#bit I’m easily gaslighted

[agentofanarchy110]

moots

Do not let people befriend you into guilt trip art buys

they’re not really befriending you

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

--

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

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Masterlist

[lizdive]

hi there! platonic aventurine, jing yuan, sunday, blade, welt, dan heng, boothill, argenti and dr ratio with a teen reader who is like fischl?

Hi anon <33 I really wanted to finish this in one part because i loved this req in specific (i love fischl) but idk why I’m lacking sm motivation,,, so I decided to split this into 2 parts (hopefully) i hope you don’t mind,,, thank you so much for requesting <33 if you’re unsatisfied just tell me and i’ll redo it !! <33

notes 𐙚 gender-neutral reader — "you" + "royal" + "they/them" used to refer to user ,, reader is a teenager ,, user is based off of "fischl" from the game genshin impact ,, platonic relationships ,, mention of fu xuan in jing yuan’s part ,, not my best work i’m sorry ,, mention of robin in sunday’s part ,, not proofread ignore typos

⭑ When he first met you, AVENTURINE was a bit taken aback with your speech and eccentric character in general. You claim to be royalty from a far away world, and while Aventurine didn’t quite believe it at first there was a small part of him that was lowkey kind of convinced.

⭑ He was a bit concerned that someone like you was so high ranking in the IPC because he knows the IPC is probably exploiting you especially because you seem to be a bit naive, so he’ll start watching over you.

⭑ He’ll gradually get used to your persona and understand what you say. He might need a second to process if you drop a huge paragraph of dialogue on him, but with every conversation and interaction he gets faster.

⭑ Takes one to know one — AVENTURINE can tell you’re trying to cope with something that’s happened in the past via roleplaying this character you put on, and he won’t be the one to burst your bubble. In fact, he’ll try to protect it for as long as possible.

⭑ Nobody’s going to make fun of you while he’s around. If anyone tries to reality check you, he’ll lowkey gaslight them into thinking that everything you say is real. Yeah, you’re a royal. He’s also actually seen this far away land you speak of, so that person is just being an ignorant hater !!

⭑ If your character is based off of someone from a book like Fischl, AVENTURINE will find that book and read it to better understand your references and persona as a whole. Likes seeing how you get happy when he references something.

⭑ If you ever feel insecure because of your past, AVENTURINE will be there to comfort you. He’s good at picking up signs when it comes to you because he practically had your character memorized. He’ll try to distract you from your past but if you do want to open up and vent he’ll be there to listen.

⭑ Give him a role in your little world and he’ll play it scarily well. Would probably do best as a royal advisor or assistant.

⭑ Buys you literally anything and everything that could fit your aesthetic and world. Fancy gems to add to your riches because every royal needs to have riches!! Buys you clothes too that you think is fit for royalty of your world.

⭑ You practice archery next to him while he practices gun shooting and it’s nice bonding time,,

"I, [Name], [Insert desired title here], descend upon this land by the call of fate an— Oh, you are also a traveler from another world? Very well, I grant you permission to travel with me."

"They’re saying that it’s nice to meet you."

⭑ Was not in any way bothered or confused by your eccentric mannerisms. JING YUAN’s pretty used to the unique speech style due to Fu Xuan, so he understands what you’re saying or at least gets the basic idea.

⭑ Oh? You’re a royal from a far away distant land? Yes yes, how nice. But royals do need to complete their training as well, no? As a cloud knight, he’s impressed with how you easily climbed up those ranks. Praises you whenever you somehow jump up a rank quicker than the last.

⭑ He doesn’t really suspect too much of your personality and that you’re putting up a front until you slip out and go ooc which makes him do a double take mentally. When you get all flustered and a bit distressed, he’ll reassure you by acting like nothing happened.

⭑ It’s then that he really pays attention to the little story you have going on with the world you live in. If he ever forgets something important, he’ll apologize and tell you that he never meant to insult your highness.

⭑ Another one that would protect your little bubble. I don’t think anyone would really want to say something bad about a high ranking cloud knight but even if they wanted to if JING YUAN or Yanqing were to hear they wouldn’t know peace,,

⭑ He can play the role you give him should you give him, especially as a general. You tell him about someone trying to attack your kingdom and he’ll reassure you he’s got this !!

⭑ Keeps a piece of paper in his pocket that has details about your persona if it’s based off of a character from a book. Also probably has a timeline on all your 'historical' events — sometimes he scares you because it feels like he knows more about your world than you do,,

⭑ He finds your keen instincts and intuition a bit intimidating. Have you ever thought of learning a thing or two from Fu Xuan? He always trusts you whenever you feel uncertain about a plan or idea because somehow you’re almost always right in the end.

⭑ Becomes your archery mentor and will watch over you as you train. Your skills are impressive and he finds amusement in the way you pose after a full combo.

⭑ If you feel upset because of your past, JING YUAN will comfort you and tell you that you don’t have to grow up — you’re still young and deserve to enjoy what remains before you become an adult and have to face the world. He’ll always be proud and support you no matter what.

"I hear the voice of fate, speaking my name in humble supplication..."

"Hm? Care to share what fate whispers?"

⭑ The talk of an eccentric worker in the reverie hotel had easily reached SUNDAY’s ears, and wanting to see who this eccentric worker was, he decided to wander around during his free time to catch them in action.

⭑ It wasn’t hard to find you as you were a bit loud. Pushing the cart of luggage while speaking of your magical kingdom to the guests as they nod along, clearly invested and assuming you were a storyteller. Once you had brought the guests’ luggage to their room and left, SUNDAY made his way to you to talk with you in interest. You had quite the imagination and spoke in a very sophisticated manner for your age.

⭑ Wasn’t at all phased by the paragraphs upon paragraphs of dialogue you would drop on him, replying easily and holding the conversation well. He noticed you seemed happier the longer he spoke to you.

⭑ While some guests may be annoyed by your behavior, he’ll remind them — if he’s present — that penacony is the land of festivities and many different people visit. Plus, you’re young and free to be who you want to be. If you’re really get picked on though he’ll deal with them personally.

⭑ SUNDAY is scarily observant so he knows you’re playing a character. He doesn’t really acknowledge it too much or confronts you, though, since everyone in penacony is also technically playing the character they wish they were.

⭑ Because of that, SUNDAY will let you do as you please. He’ll indulge you and will play the role you wish for him to play. He’s good at acting, so he can play whatever you wish. It reminds him of when he’d play pretend when Robin when he was younger.

⭑ Has everything about your character memorized. However he knows what to say and what not to say so he doesn’t fluster you by knowing more than you. Will also cover for you if you accidentally go ooc.

⭑ Your ability to rise up in the ranks so quickly will eventually make you work directly under him at some point and when that happens trust that people will refer to you with a royal title. He may indulge you a bit too much,,,

⭑ When you open to SUNDAY about your past, he kind of just. . . Dodges the subject after that. Doesn’t mention it at all. May act like your father a bit and call you his [insert royal title here] — you never realize it’s him trying to reassure you that you needn’t worry about growing up and being mature because of the role you’ve given him.

⭑ Gets a bit worried for your safety when you practice archery, but he also appreciates the fact you can take care of yourself should you face any dangers (especially in the dreamscape.)

⭑ Takes your advice and warnings a bit seriously because of how good your intuition and keen instincts were. (He didn’t listen ONCE and he paid the price.)

"What does it take to rile a royal? ...If you must know, it is those who cannot recognize my true identity. But it is no great loss, for solitude is the noble's lot, so long as I do not lose the nobility of my soul..."

"How wise you are, your highness."

⭑ He has no idea when it happened, but one day BLADE became your 'knight' and he has yet to comment on it. Not really the best knight as he doesn’t really stay close to you on the daily however also a really good knight as he protects you during missions to the point where you don’t use a single arrow.

⭑ Can understand what you day, does not translate for other people. You’re the yapper and he’s the listener. Doesn’t reply like 95% of the time but when he does it’s really flat and monotone which you don’t mind because he’s the big scary knight !!

⭑ Gets teased by the other stellaron hunters for indulging you, but he doesn’t really care too much. He can’t leave you to die during missions, can he? You’re way too young to hold your own properly so he’s there to make sure the number of stellaron hunters doesn’t decrease (that’s his reasoning don’t ruin it pls.)

⭑ Said this in other posts: not the best at comforting so when you open up, he’s kind of just,,, there. He’s also a bit distant sometimes but after that he’ll try to put an effort into playing his role so you don’t get upset or feel like he’s ignoring you.

⭑ Nobody thinks of making fun of you or your interests because BLADE’s always standing behind you — even if you’re tall for your age it’s still very scary to have him just staring at the person with a dead look.

⭑ Doesn’t research your character like the others — he learns as he goes. He doesn’t even have the chance to mess up because he just doesn’t talk much so he can’t mess up.

⭑ Not much to say for Bladie he just goes with it,,

"Dusk and dawn but fleeting shadows are. Once more, the twists of fate have led you into my everlasting night."

"…Good morning."

[plussizeficchick]

The Weekend | Eren x Chubby!Reader

Summary; Eren and Mikasa have been “dating” and while reader originally had no interest in him, the way Mikasa’s been acting sure does make him look more appealing ;)

Warnings; Smut, “cheating”(they’re not explicitly boyfriend and girlfriend), College AU! P in V, cunnilingus, cum eating, slight breeding kink, Mikasa and Historia are pick me’s and terrible friends lol. Loosely based on the song by SZA(might make a part 2 idkk, not proofread) PART 2

It was a bit difficult making friends at your University. For the most part, everyone had their set friend group so you knew it wouldn’t be easy finding people to hang out with during this new semester. 

That’s why you were glad to meet Mikasa and Historia. 

They were both in your Sociology class at Eldia University and they were having a bit of trouble when you offered help. They were nice, though they could be a bit catty. They introduced you to their other friends so you thought they were nice enough, but you noticed a change when they were around the guys. 

They would make offhand comments about your figure, your outfits, sometimes your attitude. It was off putting, to put it lightly. So, you’re thicker than the two of them, so what? It shouldn’t affect them. And while they may be comfortable suffering in silence, you were definitely going to speak up when you felt like it.

You were certain it was jealousy. The way they spluttered when you asked them to elaborate, the way they flustered when you mentioned that maybe they just couldn’t pull off plus-sized the way you could, had you feeling vindicated. And the way the boys always seemed to laugh at your jokes had them blatantly envious.

It was a bit pathetic to witness sometimes, the way guys would defend you from their “playful jabs” had thinly veiled sneers etching onto their faces.

— —

It was clear to everyone Mikasa had a thing for Eren and while you thought he was attractive, you could see him being more suited for her. And if the way he casually draped his arm around her shoulder meant anything, you’d say he thought the same. You were sure that she was his type, so she didn’t have anything to worry about.

That’s why it was such a shock when Historia told you she’d slept with him.

“I mean, if he really wanted her, they’d be together already, y’know.” She casually dropped the bomb when it was just the two of you. She was so blasé about it, applying her lipgloss as she made you promise not to say anything, throwing in a thinly veiled threat, “I mean, it’s not like anyone would believe you anyway. Plus, you don’t want to be by yourself, right?” 

It wasn’t so much the threat that made you keep your mouth closed, honestly, you had more morals than that, it was more so Mikasa’s attitude toward the hypothetical.

Throughout your entire “friendship” with the two girls, they’d always seen you as a non-factor. When you’d go to parties, they’d flirt with whomever showed even the slightest bit of interest in you and whenever you’d bring it up, they’d just gaslight you. “If he was really interested, then he wouldn’t have gotten distracted, would he?” And for the longest time, you had explained away their behavior because, yeah, you don’t want a guy that’ll easily stray, but, fuck. If it didn’t piss you off.

You’d originally wanted to tell her in a roundabout way, asking how she would feel if one of her friends were interested in Eren. Her answer, however, caused an unfamiliar feeling in your stomach. “Like who? Historia doesn’t see him like that and no offense, but you know Eren wouldn’t like someone like you.” That got you to thinking.

They think I’m a joke.

You wanted to tell Mikasa. You wanted to tell her when she spent nights crying to you and Historia about how Eren doesn’t open up to her anymore, how she felt he was slipping away.

You wanted to tell her what Eren really thought of her. The way he spent some nights ranting about how he felt obligated to date her, that sometimes he thinks of her as a fucking nuisance, like a snake that keeps coiling around his neck, suffocating. The times he’d wished she’d just take a fucking hint and get that he didn’t see a future with her.

You wanted to tell her about all the times Eren flirted with you, told you not to listen to any of her comments because, yeah, she could never pull off looking as good as you do. The times when he’d purposefully walk behind you, gripping at your soft waist and brushing his clothed cock against your ass, making sure you can really feel the length of him.

You wanted to tell her that even though she might be “dating” him, he was always coming back to your dorm late at night, hiking up his shirt around your waist and pressing his face into your chubby pussy, tonguing at your walls and pulling wave after wave of pleasure from you. That even though Historia may have had him that one time, he’s with you damn near every weekend, playing house.

— —

You’re on all fours, your back arched perfectly to make the glide of Eren’s cock in your sopping cunt that much easier. “Fuck, baby. You’re g’nna make me cum.” He grits out, teeth clenched. You’re squeezing him like a vice, your pussy creaming around his dick so deliciously he can taste the orgasm on his tongue.

He’ll never get tired of this, he’ll never get over how perfect your pussy molds for his cock, the velvety feeling of your cunt clenching around him. He’s panting, sweat dripping from his forehead before landing on the deep arch in your back, trickling down. Fuck, he just wants to devour you all over again.

“‘Ren, g’nna cum.” You moan for him, fuck, your voice is so fucking cute, the way your voice gets all high and whiny, has his cock throbbing inside you. “Cum f’me, pretty. Make a mess f’me.” He groans out. 

It’s embarrassing, the way your pussy squelches as he fucks into you. He fashions your hair into a makeshift ponytail before pulling, bringing your back flush against his chest. His hands are everywhere, groping and pawing at your soft flesh. 

He picks up the tempo of his thrusts, cock slamming into your warm, gushy center. He’s whining in your ear about how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, but it’s not until you hear him mumble about fucking a baby into you that you cum around his cock for the nth time that day. Your orgasm triggers his and before long his cock is pulsing as he fills you full of him.

You’re both panting as you slowly come down from your highs, Eren slowly removing his cock from your abused cunt and the sight of your poor battered pussy has Eren feeling a bit.. peckish.

You’re too busy catching your breath to notice Eren kissing along your spent body, only letting out a surprised yelp when you feel his hands spreading your cheeks and licking a bold stripe up your center. 

You gasp as he eats you out like a man starved, slurping up your combined essence before sucking on your clit. His hands grope the flesh of your ass, occasionally leaving a bruising spank to each side. 

He’s practically making out your cunt, tonguing at the soft flesh and pressing wet kisses to your clit before lapping at the bundle of nerves.

It doesn’t take long before another orgasm washes over you, soaking Eren’s face in your arousal. When he finally comes up for air, he’s pulling you into a wet kiss, the taste of you dancing on his tongue.

He pulls back slightly, pressing a quick peck to your cheek before getting up, moving to get the necessary items for aftercare. He cleans you up, dresses you in one of his favorite shirts and slides on a pair of boxers for himself before sidling next to you. He pulls you flush against his chest, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead as he traces shapes down your back.

This is why you always feel slightly bad for Mikasa. You know she craves for this level of intimacy with Eren and you know that her heart will break when he breaks the news of your relationship to her on Monday.

*sigh* If only she didn’t feel like a 9-5.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @luna-indigoduh @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @haikyutiehoe @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon

[lorelune]

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k  || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop. 

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof. 

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder.  March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.) 

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab. 

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe. 

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh. 

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck. 

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass. 

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good. 

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally. 

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months. 

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon 

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one. 

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on. 

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are. 

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile. 

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later. 

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground. 

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall. 

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng. 

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place. 

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

... 

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you, 

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care. 

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable. 

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully. 

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer. 

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie). 

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick. 

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening. 

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound. 

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers. 

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine. 

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit. 

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch. 

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks. 

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired.  Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes. 

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs. 

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher. 

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft. 

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful. 

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily. 

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings. 

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince. 

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you. 

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal. 

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you. 

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth. 

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more. 

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life. 

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows. 

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this. 

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow. 

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want. 

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites. 

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm. 

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs. 

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot. 

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts. 

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage. 

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you. 

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains. 

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there. 

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient. 

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning. 

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet. 

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod. 

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs. 

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates. 

[one new message]

blade: did you get home 

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die. 

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me. 

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow. 

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare 

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

     -fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

     -avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

[cinnamonest]

What if Darling is the one trying to control her partner? She’s an overly naive and self-assured girl who suddenly decides she wants to mess with the feelings of an attractive man. She’ll try to manipulate, intimidate, and gaslight him until he breaks.

