting to the door before returning to your hands in your lap.  “I appreciate the concern, but I’m just a security officer.  I trust you to handle this how you see fit.” 

“...”

“...Am I free to go, sir?” 

Sunday appeared to be thinking.  

“I believe the best outcome will come from both of us staying on the same page,” he started laying his palms flat on the table, “but I understand that you’re probably eager to clock out for today.” 

“...”

His smile returned, jaw unnaturally clenched.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped by tomorrow before clocking out again, just to go over the situation in a little bit more detail.” 

You were quiet.  Too quiet.  

You could feel his stare boring holes into you, even if you refused to make eye contact.

“...of course, Mr. Sunday.”

“Long week?”

You didn’t even raise your head from where you’d slumped over the bar counter.  In fact, you assumed the alluring voice calling from over your shoulder was talking to someone else.  The Soulglad was working its magic, smoothing out any disharmony that seemed to rise from your situation at work. 

It always sloshes around in your mouth cold, fizzy like soda but it goes down your throat like a sweet mug of hot chocolate, bubbling up warm at the bottom of your gut like some kind of warm internal hug.  The glass you’d been nursing was empty by now, though. 

Some people get angry, giggly, reckless when they’re drunk. Maybe you would’ve been one of those people, but today? You were too tired to be anything except sleepy.  Arms crossed on top of the counter, resting your face on your forearms, you were maybe two seconds away from falling into the most blissful slumber of your entire life.  

The slumber, however, was unceremoniously tugged just out of reach by the man situating himself on the bar stool right next to yours.

 I mean, it wasn’t his fault technically. He hadn’t gone out of his way to shake you to get your attention or anything.  It just so happened the creaking of the bar counter under his palms seemed to do the work for him.  That didn’t stop it from ruining your evening, though. 

You pried your head from your forearms  like you needed a proverbial crowbar to pick your neck up.  Your brows were angrily set lower on your face, lips curled with an extra dose of distaste.  There’s a dissatisfied rumble in the back of your throat while you correct your posture, sitting up straight.  Reluctantly, you rub the sleep out of your eyes with a swipe of your hand.  

Impishly, the man who’d called out to you earlier snickers before turning towards the working bartender.  His Soulglad order goes unheard in your little stupor.  You raise your arms towards the ceiling, attempting to get a satisfying crack in your back to no avail, instead slouching in your seat again so you could reach for the nearly forgotten empty cup you’d downed about half an hour ago.

You wait for the bartender to come back from fetching the pretty stranger’s drink, patiently, formerly angry features melting into a much calmer expression.  You massage your temple with your free hand, trying to ignore the incoming hangover you’ll be dealing with come tomorrow morning.  

Despite very obviously appearing to be drowning your problems in liquor, the man sitting next to you seems reluctant to leave you to your sorrows and spirits.  

“You don’t seem to be doing so hot, big guy.”

You tap your finger on the rim on your glass, “Gee, what gave it away?” 

The first thing you notice about the man is his hair.  Compared to the rest of the crowd, it’s a jarringly soft, sandy blonde.  It’s the easiest thing to spot, especially since the alcohol is starting to blur your vision.  

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hums, leaning closer to you over the wooden counter.  “Why don’t you tell me?” 

The next thing you notice is his eyes.  The two of you lock gazes and it feels like you stop breathing for a second.  His iris was made up of electrifying hues of magenta and teal, lining his pupil in alternating rings.  

You stared for a moment too long to be considered natural, completely forgetting what he’d asked you in the first place.  You blinked, embarrassed, turning your attention to how empty your drink was.  You gave a heavy exhale through the nose before responding, “God, where would I even start?” 

“Well, take it from the top.” Finally, you take note of how expensive his clothing is.  As a Penacony native and one who works in tandem with the public sphere, you recognize the rings on his fingers from the high-end jewelers at Oti Mall the very second his rings clink on the wooden countertop. “I’m a really good listener when I want to be.” 

He’s leaning in closer, you can smell just the slightest hint of cologne from where he’s started resting his head on his hand.  

“Well,” You start, eyes tracing the fluff on his collar, “As flattered as I am, my lips are sealed.” 

He elongates the ‘Whaaaatt’ he lets out in response.  He sits up a little bit straighter.  It’s cute, reminds you of a bird fluffing up its feathers.  “I’m just trying to make some friends while I’m in town.  Saw you all by yourself and thought I might have found a kindred soul to talk to over a glass of wine.”

You huff, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips.  His playful attitude is infectious and you can’t help but fold when you’re this drunk and impressionable.  “We can talk, just not about my problems.  I save that for the second date at least.” 

The other man’s eyes light up with mischief, “Oh?”

The bartender finally returns with the mystery man’s wine glass.  He takes a look at the crimson in the glass, sizing it up before seemingly deciding it was satisfactory.  You, on the other hand, place another order for what you’d been pounding back earlier.  The younger bartender eyes you up and down for a moment, trying to figure out if you were drunk enough he should consider cutting you off for the night.  

Still, he disappears behind the counter again with your empty glass to get you another refill and you can focus your attention on the mystery man swishing his wine around in his glass.  He brings the glass just under his nose, seemingly surprised by what he smells. 

You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms over one another on top of the counter again.  “Did they stiff you?” 

He hums, “I can’t tell yet.”  He tips the glass back, taking just about the smallest sip you’ve ever seen anyone manage in a Penacony bar.   He lets the taste settle in his mouth, giving another noncommittal hum.  

You watch him in silence, hanging on his next word.  

Funnily enough, he doesn’t say anything next.  He holds the glass out to you.

You’re reminded of the alcohol muddying your senses when it takes you an extra second to realize he wants you to take the glass from him.  Dumbly, you blink at him, “Me?”  You jab a finger at your own chest, “You want me to taste test your wine?” 

He laughs, more breath than anything else, “Why not?” 

You purse your lips, “Well, I don’t know what you think I’ve been drinking, but the people I know don’t usually get buzzed on red wine.” 

He offers you the glass again, “Just try it, I want to know what you think of it.” 

You look at him funny, earning another laugh from him.  Tentatively, you wrap your fingers around the glass, just barely brushing your fingers with this mystery man.  “You’re strange, y’know.  Not a lot of people offer their drinks to total strangers.” 

You take a sip of his wine as he watches, seemingly captivated with the way your adam’s apple bobs when you swallow.

“Well,” he starts, taking the glass back just as the bartender on shift is returning with your own drink of choice, “We don’t have to be total strangers.” 

You take the glass from your coworker graciously, giving a curt nod to signal your gratitude.  But, unlike the last 3 times he’d gotten you the same drink, you don’t immediately take to gulping half of it down.  Instead, you’re staring back into the same magnetic eyes that you thought ruined your night earlier.  “Yeah? And what do you suggest we do?” 

He’s coy, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his wine, “We could start with names.” 

You didn’t think about it for long, already in too deep to act like you weren’t equally as enamored.  

“(name).” 

He sets his glass down on the table, seemingly uninterested in the contents at this point. 

 “Well, (name), you can call me Aventurine.”

As was customary in the land of festivities, the bar was once again alive with groups of friends, family, lovers, and strangers alike.  As was also customary, almost all of them nursed some kind of alcoholic beverage or Soul Glad while they conversed amongst themselves.  

A young woman with a tall wine glass would bat her eyes at a young fellow gripping a pint of beer like he needed it to breathe.  A group of older gentlemen seemed to have variants of the same drink, each just barely distinguishable from the drink next to it, belly-laughing about nonsense that made it obvious they were drunker than the bar staff should’ve allowed. 

That was the odd thing.  Normally, you’d be doing the same as everyone else.  The moment you clocked out of the most awkward, gruelingly uncomfortable work environment you’d ever been unfortunate enough to be subjected to, you’d just be another face throwing back a couple drinks to take off the edge before heading home to actually relax.  Today, despite the not-so-subtle lingering bar staff, you still hadn’t gotten yourself a drink just yet.  

