#even for these ones i had to look them up

[spinelikericekrispy]

What about the people reading for happy ending? or eventual get together? Not gonna argue that its wrong but you will attract more bees with pollen than plain dirt.

I desperately wish people would start actually reading the AO3's TOS before confidently making 'user guides' to the AO3 that are just blatantly, flatly wrong.

Yes the AO3 has banned content. They do not allow anything that's illegal under US law - though US law, importantly, does not ban fictional depictions of things - and they do not allow any commercial content. That includes your ko-fi link, or mentions that you do fic commissions. If you do post fic commissions to AO3 and want to mention the commissioner, the fic is a 'request' from the commissioner. This protects the AO3 and you from copyright law.

No the AO3 is not 'a creative fanfiction archive'. It is a fandom archive. Your meta, insights, and theories are absolutely welcome and encouraged there. AO3 also encourages you to post other types of fanworks, like fan videos, podfics, and art, but unfortunately isn't able to natively host those like it does text, so fic has kind of become what it's known for. That absolutely does not mean that other types of fanwork aren't allowed, or are discouraged by the site culture! Anybody who tells you otherwise is just plain wrong!

[markrosewater]

I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty in places, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and an ass. This part- fingering, fucking, loss of virginity, masturbation (suguru) finger sucking, hate sex, light angst. WC this part- 6.4k

Based on Clan Leader Geto- will be three parts <3 Plz share/comment/like if you enjoy!! Suguru is unappreciated I wanna give this psycho Princess a good fic!

Songs for this part-  Geto Suguru - Fill the Void - I hate everything about you

Part One

You were to marry Suguru Geto, curse user, rumored cult leader, and clan leader to the major four clans there were. The Kamos, The Zenin, The Gojos and The Getos, the main four clans that you all know there are. As for Suguru’s family, it turns out he is now the clan leader for them, he is the one that they are now riding the whole line of the Geto Clan on.

Marrying you.

You stand there nervously, tummy feeling sick in your pretty white robes as you stare at this psychotic man, this man that thinks people without power are lesser, and perhaps worthless. Perhaps he wishes to eradicate you all, yet for his duty to the Geto clan, it leaves him to have to be with you, the chosen one from your family, for as long as you two were alive.

Maybe Suguru Geto back then was tolerable, back when he was just a clan leader and not all the rumors that are held, but now!? Being his bride was not just terrifying, it was a literal death sentence. After you’d given him heirs you were absolutely sure he’d eradicate you and perhaps anyone you’ve ever known and loved, including your family, who’d just given you the saddest of looks.

They weren’t here, you supposed even they couldn’t live with just handing their only daughter off to him, maybe before, you’d have been excited, remembering meeting him when you were just a teenager, he was a little older than you. Handsome and sweet with this smile that made you want to pinch his cheeks, he was so courteous and sweet, but that was a different man.

You look now, as you nervously step down the aisle, eyes of everyone on you aside from him, Suguru Geto. He’s decked out in brilliant emerald robes, laughing and murmuring to several girls near him. His long black hair is half up, showcasing his handsome features, yes if perhaps he wasn’t a psycho killer, you could find him attractive, not be sick to your stomach.

As some long red headed lady taps his shoulder, her long nails against him, he finally sees you then, and his jaw locks, you feel those violet eyes on you like a physical touch. You doubt he remembers your one meeting years ago, you doubt he recognizes you or cares, or sees you as anything but a nuisance, a duty. But you see his narrowed eyes dip down your body, taking you in.

Your heart hammers as you get closer, a mix of sorcerers scowling or smirking at you, along with the Geto clan looking curiously, murmuring here and there. Everyone hoped to stay on Suguru Geto’s good side, if he had one, you weren’t quite sure, feeling the insane energy emanating from him as he studies you. Another step, another click of your heel echoing in the immaculate hall.

It’s hard to be impressed with the beauty of it, of the Geto estate, surely it’s one of the nicest there are, there are four major families, and the Geto family is one. You don’t know how you ended up being selected, your family is certainly wealthy, but you wonder at your horrific luck now as you stand before him.

You have to lean your head back just to look at the tall man, towering over everyone in the room, he makes you feel so small, even smaller with his quiet assessment, as the room is full of hushed whispers. Half of them surely want you to just die, half of them want an heir from you, you imagine this man in front of you leaning down wants both.

Suguru eyes you carefully, yes you’re beautiful, but you clearly have not an ounce of power, not an ounce of any useful energy. You’re clearly just some pathetic little mortal, which disgusts him, you’re tiny and pathetic, useless. He’s so annoyed this is what he has to do, but he certainly can’t just not fulfill these obligations, as Suguru needs the backing of his family to gain more power.

Already so powerful, and with an enormous, loyal following, he detests that he has to in any way deal with his parents still, but he supposes he will handle it for now. Surely soon he’d have the precious few mortals he allows to live, to be loyal servants at his beck and call, pathetic ants that work for their lives he allows them.

Your eyes lower nervously, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, lights of the soft chandelier hanging above you glittering on your smooth skin. He feels it, you’re terrified, which makes him smirk just a bit, as you should know your place, under him, beneath him, perhaps he can handle you if you’ll be just a little docile. You are pleasing enough to look at.

Something familiar stirs when you look back at him, with eyes glimmering with unshed tears, your lower lip caught in your row of upper teeth. He remembers it like a fog, being at Jujutsu high with his best friends, right before he started to realize how horrible humans were, God he’d been so naive then. Your families introduced you two, but you were young.

He remembers thinking you were pretty, being just a little shy actually, which is so laughable now. You’d met Satoru then too, and he could swear you’d made eyes on him, on his old best friend who now is his enemy, which hurts Suguru in many, many ways, as having Satoru back on the right side, his side. There was no denying Satoru was the strongest, but Suguru was coming for him.

He smiles a bit as he thinks of it, and his pretty face looks terrifying for a moment, making your breath catch, as the priest begins the ceremony, and Suguru rips his eyes from you. You eye black gauged earrings, alone with some little barbell in his eyebrow, details that almost make him seem like a human, but you suppose those are just from long ago.

Suguru feels Manami’s long nails against his back, he turns and smirks at her, ignoring the pretty, but pathetic human in front of him. Manami and him have long hooked up together, though Suguru partakes in many women, she seems to be the main one by his side. Just this morning she’d sucked him off, he had not been in any sort of mood however to do more.

Knowing he’d have to fulfill his stupid duties were irritating him to know end, and no amount of sucking was fixing his shitty mood. He also sees the girls he truly sees as his real daughters, Mimiko and Nanako whispering about the bride just a bit. He errantly thinks he hears ‘pretty’ but he remembers how young they are, and what he keeps them a bit sheltered from still.

They didn’t know all of his plans yet, they were just girls still.

“You may kiss the bride.” Suguru hears errantly, he sighs, leaning down and pressing his lips against yours, hopefully the only time he’ll have to, but something literally jolts through his body as he does. He pulls back, glaring down at you, gripping your wrist, tiny in his massive grip, making you wince a bit, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

“Do you have any cursed energy!?” He demands, narrowing those intense eyes of his, you step back, shaking your head quickly.

“You know I do not. Why ask?” You whisper, he grabs your wrist even tighter, sensing every bit of your body, finding nothing. Why then, had he felt that!? Some odd shock through his system!?