I’m dying how I want to see that sweet surprise in her eyes when she realizes she was the victim all along. A good, kind man suddenly shows his true face. He endured all her abuse just to trap her. How ironic!

Maybe it’ll be Zhongli - charming and courteous but actually hiding a creepy dark side. Or Childe - a guy who hides a lot of dark desires behind a carefree smile.

AAAAAAAAAAAAA anon this is stewing in my brain, because imagine Morax in his peak era when he would come down amongst the humans...

Some manipulative foreigner girl who travels from place to place, manipulating and bleeding men dry for as long as you stay there, only to disappear and go on to somewhere else once you've gotten everything he has. Never wanting to commit, always wanting more.

Men essentially take care of your travel expenses too — it's easy to use them for free lodging, food, and so on. You rarely pay for anything in life, other than the luxuries you get yourself with their money.

So when you arrive, you latch onto the first attractive stranger you see on the street, and he's more than receptive. He finds you endearing. It's very easy. You just notice the positive reception and immediately lay on the flirtation much thicker, and soon enough you're walking arm in arm around the harbor to show you around... in truth, you've been here before, but playing the clueless foreigner role always endears you to men, and it boosts their ego to feel like they're knowledgeable and helpful.

He falls for your tactics so easily, so it seems. Going along with whatever you want, immediately trying to placate you when you're mean and cold, bending to your will when you insinuate that you'll leave if he doesn't do this or that.

And he has so much money. You weren't expecting to score this lucky. You're not even sure where he's getting it from, it seems like he just keeps pulling it out of nowhere. Every time you even look at something, he's already pulling out more to buy it for you, all day long, until you go back to get a place at a nearby inn.

Of course, it's mutually understood and unspoken that with these sorts of exchanges, he's supposed to get sex out of it. That much you're willing to give, it would admittedly be difficult even for you to keep extracting money from men if you didn't at least put out eventually.

Often times it's disappointing, but thankfully this one is good in bed too. You feel like you couldn't get any luckier.

He feels the same way. Who would have thought that the same girl that all those used, discarded, distraught men pleaded about in prayers to their god, would show up yet again in this place, and such convenient timing too.

You've caused a good deal of both financial ruin and heartbreak alike, and he doesn't take too well to your promiscuity either. It would be an injustice to allow you to simply get away without due punishment.

Keeping you works out well. Those men who wanted revenge will at least have their prayers answered, you will be unable to wreck any more lives, and he gets a little gem in the rough, so to speak. Something that just has to be broken apart and fixed with enough effort, slowly worked into something perfect to own. It's more fun that way.

So he stays silent when you suddenly disappear, when you turn cold, when you brush him off. It's actually both good and bad for you— usually they get so angry, so it's good he wasn't too attached, but the pitiful ones usually let you extract just a bit more in hopes of getting you back, and you're actually rather frustrated when he just lets you leave, you huff and go back to your hotel, this time unfortunately having to pay for it.

But then, you're a little bewildered when you wake up somewhere different than where you fell asleep, somewhere you're unfamiliar with. You panic when you find yourself bound to the bed by a chain on your ankle. You panic worse when you see him looking over you, that malevolent grin — did he always have those teeth?

Yes, it's so adorable when your eyes well up with tears. He did like you in the first place for how cute you are, after all. You'll be a lot cuter when you cry — something he'll have plenty of opportunities to watch in the very near future.

[anobsessedwriter]

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒚𝒄𝒍𝒆ִֶָ࣪☾.

Rafe Cameron × reader (ANGST)

Warning: toxic relationships, manipulation, gaslight, just rafe being toxic.

๋࣭ ⭑✮˙⭑

˖⋆࿐໋

Rafe Cameron had a way of drawing people in with his magnetic charm and effortless charisma, not to mention his good looks. When you first met him at a summer party, the way he smiled and looked at you, made you feel like the most special person in the room. you were easily captivated by his charm.

In the early stages of your relationship, Rafe was the perfect boyfriend. He showered you with affection and gifts, constantly surprising you with dinners and weekend getaways. “You deserve the world,” he’d say, making you feel over the moon, These moments created a deep bond between the both of you, but they were also a smokescreen for the darker aspects of his personality.

As their relationship progressed, the cracks began to show. Rafe’s controlling tendencies started subtly. When you went out with friends, Rafe would text you frequently, questioning where you were and who you were with. “I just want to know you’re safe,” , "Can't you see that i'm worried",his frequent messages felt suffocating, as you couldn't enjoy a moment without him making you feel guilty for leaving him alone so you'd quickly return.

whenever you decide to attend a party with your friends, Rafe’s demeanor would immediately shift from affectionate to cold as soon as you mention your plans to him. he'd always say “Again with the parties?” or “I thought we had plans tonight.”, "they're more important than your own boyfriend?" you always try to explain that you need a bit of space, but Rafe’s disapproval was palpable. you were left with feeling guilty and ashamed for wanting to enjoy a night out.

During the next few months together, Rafe’s outbursts became more frequent and intense. He would criticize your appearance, and say things like “ why are you trying too hard” or "isnt that way too revealing?",One afternoon, as you were getting ready for a casual lunch date, Rafe snidely remarked, “Are you really going out in that? looking like a damn hooker.” The comment left you feeling self-conscious and hurt, despite your attempts to brush it off.

he'd constantly accuse you of cheating, whenever you don't text him instantly, when you don't pick up immediately or when you come home a bit late, he'd yell and break things, making you cry and flinch then he'd try to comfort you saying he's sorry and he just love you.

Rafe’s manipulation was psychological as much as emotional. When you tried to discuss your feelings, he would deflect or twist the conversation. “You’re too sensitive,” he’d say when you expressed how you felt by his actions and words. “I’m just being honest. If you can’t handle the truth, maybe this isn’t going to work.” you felt like you were walking on eggshells, afraid to express your emotions in for of making him upset or starting another argument.

The relationship became more toxic as Rafe started to slowly isolate you from your friends and family. Whenever you spent time with them, Rafe would accuse you of neglecting him. “You’re always with them,” “Don’t you care about us anymore?” The guilt he built in you led you to eventually distance yourself from those you loved, making you more reliant and dependent on Rafe.

you still remember the time when your friend kiara noticed the change in you, you never were this distant or this quite. When She talked to you about it,Rafe blew up with anger. “She’s just trying to control you,” “She is probably jealous of us, i dont want you talking to her okay?”, you just couldn't say no or disagree with him.

Rafe’s apologies were frequent trying to manipulate you into forgiving him, he would show up at your apartment with flowers and a box of your favourite chocolates. “I’m sorry for what happened,” ,“I love you more than anything. I’ll change, I promise.”

and if that doesn't work? he'll switch it up on you balming you for it all, "it's all your fault", "maybe this wouldn't happen if you just listened to me", you would forgive him, hoping that these sweet and caring gestures were a sign of change.

Despite these moments of sweetness, the cycle of toxicity continued. On one occasion, you discovered that Rafe had been secretly reading your messages, When you confronted him, Rafe’s reaction was defensive. “I just wanted to check, whats wron with reading my girlfriend's messges” he said. “why are you upset? are you hiding something?.”

The last straw was when Rafe had taken you to a dinner with his family and friends where he criticized you in front of everyone When you tried to defend yourself, Rafe would get angry “You’re embarrassing me you know?" , “Why can’t you just behave".

That night, as you laid in bed, you realized that the person you once were had been overshadowed by Rafe’s demands and criticisms. The realization was painful, but it needed to be acknowledged. you knew you needed to leave for your own well-being.

you got up and started packing things to leave. Rafe’s pleas for you were too hard for you to ignore. “im just trying to protect you,” he said, “We can work this out. I promise, I love you.” and you couldn't say no to him,you couldn't just ignore him and leave you were too far in love.

would he really change....probably not but you still had hope.

[little-emerald-snake]

Any chance we can pretty please get a spice level 1000 smut with ominis and mc?

You write so well and atm all im seeing on tumblr is seb.

Im an omi girl and im starving lol

If your current circumstances permit, could you delve into your deepest darkest smut mind and give us a golden heap of descriptive and intricate filth? Haha xxx

We all love you.

I squeal whenever you post. Xxxxx

Hope youre doing well

Did you just come from the Undercroft!? - Ominis Gaunt X F!MC

🔥 NSFW 🔞 MDNI

Ohhh boy this one is wayyyy better than my last Doninis request so I apologize. But holy heck…this came from the dark fucked up recesses of my brain so enjoy that 🤣 Thanks for reading love, I’m doing much better after cutting back how much I’ve been writing, I feel rejuvenated and have much better inspiration (ignore the fact I’m posting twice a week again 🙄) 🫶🏻

Warnings: reliving the trauma of Ominis yelling at you for coming out of the Undercroft, Dominis, degradation, name calling (seriously I did not hold back), spitting, spit swallowing, clit/pussy spanking, rough fingering, squirting, spanking thighs and ass, unprotected rough sex, marking, threats of impregnation, threats of defamation, gaslighting, so much use of the word slut, overstimulation, crying during sex, degradation, oral m receiving, cum swallowing, no aftercare (hang in there loves, it’s a tough one)

2.4k words

She carefully stepped out from the undercroft, glancing around to see the coast was clear before stepping out. Much to her surprise the familiar blonde Slytherin stood there almost as if he was headed there himself. “Hello Sebastian. Wait.”

Her heart began to race in her chest and she momentarily debated making a run for it or staying absolutely silent and pretending she wasn’t there at all. “You there. I can hear you.”

Well there went that plan. The blind Slytherin wasn’t to be trifled with. That much she knew. No sense in hiding if he already knew that she was in fact there and it wasn’t in fact his best friend. “Oh, hello Ominis, isn’t it? I believe we have a few classes together, right?”

The blonde's brows rose and he looked momentarily puzzled before standing a bit straighter. “I recognize that voice. Heard you talking to Garreth Weasley in Potions class. You’re the new fifth-year.”

She was about to cheerily agree but a scowl met his features and her stomach sunk. He looked absolutely furious. “Did you just come from the Undercroft? How did you get in there?”

She swallowed nervously, deciding in that moment that she wouldn’t rat out Sebastian after he’d taken the fall for her in the library. “Oh? That room’s called ‘the Undercroft?’ Ah. Well, I was exploring and suddenly found myself in a strange passageway-“

He frowned deeply, interrupting her with a cutting tone. “Don’t lie to me. No one ‘stumbles’ upon that room. Sebastian told you, didn’t he?”

He suddenly shifted closer to her, nearly pinning her against the clock decorated door to the Undercroft and she swallowed again. “I can’t risk you telling anyone about this place, you know. Sebastian’s going to get an earful about this. He gets into enough trouble as it is and doesn’t need your help in doing so. Come with me.”

He stepped away from her, bringing his wand up to guide him before grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the opening. He carefully opened the passageway to the Undercroft and shoved her inside, stepping in after her and gripping her arm again.

She stumbled as he easily guided her to the couch and tossed her down roughly. She debated getting up and making a run for it but he stood right in front of her, blocking her exit unless she jumped over the back of the sofa. “I’m going to punish you for lying on behalf of Sebastian. I bet he only showed you this place so he wouldn’t be interrupted while taking your sweet pussy. He should know better. This is my hideout. He shouldn’t be bringing his mischievous romps down here anyway.”

She stuttered over her words, anxious as Ominis’ body language changed and his words lost their proper tone and changed to a different, more demanding tone. “I-I…we weren’t doing anything like that. H-he simply was showing me a place to work on my magic since I’m behind. I-I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone about it and I meant that. I-I’d never-“

He tsked her, placing a finger under her chin and tipping her head up to look at him. “You’re loyal to Sebastian. Not me. Therefore I can’t trust you. As for Sebastian, he’s showing you the Dark Arts isn't he? You’re learning the curses with him aren’t you? You will not sully my Undercroft with Dark Magic or your vile sexual acts.”

She pressed herself against the back of the couch, heartbeat thundering behind her ribs all the way down between her legs. She couldn’t explain why his anger was working her up but it was.

He chuckled, wand blinking in his hand. “My my, your heart sure is beating away. Partially because you're scared but there’s something more isn’t there? What? Sebastian teaching you the Dark Arts is riling you up is it? Are you greedy for power? You do realize I’m a Gaunt, right? Sallow is a pureblood wizard but I’m a direct pureblooded descendant of Salazar himself. My blood runs thicker with tragedy than any other wizarding family known to the wizarding world.”

Her mouth went dry. That wasn’t what she was about at all. It had nothing to do with power or learning the Dark Arts which she actually feared. But the way he was speaking to her, boasting himself up and almost trying to compete with Sebastian for her attention had her going. This was a very different side to Ominis.

He snickered, tucking his wand away and lowering himself to kneel on the couch with his hands on the tips of the cushions behind her and his knee between her legs. Her body went rigid when hot breath ghosted across her neck and a hand caressed her stomach, slowly adding pressure and moving downwards. “That’s right. I know you’re a pureblood. I could easily fill you with a Gaunt heir and you would very quickly become an important witch. Your name would be in everyone’s mouth.”

His hand now lifted the hem of her skirt and she nearly choked when a devious smirk decorated Ominis’ features. Shame burned through her. “No bloomers on. You filthy slut. Now I’m sure of it. You were down here trying to fuck Sebastian weren’t you. He’s ever the playboy you know. He’ll stick his cock in anything. You aren’t special.”

Her heart raced, squirming as his fingers traced up her inner thigh to find her soaking wet pussy. He groaned, yanking her skirt up and moving her knees apart a bit to spit directly onto her sex. The action caught her off guard but he flattened his palm, rubbing her pussy with his flattened fingers by starting slow and getting rougher.

She held back whimpers and moans but this only made him angrier. She gasped as his free hand moved off the cushions and squeezed her cheeks. The action forced her lips to open and that was when he spit inside her mouth, fingers still roughly rubbing against her sensitive sex.

She hesitated, freezing with his spit in her mouth now and unsure what to do. He chuckled darkly, seeming to sense her dilemma. “Swallow it. Filthy slut. You better consider this an honor.”

She swallowed. It felt wrong but that didn’t stop her body from responding with hot electric tingles spreading down her body. He chuckled, finding her clit with the ball of his palm and rubbing aggressively. The sensation it caused danced on the line of torture and pleasure. The pressure was too much but that didn’t stop her hips from canting upwards.

This was all too much. She was careening toward an orgasm, hips bucking and moving to try and wring pleasure from the overstimulating torture. In a moment of relief he pulled his hand away, spitting down on her pussy again, releasing her jaw and caging her in with his arm. She thought the torturous pleasure would be done but that’s when his palm reunited with her sex in a loud slap.

The sound got her more than anything but the intense heat that burned from the sensation of the spank caused her to whine. He only grinned spanking a few more times in quick succession.

She reached down to grip his wrist and pull him away but he only chuckled, overpowering her with strength and shoving two fingers inside. She lost her battle, still holding his wrist but no longer pushing him away as he began a brutal pace, finger fucking her rather agressively. “This is how you learn, useless slut.”

It was intense but she couldn’t deny it had her hips lifting in pleasure again. Especially when those long slender fingers curled, hammering directly against her g spot and dragging her closer to the edge her body was teetering on. “Ah! Oh Ominis! I-I’m gonna-!”

He kept up the brutal pace, laughing at her pitiful behavior below him as he kneeled over her and drove her to the brink. She gave a sharp cry, body arching upwards as a pressure she’d never felt before took over. “You’re not supposed to like this, greedy little slut.”

When the pressure faded and the high of her orgasm faded she floated back to reality, ears still lightly ringing. She could hear Ominis’ condescending tone trying to break through.

After a moment she finally registered when he was saying. “How dare you make a mess of the furniture in my Undercroft. Look at this fucking mess. Are you listening to me!? Your pleasure should be irrelevant to me.”

She opened her eyes, glancing down between her legs where Ominis had pulled his now dripping fingers away to motion at the damp cushions below her. Luckily for him, he’d managed to dive away before getting splashed with her mess as his clothes were dry. His hand and the furniture below her had no such luck.

She had hot tears welling in her eyes. She’d never squirted before and now from something so rough. How could this have happened? She didn’t have long to process before Ominis’ hand landed on her parted thigh with a slap that echoed through the stone walls of the room.

She gasped, the heat that blossomed to the top of her skin, making it red and sensitive, surprising her. He spanked her again just a bit higher and she snapped her legs shut, causing him to laugh. “What? Can’t take a punishment properly? You shouldn’t have lied to me then, you stupid girl.”

She whimpered and he took her hand, helping her up. She sighed a breath of relief. It was short lived though as he flipped her over and positioned her on her hands and knees in front of him, yanking her skirt up to leave her bare before him.