You were waiting for someone.  

Well, you were maybe waiting for someone. 

 The two of you hadn’t agreed to meet up again after getting drunk off your asses the night prior, but you really hoped he would show up again. 

Absent-mindedly, you drummed your fingers on the top of the familiar wood with one hand, the other reaching into your pocket. It’d become a nervous habit.  Nobody really seemed to notice but the amount you would check the clock had drastically skyrocketed since you’d started working in the Dewlight Pavilion. 

Since you’d started working for Sunday.  

The moment you’d realized what you were doing, it was like a switch went off in your brain.  Your hand moved to tuck your phone back in your pocket, your inner monologue scolding you for getting so worked up over someone you’d only known for a few hours.

“...”

You sat in silence, both hands loosely gripping the edge of the counter top.  

You weren’t left by yourself for long, though.  In fact, literal seconds before you planned on flagging down a bartender to grab a drink, you were startled by a pair of gloved hands reaching out in front of your face to cover your eyes.  

The touch was delicate and the material of the gloves was familiar.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

Your heart rate picked up, automatically on high alert.

“Guess who?” 

Immediately, your heart dropped back down to where it was supposed to be in your chest. 

“Aventurine?” 

The gloves pulled away from your face, no longer obscuring your vision.  You noted immediately that they were black, not white.  You were so caught off-guard by the gesture earlier you hadn’t even thought to check what color the gloves were.  

The aforementioned man, none the wiser to your inner dilemma, rested his hands on your shoulders with a smile.  “How’d you know?”

On auto-pilot, your posture relaxed, an exhale passing through your lips in relief.  You played it off as a joke, swiping a palm across the back of your forehead animatedly, “Well, I only know a couple people with those gloves and you’re the only person who wouldn’t be trying to kill me.” 

He snickered, once again sliding onto the bar stool right next to you.  “Really?  You have enemies?” 

You shrugged in response.  

He hummed, “Color me surprised.” 

You smiled back at him, genuinely this time.  “Live and learn, right?” 

Aventurine nodded, raising an arm to flag down the bartender.  “As much as I’d like a repeat of yesterday afternoon, I actually have somewhere to be today.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Really? What have you got planned for your afternoon in the land of festivities?” 

He cracks a half-smile, “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.” 

You cock your head to the side, earning yourself an amused grin.  

He gazes off towards where the bartenders are running around like headless chickens, attempting to keep guests happy during the after-work rush.  “I rented out a huge roulette table for myself and a few big investors with the company I work for.”

You purse your lips, giving him a certain look he seemingly didn’t anticipate coming from you.  

He pushes your shoulder, “Hey, what’s that face for?  I’m plenty lucky!” 

You nod, incredulously,  “Uh-huh? Anything else you want to say?”  

He huffs, trying to hold a serious expression, but almost immediately he’s fighting an uphill battle.  “I’ve never lost a bet of any kind in my life.” 

You snort, “Whatever you say.” 

He crosses his arms, resting them on the bar counter, “I haven’t!” 

You can’t help the grin on your face nor the overconfident manner in which you doubt him.  You’d seen this kind of thing a million times before.  Tourists always like to play their luck gambling and it turns out, they don’t have much to play.  “Mhm.” 

Anything less than a smile is gone from his face at this point, “If you come to the roulette table with me, I’ll prove it to you.” 

While he’s looking straight at your side profile, you’re looking for a good moment to flag down one of the bartenders that’d seemingly forgotten the two of you existed at all.  “I don’t do gambling anymore.  I lost half a paycheck while I was drunk and I swore I would never do something that stupid ever again.” 

“You don’t need to be the one gambling,” he adds, almost a little too quickly.  “You can just sit back and watch.”  

You were already going to open your mouth to give him a maybe, but he cut you off before you could so much as make a sound.  “I’ll even cover your drinks for the night.”

You glance at the bar counter, seemingly weighing your options.  He interlocks his fingers, playing up the begging act before you swat his hands away with a chuckle, “Okay, okay! You’ve convinced me, you’re going to embarrass the both of us.” 

He silently cheers, hopping off the bar stool before motioning for you to follow him.  

Your jaw drops, “Now? We’re going now?” 

He nods,coffering a hand, “Well? The reservation starts in ten minutes and I plan on getting my money’s worth.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. 

You’re nervous.  

No, you should be nervous. 

You’ve talked to Aventurine for maybe 5 hours total if you’re being generous.  You shouldn’t be this eager to follow a random stranger, albeit  a handsome stranger, into some dark, shady roulette table room.  

But you are.  

You slip your hand into his, letting him lead you out of the VIP Lounge before you can consider turning down his offer. 

‘CRASH!’ 

The sound of the stapler clattering to the ground is deafening in the silence of Sunday’s office.  

With a swipe of his arm, the giant stack of paperwork he had yet to complete flew off the corner of his desk.  

‘THUMP!’ 

It falls in a giant heap to the ground, the recoil sending papers flying across the red carpet floor.  

He grabs the lamp that’d been in the office longer than he had by the base, yanking the cord out of the wall in the process. 

‘SMASH!’ 

The lightbulb shatters when it makes contact with the bookshelf he’d thrown it at.  All that’s left on his desk is the line of neatly organized pens in black and blue ink.  

Even then, that’s too much. 

With Herculean strength he didn’t know he possessed, he grabs his desk by its corners, flipping the entire thing over onto the floor.  

‘BANG!’ 

Sunday’s teeth are grit, grinding against one another hard enough his jaw aches.  His hands are shaking where they’re curled up into fists at his side.  His chest heaves, but not from the exertion.  

Something inside him burns. 

It rumbles, it aches, it hurts. 

His fingers itch for destruction of some kind, more destruction than tearing apart his office can give him.  He needs to see carnage, needs to cause some kind of catastrophe but his status means he can only do so much without jeopardizing his future prospects. 

The wings on either side of his face flutter indignantly. 

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.  

His vision is starting to get spotty.  

Every time he tried to swallow down the urge to tear apart anything and everything he could get his hands on, he just kept on seeing the pictures that’d sent him into such a fervor in the first place. 

Why?

Why? 

What was it about the IPC Stoneheart that caught your interest? 

What did he have to offer that Sunday didn’t? 

Originally, he tried to push down the burning feeling of competition.  

The first picture he’d been sent wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.  Aventurine cradled a glass of blood red wine in one hand, the other one was counting something off on his fingers.  You leaned in, resting your chin on one of your hands while taking a sip of your own drink.  

It was just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar! 

But then it wasn’t just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar, it turned into inviting you out on the town whenever you weren’t working.  

Every picture he was sent made Sunday feel like he was being jabbed with a hot poker.  The nagging voice at the back of his head went from being nothing more than occasional whispers to near constant chatter.  

Competition and jealousy boiled over, returning as steaming hot inadequacy and betrayal.  

The cameras around Penacony caught the two of you frequenting gambling dens, all smiles and coy banter behind the mountains of game chips Aventurine’s supernatural luck managed to rake in.  

The head of the Oak Family tried to come up with a reason why you’d choose to follow after Aventurine.  Maybe the family hadn’t been paying you enough, maybe you were only toying with Aventurine for his money.  If Sunday increased your pay, maybe you’d stop running around behind his back! 

But that would only explain the times you were pictured at the casino tables. 

What about all the times the two of you had wandered around the Moment of Scorchsand? 

Drinking, dancing, bar hopping?  Were those just an added on fling? Another way of cheating Aventurine out of his money?  

Or, or the moment of Stars?  

Did you need Aventurine’s money to have a good time at an amusement park?

Why did you pay for that date then? Why was that date your idea? 