He’d never kiss you again, it is quite annoying.

As the ceremony goes, and Suguru has many people around him, including some redhead you notice is all over him, you come across two little girls, who you’ve been informed are like daughters to Suguru. They both study you curiously, the little blond with pigtails smiling at you.

“You’re just a human, right?” She says, and you nod, shyly.

“Does it… suck to have no powers?” The little brunette says, and you sigh.

“Honestly, no. I don’t want all of that responsibility I guess? Do you all…” They both hold balls of energy, and you step back, heart racing as they giggle.

“Girls, not at the ceremony.” You’re almost shocked to hear him sound- kind, affectionate?- from across the room, chuckling a bit.

“Fine, dad.” They speak at the same time you notice, then they bombard you with more and more questions, while Suguru watches curiously, Manami murmuring things she’d do to him in his ear, as the other members start to dance. Someone dances with you, then, and Suguru…

Well he doesn’t fucking like it.

Why!? You’re nothing really.

When you’re finally done in the ceremony, and you’ve been dressed in some dainty little see through slip, you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, as they finally leave after slathering you in fragrant oil, brushing your hair till it gleamed. You eye yourself in the mirror nervously, seeing the color on your cheeks, the way your eyes look so… frightened really.

Being promised to Suguru meant being sheltered, and aside from making out and some touching when you could sneak out, you were indeed a virgin, and having your first time with a dude who wants to kill you just doesn’t sound fun. You sure wouldn’t let him see how afraid you were, not when he walks into the room, a goblet of wine in his hand, sighing and shutting the door.

You’re tense as he eyes your, thin transparent material showcasing your curves, the nip of your waist, the just of your hips, and most tantalizingly the swell of your breasts. His breath catches at just how good you do look, his cock twitching in response, irritating him to no end.

Perhaps this is just his stupid body’s response, but he does not get attracted to humans, they disgust him, even the pretty ones. But you are… exceptionally sexy right now, could it be all the wine, could it be that he saw you before he changed? Suguru shoves all those thoughts back, gulping down the rest of the red wine now, a drip falling from the corner, and you’re just standing there.

“Let’s get this over with.” He mumbles, and you glare then, making him smirk but also making his cock even more full of blood.

“Let’s, I don’t want this any more than you.” You mumble, unlacing the ribbons over your gown then, and he’s irritated at how bad his hands itch to take it off you, instead raising a brow.

“Oh I doubt that, at least you get to fuck me, someone with power. I am the one that has to fuck a pathetic monkey.” Your scowl deepens, as he unlaces his belt, letting his robes fall, and you see his perfect body, well formed pecs and cut abdomen, lines and swirls of tattoos all over his body, even on his corded arms.

You falter for only a moment, because his body is literally perfect, down to the trail of dark hair below his flat belly button, but you quickly shove all that out, ignoring the way your body is reacting to just seeing him. “Monkey, huh, is that what you call humans?”

“Sure is, pathetic monkeys, lesser developed and-” He pauses when your dress falls in a silky pool to your ankles, and you stand there naked fully, his heart dropping into his damn stomach.

His cock is leaking precum just staring at you, god you’re fucking beautiful, so beautiful he doesn’t think he can put a word to it. It’s as if his cock doesn’t recognize you’re some pathetic human, neither do hands that itch to touch, and his tongue that wants to just lick you.

Fuck you’re annoying.

Why are you built like this!? Your perfect tits alone are making him ache for you so badly he can hardly breathe, as they rise and fall with your own nervous breaths, and you look right at him, boldly. Suguru tries to avert his eyes, to play it off in any way, but he’s awestruck, lips parted, as he watches you cross your arms under those breasts, sees a hint of a pussy he wants to bury himself inside.

Fuck if you were just… if you just had some powers, he’d have so much fun with you, god he’d tell you how pretty you were. He’d make you cum on his mouth over and over, feel you gripping his long locks, but he can’t because you’re… you’re nothing, really, just a monkey… he has to remember.

You see red lining his perfect cheekbones, making you curious at him until he clears his throat, averting his eyes and releasing his hair, letting it cascade over broad shoulders. “Let’s just… get it done.” You murmur then, sitting on the futon now, decked with reds and golds in the luxurious room they had made for the two of you.

That’s when Suguru sees your perfect little pussy, making him bump into the side table, you blink a bit, curiously at him, thighs spread as you rest on your elbows. He cannot even function, you are so perfect he hates it, surely there is something about you, some energy they’re missing, there is no way that you’re a human, with such effects on him!?

He lets his pants fall as he tries to pull himself together, and that’s when you see him, rock hard and thick, far, far too many inches. You panic, wondering just how the fuck that’s gonna fit, you’d had fingers inside you that hurt a bit before, this was probably gonna wreck you. You almost shut your thighs, watching his reddened tip drool pearly drops of precum.

Sheltered but not stupid, he was clearly ready. You raise a brow. “You seem pretty… ready for such a monkey in front of you, hmm?”

Suguru glares now, grabbing you by the hair, cock near your face, you wonder if he’ll shove it in your mouth wildly, but he’s just pulling at your hair, making you gasp out in pain, as he tilts your head back. “Do you even know what to do, pathetic little fucking monkey!?”

“I haven’t before, no.” You whisper then, and he pauses, gulping down some horrible sense of guilt. Not only has he not been with a virgin, he knows he’s clearly not your choice for this.

What is it that's making him feel so much?

He hates it. He hates you.

Is it the fact that he can see you’re afraid, he lays with women who coo over him, who are soaking wet as he just smiles at them, women who drop to their knees if he snaps his fingers. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he shouldn’t care, right? What are humans to a sorcerer?

“I know you need an heir, so just… put it in me.” You say, he chuckles then, shaking his head as he shoves you back on the bed, bouncing just slightly when he rests over you on an elbow, sucking on two fingers then.

It’s so lewd, how his mouth wraps the thick digits, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on them, before he sinks two right in your tight little cunt, making you gasp at the stretch, and making him exhale, holding back a moan. You’re so tight, clenching him, your gummy little walls convulsing, making him picture just how good you’ll feel around his cock.

“Do you have to!? Just get it in.” You whisper, and he glares down at you, lips parted at your utter lack of knowledge and insolent mouth.

“I can’t, you’re too tight, stupid monkey.” You glare and shove at his chest, only making him chuckle more. “You think I wanna prep or even touch you?”

“You think I w-want those or that in me!? No, just do it. Stop that… touching me inside… mnh!” At the sound of your own moan you cover your mouth, gasping as your eyes shoot up to his, he tilts his head, long silky hair falling like a curtain to the side of you both, as he presses on that spot again.

This time your eyes roll back, and he knows he’s found it, that spot in your pretty pussy that is just a little spongier, as your cunt starts drooling, and his cock has to press against the bed, for any pressure. Not only do you feel so good, so wet, you’re also fucking gorgeous as your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut, and he looks down at the mess you’re making.

“Messy little thing, tsk.” He says then, and you’re struggling to form a word when he puts his fingers back in, building pressure in your tummy that feels far too good, making you hate him more. “Hear her, huh? Monkey that excited?”