His palm came down hard on the round cheek of her ass, causing her to gasp and lurch forward in surprise. “That’s for making a such a fucking mess.”

She peered over her shoulder, swallowing harshly as she heard the zipper of his trousers and felt the blunt tip of him against her entrance. She didn’t have time to deny him as he shoved into her, slamming his hips forward and burying himself inside her wet warmth.

She gasped, biting into her lip at the slight sting of such a quick intrusion. He filled her so completely full she’d never felt anything like it. She gasped when he moved, dragging himself back out and grunting as he stuffed himself right back in.

He held her hips in a firm grasp, fucking into her agressively. With every slam of his hips it became just a bit clearer that this fucking was meant as a punishment. Yes it felt incredible but his pace was brutal, rough and quick and meant to get a point across.

Just as she was beginning to fall into pleasure and tighten around him he was pulling out of her and flipping her onto her back. He wasted little time slamming back into her and resuming the animalistic pace of fucking her.

He leant down over her, baring his teeth against her neck and scraping against her delicate skin. He fucked her faster, biting and suckling bruises into her soft skin.

The pleasure was driving her closer and closer to the edge but she knew people would surely question her about the hickeys he was leaving. She attempted to shove him off, causing a snarl to rise from his throat and he released her abused flesh and growled against her ear. “If you tell anyone it was me who marked you, I’ll deny it. I’ll tell everyone you’re a filthy little liar and that you are nowhere near my league. I’ll publically humiliate you. Is that what you want?”

She pitifully shook her head and tears bubbled up to the surface. She was moaning and crying, pain, pleasure and emotional whiplash being the cause. But her body shook and she experienced a soul shredding orgasm. Fat hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she rippled around him, whimpering and crying out as she came.

He growled in frustration, pulling out of her and falling back against the couch, pulling her with and seating her in his lap. “How dare you cum on my cock without my permission. You’re going to fucking earn it this time, you hear that slut? Ride me to get your pleasure since you’re such a greedy cock slut.”

She was so lost in the pleasure and the chaos that she did, placed her hands on his shoulders and rolled her hips on his, riding him and whimpering. “That’s right. Take my cock. Forget all about dallying with Sebastian. Enabling him like a naughty little bitch behind my back. Stupid girl, playing with the Dark Arts.”

She cried, overwhelmed from how good it felt to fuck him and how hot it was to be degraded by him but his words did cut deep. She hadn’t slept with Sebastian at all but the idea that Ominis wanted to fuck Sebastian out of her system lit a fire inside of her. He laughed heartily at her tears. “Are you overwhelmed silly slut? Can’t take being told what a useless and dumb little hole you are? Thats alright. I’m done with your pussy. Get on the floor where sluts belong. This filthy pussy isn’t good enough to be bred by a Gaunt. Your mouth will have to do.”

He practically shoved her off, more or less tossing her to the floor before sliding forward on the seat and gripping a fistful of her hair and using her mouth. She watched through watery eyes as he fucked her mouth, pumping her mouth full of thick, hot, salty cum.

She immediately wanted to spit it out but he pinched her nose and pulled his cock out, forcing her head back and brushing down the front of her throat till she swallowed his essence. He laughed meanly, tapping her cheek. “That’s right. You’re a good slut. Even if you are an absolute shit liar.”

He stood up, straightening himself out and putting himself back together before pulling his wand from his robe pocket and sauntering towards the door. “No more encouraging Sebastian to get into trouble? You hear me? If he comes up with some ‘brilliant plan’ you bring it to me immediately. Now, go clean up and go to bed…although, I must admit you are prettier when you’re overstimulated. And remember what I said. You tell anyone anything about this and I’ll have this entire school pitted against you. I’m not afraid to exploit my father being friends with Headmaster Black if I need to.”

Without another word he left her, tears streaming, throat raw, and pussy aching from the roughness.

[vaporvipermedia]

My Rook Headcanons

[Mostly about his body]

Finally..my time has come.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

We all know that I have to start off with my Fox Beastman!Rook agenda. Even when he’s presenting himself in human form, people can see that his teeth are not normal. Having four sharp canines that peeks out whenever he smiles. Since too many people have noticed, he just resorts to more affiliative smiles.

The reason why Rook wants to hide his beastman traits was for the thrill of and excitement of people finding out who he truly is after all this time. Like: “Hmm, what if I just gaslight my friends into thinking that I’m fully human only for them to find out later that I was actually a beastman? Wouldn’t that be quite silly? Very mischievous if you will?”

He’d like to imagine their expressions switch into complete shock and surprise. Eyebrows raised, mouth agape he’d think it would be such a wonderful surprise. Thinking their reactions would be absolutely beautiful

His potion making skills are very exceptional to say the least but it took a lot of trial and error. Getting some chemical burns when messing with test-run potions.

Although the potion Rook created hides his more visible fox features, his ears and tail do come back whenever he gets too excited or gets a major spike of energy. Something that Rook never thought would happen. [That's why he’s scarily good at controlling his heart rate. He trained his body in order to make sure his features remained hidden.]

Ok, say it with me now. THIS. MAN. HAS. SCARS‼️‼️ This man would not have so much flawless skin while being a hunter. It’s frankly impossible. From nasty tumbles, to possible encounters with wild creatures, ANYTHING!

I feel like Rook picked his skin a lot as a child. Especially scabs. Leaving some permanent marks on his body. He probably did this due to the stress of going out into the forest, wondering what might try to attack him.

Dimples…I don’t have to go in depth with this. We both know we are on the same track here. He has dimples whenever he smiles. It’s there. It’s visible. Let’s move on before I go insane.

Listen…Listen…He has a birthmark on his lower back that looks like the Orion Constellation. IT JUST FITS! CMON!

Rook’s hair is actually a little bit curly and got it from his father’s side. But most of the time he tries new hairstyles to give himself more variety. That variety involves him straightening his hair sometimes.😭😭

BUT AS A BONUS IF HIS HAIR GETS WET HIS CURLS WILL POP OUT! SO THAT’S A WIN!

[Clutching my fist in anger] FRECKLES! FRECKLES DUSTING HIS CHEEKS AND BODY! THEY EXIST THEY ARE THERE! I KNOW THEY ARE!

Tans easily during the summer. [Got that from his mother] His hat can only do so much.

Hear me out. I’d like to think that a piece of his ring finger is gone due to an incident with a beastman child when he was younger. And instead of being afraid of that event, that drove him to becoming more interested towards beastmen behaviors. So his ring finger is a constant reminder of his curiosity and that very incident.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whew…ok now I can pass away peacefully. Thank you for listening to my mad man ramblings. Well, actually you had no choice in the matter since I hunted you down inside of your own house.-

But nevermind that! You’re free to go.☺️🫶

[coldbronzemoon]

Danny Fenton, Totally Mortal Hero Consultant (DPxDC)

Snippet for an AU I'll probably never fully write where Danny takes a job as a consultant for the Justice League to help with ghost and demon bullshit. It's a pretty good cash flow to help him with college, after all, and very flexible hours.

He just claims all his knowledge comes from his parents. Unfortunately, the JL has caught word of the elusive yet active hero Phantom, and want Danny to help them meet and assess him. Whoops.

Over the phone, Tucker sighed. “Good Christ, Danny, why do you keep doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Danny said immediately. He winced at the vague sound of screaming below. Demons sucked. “I didn’t know the JL thing was gonna have me finding Phantom. How would I? They were talking about tracking down powerful ghosts, I was assuming Ancients!”

Tucker sighed again, which was really quite unfair of him. “Mhm. Well, Fenton Catcher?”

“Probably not. They know me pretty well at this point, and unlike what Sam says I can be professional. I’d confuse them with the… uh…”

“Stoner shtick?”

There was more screaming happening, but judging from the pitch it was a demon screaming this time. Danny checked the situation. Yep, demon getting their ass kicked. He didn’t need to get involved with a blaster. Yet.

Instead, he scowled at his phone. “Stop calling it that.”

“You’re gonna tell me flanny Danny wasn’t a pitch-perfect stoner, huh? With the chill vibing and the dopey look?”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, bud.” 

The sound of a clacking keyboard that had underlined their conversation stopped. “But seriously, Danny, what the hell are you gonna do with this?”

“Uh, lie, probably,” Danny said, because it was very likely.

“Alright, smartass, what are you going to do when that lie backfires on you like literally every other one does?”

“That’s when I start gaslighting, gatekeeping, and girlbossing, babe.”

He had a hard time hearing Tucker’s distant groan of “Why am I still your friend?” on account of the sudden explosion. Danny checked again. Hm. Demon dude had a nasty fire thing going on.

Danny switched on his Fenton water gun—holy water included!-- and shot the demon in the face. They let out a cracking hiss of rage, but dropped the fire spell thing. He waited for them to stop looking around wildly for the culprit for a moment. 

He went back to the call. “‘Cause you loooove me, Tuck. From the bottom of your twice-dead heart.”

“Unfortunately,” Tucker deadpanned.

Danny just cackled. It was lost amongst the sound of supernatural bullshit below.

“Anyway, I’m still figuring out my plan A, honestly. Might bring in gray-man?”

“Amorpho’s an asshole, though. He’ll ruin the whole thing by taking the opportunity to shift into a JL member for a bit.”

Hm. True.

“Yeah, but he’s the main guy I know with that power set.”

“Ask after Desiree?” He could hear the immediate distaste in Tucker’s voice. “Ugh, pretend I didn’t say that. That’s worse than Amorpho.”

“It’s awful,” Danny agreed easily. 

Desiree was actually pretty alright nowadays, mostly on account of Danny remembering the last couple minutes of Aladdin and wishing she could refuse wishes she didn’t want to grant. That had made her happy enough to stop actively picking fights. 

Unfortunately, spending the entirety of one’s afterlife twisting the wording of wishes to their worst form made it hard to stop being an asshole. Who knew! So getting Desiree to split him in two for like a week had a 50/50 chance of fucking up his work relationship with the literal league of superheroes irrevocably. And this was his main cash flow right now.

So, no Desiree, no siree.

“Come up with something better then, asshole.”

Danny hummed and, since the heroes below were focused on the demon, lifted up a little and did a thoughtful back flip. What to do, what to do…?

Oh!

“My cousin!” he exclaimed.

“What cous—? Oh, Ellie.”

“Yeah, Ellie, Tuck. Which other cousins do I have?”

Tucker scoffed. “You literally have that whole Nightingale thing going on through your dad?”

Danny couldn’t help the face he made. The remaining Nightingales were worse than his parents somehow. “The Nightingales don’t count.”

“You can’t just say they don’t count.”

“I can say that, actually, and I will. They’re, like, cousins through my great-great-great-grandpa anyway.”

“Isn’t there a fight going on over there? Should you be shooting someone?”

 “Yeah, probably.”

He peaked down through the window once more. The heroes must have gotten the first demon to leave while he was talking, because the horned demon fighting them now was a truly unfortunate shade of yellow-green instead of purple. Or maybe it had transformed for some reason? They had it about as in-hand as the other one, though, so Danny definitely didn’t need to go down there. He shot the maybe-new demon in the face real quick.

“Anyway, Ellie can totally help out, she’s been practicing with changing up her looks. She’s also more, uh, malleable than me, what with her situation and all. Looking fully like Phantom shouldn’t be hard.”

Tucker hummed. “She’d try to embarrass you though.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem.” Danny spun in place. “I could bribe her?”

“With what? Her life doesn’t involve needing much cash.”

“She doesn’t get out to the Zone very much. Not many of the inhabited places, anyway. I can promise her the weird apple things Dora’s been growing with Sam’s help, she loved those.”

“If you think that’ll work…” Tucker trailed off dubiously.

Danny laughed. “She’s annoying sometimes, but she’s not gonna fuck over my job if I ask her not to. I’ll just bribe her extra hard for resisting the temptation to mock me.”

“Fair enough.” The clacking of keys resumed. “I’ve really gotta pay attention now, someone’s trying to stop me from getting into this database. Someone half-decent, actually, did they upgrade? Hm. Make sure no one died, yeah?”

“They’re alive. Bye, Tuck,” Danny said, and ended the call.

He shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket and made his way down the stairs. The fight outside he had been stationed for was basically over—Captain Marvel and Green Lantern (Danny was pretty sure he had accidentally learned the dude’s actual name at some point, but hell if he could remember)—had pulled out the magic restraints one of the other consultants had handed out.

That had probably been Constantine. Ugh. Constantine. Dude could stand to lighten up a little; skulking and smoking all the time wasn’t the base state of someone enjoyable to be around. Then again, Danny knew he annoyed the shit out of some of the league with his own attitude, so he maybe shouldn’t talk. But at least he was annoying with a smile!

Case in point: Danny grinned at the heroes. “Got it handled?”

“Suppose so,” said the Green Lantern, “though a little more help would have been nice.”

Captain Marvel was too busy getting in a minor tussle with the demon to say anything either way.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m like, pretty mortal,” Danny said. “I’m not fucking with demons right where they can hit me. And I did shoot him!”

Green Lantern rolled his eyes, but admitted the point. Danny cheerfully flipped him off anyway.

“I’ll be heading out, then, the hellmouth this guy crawled out of is like three miles away.” Captain Marvel said, hauling the handcuffed demon over his shoulders like a very angry backpack.

“Oh, one more for the road!” 

Danny hit the demon with a final water gun shot. Hissing and scrunching their face like a cat, the demon tried to lunge at him. It wasn’t very successful. Weirdly non-verbal for a demon, who usually had to talk to make deals and steal mortal souls, but Danny wouldn’t judge. Might be a minor demon. A really basic imp? Who knew.

“Stop being a little bitch and you won’t get spray-bottled, asshole,” Danny chided.

With a loud laugh, Captain Marvel sped away.

[motherraid]

I can’t find any rules so if your uncomfortable plz feel free to ignore this but I recently found out that when a afab person sits on someone else lap, they can feel the *throb™*

So I’m currently thinking what would Sebek do if during the Masquerade s/o fem!reader ended up sitting on his lap and he felt the throb. What would he do? Would he get hard or would he wonder what it is?

Can I be ✨🎀 anon plz? If you do those kinds of anon thingies lol

Omg of course???!?!?! It's been so long since I've taken an ask from a named anon what you're so nice 😭😭😭

AND YOU HAD TO PULL A SCENARIO FROM MY FAVORITE EVENT TOO ILY

((Grinding, manipulation/gaslighting(??), boners (lol), slight exhibitionism(?? If you squint i think) more big boy words and can't really think or anything else as a description, IM SORRYYY I NEED CHARACTER EXAGGERATION IT'S AN ADDICTION))

Well, well. Back to lap sitting. It seems you all have a certain taste.

Boring answer is he feels it, gets embarrassed, and asks you to get up before he even begins to feel anything. He'd probably offer you his seat and walk off to find another seat he can sit down in. He's red faced, but that's it.

Fun answer?

I believe that Sebek WILL know where it's coming from. I'm sure he has some knowledge in sex ed or smth and if he doesn't, he's still very smart. He can make the connection and what was causing it easily. And when he looks up at you in concealed confusion, he can tell by your nonchalant expression that you aren't doing it on purpose. He assumes it's a natural thing that you shouldn't be ashamed of. So, by that logic, if you feel something hardening under your ass, surely you can understand that it's just natural, right? It's nothing to freak out over, I mean, who wouldn't get hard when there's such a darling sitting in his lap?

And who could possibly have known that something as simple as a pulse could be so alluring?

I mean, if we're talking sweet ol classic Sebek, he'd probably be aaaaabsolutely mortified. His immediate reaction would be to politely tap you on the shoulder and ask you (in the quietest voice he's ever had in his life) to stand so he can use the restroom. He won't even make it to full erection by the time he's flown from the room lol. And as soon as he makes it into semi-privacy, you won't see him for a good while. Well, at least until he can either will his erection to die or pathetically rub one out in a restroom stall like a loser (lmao). Most likely the former. His pride wouldn't allow him to do something so humiliating. If someone heard or caught him whimpering while he spazzes with his dick in his hand mid orgasm he'd truly never show his face in public again.

If you two are in a relationship then maybe he won't be so quick to run away and pitifully consider jacking off to the feeling of you throbbing in his lap- wishing he could feel your throbbing while deliciously stretched around his dick and welcoming every inch deeper into your warm cunt until either he runs out of inches or you run out of space.

No, no. He may just steadily place both hands on each of your thighs and bury his face into the back of your shoulder. Or the crook of your neck depending on how tall you are.