Why did the cameras catch the two of you making out on the elevator ride up to Aventurine’s hotel room? 

The halovian clutched his head in both hands.

He needs the room to stop spinning, he needs those images out of his head. 

But he can’t seem to stop them, no matter how hard he tries.  The second he manages to push one down, another five images are burning themselves into his brain.  

Cruelly, the voice that’d been telling him to act on his suspicions sooner only seems to get louder and louder.  It laughs at him, ridicules him.  

Sunday cries out in pure anguish, sending a fist hurtling straight through the wall behind his desk.  

“FUCK!”

“Hngh… Oh-” 

Aventurine’s fingers curl in your hair, tugging your strands with enough force your scalp burns.  You groan, throat spasming around where you’d taken his cock down to the base.  The pleasant vibrations only send his head tipping back against the silk-cover pillows in a delayed moan, toes curling from where you’d thrown his legs over your shoulder.  

Your middle finger ghosts over his prostate a second time and his jaw drops.  Reflexively, he pulled your face closer to his pelvis leading you to choke.  You lave your tongue over one of the more prominent veins on the underside of his pretty pink shaft on your way up, kitten licking the tip as your chest heaves.  You take in a much deeper breath, pulling off of him completely in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube that’d you’d carelessly thrown aside earlier.  

His eyes are just a smidge glossed over when he picks his head up from the pillow, meeting your gaze with his lower lip jutted out in a pout.  “Mmm… I was so close, why’d you have to stop?” 

He’s a picture, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, teal button-up only half undone and hanging off his shoulders.  His collarbones and shoulders are littered with hickies in a plethora of colors, reminders of each time you’d found yourself in the same hotel room after a haze of a night spent drinking, gambling, and/or flirting.  

“It’s hard getting comfy with something down your throat, babe.” With the cap of the bottle already mostly screwed off, you make quick work of it with your teeth.  Pulling your middle finger out of his tight ass, you squirt a healthy dollop onto your middle and index fingers.  

His eyes drop to where your fingers are working him open, two fingers sinking in knuckle deep.  He whimpers when he hears the filthy squelch the lube makes when you start moving them back and forth.  His breath gets stuck in his lungs when he feels the pads of your fingers glide over his prostate again.  “Hurry up-” he bites his lip when he feels the warmth of your breath fan over his leaking tip, “Wanna feel you inside already.”

Your laugh is breathy as you start to scissor your fingers to make room for a third.  You blow cold air on his tip, relishing the way his knees try to lock up around your neck, the way his cute dick twitches.  He shoots you a half-hearted glare, pushing his hips further on your fingers to try and feel for that one spot that would send him to the stars above.  You’d hooked up with him enough to know exactly where it was in this position, angling your fingers to skillfully knead the little bump with startling accuracy.  

“Fuck- Yes, please, (name), right there!” 

His thighs seize up on either side of your head, eyes rolling into the back of his head.  One of the hands tangled in your hair finds itself covering his mouth, muffling his whines.  The hand still knotted up in your tresses tries to pull you closer, nonverbally pleading for more.  You slip in a third finger and he groans at the stretch,wiggling his hips even though you aren’t moving.

Your mouth is on his tip in an attempt to pacify him, licking over his slit as you pull your fingers out again.  He’s easily distracted and his hips are trying their best to thrust up from where they’re pinned on the mattress.  There’s another healthy slathering of lube on your fingers before you’re working him open again, taking as much of his pretty pink cock in your mouth without using your throat.  

His moans are getting higher and higher in pitch, grip getting tighter and tighter on your scalp.  He whimpers between them like he’s in pain, but the way his heels are digging into the small of your back, you know he isn’t actually hurting.   

“Ah~, (nickname), I’m gonna- I’m gonna cummmngh~”

Crystalline tears pool at the corners of his eyes, his back rising in the perfect arch the deeper you’re thrusting your fingers.  You pull off his dick with a smile, a line of saliva between your lips and the angry red tip serving a messy reminder.  You’re panting, both trying to catch your breath but also because you’re hardly containing your own excitement.  “Yeah? You’re gonna cum?” 

He nods his head quickly biting his lips, and Aeons, he sounds angelic when you prod around his insides looking for his prostate again.  “Mmhm… Ngh~” 

Your free hand wraps around the base of his dick with a smile, chuckling when his grip on your hair is just about tight enough he’s getting ready to pull out chunks of your follicles.  You’re stroking him up and down, nice and slow at the same pace you’re thrusting.  “You wanna cum?” 

He nods his head even harder this time, the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes starting to slide down his cheeks one by one.  

You stop stroking him, hand coming to a stop working his insides too, “I wanna hear you say it,” you press a lingering kiss on the top of his thigh, “Need to hear you say it f’me before you cum, darling.” 

He chokes on a frustrated sob, “I-I needa cum- please, baby, n-need it so bad-”

He’s too slow to bite his lip again, an uncharacteristically screamlike moan ripped from his throat the moment your hands started massaging his sweet spot again.  Despite already being arched, his back is pushing itself off the bed as he struggles to keep his voice down.  He’s chasing your hands, despite the fact they aren’t going anywhere. 

You start sucking a hickey into his inner thigh, watching the way his cock twitches and his legs jolt.  

“CUMminGgh! Oh, hoh- I’m cumMINg~” 

He keens, spasming and seizing up before he creams thick and heavy onto his chest with a labored sob.  His chest is moving so fast it looks like he’s hyperventilating and he’s scrambling to pry your mouth off his over sensitive inner thighs.  

You groan against his skin, immediately getting up from where you’re kneeling at the foot of the bed to crawl on top of him.  Despite just how intense he came, he’s more than eager to welcome you onto the bed with open arms.  His hands are immediately reaching for your shirt buttons, fumbling to get them undone with shaky hands.  You’re caging him in with one arm, the other reaching up to help him undo your button-up.  

He scowls at the last few–the ones he decided were taking too long–before he’s taking the fabric in both hands and popping the buttons off in one fell swoop.  You’re pleasantly surprised, even more so when his hand is reaching for your belt buckle all on his own.  

Usually, he enjoyed being pampered in bed, him taking the initiative was more than unexpected–pleasant, but unexpected. 

“What’s the rush?” You tease, letting your arm fall back into place holding you up, “I’m all yours, all night.” 

Aventurine whines, fingers catching on the clasp of the buckle, “That’s not soon enough, wanna feel you now.”

“Fuck…” The sight of him being so needy is turning you on to an embarrassing degree.  At this point, you’re guessing the front of your boxers are all but soaked through.  

The man underneath you isn’t the only one that’s impatient, it seems.  Moments later, your hand is reaching down to help him free you from the confines of your uniform slacks.  One of his hands reaches up to yank you down close enough to kiss him, clumsy and wanting. 

Your lips are about to connect, the night’s really heating up, and you couldn’t think of anything that could ruin the moment until- 

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

The two of you freeze, eyes darting towards the door.  

You look back down at him, “Were you expecting anyone tonight?” 

“No.” Aventurine scowls, pursing his lips, “I told the front desk to say I wasn’t here tonight.” 

You frown, “Then, who-” 

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

You get off the disheveled blonde, snatching his robe off the back of his closet door.  He takes it quickly, getting off the bed to cover himself.  

You’re trying to button-up what buttons remain on your shirt, redoing your belt buckle while you’re at it.  

Aventurine turns back to you, approaching the entrance to his luxury hotel suite as he shrugs the fluffy black robe, “Don’t think you’re getting away from me, we’re starting up again the second I’m-”

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

He grits his teeth, “I’m on my way!” 

He ties the waistband into a knot, sliding on a pair of equally fluffy slippers by the bedroom door before disappearing from sight. 

You don’t think much of it, after all, you’d spent enough nights out with Aventurine to know he was someone important in a huge corporation.  It didn’t seem out of the question that something might’ve needed his immediate attention. 