“D-don’t hear shit, don’t even l-like it.” You manage to utter out, and he’s smirking down at you, kissing down your breasts far too fondly, moaning as your walls are fluttering around his fingers, sucking a pretty, puffy nipple in his mouth. “Just fuck me, would you?”

“It will hurt you… I-” You pause, blinking as he leans up from licking and biting your breasts, little trails of saliva, as you look at him with wide eyes.

“What do you care, you don’t need me to like it to give me an heir. Just get it done so I can go to sleep.”

Your words hit him then, why does he care? Suguru could slaughter a village but can’t imagine fucking you without preparing you properly, fuck he wanted you to like it, to want him. And why!?

“You won’t be able to take me, tiny pathetic little cunt can’t.” You scowl as he sucks on a nipple again, scissoring his fingers in your cunt now, making lewd squishing sounds as you feel you’re soaked, mortifying you.

“Stop sucking on them, you don’t need to.” You shove him again, and he glares, leaning over you now, intimidating as he curls slick fingers, making you gasp in pleasure, biting your lower lip hard so you don’t scream out how good it is.

“If I must breed you, I’ll do it how I wish to. Stop acting as if you can tell me what to do.”

“I hate you.” You smack him then, earning a psychotic glare, and you realize fuck you’ve messed up, as he takes his fingers out of your pussy and shoves them right in your mouth, making you choke on them.

“Will you shut up, stupid monkey, fuck.” He’s then lining up his cock with your entrance, shoving your thighs up high. “Fine then, wanna get it over with, huh?”

You nod eagerly, hating every second under him, even if your body betrayed you. “Sure do, fucking psycho.”

“Psycho, huh?” You nod again, then gasp in pain as he fills you, stuffing your cunt full in one stroke, making it burn even though you are soaked and prepared somewhat, nothing could really prepare for his huge cock inside you.

“Ah!” You blink back tears, tears that bother him, and they shouldn’t, but now he wants to tenderly brush back your hair, that’s fallen on your brow. He wants to pull back out and prep you more, but you’re an insolent brat who won’t even let him, and he shouldn’t want to.

But your pussy gripping him drives him insane, to the point he could cum in a stroke or two, it’s gripping that fucking good. He can’t take it, he rests his head in the crook of your neck, so you don’t see an already pussy drunk face when he pulls back, shoving his cock even deeper, and feels your nails in his back, digging, hears your little cries of pain.

He wants cries of pleasure.

What the fuck are you doing to him!?

Is it human to have a pussy like this, he wonders, biting back a moan and leaning up, grabbing at one of your thighs to sink deeper, and you hate that it starts to feel good, when he starts fucking into you. Thick cock stretching, as your cunt gushes around him, his tip dragging on some spot that makes your eyes roll back again in pleasure, and this fucker notices.

“She’s fuckin’ soaking my cock, huh? Like it, pathetic little monkey, a sorcerer over you?” You manage to glare, shaking your head, his attractive smirk widening, as he fucks you deeper and harder, and you’re a tremblind mess under him. “Oh no, you don’t hmm?”

“N-no, hate it. Hate you.” He scowls now, as you gulp down moans and cries he’s dying to hear, so he pays attention, to when you’re gasping, clamping down, realizing the spot and angle you’re dying over, so Suguru grins down at you, lifting your thighs up so high he slams your cervix. “Ah!”

“There it is.” He whispers to himself, pressing on the backs of your thighs and slamming your cervix, over and over, as you’re moaning so sexy, your back arching, while he’s folding you damn near in half now. “F-fuck… you feel so…” He stops himself, he can’t say that.

It feels so perfect.

Feels like you’re made to take his cock.

You’re so pretty under him, perspiration on your forehead, eyebrows scrunched, lips red from you biting them, your eyes glazed over. God you’re gorgeous, as his cock is throbbing inside your tight walls, and you’re struggling so hard to act like you hate it, when he’s hitting that spot over and over, his tip dragging on it again and again. You moan out loud, whining when he rolls his hips bottoming out.

“J-just cum, finish it. W-wanna be d-done.” You whisper, he glares now at you.

“Not enjoying it at all?”

“Hate it. B-boring.” Suguru laughs now, shaking his head, slamming into you, and you’re screaming out, convulsing, feeling pressure build and build, realizing with a panic then.

You’re gonna cum.

Not for him, dammit!

You struggle to hold back, shaking your head and covering your face, when he lets your thighs fall to the side, yanking your hands off your face, pinning your wrists above your head with a strong hand, long fingers wrapping your delicate wrists like they’re nothing. You gasp at it, as his other hand yanks you by your hip, slamming you down his length.

“I’ll look upon your face.” He says through his teeth, dying to watch it when you cum, and fuck he feels it, you’re so close. He wants it then, he needs it, you to cum all over him, milking him so good, and your eyes go wide in shock, but they’re already so fucked out. He’s leaking precum inside you, dragging on that spot and watching you unravel for him.

“Why do y-you wanna- mnh, f-fuck!” You’re clinging to the sheets, when Suguru would like you to cling to him, as he sends you over the fucking edge, and he watches your gorgeous face screw up in pleasure, making his cock pulse.

Fuck you’re pretty.

Fuck he hates you for doing this.

He’s never even felt anything better than this.

“Can’t help yourself, huh monkey? Gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” He whispers, you shake your head, still pinned under him, and he lays over you, grinding his cock inside you, dark hair on his pelvis just pressing on your neglected clitoris, then you feel it, and he moans. “There it is.”

“No, no, no… f-fuck you… hate… ah!” You’re shattering, cumming so hard you can’t even see, all while this psycho watches avidly, and you hate him more for it, for giving you this orgasm that almost makes you faint. “Sh-shit… mnh…”

Your cunt soaks his cock as the orgasm wrecks your brain, as you’re convulsing around his thick veiny cock, with its tip pressing into your cervix, and you’re twitching under him, pathetic. You gasp as he fucks you through it, disoriented and blinking rapidly at how euphoric you feel, listening to the grunts and groans of his and the squelching of your cunt.

“Oh my… f-fuck…” Suguru groans now, unable to hold back any longer, violet eyes so dilated they look black as they drink in your face, lips hovering over yours, cock fucking harder and harder.

You almost cum again, clenching around him, as he moves over you, stuttering in his rhythm finally, faltering just a bit, gripping you tightly as he moans out, his breath hot against your lips, lips he wants to kiss, a mouth he wants to spit inside, tongue he wants to feel on his skin. You’re maddening, he realizes then, as he gets closer to his release, his cock throbbing at your pussy milking him so good.

“Mnh… shit I hate… you…” You whisper, as you’re cumming again, and he grips your wrists so hard they’ve gone numb, starting to pump hot loads of cum inside, you, groaning out loud at how good it feels.

“Milking me, shit… f-feels so fucking perf-” Suguru holds it back, luckily you’re too fucked out to care, as his cum fills you, so hot and gooey, and you’re both gasping for breaths, the room quiet save front he sounds of his cock slipping inside you, and your hearts pounding. “Filled you so fucking good, monkey, hmm?”

“G-good, it’s over…” You whisper, damn near delirious as your aftershocks make your sticky walls grip him, he gasps at it, pumping even more, as he looks into your eyes, feeling too much.

“Y-yes. Over.” He manages to spill out, and you whimper when he kisses your neck, something he shouldn’t indulge in, easing off your wrists and looking at them, his hand left prints clearly.