("Please... Just stay here for a moment. I swear that I'll let you up soon.. But for now I need you to stay put... and try not to move too much." )

And uhm.. Mk so you know it's not a Duke post without some sort or freak in there, and I just can not write something without going feral about it and the only way I can go feral about it is if I exaggerate his character so PERVY SEBEK

So if you somehow had managed to sit down in his lap and he feels his zipper area becoming a bit uncomfortable, you'd better have a strong will. The absolute degrading filth this boy will spew into your ears will either have you grinding into his crotch and begging him for more or trying to muffle your hurt/confused sobs. Best believe he ain't going nowhere, and neither are you for your little stunt. Sure, you may not have been intentionally trying to arouse him, but you are the one who insisted on using him as a seat when there are plenty of places to rest. That must have been what you wanted, huh? To see him all red faced and bothered? You probably like seeing him breaking a sweat, lip between his teeth and digging his digits into the underside of the seat. You must loove making him horny. It's like you get a kick out of it. Is it funny for you? To see him in agony?

Well, two can play at that game. Don't even bother acting surprised when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight to his chest. He might wait for a person or two to pass out of view before his tongue sneaks a quick swipe against your earlobe. His breath is heavy on your neck while he nuzzles his face into your hair. Thank the Seven for the loud(ish) music echoing off the walls, or else anyone a good few feet from you would be able to hear him groaning in your ear. All while one of his hands slowly slides towards the inside of your thigh and gives it a good squeeze.

And don't even think about saying anything. It's all your fault, you know. You just casually decide to sit in a guys lap and act surprised when he gets hard? Just like your enticing second heartbeat, an erection is something that can not be helped sometimes. They can happen anywhere, and every guy can agree to that. So what will it look like when you purposefully sit in his lap, throbbing against his thigh with your ass sat firmly against his crotch? Did you forget you're in a school of boys? They'd understand him in a heartbeat. Some may even say you did it on purpose. You'll only embarrass yourself. So stay still, stay inconspicuous, and stay silent.

Let's be honest, though. He's hanging on by a thread. He's just so embarrassed that you've managed to get him this vulnerable and he's taking that out on you. You feel so warm and smell soo good. It's taking every ounce of restraint to hide his gasps and grunts from the spread crowd around you both. Trust they can't be concealed from you, though. You can hear everything. Not to mention feel everything. It's impossible to ignore him spreading his legs a bit and slowly rolling his hips into you.

If he's miserable and desperate, he'll make you feel even worse. Unless you'd rather sneak away and give him the blow job he deserves for putting up with you. Lend him you pussy for a while and he might even spare you a lecture about public decency once this trip is over. (How hypocritical.)

And he's lying. Of course you'll be getting properly disciplined when this is all over. A hands-on lecture is a must. Best not to worry about that now, though. Just enjoy the moment. He sure is.

("I should have known better than to humor you. To think I actually believed you might have been behaving decently for once.")

[jaytriesstrangerthings]

Not Sick Fic

744 words of Eddie not being sick and Steve not finding him endearing.

---

“I’m not sick,” Eddie argues, punctuating his argument with an aggressive sneeze followed by harsh hacking.

“Are you holding a loogie in your mouth right now?” Steve crosses his arms and tilts his head in what the Party has taken to calling his Mom Stance (trademark pending).

In a disgusting display of defiance, Eddie swallows. “No.” 

There’s a glob of neon yellow snot dripping from Eddie’s left nostril that he drags his crusty sweatshirt sleeve across before snorting up another drip of snot coming from the right side this time. 

“You are…” Steve sighs, exasperated, “so gross.”

The furrowed brows and grumpy pout paired with Eddie’s pink nose and puffy eyes could almost be considered cute if Steve hadn’t just witnessed him swallow a loogie.

“How the hell did I fall in love with you?”

Steve knows exactly how it happened. He could write a library’s worth of books about all the things he loves about Eddie Munson. That doesn’t change the fact that Eddie absolutely refuses to admit that he’s sick and is being very gross about proving his health.

“Because I’m so totally handsome and I can do cool guitar stuff.” His voice is scratchy and nasally and Steve can tell he’s trying very hard not to sniffle or cough. “And I’m super rich on account of the cool guitar stuff.” Eddie bats his thick black eyelashes and flashes a big bright toothy smile in Steve’s direction. It’s usually quite charming but the new bead of snot dripping towards Eddie’s upper lip causes his charisma to take a hit. “Gimme a smooch.”

Eddie sniffles harshly, sucking the snot glob back into his nose. He leans in, lips puckered up and chapped from extended forced mouth breathing, eyes squeezed shut. Steve reaches out a hand to stop Eddie from falling when he continues to lean forward. 

“You’re cute,” Steve admits, pushing Eddie back to balance on his own feet, “You’re also sick.”

“‘m not,” Eddie pouts again, opening his eyes and glaring at Steve.

Yes he is. Eddie is very sick. His nose is running a marathon and Steve could hear the congestion from a mile away. He’s running a 102 degree fahrenheit fever and shivering like a chihuahua on a sugar high. His eyes are red and puffy and his eye bags have eye bags. He’s sneezing and coughing and if the way he frequently grimaces and groans is any indication he’s nauseous too. 

It’s wild to Steve, how easily Eddie tends to ignore his own health and well-being. He’s going to work himself to an early grave and take Steve with him. It’s frankly astonishing how long Eddie’s made it and Steve is half convinced that Death is simply scared of Eddie. It wouldn’t be surprising. Eddie is absolutely horrifying when he wants to be. And also sometimes when he doesn’t mean to be. 

“Just lay down in bed, Eds. You’ll get better sooner if you rest.”

“Don’t need rest, ‘m not sick.” Eddie makes a noise like he might throw up if either of them make a wrong move. He clears his throat when the feeling seemingly passes. “Gotta finish planning out the next session for when the Party comes to visit next week and then work on some acous- acousti- ACHOO!” Eddie sneezes and a snot rocket launches toward Steve in a majestic arch of green and yellow nasal mucus. Steve, luckily, manages to move out of the way and not be hit by the bio weapon. 

“Did you just say “achoo” as you sneezed?” 

“I didn’t sneeze,” Eddie says, like a lying liar who lies.

Steve looks from Eddie to the small puddle of snot on the floor. “What’s that then?”

Eddie scoffs a couple of times, searching for a reasonable answer. His brain isn’t working at full capacity, which is reasonable considering he’s very sick, despite his resolute denial. “Science project.” 

Eddie lives and breathes gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, Steve will give him that, but Steve has mastered manipulate, mansplain, malewife. Especially that malewife bit. If the government ever comes around to letting Eddie put a ring on it Steve would make a wonderful trophy wife. 

“Yeah? What’s the hypothesis?” That’s right, Steve knows science words. He may be a certified Ken but he’s not stupid. Eddie, of course, is a Barbie, but that was never really a question.

“It’s about projectile paths and stuff.”

Steve cannot believe how endearing Eddie is even when he’s being this gross.

---

[elliespeach]

tear you apart part two | ellie williams

pairing ellie wiliams x fem reader synopsis ellie owns her own vinyl store and the day you wander in changes both of your lives forever. she quickly becomes infatuated with you, desperate for your love that she believes is meant to be. when things in your life begin to spiral, ellie is there to catch you, but you'd never suspect she was the reason you fell in the first place. wordcount: 3.8k warnings: stalking both cyber and in person, ellie is obsessive, manipulative, a gaslighter, a pervert lowkey, possessive and easily jealous, shes also so delusional like top tier delulu, shes based off joe goldberg so i mean put the pieces together. this is all from her perspective, most if not all of the inner monologue is ellie's thoughts about you, the italics is verbatim what she is thinking in that very moment if that makes sense. like joe, all of her actions are justified in her mind, and she doesn't see anything wrong with them. reader has a dysfunctional family. pls lmk if i am missing something! authors note: obsessive ellie nation RISE, bit of a twist in this one hope shes yummy!!! i have plans i can not share w you yet but i am so hype for the next part, yall should be too, anyway... happy reading

ellie sat in the corner of the bar waiting for you and your friends to show up. she had gotten here way too early, but it gave her time to canvas the bar. the bartenders were swamped with orders, the band playing on the small stage were taking a brief intermission– which ellie was grateful for because she didn’t see the appeal. it was quite crowded, working in ellie’s favor. while she waited for you, her fingers were dancing over her phone any second she got. 

firstly, she checked in on you. no instagram posts, stories, twitter updates, nothing to indicate you were going out. finally taking steps to protect yourself, good girl. then, she set her focus on finding this woman. she copy and pasted the phone number into google, loading…loading…loading… god this wifi fucking sucks…

when the circle of death vanished, nothing came of the phone number. the white pages had nothing to report on, the links were dead ends and ellie sat back in her chair with a huff, annoyed by the anonymity of this woman. her thoughts were interrupted when she saw the door to the bar open and your friends and you strolled in. she slouched over, bringing her head down but her eyes remained fixed on you. shauna was the last one to come through the door, but she quickly brought herself to the front of the group and sat you all down at a table nearly across the bar. 

ellie rolled her eyes, knowing she would have to move to get closer. so she did, keeping her head down as she went through the small crowd to the other end of the bar. from this seat, your back was turned from her and she felt a little disappointed that she couldn’t see your face, but decided it was for the better. shauna immediately started to order drinks, a round of shots and margaritas on top of it. whats the occasion? 

she had to focus real hard, but she was able to make out the conversation happening. 

“okay, okay, but seriously, i have something to tell you guys,” shauna started to speak as the waiter was placing their drinks down at the table. 

“god, you’re pregnant!” dina shouted to the table, and ellie could hear your laugh clear as day. the same laugh that was used for her just two weeks ago. god, how she missed you. 

shauna scoffed, “i’m not pregnant!” 

then you chimed in, your voice sounding sweet as ever over the rowdiness of the bar, “then whats so important? should i down this shot beforehand?” you playfully picked up the shot from the table, ready to take it and ellie’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second. 

shauna gracefully pushed your hand down, the shot back on the table and she spoke again, “i’m moving to california at the end of summer,”

the mood at the table became somber at her words, the girls looking around to each other. “sorry, what?” cat spoke up, sipping her margarita. 

ellie smirked, taking a sip of her own drink. not a bad idea, shauna. sure, she knew you would be upset and she was prepared to be there for you to get over losing your best friend, but in time you’ll realize that shauna was never your friend to begin with, she just liked having you around to boost her up. 

“like your whole family? or just you?” you asked her, and when shauna replied saying her whole family, your head snapped back and ellie could see that the shot glass you had in your hands was now empty. 

“why?” cat spoke again, glancing around the table to you and dina. 

“nevermind on why, i just want to have a good night! let’s get drunk–” she called over the waiter with a snap of her fingers, classy. her eyes met the waiters and then went to you, “another shot for my friend.” 

“give me two, please,” you spoke kindly to the waiter, and ellie’s grip on her own drink tightened. no way shauna leaving was upsetting you this much? how could it? ellie reminded herself that you had been friends with her for years, and even despite shauna being the way she is, she’s still your best friend. she wanted to give you a hug, tell you that it was for the better, but she knew she couldn’t. at least, not right now. 

the bartender took ellie out of her gaze, “another one?” he said, pointing to her empty glass. ellie shook her head no, if you were going to get plastered, she needed to make sure she was okay to watch over you. the band started to play again and it rang in ellie’s ears, making it difficult to hear the conversation at the table. 

the waiter brought the shots over, and everyone took them almost instantly. using their margaritas as a chaser, ellie’s eyes rolled again. the next thirty minutes was her just keeping an eye on you while you continued to get more and more drunk. you mumbled out that you had to “break the seal.” and you got up and stumbled over to the bathroom door. ellie could see everything from her seat, so instead of blowing her cover she stayed in the bar chair. 

ellie wasn’t a girls girl by any means, but she knew that once someone in the group walked away, the shit talking would commence. you had barely opened the door to the bathroom when shauna started. shauna, out of everyone. shes not your friend. “shes taking it kinda hard, isnt she?” 

“i’ve seen her more drunk that this.” dina laughed, keeping her voice low as if you could hear her. 

“oh yeah, the night she nearly got hit by that cab walking back to her apartment was the drunkest i’ve seen her,” cat laughed with dina, and shauna stayed neutral. 

“no but like, me leaving, shes taking it kind of hard, right?” 

dina looked to cat, then back to shauna, “i mean, yeah i guess. you’re her best friend.” 

is that a smile, shauna?

“i hate to be the one making her feel like that,” shauna pouted, now seeking the attention of her other friends. 

“no, no, it’s not your fault–” dina gushed. 

“yeah, it’s like, thats on her, you know? you can’t control how anyone feels except for you.” cat said softly, placing an arm on shauna’s shoulder. 

jesus christ, the therapy words. where did you people come from? 

before they could continue talking, you returned from the bathroom, bumping into the table lightly before sitting down. “another shot?” you asked them, seeing their drinks were empty. you had at least double the shots they’ve taken, no, no more shots. tell her no. 

“yes!” shauna said enthusiastically, ordering more for the table. when they arrived they were gone within seconds. ellie was finding it hard to hold back, she wanted to take you by the arm and walk you home herself. though, it seemed with every shot you took, your mood brightened. you were laughing, loudly, and making jokes with your friends. it seemed like you had completely forgotten about the departure of your best friend. ellie was happy you weren’t upset anymore, but the level of drunk you were worried her. 

that's until someone was standing behind shauna, and when ellie’s eyes wandered up to see who it was, she almost choked on her spit but quickly repressed it. it was the older woman and she was looking directly into your eyes, your laughter had subsided from the previous joke and you went silent, crossing your arms and shifting in your seat. 

the woman's eyes left yours quickly, and she placed a hand on shauna’s shoulder. shauna turned around, seeing the woman and got up from her seat, embracing her in a hug. “hey mom! what’re you doing here?”

mom? you’re fucking your best friends mom? ellie nearly fell off her high top seat, for the first time that night she took her eyes off of you, turning towards the bar just to take it all in. no, no, you’re a sweetheart. you wouldn’t do that, would you? ellie’s mind was racing, but her image of you never faltered in her mind because she quickly figured out just what was going on. 

your own parents leave you to move across the country and your best friend lets you move into her place until you get your own. she recalls one of your tweets she stumbled upon from a year ago,  

@yndoesartstuff: tfw ur moving into ur besties childhood home bc ur own parents dont want u

  —— @shuanamavisxx: my parents want u! adopted child frfr

yeah, they want you alright… 

shauna’s mom must have been very supportive of you, for you to fall for her trap anyway. that kind of attention from a mother must have felt good, and ellie decided that shuana’s mom knew what she was doing. prying on your own neglectful mommy issues to get into your pants. shes a fucking predator. ellie knew you were a grown woman, but shauna’s mom was clearly in her fifties, thats being nice, and she found it fucking disgusting that her mom would do that to you. and then to have the audacity to make you so dependant on her that you beg her for attention over texts. 

ellie was seething. 

and apparently so were you, because you quickly got up from the table, excusing yourself with a quick, “be right back!” trying to sound as chipper as possible, but ellie knew. 

you came up to the bar and ellie swiftly lowered her head into her phone. you were too drunk to notice, but ellie heard you order yourself yet another shot. she almost said no outloud, but refrained herself, feeling the heat in her body build up. but the bartender had her back, “you're cut off. here's a water.” he handed you a cold glass of water and your eyes rolled. 

“pleasseeee? im not even that drunk!” you fired back, pushing the water back towards him. he looked you up and down, and you smiled at him, holding up just one finger and mouthing the word please over and over again. the bartender caved, pouring you another shot. 

what a fucking idiot. 

he gave you the shot, which you took almost instantly. you stumbled back to the table with your friends, shauna’s mom still there making conversation. and ellie turned to the bartender, “are you blind? shes wasted,” 

the guy shrugged, “shes a good tipper.” 

ellie scoffed, turning her attention back to the table. 

“so wait mom, why are you here?” shauna asked, sitting back down in her seat. 

“i’m actually on a date,” her mom smiled, making quick eye contact with you before doing so with dina and cat to not seem suspicious. she pointed to a table near the band and when ellie looked, it was a man that sat at the table. 

“its not a date if you’re married,” shauna rolled her eyes, a laugh slipping out with her words. she turned and faced the man at the table, waving passionately at who ellie assumed to be her father. ellie was sick just watching, and she couldn’t imagine how you felt. she’s just taunting you at this point. 

ellie could see you shifting uncomfortably in your seat and soon enough you pulled out your phone. since your back was to her, ellie could see your screen was blank, but you muttered, “sorry gotta take this guys,” before you got up and left the bar, putting the phone up to your ears as if you were actually on the phone.

they let you leave without a second thought. don't they see how drunk you are? she was on her feet, pulling her wallet out of her pocket to put a twenty on the counter before storming out of the bar herself. she glanced around once she was outside, it had grown dark but she could spot you from a mile away. 

you were trying to wave down a cab, way too close to the road for her liking. you were crying too, and ellie’s heart sank at the sight. while waving down a cab, you checked your phone, the bright screen nearly blinding you as you did but your fingers were quick to type. your feet kept going as you typed to try and keep yourself up right, you were swaying and teetering all around the sidewalk. all of the cabs went past you, not wanting to pick up a drunk girl who might vomit in their car. your phone fell out of your hands as you were trying to type, landing harshly on the sidewalk and ellie stepped forward just a bit, ready to lie her way out of how she came to find you like this. 

as you bent down to pick up your phone, a man got it before you could. he held it out for you and as you went to reach for it, he pulled it away at the last second. because of course he did. there was only about five seconds of back and forth between you and this guy before ellie’s feet started to jog over to you. she heard the tail of the conversation as she approached. 