In the mirror of the wardrobe next to the bed, you’re fixing your hair and counting the buttons missing from your uniform when the door opens. 

“Sunday! What a pleasant surprise.”

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" happy gay month cuz u know u gay and stuff <3 "

guys there isn't that much smut don't be mad at me i have a heat fic and another fic about blowing out brant's back to write😔

ANYWAYS

If you guys haven't checked my pinned lately, I'd recommend giving it a read because it contains my plans for this account's future and all that good stuff <3

I really appreciate the people who stuck with me over like 5 months of prolonged absence, y'all are real ones and I wish I could kiss u all hot and romantical on the mouth

I'll admit this isn't my best work, especially since I've kind of fallen out of HSR and Genshin, but it's here for whoever wants to read it !

It's been wonderful getting to know all of you guys and I'm sincerely grateful for all the support you guys have shown for me and my little writing hobby :,)))))

divider credits:

@/im4yeons

@/saradika-graphics

@/enchanthings

@/cutestgrotto

[upon-sunflower-trails]

tenna headcanons

sfw and nsfw relationship headcanons for tenna!

never doubt me because when i have a hyperfixation i don't PLAY

The sweetest to you, he will do just about anything to keep you happy. Giant bouquets of flowers, broadcasts dedicated to you, extravagant dates, the whole works

Makes sure everyone within a ten mile radius knows the two of you are an item. You're so so dear to him <3

Pet names for you consist of sweetheart, honey, sugar, and muffin. He goes overboard sometimes, and probably uses these nicknames more than your actual name

He gets veeery insecure, so he needs a lot of reassurance. Whether it be about himself or your relationship, he will constantly ask you for your favorite things about him, the reasons you're with him, if you would love him if he were a worm

Expect to play minigames with him constantly. He likes to take you on little game dates, where he leads your avatar around the beach and takes pictures of the two of you together

Anyone who asks about you will be subject to a six-page thesis in real time about how amazing you are and everything Tenna loves about you

When he's flustered, blush pops up on his screen and you can swear that you see him switch to static for a minute

He would be the one to confess first, no matter how worried he was that you would reject him

Even though Tenna is flashy, his confession of love would be incredibly personal. He would almost shrink a little as he admitted to his feelings, getting emotional as he accepted the fact that you would most likely reject him

He, of course, was overjoyed when you reciprocated. Returned to normal size as cheerful music blared, scooping you up in his arms and pressing kisses all over your face

He loves everything about you, and he thinks you're perfect. He has to sneak in at least one reference to you every time he's on-air

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

I see him as a switch; he prefers being a service top but he'll bottom when he's feeling particularly down on himself

When he's upset with his employees, dom all the way. Probably the kind of guy to bend you over his desk to blow off steam

To him, there's no better way to spend his night than with his face between your legs. Much prefers giving oral than fingering, in my very humble opinion

Will lightly toy with the idea of exhibitionism, in the way that he'd have you under his desk and sucking him off while in a meeting or something

Horrific praise kink. Please tell him how good he is, what a great job he's doing, how badly you needed him. He will increase his efforts by tenfold.

I headcanon that his antennas are super sensitive, which you likely either find out by accident or in the heat of the moment. He'll beg for you to touch them while you ride his face or fuck him

Vocal as hell (especially if you play with the antennas), he is practically incapable of staying quiet. He whimpers and moans when he's being more gentle or subbing, and lets out groans and hisses while pounding into you during his more dominant moments

Loooves to tease you, both with pet names in the moment and overstimulation. He can be unrelenting when he wants to be

Not big into pain (both giving and receiving), but will tug on your hair when particularly lost in blowing off steam

Lowkey has a breeding kink, even if he may never acknowledge it. Just can't get enough of filling you up.

Whether his comment to Mike about kids is true or not, if you are able (and want) to carry children, it'll become his newest fixation. The second you give him the go-ahead, yeah, he's creampie-ing you for weeks

He prefers to actually fuck you instead of just jacking off, but if he doesn't have any other options, he'll gladly pump himself to the thought of you while at his desk. Free hand covering his mouth while his monitor practically burns, whines of your name spilling from his lips

Size kink is basically a given with him. I mean, he towers over everybody, so you are of course no exception. Holding your much smaller hands over your head as he pins you against the wall to obliterate your insides is one of his guilty pleasures

hope you guys enjoyed reading :) tenna my beloved i hope i did you justice

[starboye]

x-men porn links 18+ FDNI

scott after a hard mission just needs some loving (aka a hole to fuck)

magneto thinks it's such a nice day to fuck outside, wouldn't you agree

remy finally figured out how to send videos through text, he will be sending jerking off videos from bow on

remy the moment you and him have a little alone time

going on a camping trip with logan means getting railed in the middle of the woods

scott making sure to leave you a nice little gift before leaving for a mission

remy loves painting your face with his load all the time

logan has no shame fucking you in public

erik loves being so much bigger than you

logan loves the feeling of your warm throat wrapped around him

scott taking a break from studying just to send you a vid of him jerking off

logan is determined to get you pregnant no matter how many times it take

logan doesn't believe in pulling out

hank truly is a best when it comes to fucking you

remy is such a noisy motherfucker when he jerks off

hank fucking you while on his break

scott loves a good face fucking session

erik after threatening the human race for the 100th time

scott waiting for you in bed after he saw you in that sweet sexy lingerie (under investigation)

riding bobbys face for the first time

you and remy were supposed to be going for a walk but somehow you ended up on your knees sucking him off

scott after an important meeting with the team

logan loves it when you dress up for him

erik is so in love with your ass it's insane

xoxo, starboye 💋

taglist: @mailmango @boypied @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac @r0mcom-8ngel

[spicyspiders]

grab your chain danglin' from above

Jason Duval x male reader smut

2.5k words

Warning for bottom male reader, unspecified drug deals, pat-down searches, and rough sex.

You meet up with Jason to make a deal, but it all goes south when he gets suspicious that you're trying to bust him.

“You wearin’ a wire?” Jason asked, interrupting your train of thought as your fingers skimmed through your wallet. 

“What?” You responded, flicking your eyes up before going back down into your wallet, starting your count of the money you owed again.

You heard the heavy thump of Jason’s footsteps as he walked up, “are you wearin’ a fuckin’ wire?” He repeated slowly. 

You pulled your eyes away as you slid your wallet back into your pocket, holding the money out in front of you. But this close, it looked like the money you owed him was the last thing Jason was thinking about. 

You tried to smile to ease the tension, “I’m not wearing a wire,” you said, holding out the money in front of you as a peace offering. 

The smile fell from your face when Jason snatched the money away, quickly counting it under his breath. You took a step forward as Jason moved towards the bed in the dingy motel room you agreed to meet at, but Jason swiftly halted the movement. 

Jason slammed your body back into the door, a hiss of pain falling from your lips when your body came into contact with the wood of the door. The money you gave him was tossed onto the bed, left in a pile by the bag he had pulled from his pocket.

“Hey man,” you brought your hands up in surrender, knowing that from how broad Jason’s shoulders were, there was no point in trying to push him off, “I’m not-”

“Take it off,” Jason interrupted, his hand balling up the front of your shirt in a tight fist. 

“What?” you whispered, your heart beating loudly in your chest. The rich scent of Jason’s cologne filled your nostrils, doing little to help your brain try to comprehend why he thought you were wearing a wire. 

Your apprehension only made Jason angrier, the man making the choice for you as he tore your shirt open. 

“I’m not wearing a fucking wire!” You yelled, spreading your arms so Jason could see your bare, wireless chest. 

“Turn around,” Jason commanded, making you roll your eyes. 