You ease them down, fingers wresting on his shoulders for a moment, a moment that feels too good, too natural, before you press on him. “Can you go, then?”

“What?” He blinks in confusion, cock still inside of you, fuck he never even wants to leave, so hot and wet and-

“Your seed is inside me, we should be good for now. I’m… sore. Please get off of me.” You look away now, and Suguru’s pulse races, as you refuse to look at him whatsoever when he gets off, easing his cock out of you with a messy pop sound, tensing as he sees the evidence of your innocence between your thighs.

“Let me clean you up.” He murmurs, and you glare, shaking your head and closing your legs then. “Would you just-”

“Fuck you, get out. I don’t need you cleaning me up, we’re good until… I guess whenever we have to do this again.” You stand on wobbly legs, as Suguru stands, looming over you as you head to the shower adjoining the room, grabbing you by the top of your arm. “What!?”

“So eager to run off, monkey? You should thank me.”

You laugh then, ignoring the throb of your pussy and the pounding in your head, fuck him he felt so good in you, you’ve never even felt that good before, not from little orgasms you gave yourself. You hate him more for it, not only did your first time have to be with this ass of a man, a psycho killer, you also came when you didn’t even want to, making it all worse/

“Thank you!? For what!”

“For cumming inside you.” He presses you against the wall then, looming over you so tall, his sweet breath like the grapes of the wine as he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes on his. “For making a monkey like you cum.”

“You didn’t make me cum, stupid psycho.” You glare right at him, chest heaving as you speak the lies, but he laughs right down at you, thumb brushing over a lip with teeth indentations from how hard you bit it.

“Didn’t cum? You’re a fucking liar, on top of being pathetic. Useless.”

“Useless, yes except to have your stupid heir. I can’t wait to get pregnant, actually, so I’ll never have to get touched again.”

“Oh yeah, so fucking horrible?”

“Terrible.”

“And you’re disgusting to me.”

“Good!” You shove at his strong chest, slick with sweat, and pause there then, as does he, a hand now entwined at the nape of your neck, as he dies to kiss you, brutally, over and over, but he just holds you there. “Am I done for the night Lord Geto, or whatever the fuck you like to be called?”

He’d like you to scream Suguru.

Fuck.

“Will you just let me clean you up, it was your first time and-”

“Oh no, you’re not gonna play like you care at all. We did what we had to do, what we both had to do, neither of us wanted it, or enjoyed it. Right?” You demand then, raising a brow, and he scowls.

“Not right, and I’m just-”

“I remember it, meeting you, you were… sweet.”

He laughs then. “What?”

“You were, and him? I’d have been happy to do this, but you? I don’t wanna look at you and think of it. Let me go.” He scowls as he goes to grab his clothes now, and you lean against the wall, covering your face, not wanting him to see just how you are affected by him.

“I’ll be putting a curse at your door, to make sure you don’t run.” He says then, making you blink in shock, seeing he’s dressed finally, putting his hair back up.

“I have nowhere to run to.” He pauses at that, jaw locked. “But go ahead, maybe it’ll be better company than you.”

Suguru scoffs. “Clean up.”

“Get out.” You order, finally he turns, walking out, leaving you to step into the shower, letting the hot spray hit you, sore in places you’ve never imagined, thinking just how much you hate him.

You’re sobbing then, under the coverage of the shower, where no one would see you, see what he’s done to you, your mental state in ruins. You scrub everywhere his elegant fingers touched, everywhere his lush lips kissed, hissing when you wash your sore pussy, looking down at your fingers, finding his cum pouring out of you. Hot, sticky white cum washed by the shower.

Steam fills as you slide down to sit in the shower, resting your head on your knees, hating him so much you can barely breathe. Bad enough he fucked you, why did he have to make you enjoy it, why did he act like he cared for your pleasure, cared for you after even? A lie, all a lie, and it’s the last thing you need. 

You will hate him.

Outside your room, Suguru leans his back against your door, trying to catch his breath, head swirling with you, hands shaking as they brush back his hair. You have him shaking, you annoying, stupid brat of a girl, who wouldn’t even let him try to care for you, at all.

Why’d he want to though? You were right, your duty was fulfilled for the night, he should stop thinking of how he’d love to be in that shower with you, how he’s dying to be back inside you, imagining making you admit how good it felt. He could feel your slick on his cock still, wondering if you feel him pouring out of you, dying to breed you again, again, again.

He detests you.

Summoning a curse, a rather derpy looking one shaped like a bull with several eyes, he plops him next to your door now, this is a docile curse he’s had since his youth, bringing back too many memories. Of being happy, of laughing, of a girl named Riko, right before he’d snapped, her riding this curse on its back as they tried their best to save her.

It proved how disgusting humans were that day, lest he ever forget, his fist clenched as he struggles to gain his resolve, looking down at the creature now. “Guard this door.” It nods, tongue lolling out, Suguru sighs then. “Also make sure you… care for the girl in this room. Yes?”

It nods again, as Suguru does not know if you are safe really, surely no one would go against him, but there is much hatred already for humans, and many, many people hate you. But he wants you to be safe, otherwise he’ll just get another bride thrown on him, and who knows if he’d hate her more.

Suguru ends up in his room now, sighing as he sees Manami there with another woman from his cult, he shakes his head as they try to disrobe him. “No, I am not in any sort of mood for it.”

“But Suguru, it must've been awful.” Manami cooes, and the other girl nods, as they rub up and down his arms, making him feel disgusted.

How?

How do they, powerful women, make him disgusted now? He owes you no loyalty, he did not plan to only be with you, but the thought of anyone but you actually makes him sick. What sort of witchcraft do you possess, some new undetectable kind that he hasn’t figured out, to make him feel like this? Are you some weapon to destroy his fucking plans?

“Go. Now.” Suguru orders then, and they pout as they leave, but Suguru can’t get his mind off you, not when he’s washing you off in the shower, every vivid thought of making you enjoy it fills his mind.

Suguru hates you more when he’s stroking his cock to the thought of you whimpering, begging for him, on your knees with your tongue out. He’s moaning as he pinches his tip, he already came so much but he can’t stop how hard he is, thinking of how your eyes would cross as he fucked your throat, as he came so deep and you swallowed him greedy.

Thinking of you riding him, your tits bouncing right in his face, your thighs squeezing his face as he lapped his cup out of your pussy after. ‘F-fuck, you like it, don’t you’ he’s muttering, wet hair sticking to his back as water pounds down, and he’s stroking his cock faster and faster, eyes shutting, vivid pictures of you everywhere.

‘That’s it, good girl, cumming just for me, mine, aren’t you’ he’s stuttering, saying stupid insane shit, so high off your pussy he can’t even talk himself out of it, not when his big hand strokes his thick shaft over and over.

When Suguru cums again he moans out loud, hunching over and gasping for a breath, hating you more for what you’ve done when his sticky cum pours all out of his hand now. He rinses himself off, shaking his head and covering it with his other hand, realizing jerking off was nothing like cumming inside you, like fucking your perfect little pussy.

Just who the fuck are you?

******

The next day of being Suguru’s wife, you open the door and gasp, seeing some bull shaped creature who’s grinning at you, several eyes wide open as it licks your leg, making you squeak. “What!?”