“...i’ll give it back if you agree to have drinks with me.” he spoke in a ragged voice, he was head to toe in dirt and grim. typical male, its disgusting. you didn’t deserve this.

“no, just give me my phone!” you shouted back at him, words slurred to oblivion. 

ellie didn’t waste a second. “she said no, man.” she came to your side, putting her arm in front of you to block him. she saw you stare at her out of the corner of her eye but she kept her focus on the guy. 

“a guy can’t try?” he said with a small laugh, still holding your phone out of reach. 

“if shes saying no, then take the fucking hint.” ellie could feel herself getting angier, the heat in her body rising to her cheeks and her one fist balled up by her side. she doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if she wasn’t here, but her mind plagues her with it. im your hero. and this guy is about to fucking die. 

“maybe i’ll keep it, sell it for some money,” he taunted, examining the phone like a douchebag. ellie had it under control, she knew this guy would cave eventually, at least one way or another. but you had other plans and when you tried to reach for the phone in his hands he slapped your arm away. 

ellie fully stepped in front of you, her jaw tightening as she did, and the guy continued to run his mouth. “what? this your fucking bitch or something?” 

she didn’t even think about it, her fist coming up strong and squaring this guy in his nose. he stumbled back, dropping your phone to the sidewalk yet again. she shook her fist in pain as you quickly grabbed your phone from the ground. his nose was bleeding and he was clinging to it like he was going to die. 

you were laughing, which is the last thing ellie expected. your laughter was ringing in her ears as the guy started to get back up, very slowly. “shit, c’mon!” you laughed again, way too drunk, but you did something else ellie wasn’t expecting, you took her hand and started to run in the opposite direction. she obviously followed you, sprinting beside you down the streets of new york until it felt like a good amount of distance had passed. 

turning one last corner you both slowed to a stop, you were trying to regulate your breathing as ellie checked around the corner before turning back to you. “you okay?” 

“i’m-i’m great,” you sighed, still catching your breath. youre still drunk. way too drunk. “you look so–” 

“let me take you home, you’re drunk,” 

“i’m not drunk and i know you from somewh–” 

“you are drunk, at least let me get you a cab,” 

“the vinyl store!” 

shit. “oh, oh yeah, i remember you.” ellie stammered out, hoping your level of drunkenness would hide her stumble. 

“ellie, right?” you slurred and ellie nodded her head, “oh shit, thats what i kept forgetting to do, i need that album you recommended me!” 

ouch. if you didn’t have the day you’ve had, or better yet, the past two weeks, ellie would be more upset. was our interaction that forgettable for you? no, it couldn’t possibly be, you were flirting with me. and now you stand here telling me you forgot about me? she tells herself it’s because you’re drunk, you’d never say these things to her if you were sober. 

“come by anytime for it, it’s no biggie,” it’s not like i made sure it was perfect for you within the hour. 

“how about now?” 

“no, no the stores closed and you should get home,” ellie knew you would persist, she just wanted to see it. 

“please,” you dragged out, putting on the prettiest smile you could. “i’m not that drunk, plus i could use the pick me up.” 

ellie smiled, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small key. “you’re lucky i carry this with me,” she said with a light-hearted laugh. “it’s only a few blocks this way, can you make the walk?” 

“jesus, i am not that drunk!” you laughed along with her, starting to walk in the right direction. “look,” ellie watched as you started to walk in a straight line, arms out to keep your balance. 

you stumbled a bit, and you definitely weren’t walking in a straight line. you’re adorable. “wow, i’ve never seen anyone more sober.” ellie mocked you while you regained your balance. 

“thank you,” you replied, ignoring her sarcasm and you returned to walking normally beside her. “what a coincidence you ran into me.” 

“yeah, really weird, huh?” ellie faked a laugh, stuffing her hands in her pockets and keeping her eyes forward. 

“well, i owe you for helping me out,” you held out your phone, which was now cracked. “and for the album.” 

she shook her head, “nah, you don’t owe me anything.” 

after a few more minutes of walking the store came into sight, sitting between two large buildings, the closed sign burning red in the window. ellie pulled the key out of her pocket and started to unlock the door, with you happily standing idle behind her. 

she held the door open for you to go in first, it was dark inside and the smell of wooden boxes was pungent. but as ellie stepped in behind you and flicked on the light switch, the store came to life. “wait here, it’s in the back.” 

ellie went through the beads into her back office, searching around in her desk until she found it. it was sitting next to the red thong she had swiped from your apartment and when she pulled the vinyl from the drawer and spun around, you were right behind her. “it’s seriously creepy back here,” you took notice, looking around the small room while ellie slammed the drawer shut. 

you weren’t wrong, and that’s why ellie had asked you to stay up front. the paint had begun peeling off the walls years ago, and the room was only lit up by a bare bulb at the top of the room. “this where you keep your victims?” you joked, dropping your voice and toying with the papers on her desk. 

“not here, i got somewhere else i keep them,” ellie returned your joke, although she wasn’t exactly joking. but you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about that. “here, pink floyd’s best album at least, in my opinion.” 

you gracefully took it from her hands, examining it before looking back to her. “thanks,” anything for you. anything. 

you both wandered out of the back of the store, and ellie could sense that shauna’s mom was still plaguing your thoughts. you had gone quiet, staring longingly at the album in your hands. “you wanna tell me why you were so upset before?” she asked casually, flicking off the light in the back room. 

you sighed, “i’m a mess, that’s all.”  you leaned against the counter and ellie positioned herself behind it, just like how we met. 

ellie didn’t mind that you wouldn’t open up to her, to be fair you both were still basically strangers. strangers that flirt. strangers that save each other from themselves. 

“relationships suck,” 

“how’d you know it was about that?” 

ellie blinked, think, idiot, think. “well i mean, you got wasted and you were crying. i kinda just took a guess,” 

“you got me there,” you laughed, taking in a deep breath. “people never change, i can’t seem to get that through my head.” 

“the right people will,” was all ellie replied with, a small smile appearing on her face. 

“yeah, yeah you’re right.” there was silence for a moment as you both held eye contact before you broke away with an embarrassed smile. 

“you deserve better than whatever this asshole is putting you through, you know that?” 

“you don’t know me,” you said shyly, the drunkenness wearing off. “i could be horrible and deserve it.” 

“i highly doubt that,” ellie knew what you were thinking, if she only knew i was fucking my best friends mom. ellie didn’t care, she knew who you were. if it wasn’t for that borderline predator, you wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. she wanted you regardless. she needed you regardless.��

“yeah well, thanks ellie. i should get home, like you said i’m a little drunk.” 

“a little?” ellie laughed, earning a scoff from you.

you playfully pushed her shoulder back, “i can hold my liquor, thank you very much!” 

ellie ordered you a cab to take you home, she would’ve walked you home herself but you insisted on a cab, not wanting to bother her. ellie would end up at her usual spot across the street from your place anyway, so she didn’t fight it, knowing she would see you soon. 

she glared up from the sidewalk while you shut your door behind you, pulling your cracked phone out of your pocket. it didn’t take long for you to throw it to the couch with a huff, probably an unanswered text from shauna’s mom. ellie sighed, she would have hoped your little run in with her would have lifted your mood but as you sat down on your couch, slowly starting to cry once again, she knew it was a lot deeper than you were letting on. 

you won’t be upset for much longer, i’ll make sure of it. 

-------

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist: @aouiaa @kissmxcheek @mcqsx @spaceshipellie @strgrlxox @machetegirl109 @uraesthete

[remiratboi]

TW: CNC, Gun kink, Threat of Death, Fear kink, Gaslighting kink.

MINORS/CISHET DNI

Decided to try some longer form writing. Let me know what you think! If you like it, maybe I’ll write other things 🤷🏼

Contains: BDSM, cnc, fear kink, threat of death, bondage, gaslighting kink, gun kink, handjob, forced orgasm, mind break, ftm sub, NB dom, gender neutral, t4t, little bit of worship kink, praise, degradation, sort of choking

Language used: they, he, him, cunt, pussy, asshole, clit/(t)dick, clit/(t)cock, slut, pathetic, baby, good boy, my pet, partner, (i was specifically vague about the wording around what actions were being done to the clit/(t)cock or dick because then it’s applies to whatever you’d like to imagine or if you are maybe post surgery or using tools, etc.)

“Want to play Russian roulette?” Your partner says smoothly while running their fingertips down your naked back. You’re tied to the bed frame, on your stomach, legs and arms trapped in the harnesses you keep there. You yank your head up and try to look at them behind you. They are standing between your legs now, off the bed, where you can’t see them.

“Russian roulette?” You ask, confused. “Like, the gun game?”

You hear your partner moving around. “Yeah. But sexy.” They reply playfully.

Your throat gets thick at the way their voice sounds. “Oh, so like an empty gun?” You ask, lowering your head back to the pillow

You hear a few clicking noises you can’t place at first. Until the clicking stops after only 5 clicks, and is followed by the sound of a revolver spinning. “No, real Russian roulette” your partner responds and you whip your head back up.

You feel the bed sink slightly. Something cold and metallic presses up against your pussy. You make a choked garble as you instinctively yank on your bindings, and arch your back, trying to get away from the metal pushing into you.

“The only difference,” your partner continues casually, their voice dripping like warm chocolate “is that I’m not holding the gun against your head.”

The gun clicks.

You scream, your body spasming in a frantic, feral attempt to escape. You’re sobbing already, before you realize you’re still alive and unharmed. Your partner is slowly pushing the gun into your now dripping cunt.

“What the fuck!” You shout when you compose yourself a little bit. You pull, HARD on the wrist cuffs and try to get them off.

“What baby?” They purr, the trigger guard pressing into your clit/(t)dick now. The gun bottoms out in you, and they start pulling it back out at the same, agonizingly slow pace.

“Stop! Let me out!” You practically shout, the anger in you boiling now. You can’t believe they would do that, even as a joke. “Right now!” You pause the tugging and look over your shoulder expecting to see them pulling away from you.

They aren’t.

The gun clicks again.

Your vision blacks out for a second. You might have screamed, you don’t know. Your throat is dry and crackling. This time tears aren’t the thing that pulls you back. This time it’s your partner fucking you, hard and fast. With the gun.

A moan rips from your lips before you can stop it. You can hear how wet you are. The gun slides easily in and out of your soaked pussy. The trigger guard slamming into your clit/(t)dick with each downward thrust. The pain and pleasure pushes another moan out of you.

“I don’t think you really want me to let you out.” Your partner teases. They thrust in, extra hard that time. You exhale heavily at the force.

You start to whine back a response when the gun clicks again. And then again.

You repeat a combination of both previous reactions, black passes over your brain for a moment as you scream. The scream devolves into heaving sobs.

“Four” your partner states. Their voice sounding cold now. You open your eyes and realize the lamp that had been on, is now off. The room is pitch black. All you can think about, all you can feel, the only sensation as it takes over your mind is the gun, slamming now, in and out of your drenched, sloppy cunt.

You feel the edge starting to rise up in front of you. That slow pressure deep in the pit of you. You can feel it building. Rising up with each pound in and out. In and out. You’re screaming and crying and begging. Incoherent and desperate. You aren’t sure when you started moaning in between cries, but you are now.

The gun clicks.

You blackout fully this time. Just for one moment. The world stops. A split second later you’re back and your partner is laughing callously.

“Five.” They chuckle. “You slut! You wouldn’t believe how tight you got that time.” They slow down the pumping, but don’t stop. They start doing long slow pulls. All the way out, not even the tip in. Then all the way back in and grinding the trigger guard against your clit/(t)cock.

You’re moaning unabashedly now, tears and drool and snot running down your face, the pillow a mess. “Pl-“ you try to say, “please”

“Please what, baby?” Your partner feigns concern. “Do you want me to stop?” They ask. You whine and squirm in response. You honestly don’t know even know which you are answering with, yes or no.

“I’m not going to stop.” They state, the faked concern turning to cruelty. “I’m going to fuck you, with this loaded gun, until you cum all over it like the pathetic cockslut you are.” They slam the gun in and out two times, punctuating their sentence. Then they stop. You feel the guns weight change as its handle twists in you and the whole thing falls down and out of you onto the bed. The bed shifts. Your partner walks around to look down at you.

You imagine what you must look like. Tear stained, snot and saliva mixed in your hair. You think about how wet and messy your cunt is. How desperate you look. You feel like a pathetic cockslut. You look up at them in the darkness. Your eyes have adjusted apparently. They stand, illuminated by the moonlight from your bedroom window.

Even in this moment. In this terrible, terrifying, embarrassing moment. Even in this moment, they are radiance. You look up at them in awe. You feel a fresh rush of fluids in your already drenched pussy. Your chest tightens in symmetry as their jaw tightens, while they gaze out the window at the moon.

They turn to look back at you and lean down, eye to eye. Their beauty in this moment stuns and frightens you. The light filtering in from the window casts dark shadows at this angle.

“And while you’re cumming on this loaded gun that you begged me to take out of you.” They lean in close. You can feel their breath on your lips. Honey and spice. Sweet and dangerous. You can’t help but melt at their words, degrading as they were.

“I’m going to pull the trigger for number 6” they state. Their eyes locking yours. You try to look away but can’t.

The fear building in you now isn’t a screaming or crying or pleading type thing. It’s a cold, slow, ruthless frost, eating its way through your mind to your very soul. Devouring everything you’ve ever been, your life, your memories. This bone chilling fear.

Your partner chuckles darkly. “What a pretty look in your eyes.” They muse. “Ready?” They tease, cocking an eyebrow.

You squeeze your eyes shut and push your face into the pillow. You push down the desire to react, again. You let the frost burn away that anger. You focus only on one thing.

You can not cum.

No matter what you want, or feel or think, you cannot allow yourself to cum. Don’t think about the gun that’s now slowly starting to move in and out of your desperate cunt. Don’t think about the smooth honey-spice taste of your partners lips. Don’t think about their lips on your clit/(t)cock, or their eyes looking up at you from that position. Don’t think about anything.

Just. Don’t. Cum.

You feel their long, attentive fingers around your clit/(t)dick. The gun is thrusting in and out, quickly but long and deep. They turned the handle so the trigger guard digs into your asshole every time now instead. You honestly don’t mind it that much. The stimulation feels kind of nice there.

Focus

Your partners fingers play you like a well loved instrument. It’s only moments before your can feel the edge building again.

“No, no, nonono, noooooo” you try to beg but the “nos” quickly turn into coos.

“Come on, baby.” Your partner purrs again. “Don’t you want to cum? It would feel so good.” They goad.

“Please.” You whimper. The edge looms over you. The darkness and the gun, the trigger guard and their fingers are all you think about. All you can focus on.

I’m going to die

Is the last thought you have before the wall breaks in front of you and you’re screaming.

“Six.” Your partner growls.

The gun clicks for the 6th time.

You’re cumming and screaming and crying. Your body is writhing on the bed. You can’t feel anything but you can also feel everything. You don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. Your pussy spasms violently as another wave crests over you. Your partners fingers still working your clit/(t)cock. You feel alive. You feel dead.

“Good boy.” You hear and cling to that one spot of reality. It’s your anchor. You heard them. That was real. That was alive. That was living.

Your throat was raw, and another sob ripped through it. “Please.” You said, broken up into heaves. You start feeling real again.

You’re dazed and half conscious as your partner undoes the bindings holding you in place. You curl up into a tight ball. They shuffle around, doing something for a few moments before crawling into the bed next to you. They hum lightly while draping a light, soft blanket over the both of you.

“You did so good for me, baby.” They coo gently. Their arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against their warm body. You barely flinch as they unroll you and push you to face away from them.

A moment later you’re tight against their body, half conscious, your head resting on their right arm, their left draped around you in front of them. They whisper sweet praise in your ear.

“There were never any bullets in the gun?” You ask dreamily.

“No, love.” They respond, nuzzling their face into your neck, giving you soft kisses and nips.

Their left hand makes its way down to your swollen, sore clit/(t)dick. You buck against them, the sensation overwhelming. They bring their right forearm up against your throat, holding you in place.