“Fine,” you said, doing a slow turn, “you owe me a new shirt,” you grumbled, holding onto the sides of the shirt as it started to slide down your shoulders. 

You couldn’t hold in your gasp as Jason’s hands moved around your hips, his fingers skimming underneath the waistband, still seemingly searching for the wire. 

“These too,” Jason said. 

“Seriously?” You asked, craning your neck to look at the other man. 

You had never seen a man look so serious as you looked at Jason’s face, and to avoid walking out of the motel room with a ripped pair of pants, you did as you were told. You turned to face Jason, holding eye contact as you angrily kicked away your pants, too pissed off to feel silly about the action.

“Happy?” You asked, arms crossed over your chest. 

You watched Jason’s chest fall as he let out a breath through his nose. His hands went back to your hips, once again running his hands around your hips, this time, much slower and with greater purpose. 

This time, when Jason’s fingers went under your waistband, he came into full contact with your skin instead of your underwear. Rough and calloused fingers ran across the sensitive skin of your hips, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you held back another gasp. 

“These too,” Jason repeated, his voice low. Jason’s fingers pulled free as yours moved, your eyes watching in confusion as Jason stepped away.

He turned his back towards you as you pulled your underwear down, the sound of a bag crinkling signaling his movement. You covered yourself after your underwear joined your pants on the floor, not wanting Jason to see the state you were in. 

It wasn’t the fact that you were naked, necessarily, but that you were half-hard. What could you say? A man giving you orders really gets you going. 

Jason returned with a small bottle held in his hand, “turn around,” he said, not giving you the chance to figure out what he held. “Wait,” he said with a chuckle, his free hand pulling what was left of your shirt off. 

You let your hand rest on the wood of the door, your body going tense as you tried to fight back a shiver from the cool air of the motel room. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the flat surface when Jason kicked your feet apart, your cock left dangling uncovered between your legs. 

From your shoulders to your lower back, Jason ran his hands down your body. He must have been crazy, you thought, to still be looking for a fucking wire. You were unable to hold back the noise you made when his hands went lower, one hand spreading your ass cheeks, while the other he used to run the dry pad of his finger across your hole. 

When it didn’t give under his finger, Jason’s hands pulled away. This time, they hooked over your shoulders, his fingers digging roughly into the tense muscle. “Relax,” Jason whispered into your ear, lips brushing the shell as his fingers worked. 

Jason’s breath puffed against the back of your neck, moving further away as you felt your shoulders drop, “maybe,” you heard the click of a cap before a few moments later his finger returned, “this’ll help,” he said, a smirk evident in his voice as the wet pad of his finger ran across the furl of your hole. 

“You really think a wire is in there?” You bit out, trying to adjust to the thick intrusion. 

“Only one way to find out,” Jason said, finger going in deeper. 

You could faintly hear the hum of the air conditioner pumping cool air into the room, louder than your gasping as Jason’s finger kept going in. You opened your mouth, attempting to ask just how long his finger was, but of course, that's the moment he found your prostate. 

Jason didn’t even let the full sound of your moan come out before his hand was covering your mouth, muffling the noise as it ended. “I think I found something better,” he said with a deep chuckle. 

Encouraged by the sound, Jason’s finger pulled free before it plunged back in, faster than it had before. His hand remained in place as you let out another moan, your cock filling out as pleasure rocked your body.

When Jason pulled his finger free once more, a second joined the first. You groaned against the hand over your mouth, the burn of his thick fingers almost feeling as if it’d be too much. 

“Shh,” Jason cooed into your ear, his hand moving down your body to wrap around your cock. If your erection had flagged from the pain, Jason’s fist around your cock made quick work in stroking it back to full hardness. 

His hand around your cock moved at a snail’s pace as his fingers kept moving inside you. You moaned through the stretch of his fingers as he spread them apart, even if a part of you was still apprehensive. If this is what only two of his fingers felt like, you couldn’t imagine three, or his cock. 

Your cock twitched in Jason’s hand, mouth nearly watering just at the thought of his cock. If it were anything like his body, it would make you forget all about the deal you were supposed to be making. 

“Fuck,” Jason groaned behind you, his hand wrapped tight around the base of your cock, “how’re you still so tight?” he asked as he added a third finger. 

You felt full, satisfyingly so, and you couldn’t help but clench down on his fingers. You pushed back the little distance you could on his fingers, brushing against the bulge in Jason’s pants.

“Fucking- hold on,” Jason said, pulling his fingers free faster than you expected. 

Your hole clenched around nothing as you turned your head to see where Jason had gone. He was only a few steps away, giving you the perfect view to watch as he wrestled his pants open to get his cock out. 

Your imagination didn’t amount to how big it actually was. It protruded from his open pants, standing at full attention. It swayed and bobbed in the air as he turned the rifle back through the bag from earlier until he produced a small packet. 

“You brought that with you?” You asked as you watched him tear the small square packet open. 

“Always gotta be prepared,” Jason answered, a smirk on his face when you were finally able to tear your eyes away from his cock. He rolled the rubber down his cock slowly, unable to help the disappointment you felt that he wouldn’t let you do it. 

“There’s a perfectly good bed right there,” you said, your eyes flicking over Jason’s shoulder to the bed where the bag and pile of cash lay.

Jason let out a huff of protest, like he instead wanted to fuck you through the door. He nodded over to the bed, his hand slowly stroking lube over his cock. 

You could only take a few steps over before Jason was slamming you down face-first into the bed, narrowly missing the bag. You turned to send the man a glare, hating the way your cock throbbed at the site. There was something about a man counting money with his hard cock out moments away from fucking you that you liked, you realized. 

Satisfied with the amount, Jason placed the money and the bag on top of the table beside the bed. You watched in anticipation as Jason stepped up to the bed, maneuvering your body onto your hands and knees. 

He teased your hole, rubbing the head of his cock along your entrance, slicking up the cleft of your ass. You both groaned when the head of his fat cock pressed inside. It felt like you could barely breathe, and it was just the head Jason had inside. 

You reached back to grip Jason’s jean-clad thigh, feeling denim and heat. Unable to hold yourself up on one arm, you fell face-first into the bed, your cheek coming into contact with soft cotton. 

You dug your nails into the pants Jason wore, his hand coming to rest over yours. As he bottomed out, he pulled your hand from his thigh by the wrist, his other hand gathering the other one so he could grip them both behind your back in one of his large hands. 

Fully at Jason’s mercy, the time you had to adjust to his cock was decided by him. However, he aided you in making you feel more comfortable with small circles of his hips, his cock still deep inside you. The movement jostled your prostate in short brushes, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. 

Jason pulled his cock free in a torturously slow movement, your hole once again clenching down on nothing when it was pulled free. The next thrust was harder and faster, punching a moan from your chest as Jason’s balls came to rest on your ass. 

You swore you could feel his cock in your stomach as you clenched down, the burn of it from as you adjusted quickly becoming pleasure. You didn’t move against the hold Jason had on your hands, not even pushing back against the next thrust he gave. 

Jason’s cock expertly met your prostate, sending waves of pleasure that started from your head that went down your whole body. It centered itself in your cock, making your balls draw up tight. 

His thrusts grew animalistic, pausing momentarily to change positions, causing the bed to dip as he brought his foot up on the bed. His hand moved from your wrists up your back to grip tightly onto your shoulder. His hold skirted along the lines of pain and pleasure, knowing that if the grip didn’t leave a physical mark, you would be feeling it later for days.

The headboard banging against the wall, moving in time to the rhythmic creak of the cheap springs beneath your combined weight. If earlier, when Jason had covered your mouth because he didn’t want anyone to hear through the door, he didn’t seem to mind now. If anyone was unfortunate enough to be in one of the neighboring rooms or happened to walk past the door, they would know exactly what was going on inside. 