“He likes you.” Comes Mimiko’s voice, she’s poking around on her phone, and you take a breath, smiling a bit.

Just because Suguru is a psychotic dick, it doesn’t mean you’d take it out on little girls, or oddly cute curses. “Can I pet it?” You ask, and Nanako giggles next to her sister, stepping closer.

“He’s docile.” She pets him then, and the thing damn near purrs, you bend down on your knees now, petting him yourself, sighing.

“He’s kinda cute?” They burst out in laughter, leaving the hall then, as you find the first bit of comfort in one of stupid, psycho Suguru’s curses. “You like me?”

He nods, licking on your cheek, you swipe at it, wincing as it runs off, and suddenly Suguru Geto is standing right in front of you, as you’re just on your knees still, looking up at him. Vivid insane thoughts fill you, as you feel your tummy clench, pussy so sore from him still, thinking of the dreams you’d had of this ass of a man, and now you’re just… there.

He freezes when he sees your hair fall back, loose and flowing, shimmering likely from your shower, and you’re right where he pictured you, what he jerked himself to over and over. The urge to pull out his cock and fuck your pretty face was overwhelming, driving him so insane his cock responds violently, already leaking precum, annoying him to no end.

He’d turned down more women this morning, because now he’s coming to a really annoying realization- he wants you. Only you. He’s blaming his stupid body, for wanting a petty human, but it’s undeniable, while you just blink and look up for a moment, before you clear your throat, standing and grabbing the door way, looking away now.

“Where’d the curse go? I like him.”

“You like him!?”

“Better than you, I was right. He’s cuter.” You smile then, and he glares, grabbing you right by your throat, only making you laugh.

“Who’s the psycho here, me or you?” He whispers, and you grip his wrist now, as he looks how pretty your neck is with his hand around it, as he looks at glossy lips he wants to kiss.

“Gonna kill me before the heir?” You whisper, when he squeezes just so.

“Tempting to do so.” He whispers against your lips, and you come to a very annoying realization of your own, when your nipples tighten, when your pussy drips from him choking you.

You want this psycho.

Just your body, you’ll just blame that, but it’s undeniable, and it makes you despise him more. “Go for it, put me outta my misery. Won’t have to look at you.” You say, he squeezes harder, stepping a little further in the room, as you feel lightheaded, and fucking horny.

What’s wrong with you!?

“Why don’t we work harder on making it happen then?”

“Now!?” You demand, and he shuts the door, smirking, undoing his black robes as you rub your sore neck.

“Now.”

Taglist open for parts two and three if you're not on it already <3 Hope you enjoyed this, I know Geto doesn't hit like my Gojo or Sukuna posts, but I rly tried lol. Can't wait to see what ya'll think!

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[lovelivision]

‎‎‎‎THE PRACTICE OF KISSING .𖥔 ݁ ˖

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎𐔌.pairing — geto suguru / reader

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎── word count: 10k

��� summary... after getting asked on a date you feel insecure over your inexperience regarding kissing someone. telling your bestfriend geto about your concerns results in an offer from him you didn't expect

warnings.ᐟ ── 18+ only, smut, pwp, swearing, making out, dry humping, dirty talk, hickeys, biting, (light) nipple play, praise kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, orgasm denial (once), bsf!geto, virgin!reader, return of tease!geto, afab!reader, no use of pronouns !!

The state of your mind is currently a mess, feeling overwhelmed and staring off into space as you think about how a guy asked you on a date earlier today. You'd turned him down but only because you have a particular hang up you can't get over, hence the feeling overwhelmed. You’ve never gone out on a date before and you feel like you’re missing out, so you definitely would’ve said yes if you weren’t so unsure of yourself.

Geto's hand waves in front of your face, breaking you from your trance, "Are you even listening to me?"

Has he been talking? Damn, you really spaced out, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Not even a little bit," his gaze unamused.

You look away from him and to the poster behind his head on the wall, feeling sheepish, "Then no... sorry."

His frown deepens, legs uncrossing and scooting closer to the edge of his bed, "What are you thinking about so hard?"

"Not telling," you answer, spinning around in his office chair so that you’re facing away from him.

His desk is neat, everything organised and probably put exactly where it should be. Beside his monitor sits a little black cat figurine, one you had bought him not too long ago because it reminded you of him. Seeing it displayed makes you smile; he must like it.

Geto’s voice cuts through your small reverie, "So, you're not only going to ignore me, you're also not going to tell me what's wrong?"

Not even glancing back, you hum at him, "That would be a correct assessment... yes."

"Have I told you that you're annoying yet today?" He exasperates.

Shrugging, "I don't think so?"

"Oh? In that case, you're annoying."

"You're so mean to me; this is why I don't want to tell you what's wrong," you’re being dramatic but so is he.

A sigh leaves him, "If I promise to be nice will you tell me what's wrong?"

Your head flops onto the chairs headrest, jabbing at him jokingly, "I don't know if you're capable of kindness, Suguru."

"Now who's being mean? I'm nice all the time."

"Maybe to strangers..." You mumble out.

There’s no reply from him and for a second you think he’s going to leave the issue alone… that is until you’re suddenly spinning. His footsteps are always so light, you didn’t even hear him come up behind you. You’re facing him now, his hands holding himself up by the arm rests of his office chair. He’d spun you around just to lean down into your space and pointedly look at you.

Geto squints, “I’m nice to you all the time.”

“I don’t think this constitutes as ‘nice’.”

He groans your name, “Come on, you always talk to me when something’s wrong.”

“Maybe this is awkward for me to talk to you about,” you pout back at him.

His tongue clicks in realisation, “So, it’s about your love life?”

The immediate correct guess stumps you, causing you to sputter out, “What!? You have no way of–”

“–You never talk to me about your dates and you also got defensive so I’m guessing I’m right,” his gaze is even, unconcerned.

You huff at him and echo his earlier question, “Have I told you that you’re annoying yet today?”

“Yes, earlier when you almost fell over and I smiled,” he reminds.

Your response is a grimace and a matter-of-fact tone when saying, “I don’t tell you about my dates because I don’t go on them.”

“Ever?” Geto’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by your confession.

Cementing back, “Ever.”

“People have definitely asked you out though.”

“Yeah but not that often because they always think we’re together,” you glare back at him.

A hand reaches for your face and squishes your cheeks between his fingers, “Don’t look at me like that, that’s not my fault.”

Your voice comes out all mumbled and difficult to understand, “It so is.” He rolls his eyes at you and you slap his hand away, “Stop squishing my face!”

Letting go, he sighs and takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the bed again, “Something about your love life is bothering you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest and looking to the side, you complain, “You’re so nosy.”

“Am not.”

What a liar, he’s always in your business. Though, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t think he’s usually in other people’s business this bad. He does like hearing about the gossip you collect though, always ready to hear it while acting as though he doesn’t care.

There’s no reply you can think to give, so you give him the silent treatment. Still looking away from him and silently pouting, you can feel his eyes watching you, waiting for you to break. It’s a frequent game you start that he finishes, silently ignoring him while he watches and waits until you can’t take it anymore and tell him what’s on your mind.

A few more moments pass by and you already feel ready to give in, you hate how much more effective his silence is. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your gazes meet and you feel yourself folding all at once.

Large and exasperated groan leaving you as your shoulders slump back into the chair, “Fine!”