“Please.” You beg, their grip stopping you from moving more than a few inches. Their fingers dance along with you as you squirm.

“I want to make you feel good.” Their honey-spice breath washing against your ear and cheek. “You were such a good boy and I want to reward my pet when he’s a good boy.”

You can’t help but moan and grind back against his fingers.

Good boy

My pet

Their fingers speed up and soon you’re writhing against their body, their arm still locked around your throat. Your clit/(t)cock throbbing and begging for release.

“Cum for me, my pet.” They say in a way that makes it feel like they are asking for the most beautiful jewel they had ever seen. “Be my good boy.”

And fireworks.

[killshotbabe]

Title | Overheated

Pairing | high school friend’s crush/bf!Jeno x reader ft. nct dream (minor appearance)

Warnings | minors dni! mention of smoking and alcohol consumption, use of swear words, reader stuck in an “uncomfortable” situation, close proximity, drunk!reader at some point, sexual tension, cheating/affair, jeno gaslights reader (or does he really?), fingering, implied solo masturbation, slight somnophilia, a bit "dub non-con" in the beginning, overstimulation, sex under the influence (reader only), dirty talk, unprotected sex (please wear protection!), implied public sex, no romance in any type of context

Word count | 4.5k

Song(s) | red - santino le saint, link up - kid travis

A.N | May or may not have dreamed about the idea of this lol. Just finished it today so happy valentines! (this one-shot won't make you blush that way...)

You’re not sure why your friend decided to it would be a good idea to go out with someone like him to begin with.

At first, you thought she’d get over him like usual, hoping it’s just a part of her “hyper-fixations” just like how she’s got maybe five crushes all at once (from what you can recall in one of those nights you spent hanging out in her bedroom) but much to your horror, it wasn’t as simple as that.

You remember her gawking at him at the cafeteria after she had jokingly pinched you, nudging you to check him out in which caused to roll your eyes and proceed to open the cap of your cold tea.

You didn’t care about crushes at all, and yes, he was cute, handsome even but the only thing that piqued your interest at the moment was that sleek navy blue motorcycle he brought to school. You’ve always wanted one and to say that you were jealous of him flexing one at such young age is nothing but an understatement — you wanted what he had even if you couldn’t afford it.

And that wasn’t fair to you. Not when he barely has to do anything when you’re out here working part-time at a pizza parlour and you can barely even pay half of the bills at home.

Him and his old money status can go to hell, you think. He doesn’t even need to show up to any of his classes and you’re one-hundred percent sure he’ll be able to get into any top universities so easily, he just has to maybe tell his parents—

“Hey, are you listening?”

You blink away from your train of thought, the faint bustle of the library buzzing into your ear.

You realize you’re still in the same place for about three hours now, trying to study with the same friend (which would be your only friend, not best friend yet though because you don’t like getting attached to things, let alone actual people) who had been yapping about him for the past hour, and you may or may not have told her to shut the fuck up in your head twice.

“Wait, sorry.” You lie, typing away as your friend broke into a sly grin after finally catching your attention. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m gonna talk to Jeno today.”

Jeno.

Him.

You couldn’t help but squint, almost bursting out of laughter.

You didn’t mind your friend at all.

She was fun, even if she’s the complete opposite of you. Loved cute things like pastel colours, calico critters and dressed the part as 1/4 of the future art majors in your campus (quirky, and she happened to obsessed with colour yellow), and collects a shit ton of squishmallows she even has a separate storage for it. She’s literally the true epitome of cute, preppy and pure.

Way too pure when it comes to that said department actually.

You weren’t even sure how someone like you were friends with her, and why she wouldn’t leave you alone but she was quite persistent with you — having to initiate things first after meeting you then following you around until you decided to just let her have at it.

Ever since then the two of you had been inseparable.

Though that didn’t mean you two were automatically best friends (even if she did say this a couple of times) and you would be lying if you saw it that way too when she mostly talked about herself, her hobbies, her interests, etc. unlike you who just sits there and listens, nodding your head off as if you do agree (mostly you don’t because you can’t relate or it’s just not your style) but you don’t really have the heart to tell her that… not when she’s generally nice and hasn’t really done anything to offend you.

You just admire the fact that she keeps dragging you around and never gave up on you. You don’t even know what made her want to work her butt off to earn your approval and have her invade your space like that, but you guessed that maybe she’s just someone you might need in your life.

…And that maybe, she’s there for a reason you can’t quite guess.

She hasn’t done anything stupid anyway.

…Until today.

“What?”

You balked, brows raised as she sighed dreamily, already planning her wedding dress for when she ends up marrying Jeno, her “soon-to-be high school sweetheart” as she mentioned just a few times and might have tried to manifest too with you in her room in front of her mini crystal collection she’s been obsessed with lately.

“I’m gonna say hi to him today! I’m sick of him not knowing who I am.”

If anything, you weren’t really surprised with this sudden revelation.

It was about time for her to finally try to introduce herself to him after crushing on him for two months now, and you do know she would have the great confidence to almost pursue anything, including him but you didn’t really want this day to come (hell, the thought of it was already dreadful) because you already knew what was bound to happen once she approaches him.

It’s like… surrendering a fawn to a den full of lions, and you can’t do anything but watch her get eaten, figuratively-speaking.

“You don’t look too happy, but that won’t stop me y’know.”

She winked mischievously, stealing a tomato chip off your lunch as you shook your head, a little smile playing on the edge of your lips.

“Do whatever you want but don’t rope me into your shit.”

You shrugged only to earn a scowl from her, her round eyes practically begging you to tag along when she introduces herself to him later on.

“But… c’mon! You don’t even have to say anything you just have to be there for moral support, pretty please?”

You could only sigh, pausing whatever you were doing just to look at her in the eye, already incapable of saying ‘no’ to her because in your defense she looked too cute.

You couldn’t afford to break her heart by saying no.

“Fine… whatever! Just get me ice cream after then we’re good.”

“Oh, I was about to say that too in case he rejects me ha ha,” she laughs off as she sipped on her watered down mango juice. “But at least I tried, yes? Then we can just enjoy our little ice cream date but I might cry…”

You weren’t even worried about that all, but you don’t say that part to your friend because guys like Jeno fancied cute girls.

Especially the innocent ones.

And your friend just might be the perfect girl for him.

To say that you weren’t right would be a goddamn lie, and you wished you were anywhere else but here, inside Jeno’s black sports car, the posh leather seat cold under your lap.

It’s been a month since the day your friend had introduced herself to him with such spark in her eyes you thought Jeno’s friends might have fallen for her too. One of them was even eyeing her from head to toe, visibly amused after seeing her short little skirt hugging her little frame.

Your friend, on top of being the real embodiment of cute, was still gorgeous and easy on the eyes, so it didn’t really surprise you when Jeno ended up giving his number to her as you tucked yourself away from his plain sight, hiding behind your much shorter friend when she confessed her feelings to him with so much confidence, it made you gag.

You weren’t really sure what happened overnight but just a week after, you found yourself on your own as your friend started hanging out with Jeno, his friends and their equally cute “girlfriends”, but she still made sure to spend half of her lunch break with you, even trying to drag you to their table but you could only reject her offer and excuse yourself because you had to catch up on an “assignment” when in reality, you would rather sit in the library by yourself than sit with them.

Then, today, you and your friend was supposed to go shopping by train but what she didn’t tell you was Jeno was gonna be there to drive the two of you so you don’t have to commute on the way to the mall and on the way back.

At first, you fumed having to deal with him being in an inclosed space as you, but it was indeed cold outside now that it’s halfway October and you certainly didn’t want to wait for the train with you friend in this type of weather (and maybe you did want to see his car up close and personal…) so you begrudgingly agreed, letting her yank you off your misery and plunge you into it all when she voluntarily pushed you to the backseat, your eyes drifting to Jeno who’s still talking to one of his friends, Mark, another guy from his group you do find just as attractive.

You could only roll your eyes as your friend wore her seatbelt on, giddily humming to herself. You gradually shifted your attention elsewhere, quite amazed with the clean and sleek interior of his car, but again it made sense.

Jeno was neat, never messy.

“Sorry, Mark was being clingy.”

You briefly hear him quickly apologize with a low chuckle as he slipped behind the wheel, his classy, citrusy scent invading your senses.

You cross your arms and looked away, trying to get him off your head as your friend’s slightly high-pitched voice cooed him “it”s okay!” and that “we can wait” ultimately, ignoring that fact that she just called him “babe” after.

This was one major thing you couldn’t bring yourself to fully admit — the fact that he’s now officially “seeing” your friend not even after a few months in which you felt no ounce of happiness about.

Your friend did inform you about it just a few nights before when she asked if you could come over and watch a scary movie with her because she noticed you were too busy and had no time with her (and you did feel bad because even if she’s always with him, she till spent some time with you only for you to run away for the most part) but she didn’t confront you about it at all.

If anything, it seemed like the usual chill nights you’d share with her until she brought him up and dropped the bomb on you without some sort of a warning beforehand especially when she can tell you’re not fond of Jeno nor his friends.

It felt like a sick joke, and it just feels like you friend is doing her best to make you change your mind about him which you don’t plan on doing so, not when you catch him doing PDA with your friend here and there you couldn’t help but swear at him in your head and look away.

The more time you had to spend with those two, sometimes with their friends, made you want to crumble or run off to the opposite direction.

They were exactly like what you imagined them to be, a couple of rich, privileged kids with filthy heads, the filth your friend is too innocent to be able discern.

They were sneaky about it too especially that Haechan guy who might have tried to get into your pants before, and you hated him so bad you had to tell him to back off you in which he called you feisty in return with the sinister promise of “you’ll want me someday.” before he left you to go smoke.

The rest of the group hasn’t really said anything to you yet. Sometimes they did but it was shallow and the girls hated your guts which is fair because you hated them as much (and with passion too). The only person you could perhaps stand in the group was Renjun.

The guy didn’t make any back-handed comments and he kept to himself for the most part but he did flash you a gaze occasionally wondering why you’re even here to begin with when it’s so damn obvious you don’t like anyone except your friend who always made sure you were included even if you tried to get away, and when you do try… it always ends with her getting what she wants.

And now you’re here, lost in your thoughts as you bore your full attention to the rows of yellow lights in the tunnel, the loud laughter your friend shared with Jeno mocking you.

He did leave the two of you alone to go shopping, and just came back to pick the you up as promised, then he’s supposed to drop you off first before her then they might go on a date like she told you earlier with so much excitement she couldn’t even choose between the two purses at a high-end store you were helping to choose from.

In the end, the two of you walked out the store satisfied — her with a new heart-shaped purse and you with a cashmere scarf you’ve been fancying on for months now that was on sale (which did hurt your bank account but your friend offered to pay half of it so you can just pay her back with instalments) this then provided some sort of a distraction for you, even offering to buy her a warm drink from the cafe as a sweet treat but since Jeno was already parked by the exit, you had to hurry.

They were still giggling as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the urge to strap your headphones around your head getting stronger the more you tuned in, even rolling your eyes when Jeno asked for her hand so he could give it a kiss as if you weren’t just there, witnessing the horrors.

Much to your looming demise, you try to relax and lay your head back with a determined attempt to lull yourself to quick nap anyway since your apartment is around thirty minutes away, so you fold your arms, turned your head to face the window and closed your eyes.

Not even ten minutes later, just when you were about to actually let sleep take over, your hear the deep rumble of Jeno’s voice.

“She’s asleep isn’t she?”

There was a slight movement from your friend, causing you to hold your breath as you feel her check on you.

“Yep, she did say she was tired.”

“She doesn’t talk much. Why are you even friends with her?”

Jeno snickered, taunting you from the rear-view mirror as you tried your best not to reach out and strangle him god willing.

He doesn’t even know you like that.

“She’s nice! Just give her some time.” You friend sighed, defending your honour which you almost snorted at but pretending to be asleep at this very moment was more ideal for you, you think.

You pushed yourself to further into the door, eyelids slightly parting just in time to see him give her a sleazy wink before you saw his hand land on her lap, making your heart drop at the sight.

You weren’t sure if you liked where this was going at all.

“She’s sleeping Jeno…”

You clawed on your sleeved, clenching your jaw when you hear Jeno whisper rather suggestively.

You knew it was meant for your friend, but he didn’t even bother hiding it, assuming you’re fully knocked out at the back seat.

“If you can keep it down, she won’t know.”

You swore you almost cried, knuckles turning white for how hard you formed into fists when you hear your friend’s shy giggles which enveloped to a series of quiet moans from the front seat when he began touching her down there as he drove, the soft r&b blaring from his speakers in an attempt to suppress the noises your friend was trying so hard to hide so she won’t wake you up, when in reality, you were very much awake to witness all of this happening.

At this point, you genuinely wished you were dead, begging for the door to just unlatch itself so you can slide off your seat and fall into the road to your death than sit here, being forced to hear your friend let out a strangled moan as he fingered her, easily dragging her close to her peak.

You wanted it to stop — for them to just cut it out and put an end to your nightmare but it only got worse as the time went by.

You can practically hear the lewd noises Jeno was making with his fingers as he played with her sheer arousal and the way he was talking to her in such a dirty manner for the sole purpose to make her cum in which she violently did just a few minutes later, an animalistic high-pitched squeak leaving her lips before she heaving and moaning his name shakily with him still fucking her with fervour, overstimulating her.

The subsequent scarlet hue spread on your cheeks, heating your face up, second-hand embarrassment kicking in as you chewed on your lip until you drew blood from your cracked ones, neck craning all the way to your side so your scarf could hide the horrified expression on your face.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or laugh — cry because he had the audacity to finger your friend at your presence or laugh because of the high-pitched noise your friend made. You think it’s a mixture of both and you think you might have gone clinically insane from that alone as this was not a part of your bingo card.

It’s only been a few weeks. Have they fucked already?

You try to contain yourself as you kept still when you hear them share a languid kiss in which your friend giggled to before she flashed you a quick gaze, making sure you were in fact, still asleep.

“She probably didn’t hear that did she?”

“I’m sure she didn’t.” Jeno’s mocking tone caused you to move slightly, but not enough to make him think you were awake all along.

Your neck became stiff after what seemed like forever, and as much as you wanted to stay in this painful position you knew you had rouse yourself up just because you couldn’t handle “sleeping” anymore, so you waited until your friend led him to your street as she navigated for him.

It was then the only time you stirred yourself up, alerting the both of them that you were now “awake.”

“Hey, sleepy head!”

You yawned, trying to look at her in the eye in the dark as you borrowed into your scarf, hiding half of your face.

“Yo.”

You diverted your to the windows and recognized your surroundings as the car halted just in front of your apartment complex, relief surging through you in sudden realization that you’re finally home.

“Thank god.”

You murmured under your breath, hand already fixed to the door handle, about to yank yourself out of there when your friend stopped you just before you can leave.

“See you next week!”

She piped up, her pupils shaking in pure excitement you almost asked what the hell she smoked to look like that when you already knew it was due to post-orgasm high.

You couldn’t help but to mirror her expression, but with a completely different reason.

You think you might want to commit right there if you kept smiling for ten more seconds, much like an unhinged criminal.

“Yeah! See you and thanks for the ride, Jeno.”

“Anytime.”

You see him nod at you, acknowledging your thankful nature (he probably though you were incapable of doing that) before you sprinted off, the two of them watching you attentively as you pushed yourself inside the lobby, cursing vehemently under your breath.

You didn’t even sleep that night, not when you find your underwear being wet from your own arousal after thinking about it again.

You don’t even like Jeno to any degree and yet, you still dreamed of him but not for good reasons.

Not at all.

And if your friend was to find out, it would be game over.

//

“I might have a friend who can take me in so Tony can come and fix this.”

You sigh, seeing as how the flooding got worse over the weekend due to the nonstop rainy weather and you, unfortunately, still rents the basement of a hosting family your mother personally knew but since they were on vacation in the UK and the main floor is locked, you can’t even access the floor and camp in the couch until the flooding issue gets fixed.

You’ve been on the phone with your host for an hour now explaining everything, and that they were going dispatch a friend to fix the damage shortly but still advised you that you’ll probably want to look for a friend to sleep over at for the mean time which you were okay with but you didn’t really want to do that even if you had no choice.

Hotels were costly so you dialled your only friend anyway whilst chugging what’s left from your coffee cup before tossing it in the nearby bin.

You’re in a local library now, left with nothing but a small suitcase you hastily shoved most of your every day necessities in to cover one week’s worth. Your host did say it should be okay to come back in a week or less so you made sure not to overpack, and you didn’t really want to stay there for longer, not when the slightly murky water felt cold around your feet.

“What? Are you serious!”

You sighed for what seemed like the 100th time today as you told your friend the whole situation.