You moved a hand between your legs, moving to wrap your fingers around the base of your cock to try and stave off your orgasm. But it was the biggest mistake you could make if that was your goal, because just from the brush of your fingers had your orgasm racing through you. 

You came with a loud cry, the sound being absorbed by the cotton below your mouth. The aftershocks that Jason fucked you through had your mouth falling open as you sucked in heavy breathes as you came down from such an intense rush. Drool fell from your mouth as they racked your body, quickly going cold against your skin like the mess of cum that stained the sheets between your legs. 

When it neared the point of being too great, the smack of Jason’s hips against your ass began to falter. Both hands moved to grip your hips, strong even through the sheen of sweat. After a few stuttered off thrusts, Jason came with a loud moan, his heavy weight collapsing on top of you as he filled up the condom. 

You fell into the cold mess below your hips, your soft cock giving a twitch. If you weren’t going to get hard again now, you surely would later to the thoughts of the noises Jason made when he came. 

Though Jason’s weight on top of you was crushing, you nearly let out a noise of protest when he rolled off, his softening cock slipping free. 

You turned to look at Jason, watching the way he pillowed his head below his hands. He looked fucked-out and wholly satisfied, and you knew that it was a sight you wouldn’t soon forget. 

You felt yourself slowly relax into the bed, not even bothered by the mess, ���can I have my stuff now?” You asked. 

“It’s in the bag,” Jason responded, his eyes closed. 

The air conditioner went through two cycles before you eventually got up, your hands reaching for the money on top of the bag. 

“Ah ah ah,” Jason said as you went to set the cash down beside him, “think of it as a first customer discount,” he said as he sat up, “and here. Since I ruined the other one,” he said, taking off the button down he wore, leaving him with just a plain white shirt on top. 

“Thanks,” you said as he handed it over. You took the time to slowly button it up, instead of doing something stupid, like leaning over and kissing him. 

[miange1]

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 — part of your world

tw: male reader, half fish, sex exchanges, breathing underwater as a human(potions), tentacle sex, reader is seen as innocent and impulsive and naive, manipulation, aphrodisiacs, aquaphilia, tentacle sex

note: told y'all i would write a fic for that fan art. y'all want a shark toji fic? ❤️‍🩹

silly little fish like you always came to him for such foolish reasons. someone longing to be thinner, another wanting to get the girl— they all did it without thinking for their selfish needs.

but you, you were the worst of them all. you knew not to see him, you've been warned not to visit the malicious sea witch at the bottom of the ocean.

but here you went, falling in love with the man on the surface. all you needed were legs..just legs so he could fall in love with you.

"please, i just want a spell to make me human..even if it's temporary." you begged, the flip of your webbed ears, the way you'd beg him almost turned him on. you looked good enough for him to consume you.

"please, getou?" how could he say no? he was supposed to help sad little fish like you. "you fell in love? want to be human? what will you do when people come asking for you?" his voice smooth, low, and seemed to make the water colder.

"i don't care, i just want to see him." a singular tentacle of his seemed to explore you curiously, the suction cups sticking to your skin.

"you don't think he could love you like this?" you were awfully pretty, your scales glistening in ways no others could. god, but that pouty expression on your face. it was pathetic, he adored it.

"drink it." the potion tasted of sea foam and coral, almost made you gag but you were able to get it down. then everything felt tingly, numb, almost painful? you could have thrown up, the last thing you saw consciously was getou's eyes looking at you with such lust filled iris'.

but you could feel. you could feel everything. feel more suctions along your body, feel tight squeezes along your body, and your tail..where was it? could you breathe? why were you breathing in such a different way..were you alive?

there was such a weird feeling between your legs, it was warm and tight. you couldn't tell if you liked it, it felt like hotness spreading all over you. where had it came from?

your body seemed to writhe and arch at another suction feeling, wrapping around that tight warmth and pump up and down. now that..that you liked. a small smile painted your face, your hips flinching upwards into that touch.

you wanted so much more, you had never felt this feeling in your life. your body seemed so heavy and light at the same time.

"just relax." his voice sent a jolt up your spine, your fingers finding something to grip onto. something smothered at your lips, making you open your mouth and have your tongue feel along it. it tasted salty and gooey inside of your mouth, and it would only plunge in and out as your salvia coated the mound.

your fingers came up to grip that instead, feeling the squishy texture against your palms, the schlick coated along it making that dripping feeling more prominent.

your thighs were spread apart, sticky suctions coming between your legs before–

"oh! ahh.." you chased that feeling, another tentacle plunging somewhere that wasn't your mouth. the thrusts of it going faster, the pumping of the one at your cock moving just as quick.

it was all a daze, gurgled noises emitting from your throat and traveling through the waters vibrations just made him all the more confident in his actions.

"i need to teach you how to be human," he said, his fingers now trailing alongside your torso, electric touches making you jolt and buck in pleasure.

"it feels good, doesn't it?" god, did it? it did. you loved it, needed more of it. you seemed to hump and grind for more of it, for more of that sticky wetness you wanted to coat along your body. it was like he was claiming you.

the shore seemed to crash against your face, your eyes opening and a brightness flash banging your vision. you'd sit up, looking around. then you'd look down. you had legs..the potion really worked!

[carnalcrows]

WHITE COAT, RED HANDS

pairing: chishiya x top male reader

content warnings: 18+, chishiya is a sociopath, hearts game, major character death, blood, ftm chishiya, oral (reader receiving), p in v, general AIB warnings.

word count: 2.4k

You meet Chishiya in a game called “Karma.”

No one knows the full rules until they’re already inside — typical of the Borderlands. You only know three things when you walk into the rust-colored warehouse where it’s held: the game’s a Hearts suit, it’s for pairs, and you’re stuck with the blond guy who’s barely said a word since you got scanned in.

“Looks like we’re partners,” you say, offering a hand.

Chishiya glances at it, then at you. “Lucky me.”

His voice is flat, clinical. Doesn’t take the handshake.

You drop your hand. “You a doctor or something?”

“Used to be.” He keeps walking, hands in his pockets like this is an errand he’s annoyed to be running.

There’s something unreadable in his expression — or maybe that’s just his face. He’s got this quality like he’s always three steps ahead, but can’t be bothered to tell you what’s coming. The kind of guy who might let you drown just to see how long you could hold your breath.

You follow anyway.

Because there are only two kinds of people left in this world: the ones you can use, and the ones who’ll use you first. And you’ve learned the hard way it’s better to be close to the former — even if they look like the latter.

“Cool,” you mutter under your breath. “Stuck with the cryptic type.”

“Better than the loud type,” Chishiya replies dryly.

You glance at him. “You always this charming, Doc?”

He twitches an eyebrow. Just one. “Only when I like someone.”

That makes you laugh, unexpectedly. “So I’m fucked, then.”

He looks at you, slow and sideways. “Not yet.”

Then he keeps walking, as if he hadn’t just said that.

You hate the way that line stays with you.

The warehouse door slams shut behind you both with the kind of finality that makes your stomach tense. A countdown lights up on the far wall in blood red:-  00:59:59. One hour. No instructions.

You both scan the room — crates, high catwalks, and a flickering overhead light that casts shadows like they’re watching.

“I hate Hearts games,” you mutter.

Chishiya hums. “People usually do.”

You shoot him a look. “You sound like you’ve played more than a few.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just wanders toward the nearest crate and pops it open like this is a casual scavenger hunt.

Inside: two vests. Black, fitted. One for each of you. You pick one up and notice the red LED embedded in the chest and shaped like a heart.

“Not ominous at all,” you say.

Chishiya’s already sliding his on. It hugs him close, snug around the ribs. You try not to stare, but he catches you anyway.

“Like what you see, or just trying to figure out where to stab me later?” he asks, voice too casual.

“Can’t it be both?”