He perks up at your concession, a self-satisfied look on his face that irks you.

Looking at him properly to say, “I was asked on a date earlier today.”

The expression on his face changes to one of annoyance, like he’s not happy to hear that, “Who?”

“Some guy, you don’t know him,” you wave off, not really understanding why it matters to him.

Geto prods for more information, “…And what did you say?”

“…I said no.”

“Oh?” His reaction is indecipherable to you, “Why?”

This question is exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this, “I don’t know…” You’re lying, trying to avoid talking about this in more depth.

“Did you like him?”

“I didn’t not like him,” you shrug, “I would’ve liked to go out with him at least once but…”

“But…” He pushes.

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you scowl at your own reasoning, “I’ve never been on a proper date before, I don’t know what to expect or what’s expected of me. What if he wanted to kiss me or something?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, making you antsy while you wait for him to talk, “…Would you want to kiss him back?”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding the issue,” his brows are pinched with his confusion.

You’re exhausted with him, like you aren’t the one being purposefully cryptic, “Am I gonna have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh!” You kick your legs in a mini tantrum, “I’ve never properly kissed someone… it’s always been like… a peck, I don’t know? But what if he expected more of me?”

You can see the way he’s actively fighting against the smile threatening to break out on his face, “Is that–” he bites down an amused sound, “Is that why you always say no to dates?”

“I don’t like you very much right now,” you were already feeling silly and embarrassed and his clear joy from this is not helping that.

He pouts at you mockingly, “Don’t be like that, I can help.”

“How could you possibly help me with this?”

A smile comfortable on his face when he states, “I could teach you.”

“You want to teach me how to kiss?” You scrutinise him, “Have you gone insane?”

“You’re the one all hung up on this and I’m offering to help you,” he puts his hands up, “But if you’d rather be a dateless loser for the rest of your life–”

“–Hey!” You point at him, “Uncalled for… and rude!”

A very signature and very annoying, polite smile sits on his pretty features. Unbothered by your outburst at his very clear bait. He simply raises his arm and grabs the hand you had pointed at him, tugging you from the chair and into him on the bed. You’re taken aback by his bold move, so close to him so quickly. Falling into his lap less than gracefully, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as you sit sideways between his legs.

You stutter out at him, “Wha– what are you doing?”

Letting go of your hand; he reaches for your face. His thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone, “Do you want my help or not?”

“What you’re basically asking me is if I want to kiss you,” you correct… because that is what he’s asking right now.

Geto’s head drops back slightly as he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you dramatically, hand resting on your outer thigh now, “Don’t be so pedantic. You have a problem and I’m offering to help fix it.”

A sound of disapproval slips from you at his wording, “I know the theory behind kissing someone, Suguru. What you’re offering is making out with me.”

“So?”

Your expression is dumbfounded, you know he’s not this dense, “You want to stick your tongue in my mouth and then go back to the usual?”

He leans in again, dodging your question with his own, “Do you want me to stick my tongue in your mouth?”

“Geto–”

“–Ouch–”

“–Shut up.” You cut him off, “If! We did this and I do mean if. Would you be able to look at me the same?”

“The same as I always have? Sure,” there’s no hesitation from him.

He seems so sure, like he’s not worried about what this might mean for your friendship at all. The easy-going look on his face is both pissing you off and relaxing you, emotions he’s always been able to pull from you.

His hand is large on your thigh and the way it makes you feel is not how you should feel for him. Mumbling out a small, “You’re annoying.”

An amused breath leaves him, “You’ve already told me that today.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you look up at him through your lashes.

“That’s kind of the point of this.”

“Right…” You can’t help but find yourself feeling nervous, embarrassed that you won’t be good enough. For some reason… you really want him to think you’re a good kisser.

He must take your silence as rejection because his tone is gentle when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I just…” You frown while looking at him, trying to figure out exactly what steps to take next, “I don’t know what to do now…” Geto’s face relaxes and a smile replaces his concern causing you to chastise him, “Don’t smile, it’s not funny!”

“No,” he agrees, “But it is a little cute.”

“Whatever, can we just kiss now?”

“Desperate?” He asks teasingly.

You deny it, “I just want you to stop talking.”

“Sure.” It’s all dragged out and has a teasing lilt to it. Damn him and his need to have the last word. You don’t reply to that and instead try to shuffle off him, thinking sitting like this would be awkward. His hold becomes firmer on you, “What are you doing?”

You’re confused, “Isn’t this position weird?”

“Makes it easier,” is all he says in reply.

Being sat between his spread legs, your own draping over one of them while he holds you doesn’t seem ideal. To you, this couldn’t be a more awkward position to be in for this. Instead of telling him that though, you settle back, “Alright…”

When you look back up at him properly, he’s already looking at you. There’s a funny feeling that runs through you at the look in his eyes. The hand on your thigh moves to your face again, cradling you as he leans in. Murmuring a soft, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Just as he’s about to move all the way in, your hand covers his mouth, “Wait.” You stop him, your nerves getting the better of you, “What if… what if you don’t like kissing me?” He looks a little frustrated so you pull your hand away, giving him a chance to speak.

“Do you want me to like kissing you?”

You feel flustered by his question, “Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Because your questions are interesting…” he pauses, “…And also, I like teasing you.”

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine,” he indulges you, “I’m not gonna dislike kissing you so your question is dumb.”

“But you can’t know–”

He tuts you, interrupting what you were saying, “–You gotta answer my question now.”

You groan at him, “Well… yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ what?”

He’s such a smug bastard, “Yeah! Yeah I want you to like kissing me, Suguru.”

You’re huffy but he seems so pleased by your response. A serene and happy look on his face despite the tone you used. You find yourself waiting for him to say something more, something to tease you further but he doesn’t. He simply leans in again, taking you by surprise when his lips are softly pressing to yours. It’s short and sweet, more akin to a peck than anything else. Continuing to plant gentle kisses to your lips until you return them and then he lets them linger.

The feelings that run through you have you all tingly and hot, kissing your best friend for practice probably shouldn’t feel this good… right? You still don’t really know what you’re doing though, more just letting him kiss you than anything. When you part again, you murmur, “Suguru, I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Just follow my lead,” his eyes stay on your lips, now shiny from the shared kisses, “That’s all you gotta do.”

“But–”

His eyes roll when you go to argue more, “–Stop thinking so hard about it and let me kiss you.”

You can’t help but squirm slightly at that, “Okay.”

Satisfaction rolls off him in waves but thankfully for you he doesn’t comment any further, choosing to kiss you again. Instinctually, your hand reaches for his chest and grips onto his shirt, you need something to ground you.

Geto is taking this slow, he’s trying his best to be patient to savour this moment with you. He doesn’t want to push you too far too soon and have you stop whatever this is. If he were more sure of himself and where he stands with you, he’d have just asked you out like a sane person but he’s not sure and he didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.

He can feel this becoming something he covets, your soft lips on his, uncertain in your movements but so ready to be kissed by him. His heart pulls with a kind of possessiveness that’s not completely unfamiliar to him regarding you. The desire to not want anyone else to ever have this side of you overwhelming him.

It’s addictive, his kisses, his hold on you… him. You can feel yourself falling into him more, the longer you do this dance. You want more, you want him to kiss you more but you have no idea how to ask for that. Following his lead is good, it’s helpful but it’s starting to feel like he’s depriving you.