“Not sure if this is going work but do you think you can take me in?” You inwardly groaned. “I can pay you.”

“Boo, I wish I can but my aunt’s over with my cousins I don’t have a space for you. Maybe after four days? They leave on Friday!”

“Well that won’t work, thank you though. I’ll go find a hotel—”

“No, no that’s going to be more expensive I can get someone to take you in though if that’s ok?”

You hummed, picking on your nail at the thought. Might as well give it a try.

“Sure…?”

“Ok, great! Give me a sec!”

You hear some sort of a movement from the other line before you hear your friend’s muffled voice once again.

“I just texted Jeno! He should be done working out right now. Where are you?”

“What?!” You let out a harsh whisper, trying to calm down realizing you’re in fact, still in a library. “Jeno—? I didn’t even agree just yet!”

“Well, he’s the only person I one-hundred percent trust with you even if you guys don’t talk but he’s got a huge place you can stay in and then he can even pick both of us up for school!”

“No,” You clutched your head in annoyance, trying your best not to hiss. “I— I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“What? Why? He already said he can do that though just now and I really don’t want you to spend money in a hotel. Too expensive. Good luck with Jeno though because he’ll say no with paying so you’re in good hands!” She laughed a little, making you huff on the other line. “Please? Maybe you guys can be friends. It gets so awkward when I’m with the both of you and you don’t even talk to him…”

“It’s just…” You try to explain. “I don’t know I feel like it’s so rude of me to just—”

“Honey, you’re not being rude! He literally said yes, and he’s got like two cars over there that you might like. If you ask nicely, maybe he can let you drive one to school? How about that?”

You wished she didn’t mention that at all, especially knowing that sport scars were your weakness in general and Jeno happened own two more aside from the one he drives to school.

You weren’t even sure if you had any ounce of dignity left at this point.

Hotels were costly, and you didn’t want to ask your mom for money to spend in a hotel thinking you’ve got a friend to cover for you, plus what you make from your part-time job wasn’t enough to foot the bill if you were to opt for a hotel.

If it was someone else, perhaps Mark or Renjun, you would probably agree without missing a beat (not like they would offer themselves in the first place, but if they did, you’d rather be with them) but this was Jeno.

The guy you’re friend is “seeing” and the same guy you thought about that night when you shouldn’t have.

You don’t even know if you could look at him in the eye anymore, and now you would have to stay over because he’s that nice?

“Heeeey, are you okay? I thought you ended the call for a second there.”

You cleared your throat, trying to make up your mind.

Am I gonna do this or not? Why the fuck would he even agree to this…

“I’m here sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I really want you guys to start talking… Don’t you think this is a good idea? He thinks it might be good too.”

“He said that?” You almost laugh. “Thank you, but…”

“He did actually and no buts! Do this for me please?”

“You… fine, fine…” You say as you give up, letting her win over you again.

“Okay! Yay!”

You hear her clasp her hands together before she asked where your exact location was again, intending to forward it to Jeno.

In the end, she simply gave your number to him so it would be easier, logically speaking, but you didn’t even want to save his number at all or have that exchange. It felt so weird to have him there, in your short list of contacts when you don’t even consider him a “friend” for that matter.

You weren’t even sure if you were doing your friend a “favour” even if she did say she trusts Jeno because deep down, you knew she shouldn’t be putting all the trust to him, not when you’re in the picture.

Especially not when you’re about to be confined in one space with no one else but him for god knows how long.

//

He didn’t even bat an eye when you slipped into the front seat of his car as he was in the middle of a conversation what you can assume would be Jaemin, blabbing something about some new pc game he got, so you strapped your seatbelt on quietly, not sure when would be the good time to thank him when you can’t even look at him in the eye.

“K, heading home. Talk later.”

He didn’t say anything either so you slowly fixed half of your attention to the road ahead of you and his one hand steering the wheel expertly, then gradually moved past that so you can finally glance up there, to his gorgeous side profile in which you admire a little.

He’s even more handsome this close, with his tall nose, perfect jawline and glowing fair skin — you thought you might have forgotten your words but you quickly look away, feeling the nervous energy course through your veins.

“No thank you?”

There was a slight tinge of tease in his tone, so you clear your throat, refusing to actually spare him another glance afraid that he might catch you looking more that you should have.

“Sorry… Just sad about the whole situation, but thank you for taking me in. I hope that’s okay with your parents…”

“Don’t worry.” He chuckled a little. “They’re in the Caribbean Islands right now. No one’s home.”

“Oh, that’s great.” You weren’t even sure if that offered some sort of relief on your end. “Always wanted to go there.”

“Maybe if you start hanging out with us more then I can take you there for the summer with the group?”

You think he might be joking, so you treat it as such, trying not to derail from what seemed like a pleasant conversation you two are actually having.

You knew your friend would be happy to hear the fact that you can actually get along just fine, but because of how you see Jeno and his friends in such a negative light, you’re not sure if you had the ability to stop being stubborn for once.

“Maybe.”

You sigh, now shifting your gaze to him again, noticing his muscular, yet lean upper body hugged by just one layer of his black turtle neck. You couldn’t help but to ogle a little, but you do look away, feeling the slight guilt creeping down your spine.

He’s literally one move away from dating your friend, so why do you find it so hard to look away? Not when there are more conventionally attractive guys in the group? Like Mark? Renjun?

I have eyes. I can look, that’s it. It won’t hurt.

“Oh, c’mon the more the merrier.” There was some sort of a drawl in his tone you couldn’t quite miss, but maybe you might have been imagining things. “Let’s see if I end up liking you enough though then maybe I’ll work so hard to drag you into the group and come with us to the Caribbean next summer vacation, yeah?”

Or were you really imagining things?

//

The first night wasn’t bad.

You learn that your friend wasn’t exaggerating when she did tell you he lives in a mansion.

There was a huge fountain in the middle of a private cul-de-sac, two mermaids made out of a slab of rock perched in right in the centre, flowing water trickling from the matching queen conches.

The gate was tall, and the impressive gigantic lot is nestled in what seemed like a canopy of endless tall pine trees. They literally had no neighbours close by and the entirety of the driveway was an actual boulevard, you think they could possibly fit another house over the area.

It felt like you entered a different dimension — the gated community of the rich didn’t feel real at all. Even the air felt expensive, and just when you thought that wasn’t enough, Jeno allowed you to spare a longing gaze to his two other fancy cars parked in a quadruple-door garage.

He did notice your obvious interest with the exterior of his cars so he lets you have your fun until you found yourselves darting inside his own floor which could pass as some sort of a penthouse.

You think he might not even see his parents even if they were in one house altogether halfway in. Hell, if there was party being hosted by him for two days in a row his parents won’t probably hear any of it.

“I have a spare room when the guys sleep over so you can stay there for now. Don’t think I’d have anyone over soon so you’re good.”

You stand in the middle of the spare room, checking the surroundings like some sort of a curious cat.

It was super neat, had some distinctive art pieces by the walls, but it did look like where they would hang out judging from the game consoles tucked into the black drawers under the gigantic screen tv and the mini fridge with a snack bar situated in a corner surrounded by neon lights.

“Thanks again, Jeno.”

You tell him as he leaned against the doorway, a pleasant expression on his face upon noticing the way you looked awestruck with the room arrangement.

“No probs. I’m just one door away so let me know if you need anything. Usually up until 1 am. My maid isn’t here she’s on vacay so just it’s just us two.”

“Sure.”

He left you alone like that, letting you bask at thought of him even having a maid. You think he might have an entire staff like a “head chef” running the house, but sooner or later you learn they’re all on vacation since they were all related which leaves you and Jeno all alone in such a big house, though despite that, you couldn’t help but feel the foreboding anxiety blaring through you like fire alarms.

There was an itch you couldn’t pinpoint and it drove you crazy the more you stayed over, and even if the first night went equally well like normal, you couldn’t help but feel some sort of guilt wrecking through you, so for the next two days you got in touch with Tony, the maintenance guy, in hopes to hear something positive about the situation back home so leave early.

Much to your demise, it won’t be until a few days so you gave up, trying to calm yourself down as you tucked yourself to bed right after doing your homework on your third night.

Your friend visited you a few hours before but since her and Jeno had plans for the night which involved the guys, Jeno might be coming home around dawn. You couldn’t help but feel the crash of relief to be finally alone for once which was bad for you to admit since you’re literally staying in his house for free, but having him there to share a space with made you feel too damn guarded and you hated that.

It wasn’t like he was watching you either — if anything, you’re the one who was doing more of that especially when you ate together after he offered to cook, and if he did order take-out, he asked what you wanted and delivered it right to your door just because you didn’t feel like going downstairs when you should’ve offered but upon finding out he was in the ground floor from their own home gym, you decided not to.

He didn’t even bother putting a shirt on when he knocked on your door, letting you see his bare abs through the wide split of the door so you were quiet thankful you didn’t make your way downstairs even when the damage has been done and it did nothing but make things worse for you.

“The passcode is the last four numbers of you number.”

He concluded as he gave you a quick rundown of instructions in terms of the security system.

You nodded obediently, quite touched at the fact that he made you your own designated password even if you’re only staying for a couple of days.

You weren’t friends with him yet, but he sure made things easier and was quite civilized the entire time, even putting all the trust in you to be in the house but the cams were all on so he can literally see what you would be up to unless you lock yourself in your room.

You follow closely behind him and your friend now holding hands with him as the three of you entered the garage. Your friend gave you a little pat on a head muttering a “good girl” in a light, teasing tone before they eventually drove away, leaving you by yourself for the next few hours.

You actually planned to do a mini tour and explore the other floors besides Jeno’s floor but because you didn’t want to end up falling to any “trap” doors (Jeno did mention that once as a joke but you didn’t want to risk it) you chose to stay in your room instead and watched movies on netflix with a plan to reheat the leftover pizza from last night.

Around midnight, you found yourself by the mini bar, wanting to try some of the alcohol he had so you pop a Hennessy from the glass shelf into a mug instead to pair with some sun chips to munch on at midst of a thriller movie you picked.

After downing what seemed to be a couple of glasses within the passing hours, you nursed an impending headache throbbing in your head. You could only curse, the thought of being completely hangover the next day already pissing you off.

You were more of a social drinker, but you think it’s been a while since the last time you attended a party and back then, it wasn’t so bad. You were still able to walk and say sentences incoherently after a few shots but this was worse.

You’re severely tipsy at this point, gaze all hazy as you attempt to shut the tv off, squinting over the rolling credits you can barely read off from.

You yank your crewneck over your head after feeling too hot, opting for just a mid-length slip as you tumbled out of your room, wanting to head to the bathroom with the sudden urge to splash some icy cold water on your face but you weren’t fully thinking as to where you were heading until you managed to somehow push into Jeno’s room, arms splayed in the dim-lit space.

You stumbled your way into his own bathroom adjacent to his bookcase, locking yourself in.

You were about to pass out inside, suddenly too sleepy to function but still made it out of there only to end up locating his equally large, yet better bed, his sheets cool under your skin which eased up the liquid fire running in your bloodstream.

You weren’t really sure what you did next, but the faint smell of his citrusy scent from his nice, cold sheets, you didn’t care about anything else and instead, slept through the great comfort of it all.

Unbeknownst of you, Jeno did end up going back home earlier than planned, but without your friend this time.

He was too exhausted to even notice that something was truly off by the time he got into bed, shirt off, sleep knocking him out a few minutes in.

“She won’t know.”

He placed your arms on the curve of your back as he pinned you to the wall in a hallway absent of any light.

You feel his sweet, minty breath on your nape, his strong hand tight around your wrists in a vice grip with the intention of not letting you go.

You were so breathless now, letting him do what he wished, his free hand tracing the outline of your thigh as he yanked the hem of your dress upwards, groping you from behind, whispering sinisterly in your ear before kissing the slant your shoulder, his hand snaking dangerously inside the silk fabric until he replaced your bra with his, playing with your breasts in a manner that drove you nuts.

“You’ve thought about this haven’t you?” He pressed, as you whimpered helplessly, back arched with your behind brushing against his. “Answer.”

“Y-yes…”

You sigh, unable to control the soft moan emitting from your throat when he eventually slid his hand in your underwear, callused fingers rubbing your clit now covered with pure arousal, spreading it all over your aching sensitivity.

“I didn’t even have to spit.” He hissed sardonically. “But I think you’ll like that, yeah? What do you think? Do you want me to spit on your pussy?”

“F-fuck… yeah…”

You feel him pull his fingers off you, causing you to whine at the loss of contact when you hear him spit behind you, immediately sliding his hand back into your soiled underwear after doing so, messily mixing the glob of his spit with your slick arousal you think if he kept this up, you would cum in no time without even having him fuck you at all.

“You’re disgusting…” He hummed in satisfaction, ultimately parting your pussy lips so he can pump a finger in, his lips leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your spine. “I like that.”

You hear him groan at the feeling your tight walls around his long, slender fingers, a series of swears rolling off your mouth when he began fingering you, fucking his spit into your throbbing hole all desperate for him and him only.

You rubbed your thighs together in a desperate attempt to itch the pulsating sensation between your legs, the bundle of nerves you eventually pressed on in your sleep made you whimper softly, the pleasurable feeling intensifying the more you rubbed yourself.

This was the second time Jeno had unmercilessly plagued your dreams again — like an incubus haunting you in your sleep, but in the end, he gives you what you desire — to come so hard you thought you’d black out.

You’ve never even drawn yourself to that type of high before you even knew who he was, but after what happened in the car, you couldn’t help but think of how good it would be to have him fuck you instead of your friend.

You did feel guilty for having this type of thoughts about your friend’s own boyfriend, but having him wreck havoc in your head after hours, was mind-numbing, it was almost addicting.

You’ve tried and fought so hard to stop thinking about him, trying to replace his face with someone else like Mark, or even Renjun or some other celebrity you fancied but when you’re just a minute away from reaching your peak, you can’t help but bring him back and let him take over you, his face alone making you come so hard your legs would shake as the raw lust mixed with shame riddled all over your skin.

Tonight was the same, except you were actually in his house and on his bed, touching yourself without any awareness about your surroundings and absolute care in the world, not when you had creeped your finger inside your now wet underwear, intending to finger yourself on your side, but before you could do that, you tucked yourself under the comforter seeking for warmth, back flat on the mattress as you slide your hand back in, moaning at the contact once again, legs propped with your knees bumping against each other as you played with yourself, eyes tightly shut.

“It hurts…” You whimpered lightly, still dreaming as you tilt your head to the side, brows furrowing in frustration. “I need…”

Jeno, who had been sleeping just right beside you, eventually stirred, turning to face you with a sigh, starting to be aware with the noises you were making but thought it was a part of what seemed like a dream for him too so he made no move until you inched closer and closer, now only one move away from touching him.

You’re facing him now, his familiar sweet scent elating your senses, it being the only thing to make you move faster, your middle finger playing with your growing wetness before you eventually slid it in, biting your lip at how tight you felt and wishing it was him doing it for you instead.

“Jeno…” You huff, you free hand snaking under your slip to grope your breast, hissing from how hard your nipples had gotten.

Jeno, now half-asleep, responded with a tired “hmm” as he hovered closer, his hand landing on your hip to pull you closer to him, sealing the small gap between the both of you with his face now resting on the curve of your shoulder.

He hears you purr sweetly, fingering yourself faster when you feel him lay a light kiss on your bare skin, his hand finding your jaw so he can tilt your chin up, kissing you there but deeper.

You didn’t even care anymore. No shame surging through you thinking this was a mere wet dream even if it felt too real, so real you could actually see him in the shadow but because the lights were so dim, you couldn’t make a face but his beautiful scent and warmth was more than enough.

You just needed to feel him, have him ruin you more just like how he does in your dreams.

“Aren’t you tired?” He whispered huskily, realizing you were fingering yourself when he circled his own around your wrist, stopping you. “What are you doing?”

“I want…” You mumbled, distress coating your tone when he yanked your hand from your underwear ever so gently. “I want to cum…”

“Want to?” he cooed, keeping his eyes close as he parted his lips open to suck your slick arousal from your fingers, earning another moan from you before he let you grab him on the shoulder, his own hand now snaking inside your underwear.

“Fuck, just-just put it in, please…” You begged, circling your arms around his neck as you lifted your leg, resting it on his hip.

You hear him hum, the deep rumble of it making your head go numb.

He wasted no time, pleased with your whines when he slid his finger inside your soaked pussy, fingering you slowly until you found yourself in a verge of breaking out of a sob, your knuckles turning white on his shoulder as he fucked you faster and harder at your request, fully attentive with the way you were squeezing him, sucking him further into your throbbing cunt, making him go crazy for how increasingly wet you’ve become.

“J-jeno!”