That earns a small smirk. Not quite a smile, but the kind of curve at the edge of his mouth that feels like a reward. You kind of hate that it makes your pulse jump.

Once you both suit up, the LED lights flicker to life. Yours flashes red. So does his. Then a metallic clunk echoes from above, and a screen buzzes on.

“Welcome to Karma.”

The voice is male, modulated, and void of any emotion.

“You and your partner share a life. Your hearts are linked. One dies, both die.”

A pause.

“But to win… only one may remain.”

You look at Chishiya. He’s unreadable again. As if he didn’t just hear a death sentence wrapped in a riddle.

“The game begins now.”

Then the lights go out.

You draw your knife on instinct.

Somewhere in the dark, Chishiya says softly, “This part’s always fun.”

Your voice drops. “You know how to win this, don’t you?”

A long pause. Then:

“I might.”

That makes your grip tighten. “Planning to share with the class, or are you just gonna play puppeteer until it’s convenient to let me die?”

There’s movement. A footstep behind you. You spin — knife raised — and feel a hand close around your wrist, steady but not aggressive.

“I’m not going to let you die,” he says in that same flat voice. “Yet.”

“Yet,” you echo.

The light flickers on for a heartbeat. Long enough to see his face close to yours, half-shadowed. Then dark again.

“You’re enjoying this,” you murmur.

His hand slips from your wrist. “You’d be surprised how few people are fun in the dark.”

You move in silence for a while. The kind that pricks your skin because it’s not truly silent — the warehouse breathes. Vents rattle. Metal ticks. A slow, mechanical hum pulses beneath your feet like a heartbeat that isn’t yours.

Chishiya doesn’t seem affected. He walks beside you like he’s on his morning commute. Calm. Controlled. The picture of someone who doesn’t flinch even when the building itself feels like it’s watching you.

You glance over. “How the hell are you this calm?”

“I’m used to being hunted.”

The way he says it — flat, without ego — should sound like bullshit. But you believe him.

“And you’re a doctor?” you ask.

“Was.” He pauses. “Still am, technically.”

“Right. Doctor of hearts, huh?”

That gets a proper smirk. Just a flicker. “Clever.”

You snort. “You know, most people don’t look smug after admitting to possible homicide.”

“I didn’t admit anything.”

You’re about to respond — some sarcastic quip already loaded — when the warehouse shifts. The floor jolts with a loud hiss, and metal walls snap up from the ground, boxing you into a corridor that didn’t exist two seconds ago.

“What the—?”

“Maze,” Chishiya mutters, already walking ahead. “Figures.”

“Wait—” You grab his shoulder instinctively. He stops. Looks down at your hand. Doesn’t pull away.

His gaze lifts slowly. “You don’t trust me.”

“No,” you say. “I don’t.”

He tilts his head. “But you want to.”

That shuts you up for a beat. The hum beneath the floor ticks louder. Red lights blink at the corners of the ceiling.

“You gonna tell me what you meant earlier?” you ask. “About not letting me die yet.”

“I mean exactly that,” Chishiya says, voice soft but cold. “I need you. For now.”

You laugh once, low and bitter. “You’ve got a real way with words, doc.”

His eyes flick to yours again. “You’re still here.”

You don’t have a response for that.

The next corridor is narrower. Walls dripping with condensation. Your shoulder brushes his once, twice, until neither of you bother stepping aside anymore. It’s stupid — the smallest contact — but it feeds something between you. A tension that feels almost like a test.

“You’re not afraid of dying, are you?” you say.

“No.” Chishiya’s gaze is forward, steady. “I’ve made peace with it.”

“And killing someone else?”

His eyes flick sideways. “That’s not the question you want to ask.”

“…What’s the question, then?”

“You want to know if I’d kill you.”

You swallow. “Would you?”

He stops. Turns to face you in the dim corridor. The blinking red lights give his face a flicker—soft, then sharp.

“If I said no,” he says, “you’d be stupid to believe me.”

Then he leans in just enough that you feel his breath, calm and infuriatingly even. “But if I said yes... I think you’d still follow me.”

Your heart thuds, traitorous and loud. You don’t know if it’s fear or want or both.

You mutter, “You always this cryptic with people you plan to backstab?”

“Only the ones I like.”

Your jaw clenches. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know.”

You lean a little closer — not thinking, just moving on instinct now — and mutter, “Do you always flirt in murder mazes?”

His gaze drops to your mouth. “Only with idiots who flirt back.”

Then his hand grabs the front of your vest and drags you forward, not gently. Your back slams against the wall, and his mouth crashes into yours.

It’s not romantic. It’s rough and hot and too fucking much — all the tension, the danger, the push and pull of not knowing who’ll betray who — and it unravels in seconds. His tongue parts your lips without hesitation. You groan into it, hands gripping his hips because it’s the only part of him you can grab that doesn’t feel like a trap.

Chishiya’s kiss is strategic and brutal. Not gentle. He bites your bottom lip and pulls just enough to make your cock twitch in your pants. Your hips rock forward, involuntarily, and he smirks against your mouth like he expected it.

“You’re really hard,” he murmurs, low and flat in your ear. “Impressive.”

“You’re really fucking annoying,” you breathe.

“And yet, you want me to keep going.”

He drops to his knees.

He’s on his knees like he’s done it before. Like it’s second nature. No hesitation, no reverence — just a methodical slide of fingers to your waistband, popping the button open with practised ease.

You watch him through shallow breaths. One hand braced to the wall behind you, the other twitching with the urge to grab his hair. But he’s not looking up at you for permission.

He’s looking at your cock. And when he pulls it out, already hard and leaking at the tip, he hums — a quiet, pleased sound, like you’ve passed another one of his secret tests.

“No complaints,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Your chest rises with something between pride and disbelief. “You always do this with people you might kill?”

Chishiya glances up then, eyes half-lidded. “No. You’re special.”

Then he licks a slow stripe from the base of your cock to the tip.

Your breath stutters. Your head tilts back and hits the wall with a dull thunk.

His tongue is warm, deliberate, not rushed. He wraps his lips around the head and takes you into his mouth in slow, steady inches. His hands are cold on your thighs, anchoring you as he sucks you in deeper — not messy or desperate. Just efficient. Intentional. Like he’s cataloguing every sound you make.

“F–fuck, doc…”

His lashes flutter at the nickname. His throat tightens around you as he swallows a little deeper, and your fingers tangle in his hair without thinking. He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t fight the grip. If anything, he leans into it. Uses it to go deeper.

He sets a brutal pace after that — not fast, but intense. Hollowing his cheeks, flicking his tongue under the head, teasing and then swallowing you whole again. Your knees buckle once, and he presses harder into your thighs to steady you, like he knew it would happen.

“Shit—Chishiya, I’m—”

He hums again, sending vibrations through you just as you come, heat spilling down his throat. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just swallows like it’s nothing and pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You sag against the wall, heart pounding, still trying to catch your breath.

You’re still panting when he stands, wiping the corner of his mouth like nothing happened. Like your orgasm was a minor detour.

But there’s a flush in his cheeks now. A flicker of something in his eyes.

Want.

You spot it the second he pushes you back against the wall again, fingers ghosting along your jaw. “Can you keep going?” he asks, low, almost clinical.

You snort, a breathless sound. “You kidding?”

Chishiya doesn’t smile, but there’s the barest twitch in his mouth. He steps in and kisses you, finally, open-mouthed and quiet, tasting faintly of you. It’s softer than you expect. Almost gentle. But it only lasts a beat before he turns, and without a word, walks toward one of the crates behind him.

You watch as he shrugs off his hoodie and shirt, tossing them over the metal edge. And when his pants go next, what’s left between his thighs leaves no questions. There’s a harness strapped tight to his hips, black and minimalist, but you can see it clearly when he turns and walks back to you, slick already glistening between his folds.

You blink.