Pulling back, you force yourself to voice, “I want more…”

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He sounds strained.

“You said you would teach me,” you remind. “So, teach me.”

His thumb presses into your jaw, “Open your mouth more then.”

Doing as he asks; he angles you just slightly before pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss fuller, his tongue licking into your mouth. It has a shiver running down your spine, the sensation new and mind numbing. It’s messier than before and so much more dizzying, you can’t even really keep up with his movements. Just letting him kiss you to his hearts content, feeling yourself getting drunk on his lips in the process.

You can’t even be sure if you’re doing this right but it doesn’t really feel like it matters, not when you’re this lost in it. Lips gliding against his, a small involuntary sound pulling from your chest at how he grips you tighter. Feeling like he gets impossibly closer, his kisses growing desperate the moment you whine into him.

Geto’s restraint is wearing thin, his desire for you growing tenfold at how you moan for him. He wants to touch you so much more, to put his hands on every part of you. The fear of ruining this moment keeps his hands planted firmly to your hip and cheek though and it’s killing him to not touch you more, more, more.

When you tentatively lick against his tongue he almost all but folds in that single moment, he feels so pathetically weak for you. So unsure of yourself and still trying to kiss him just as deeply as he is you. A guttural groan leaves him, a sound he’d be almost ashamed of if he didn’t notice the way you squirm at it.

You pull back from him and he can’t help but chase your lips, he doesn’t want to stop. An amused breath leaves you, “Hold on.”

He doesn’t understand what you need a moment for until you’re pulling his hands from you and moving to straddle him.  Your thighs resting beside him, he feels dizzy with need, the need to touch you, to undress you. To have you naked and straddling his lap just like this could make his whole year. His hands are on your hips, tugging you up his lap just slightly further, encouraging.

Going to sit on him, you notice his erection and gasp. Heat rising to your face, suddenly so conscious of how heated this exchange has gotten, “Maybe we should stop…”

It’s almost like it hurts him to hear those words, “Do you want to stop?”

You wish you weren’t so certain, so quick to immediately know that, “… No, I don’t.”

“That’s good…” he smiles, “Cause I’m not done teaching yet.”

And then you’re kissing again, wet and sloppy. He’s holding back less, depraved in how he sucks your tongue into his mouth, bolder now. Revelling in every twitch you make against him, every mumbled whine you let out.

Mindlessly, your hips lightly roll downwards and his resulting grip holds you so still against him. A debauched moan leaving him at your unexpected movements, parting his mouth from yours with it. Geto’s head tucks into your chest, controlling his breathing, like he might snap at any moment.

You feel a little frantic, like you might’ve hurt him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“–Don’t– fuck– don’t apologise,” he can feel how warm you are through your pants and it’s making him feel feral.

Your fingers run through his hair, to comfort him, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He huffs an unamused sound, “The only thing hurting me is how badly I wanna stuff you full.”

“Sugu–”

“–I know you can feel just how hard I am,” he pulls his head back to look at you, eyes blown wide and dark, “I’m practically aching for you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, “Suguru… are you some kind of closeted perv?”

The question makes him laugh, “Wanna find out?”

“You were only supposed to teach me how to kiss…”

“Mhm, and you’re doing great,” his nose traces along your neck, inhaling you, “I still have so much more knowledge to give though.”

“Don’t be so– hah!” He licks at your skin before latching his mouth to the side of your throat, the pressure making you fidget in his lap. You feel so sensitive, so much more than what you thought you would.

When Geto pulls back from the mark he’s made, he blows softly on it, enjoying the way you shudder on top of him. “‘Don’t be so’ what?”

That’s right you were going to say something, he looks really nice right now though… eyes lidded and cheeks just slightly pink, lips slick. What were you going to say to him? His grin only grows, taking satisfaction in your glazed eyes and struggle to think. Averting your gaze, you try to remember what you wanted to say. The break in eye contact short lived since he grabs your chin and pulls you back.

“Come on, pretty, what were you gonna say?”

The effect he’s having on you is becoming too much, “I was gonna tell you to not be so depraved!”

“Hmm…” His head quirks at you, “You seem to like it though?”

How presumptuous of him, “You can’t know that!”

“You know… the human body is really interesting, for example…” he looks down to where you’re sitting over his prominent erection, “You’re so incredibly hot against me that I feel like I’m going insane,” smiling back up at you evilly, “Just how wet are you?”

The possibility of fainting is very real all of a sudden, his question has you hot everywhere. “I jus– I just told you to not be so depraved.”

“Yeah and I ignored you,” he deadpans, ignoring your indignant sounds. “Do you want me to stop?”

Again, you hate how badly you don’t want to stop. Right now, you think you’d let him do just about whatever he wanted to you. “Promise not to tease me later?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

You pout back at him, “Then I’m not gonna say what I was thinking.”

His curiosity is sufficiently piqued, “Fine, I promise to try not to tease you later.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He tries again, “I promise.” You both stay looking at one another for a moment before he adds, “That’s as good as you’re getting.” And you know it to be true.

How to say this without embarrassing yourself, “You can… you can touch me… however you want, Suguru…”

He feels like he’s gone into shock, “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No… I heard you,” he can’t help the way his cock jumps in excitement, “I’m just double checking I heard you right.” He leans in to taunt, “You’re gonna let me touch you however I want?”

“You said you had more knowledge to share,” It’s a dangerous game that you’re both playing.

He breathes out, “And if I wanna touch you in a depraved manner?”

So certain in yourself when you reply, “I want to be touched in a depraved manner… by you.”

Ah, so you’re trying to kill him, is the conclusion that Geto has come to. A breathless laugh leaves him, “For practice?”

“Sure,” you give him the answer you think he wants, in reality you just want to desperately be touched by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life and it’s all his fault.

An amused sound leaves him, “Hah– Don’t know if I believe your answer there…” his hands are on your hips, slowly dragging you over his dick. Biting his lip at the feeling, cock jumping when your breath stutters.

“Wait– wait,” your hands hold onto his and he stops moving you. Realising now that he might’ve gotten carried away, that he should’ve double checked again.

When you get off his lap and onto shaky legs Geto feels his heart drop, only for it to suddenly pick up speed when you’re shuffling your pants down and off. Crawling back onto him in your panties, he – shamefully – has to put so much focus into keeping calm, so worked up he could cum from this alone.

“Yeah…” you murmur back at him, placing yourself right over his erection again, gasping at how hard he is, at how much more you can feel even through the layers left on, “I lied just now.”

He wants to ask more; he wants to know what you lied about but if he thought you were hot before then he’s melting now. You’re sitting on his dick in the cutest little panties, already so drenched from making out with him that the affection he feels for you fills up his chest. He’s way too distracted right now to ask what he wants.

“Be honest,” it feels like a chore to rip his gaze away from your pussy, “Are you trying to kill me?”

Geto’s eyes are all glassy and blown, cheeks flushed as he implores you, like he’s worried you’re actually trying to kill him. He’s making you feel shy, “It’s your fault I’m acting like this.”

That has him feeling a little prideful, “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

“In that case,” he’s slowly dragging your heated core over his erection again, “Should I fix it?”