You half-screamed, back arching as he hovered on top of you, his head disappearing on the crook of your neck to kiss you right there before you feel his teeth bite the strap of your slip, yanking it down your shoulders.

He was going way faster now, fingers curving up to rammed on your sweet spot as you struggled under him, thighs closing tightly around his flexed arm just when you’re about to reach your peak.

“Don’t you want to come?” He smiled sleepily, sucking your left nipple with so much want it only drove you closer to your orgasm. “If you’re a good girl, you will, won’t you?”

It was scary how it feel too damn real — you could even hear him up close and personal and it was too overwhelming, but you couldn’t open your eyes, not wanting this dream to ever end, not when he’s about to make you cum so hard like this.

So you pushed through it, the lewd squelching of your wetness from him fucking into you the only thing you could hear, his equally pleased moans gracing your ears when you tell him you’re almost there.

“Fuck, fuck…fuck! I’m,” You cried, shaking violently as you finally snapped, hands flying on his in an attempt to stop him from fingering you in a brutal pace but he didn’t allow you.

Instead, he forced you to ride through it all as you cursed, head thrown back until you began sob from overdrive, thrashing and squirming under him only to make him pin your arms above your head, your slip pulled all the way to your neck, letting him feel your bare skin, your underwear being torn by him, tossing it on the marbled floors.

“I’m fucking you.” He growled, eyes parting slightly, unable to see you fully but the feeling of having you all naked and weak under him made him a little crazy. He wasn’t even sure if this was just a dream anymore, but he had his own personal desires needed to be taken care of. “You’ll let me, right?”

“Please…” You begged as he lifted your dress all the way to your face, turning it into a blindfold causing you to spread your legs wider for him, too aroused with the way he was trying to limit your senses. “Fuck… just do whatever you want, please…use..use me…”

“Can you even take me?” He smirked, tracing small kisses from your jaw all the way to your sternum as your breath hitched. “You’re this desperate, huh?”

You hear him unbuckle his belt as you begged, wanting him to give it to you already, afraid that this dream might come into an end.

“Please, Jeno…”

“Sounds better when you say it like that…”

He sighed, giving himself a few generous strokes before you felt the tip of his hard cock rub your pussy, giving you a few jabs before he slowly slipped inside you just halfway, wanting you to get used to his size so he waits for a tap which came just a few moments later, and gives it to you, a matching lustful moan being knocked out from yours and his.

“So b-big…”

You grabbed his biceps as he held his breath, trying his best not to fuck you like a wild animal for how amazingly tight and warm you felt around him, squeezing around him repeatedly, almost drawing him to the edge.

“Your pussy can take it…” He whispered, fucking into you slowly. “If I fuck you like this, you’ll take it…and if I go faster?”

“Ah!” You cried as he snapped his hips into you, the wetness of your pussy coating his entire cock, drawing him deeper into your cunt. “Don’t stop… fuck, f-fuck feels so good, so so good.”

“I know, baby…” He hissed vehemently, face buried into the crook of your neck as you let him fuck you faster, the slightly deep baritone of your tone intensifying the fact that he wants to ruin you, even if this wasn’t reality because god knows what he will do it had been, but for some reason, he didn’t felt any type of shame if this wasn’t a dream— just the carnal desire he felt for you, the girl who seemed to hate him for no valid reason.

You clutched the sheets as he pistons in and out of you, ultimately driving the both of you to each other’s peak.

He doesn’t let you touch him, his hand fixed to your wrists on top of your head as your jaw went slack, breath hitching as your legs trembled, alerting him that you were there.

“Fuck, spread your legs wider.” He demanded through gritted teeth, strong thighs stuttering against yours as you obediently did what he asked. “That’s it, pretty girl.”

It didn’t take long when the two of you finally came, you being the first to snap as he followed-through just a few seconds later, pulling out of you so he can cum on his bed sheet instead.

You immediately fell asleep right after, smiling through it all just like he did, the looming taste of regret awaiting to ruin everything in the morning.

Or would it?

//

You awoke to an unfamiliar bed, already panicking upon finding out you’ve been sleeping in his room the entire time so you quickly pad down the silent hall, disappearing inside your own room with a huff.

You ignore the throbbing headache in your head as sat on your bed, a little shaken and not knowing to go about explaining what just happened if he was aware of it, but you think he’s not even home or if he was, did he end up sleeping elsewhere?

You grabbed your crewneck and fixed yourself in front of the mirror, about to head downstairs and find him when you feel something odd, so you lift the hem of your dress, discovering that you didn’t even have an underwear on.

The memory of him taking it off you haunted your train of thought — last night felt too raw, too real and you think it maybe because you’re starting to be delusional, using the advantage of staying in his house and touch his stuff that weren’t yours.

You assume this might have catered to it all and you weren’t even sure if that’s something to be happy or angry about.

You figured it wasn’t — in fact, it was too wrong and you wanted out so you immediately text Tony for an update before heading downstairs to find Jeno.

Jeno, you learn, was not alone.

It was a Saturday after all, and he happens to be on the phone by the living room, his full attention watching the glowing fireplace in front of him, energy drink on-hand as your friend darted from the kitchen, immediately seeing you.

“Oh, she’s up!” She announced, running to hug you with a beam. “Jina and I are going to get our nails done and she’s picking me up, you wanna come?”

“Oh, um… that’s okay.” You falter as Jeno turned to look at you, gaze unreadable. “I’m leaving soon anyway, like going back to my place.”

“Oh! Well maybe next time? Jeno is leaving soon too but won’t be dropping me off. Jeno, help her okay?”

You avoid the way he’s looking at you now, quite embarrassed with the fact that you literally just slept in his bed and even dreamed of him fucking you. You just hoped he had no idea, and if he did know, you knew you couldn’t bear to show face any longer.

“I’ll plan us another date. Just you and I. I promise!”

You let your friend drag you to the entrance and albeit dazed from the unholy thoughts you were suddenly having about Jeno, you managed to brush it off and watch your friend leave, waving her a small good-bye, the guilt surging through you once again after seeing her.

You were just about to lock the door when you feel him hover behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sound of his deep voice invading your cloud of thoughts.

“I’m gone for one night and you’re suddenly touching stuff that aren’t yours?”

So he did know. But does he know?

“I’m sorry…” You exhale, sighing regretfully but refused to look at him in the eye. “Got a little drunk then looked for the bathroom—“

“See… that wasn’t the only thing I’m upset about though.”

You gulped as you feel him walk closer so you slowly back away, the shocked gasp leaving your lips as you feel the pressure of the door behind you, him towering over you now.

“What?”

“Do you know what I’m talking about?” He questioned, a little on edge. “Don’t act dumb now.”

“I said I was drunk and I’m sorry.” You apologized sincerely, the overwhelming silence skyrocketing your anxiety. “If there was any damage—”

“No, that’s not…” You hear him chuckle as he drove his hand to the door, cornering you like a predator, but you remain still, stopping yourself from looking up or it was going to over. “Do I have to explain?”

“I don’t…”

“You don’t care about your friend, do you?”

Your eyes rounded in shock, immediately tilting your chin up so you can look at him in the eye this time, suddenly angry at his accusation.

“What made you say that?” You snapped, watching him shake his head in amusement but you weren’t buying it. “Jeno.”

“You’re something else.” He whispered softly, eyes searching something in yours before you feel him inch closer to your ear, his lips brushing across the shell of your ear. “You’re insane. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Jeno, what the fuck?”

You pushed him off you but he could only laugh, head tilting to the side, a smirk now evident on his face.

He was too handsome, it almost drove you nuts if it wasn’t for the way he just insulted you.

“Guess I’d be the first but don’t worry, I’m not that angry, you know?”

You clenched your jaw, watching him advance to you again with an intent to pin you against the door.

“You’re full of shit. I don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about when all I’ve done is —”

“We fucked.” He sighed, reeling closer when you clamped your mouth shut, looking away from him. “Why, you thought you were dreaming?”

“You’re joking.”

“See, I’d like to think I was. The whole time I thought the same until I find you in my bed in the morning.”

You faltered, unable to think straight when you feel him trace the outline of your jaw, grabbing you by the chin gently to make you shift your attention back to him.

“Jeno.”

“You said my name too. Just like this.” His darkened gaze pierced yours, pupils blown. “You like me that much?”

“We can’t do this.” You grab his wrist, pushing him away with a huff. “It was a mistake!”

“I’d like to think the same but for some reason…” He took another step, completely caging you in just like you were always meant to be for him. “You’re fucking everything up.”

“How is that my fault —”

“You should’ve pursued me first, that’s all.”

Your eyes widen as he cradled your face, drawing you completely speechless.

Turns out, he was crazier, even more sinister with the way he’s touching you so inappropriately right now you feel like pushing him off and running out to escape but you simply couldn’t. You knew you wanted him too even if you shouldn’t.

Not when the damage has already been done, and you’ve opened a pandora box, unleashing his hidden desires on board with yours, the sinful thoughts you’ve been trying so hard to seal away for no one to figure out.

“You don’t give a fuck about her?” You swallowed a lump in your throat, a pained expression on your face as he kept up with his ministrations, his hand now holding yours. “Why are you touching me…”

“I like you.” He confesses with a shrug like it was something so simple to do, his piercing gaze meeting yours again. “You think I’m into your friend?”

“You’re sick.”

You say through gritted teeth, raw anger still there but the more you allowed him to stare you down like this, the more it dissipated. The desperate hold you had around it vanishing to thin air.

“And you think you’re not?”

There was that same fiery edge to his tone now, his grip around your hand tightening. You try to break free from his grasp until you hear his phone ring. You were just about to use that as way to completely push him away, but he cut you off, demanding you to stay still.

“We’re not done.”

You watch him answer the call, fear on your eyes when you discovered it as your friend asking if he could pass the phone over to you just because you weren’t answering yours.

“Talk to her.” He demanded, his stern tone sending shivers all over your body when you placed his phone near your ear.

“Hey,” You greeted your friend, trying to sound as normal as you could before shying away from the way Jeno’s eyeing you right now. “Was in the shower. What’s up?”

You let your friend take-over, asking if you wanted anything from a specific shop near the nail salon she was in and had been trying so hard to get your mind out of the gutter for the past minute that seemed to flow by in forever. You found yourself stuck in the middle — part of you wanted to tell her about what you did just like that no matter what the consequences were but the other half simply haunted you, did you really want to stop? When the guilt should be burning you alive right now but for some reason, you hardly felt anything and you weren’t sure what to make of that.

“You don’t care about your friend, do you?”

“The one with stars is cute but you don’t have to— it’s okay,” You shook your head, completely missing the fact that Jeno had gotten even closer. You catch on to him before he lowers his head to the side of your face, about to murmur something.

“Stop.” With the phone away from your lips, you attempt to get away but he only holds you still, hand fixed to the curve of your waist. “Jeno—”

“Just tell me the details later!” Your friend squealed over the phone. “And tell Jeno to read my text!”

The call ended just before you could utter something but the phone from your hand was snatched away in a millisecond, suddenly finding yourself gasping when Jeno placed his knee in between your thighs, feeling you up with his clothed knee, his hand now groping your breast.

“Quit it, won’t you?” You bit your lip, hand fisting his top as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on your collarbone. “You want to run away so bad but I can see it in your eyes. You want this as much as I do so don’t lie to yourself.”

“Jeno, stop,” You begged, arousal already pulling in your underwear when he forced you to grind down on his thigh, holding all your weight up alone with just that alone. “Jeno…”

“I’ll let you go f that’s what you want.” He grunted as you began to grind on him, growing more aroused with the way you were whining, struggling on his thigh. He challenged you, even if he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist all of this.

Resist him.

You whimpered as he removed his thigh between your legs, letting you off but you don’t make a move.

“You want to go?” You could only gaze back at him, completely in trance as he grinned down at you, his sardonic expression reeling you in. “Then go.”

It didn’t take long until you finally snapped altogether, crashing yourself to him to latch your lips on his in sheer frustration, an audible groan coming from him as he nibbled your bottom lip, lifting you up, hands all over your body.

Sooner or later, you found yourselves in bed, having to have exhausted each other but there were no words shared after it all.

You weren’t even sure what to do next as you laid there beside him, watching him sleep on his back, head turned away from yours. It was then you felt your heart crumble into pieces, the immense jolt of pain suddenly waking you up from trance.

Do I really want to do this?

You left the next morning just like that, not wanting to pursue this wrong deed at all, and without a word other as you hailed a taxi. You deleted and blocked his phone number and made a plan to somehow try to avoid him and your friend for the next few months, but it wasn’t simple like that, and yet, you tried to stay away.

For the next six months, it was like that — with you and your friend slowly falling apart because you no longer shared classes for second semester and you made no amends to even see or spend time with her, having to have met other friends you shared classes with and then her, with the boys and their girls.

You were also thankful of Jeno not pursuing anything with you too. You barely saw him around due to the fact that he did sign up for more sport-related activities so naturally, he disappeared from your sight. He must have thought that it was clearly a mistake just like you did, and you fought to repent for your sins and you wished he did too.

You didn’t keep track about anything that had to do with them anymore and decided to focus on your studies like you’ve always had from the beginning to prepare yourself for graduation and university requirements. Your great efforts did pay off in the end, having to graduate with almost on top of all your classes and getting into one of your top three universities.

Life seemed great for you — quite elated for the next journey you’re bound to go on for the next two years now that senior year was over and so was the evening dinner you had to attend because it was mandatory despite wanting to opt out of it but you made sure to leave early as you had no plans to sit in the fancy banquet of a five-star hotel and “get entertained” when everyone either sat around to chill or lose themselves in the dimmed down dance floor.

By 11 pm, you bid your goodbyes to a panel of teachers, one of them being your favourite, just in the next room in the hall, then gunned down to the parking lot where you parked your car.

You dug your keys in your purse, humming to yourself when you spot someone’s slick black shoes right next to your car so you stop and blink, shifting your attention the wide plain of his familiar broad back, his white dress shirt being the only article of clothing he has on with some tailored black plants that probably cost five months worth of rent.

“Jeno.”

“Nice ride you got.” He drew the cigarette away from his lips, grey smoke hitting your face as you slowly took a step back, unable to form any coherent sentence upon realizing that he’s standing before you now. “New model too. Gift, maybe?”

You do know you’ve been trying to avoid him.

As much as you tried however, he was there, always in a crowd and you never missed a handsome face like his. He burned in the back of your head so easily, but it was too difficult to get him out no matter how many distractions you could come with, and even if most of it worked in your favour he still lived inside your head like a parasite.

A parasite you may never end up getting rid of.

“I’m going home.” Was all you said, trying to stay stoic and unaffected as he advanced to you, even more irresistable now that he’s worked out more and grew his hair a little longer, a strand from his gelled back fringe curving on his forehead and it did nothing but clench your jaw.

He was just too handsome, you were close to believing no one would be able to resist him at all, not even the new arm candy he brought as a date to dinner since your he has apparently broken up with your friend a month before graduation due to a sudden drastic change in her family’s living situation.

You soon find out she was never coming back, and apparently “long distance relationships” wasn’t Jeno’s thing.

“This early?”

There was a coy smirk on his face, cigarette resting between his lips. You stood there, liking the smell, reminding you of your father back home so naturally, you stayed where you are, feet starting to hurt from the five inch heels you regretfully wore to dinner.

“Yeah, I have work the next morning.”

He’s one step away from you now, his full attention scanning your red dress from head to toe, liking the tight fit around your soft curves. You try to stand your ground anyway, albeit about to burst into shivers from the way he narrowed his eyes to you now, blowing another puff of grey you ended up inhaling into your system as well for how damn close he’s gotten, invading your comfort zone.

“That’s a shame.” He circled around you like some sort of a predator, but without touching you until you feel him stop just inches away, his hard chest brushing against your back. “Well go on, your car is right there.”

Your breath hitched as you began to walk to your car, unlocking the back door to throw your purse into with a slam. You don’t say anything as you placed your hand on the handle, chewing on your lips as he quirked an eyebrow, wanting to know what seemed to make you look a little stressed and all tensed up.

“Your date.” You slowly met his amused gaze. “How long?”

“Didn’t sleep with her if that’s what you were wondering.” You didn’t even want to lie — the wave of relief crashed through you, engulfing you in so you let go of the handle and headed to him, letting your burning desire drag you all the way to his arms as he pulled you into a suffocating embrace. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Jeno flung his cigarette off his lips to kiss you hungrily causing you to moan in his mouth, tasting the peppermint candy he’s had and the slight bitterness from the cigarette but you didn’t care.

You didn’t care until he threw you in your backseat, ripping your underwear off you so easily and gave it to you right there and then, until you were in a verge of tears, unable to think straight as you moaned his name all over again like some sort of a mantra, dragging the both of you into eternal hell.

And to hell with him it is.