He tilts his head. “Problem?”

You step forward without a word, grab his hips, and kiss him again.

He presses into you without hesitation, one hand finding your cock and guiding it between his legs. He’s wet—hot, and when you slide into him, he exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying to maintain control.

“Fuck—” you mutter, grounding a hand on his lower back. “You’re soaked.”

“Of course,” he says. “You’re the first person who’s made it this far.”

You want to ask what he means by that. But then he tightens around you, rolling his hips with expert precision, and your brain short-circuits.

The rhythm is fast, deliberate, but not frantic. You pin him to the wall now, bodies flushed, your cock buried inside him as he works you with movements that feel almost mechanical in how precise they are. Every grind pulls a sharp gasp from your lips. Every twist of his hips feels calculated — like he’s memorised exactly what it takes to keep you right on the edge.

He lets you manhandle him. He lets you bite at his neck, groan against his ear. But he doesn’t moan. He doesn’t beg. He just watches you, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable — like he’s processing your every reaction, filing it away for future use.

You grab his thighs and lift him. He wraps his legs around you easily, arms hooking behind your neck. You fuck up into him harder now, slamming into that wet heat over and over, the lewd sounds of skin and slick echoing off the walls.

He finally gasps — one sharp, ragged breath that punches from his lungs — and that’s what undoes you. You curse, burying your face into his shoulder as you come deep inside him, warmth flooding his cunt, your whole body twitching as you ride it out.

Your grip on him tightens.

You don’t even feel the knife slide in.

It’s only when your breath catches in your throat, sharp and wrong, that you realise what happened. Blood fills your mouth. Your legs falter. You both sink to the floor.

He stays straddled over you, cock still inside him, as your body collapses beneath his. His chest rises and falls evenly. His hands are warm against your jaw as your vision starts to fade.

“I wanted to wait until after,” he murmurs.

You gurgle something. His face softens.

“I wasn’t lying. It felt good.”

Your blood is everywhere now — on his hands, his stomach, pooling beneath your spine.

He leans down and kisses you again.

Soft. Warm. Almost apologetic.

“Only one survivor.”

And then he slips off your lap and rises to his feet, walking toward the blinking green light at the end of the hall. The blade, slick with your blood, swings loosely in one hand.

GAME CLEAR.

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[ghostinboys]

midnight call

summary: you're out on a hunting trip with your dad and his friend, Joel. pairing: dbf! joel miller x male reader warning: male reader smut!

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The cicadas sang a low hymn outside the cabin while a couple of owls coo under the moonlight. Wood crackles from the fireplace, the warmth pleasant and cozy. Joel sat with a coffee cup in hand, his gaze fixed on the TV.

“I’m pretty sure he’s already asleep,” you toy with the drawstring on your hoodie. He sips from the cup, his lips purse from the bitterness. Your dad insisted you come to his annual hunting trips with his best friend, Joel. He says it’s good for a man to know how to hunt, you cringe at the idea. 

His brows furrow, a confused look on his face. “I don’t like your tone, boy,” you smirk. You only really joined because Joel was coming. The color drained from his face when you placed your legs on his lap, your heel brushing against his crotch. 

“He wouldn’t even know,” you teased. He squirms on his seat, sweat forming on his temples. “The guy sleeps like a bear.”

From the end of the hall you could hear your dad’s muffled snores. You inch towards Joel, shifting your position so you could touch his thigh, the thick muscle tenses from your touch. Smoothing your hand towards his crotch, Joel feels his cock stir. He grabs your wrist. He thinks for a second, licking his drying lips. “You're trouble.”

He guides your palm against his clothed cock, his grip was strong as if holding a machine at work. His hips roll, rutting against your palm for some control. You unbutton his jeans, his sex aching to be free. 

Your lips ghost his tip, a bead of wetness drenches his old grey boxers. The garter of his boxers was old and loose. The garment fell easily with his jeans, his hips lifted to make way. Before your lips could meet his reddened tip, his phone rings. 

“Shit, I have to get that,” Joel haphazardly pulls his pants, fumbling to take the call. “Hello?”

It was Tommy, his static voice resonates between you and Joel. Their conversation did not deter you from taking Joel. You pull on his jeans again, his voice stutters. He pulls the phone away, “Hey, gimme a minute,” Joel whispers. 

You shake your head, “I’ll be quiet I promise,” you mothed. You engulf the head of his penis, a grunt leaving Joel’s lips. 

“I know Tommy, I’ll be home tomorrow night we can—fuck,” he tries to subdue the pleasure erupting from his throat. 

“‘You okay there, Joel?” Tommy asked. Joel pulled his head back on the sofa, eyes closed while he bit his lower lip. You took his cock deeper in your mouth, it was some six to seven inches long, quite the girth too. Saliva coats his erect penis making it glisten against the light of the flame. Your hands stroke his shaft while you tongue toys with his sensitive tip. His toes curled inside his boots with his grip on the phone tight it could break. 

“Yeah, I’m—” he pauses, sucking in air before he could continue. “I’m fine, ‘just tired from all the hunting. I’ll be home soon, we can discuss it then.” 

You let his cock free with a pop, your hands still stroking. Joel drops the call, throwing his phone at the other sofa chair. You cup his unkempt balls, probably too busy to trim with all the work or he simply didn’t care. 

He pulls your head away from his cock, holding you by the shoulders so he could talk. “What made you think that was okay, boy?” He pulls your head back, exposing your neck. “I ought to punish you for that.”

“Do it,” you groaned. 

“You like this don’t you? Teasing me all day, touching my arm and rubbing your tight ass on my cock,” he touches your sex, aching to be let out. “And now you suck my cock while I take a call and your father is fucking asleep in the next room. You slut.”

You couldn’t utter a single word, your mind too hazy from his touch. “Joel—please,”

“No,” he said sternly. “Naughty boys like you don’t get to come that easy,” He pushed you back on his cock, bobbing your throat on it like a sex toy. His hips bucked on your throat, you were too stunned to adjust so his head nudged on the roof of your mouth. You choked, coughing and breathless when you pulled away. “Attaboy, take that fucking cock.”

His hand gripped your hair, his spit covered cock throbbed inside your mouth. Joel fought hard to keep his arousal at bay, but your soft lips and warm mouth brought shivers down his spine. His thighs tensed, his shaft was smooth against your tongue. 

Joel saw your hand inch towards your cock, he was quick to swat it away. His voice stern and commanding, “Not yet, pretty boy,” he gestured for you to keep going. You suck on his head, lips tight against the sensitive gland. Slowly, you suck towards the base, your nose filled with his scent, “Just like that.” 

Tears dripped from your eyes, his cock stretched your mouth open on each thrust your jaw started to ache. Joel’s hand patted your back, signalling he was close. Not wanting to let him down, you continued sucking faster, hollowing your cheeks to create a tighter suction. 

Joel groaned from the vigorous act. His head pulled back with his eyes closed. He wanted to scream and curse, but he knew he could wake his friend up. The pounding on his chest was deafening, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “I’m close,” he cries, his neck burning red. 

The synergy of your mouth sucking on the head with both hands wet while stroking the shaft, drove Joel’s mind to madness. His thoughts were mush and incoherent, his humanity long gone—in its place was the animalistic cries of a lustful man. “I’m coming,” he moans, thrusting deep into your mouth as his come spill down your throat, the saltiness intoxicating. “Take that cock you fucking slut.”

Joel was a panting mess, his hair matted, lips swollen from being bit, his cock wet with spit and cum. He pulled you in for a kiss, sharing his seed. It was delightful, more gentle than his thrusts. He littered your neck with kisses, pushing you down on the sofa. Your pants get pulled down, he took no pleasure in keeping them near. He kissed the perimeter of your base, licking a strip on your shaft. “Now your reward.” 

end.

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