You nod your head at him, “…Yeah”

The shivers that run through you make you gasp, the drag over Geto’s dick feeling so much better without your pants on. And yet you can’t help but feel so greedy, a kind of need in your bones that you’ve not experienced before.

He takes his hands away from your hips and you stop moving, whining pathetically at him, “Why–”

“–Keep doing it yourself,” he encourages.

“But–”

“Just do it how it feels good, use me for a bit,” he grins, “I wanna watch you pleasure yourself on me.”

“You really are a perv,” you mutter back at him.

His retort is quick, “Say that to me when your pussy’s not drooling all over my pants.”

Your cunt jumps at his words, “Are you gonna be this crude the whole time?”

“I can be worse if you want?”

“I can’t stand you.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he looks pointedly down to where your cunt is pulsing hot against him. “Now do us both a favour and move,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, apparently nearing his limit.

“You’re so bossy,” you frown, “I’ve never…” You’re at a loss for how to phrase it.

“Dry humped someone before?” He finishes for you, “Though with how wet you are–”

“Shh!” You cover his mouth with your palm, “Stop… talking about how wet I am.”

He pulls your hand away, “You know, I’m not surprised you’ve never–”

“–You don’t have to say it again,” you cut him off.

He rolls his eyes, “You hadn’t even made out with someone, I’m just saying that I didn’t ask you to use me without knowing.” He holds the side of your face gently, “Stop worrying about it so much, I know already… that you’re a huge virgin.”

His gentle touch greatly contrasts his teasing words. He’s so evil to you, “This is why I say you’re not nice.”

“Do you want me to be nice? To tell you how pretty you are and how good of a job you’re doing?” The reaction you have is almost visceral, skin heating and looking away from him. Even more embarrassed when he chuckles at you, “Got a bit of a praise kink, hmm?”

“You’re making this difficult for me.”

“You should’ve just done what I asked then,” he shrugs easily.

If you thought holding out would punish him more than you, then maybe you’d just get off him and go home to get yourself off but you want him to make you feel good. So instead, you’ll just give in and hope he shows you mercy, though by how this is going, he doesn’t seem to be the type.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down into Geto and he huffs out a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Your hands move to his shoulders for purchase, using the leverage you have there to grind down into him harder.

He holds onto your waist. Not moving you, just resting his hands there, “Oh fuck– no– hah– no warning?”

You shake your head at him, brows pinched as you focus on seeking your own pleasure, “You– hnn– wanted me to– hah– to do as you asked.”

His head falls back slightly at the pleasure, a lazy smile on his face, “That’s true.”

The longer you do this, the slicker his pants get, you’re so unbelievably wet that it’s coating the material obscenely. Geto is in awe of it, eyes fixed on where you’re rutting down into him, marvelling at the damp spot on his pants, at how drenched your panties are. So soaked that they’re practically a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination with how it’s sticking to you.

He holds you still suddenly and the whine you let out is endearing, “Wait for a second,” he huffs.

Moving his hands to his belt to undo it, shuffling his pants down his legs. You lean up on your knees for a moment for him to drop them to his feet but before you can sit back down, his hand is holding you there. He runs the fingers of his other hand through your covered folds, a groan coming from the back of Geto’s throat.

“Seriously, you’re so fucking wet,” he reminds you.

“Sorry…”

He almost chokes, “‘Sorry?’” His fingers draw up to your clit, pressing into it, “Don’t be fucking sorry… I’m nearly salivating because of how drenched you are.”

That catches you off guard, “Sugu–”

He doesn’t let you speak, “–This wet because of me? It’s my fault you said?”

You bite your lip, his fingers circling your clit deliciously, “Mhm.”

His eyes brighten, “Perfect. Aren’t you just perfect for me?”

Your legs start shaking and he lets you drop back to his lap, one less layer between the two of you now. He’s so warm and hard and if you weren’t straddling him, you’d be clenching your thighs together for relief.  

“You are doing such a good job for me,” he whispers low against your ear, “Having the most perfect reactions.”

You whine at his praise, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yeah,” he licks against your ear, “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His size is honestly daunting, large and thick as you sit on it, throbbing underneath you. “Suguru?”

He noses at your cheekbone, “Mmm?”

“I’m worried…”

“About?”

“What if you don’t fit…” you look down to his lap, “I just mean, you feel…big.”

“I don’t have to put it in you,” he comforts but he can’t help the way he twitches at your genuine concern over taking him.

“But you want to?”

“What sort of a question is that?” he holds you down while he grind up into you, “Does it feel like I want to?”

“I was jus– ah!– I was just checking,” you sulk back.

Your mind melts, getting away from you. He’s rutting up into you in a way that has you shaking and your breaths stuttering. On edge for so long while sat in his lap, you want to meet his grinds, you want to move your hips into him but his grip is firm and steady.

It’s honestly a little pitiful how quickly he’s building you up, your insides clenching with the pleasure. The drag back and forth on his clothed cock driving you slowly to insanity. His boxers almost as ruined as your panties, your slick coating his covered dick. The glide much smoother than what you’d expect. It’s like you can feel him throbbing for you and it makes you want to fully take him even more.

Your own thoughts riling you up, the idea of him sitting so heavily inside you makes you huff out a whine. A sound that Geto relishes in, in fact, he’s relishing in all of this. You’re so malleable to his will, he thinks in this state, you’d let him do whatever he pleases. The thought alone nearly has his eyes rolling.

He needs you to cum like this, he needs to see it. How you shake and writhe on top of him, the expression you make. He wants to make you cum in so many different ways just to see how your expressions might differ each time.

It’s relentless, how he humps up into you, how he pulls you down into him. Your clit catching on the tip of his dick making you jump each time, shocks of pleasure running through you. You never thought something like this would feel so damn good.

Fingers grappling at the material of his shirt, pleasure wracking your body as he draws you closer and closer, “Stop– ah!– if you keep going I’ll– hnn–”

“–So soon?” he hums, “I don’t know if– hah– I believe you… you’re gonna have to prove it,” he leers back at you.

His eyes on you feel so consuming, calm and watching but so hungry that it’s driving you to the edge. It feels like you���re melting, so warm and unbelievably close. Body twitching on top of him with your impending orgasm. You don’t even get to try and warn him again, sounds you’ve never heard yourself make falling from your mouth before you can think to stop them. Trembling with the force of your orgasm, feeling so weak as you slump into him, eyes wet and bleary.

Geto feels like he’s vibrating, watching you come undone on top of him making him feel too much at once. His arms wrap around you and hold you close, hands smoothing up and down your back. Lips close to your ear when he speaks, “You know… you make some really cute noises when you cum.”

Lazily, you look up at him through your lashes. Feeling a stupid kind of pleasure running through your body, still jolting slightly with the come down. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m only being honest,” his hands slip under your shirt, groping your waist, “You getting embarrassed is just a bonus.”

“Have you always been this sadistic?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your mouth, “Who knows?” He smiles.

Turning, you catch his mouth with yours. Kissing him properly, hands tickling the back of his neck as you try to kiss him like he did you earlier. His hands on your waist grip you, lips imploring. So needy in how he returns your kiss, all but whining when you part. A string of saliva connects your mouths and he wipes your lower lip with his thumb, pressing it to your lips like he might push it inside.

Eyes lost as he dances his digit over your plush lips, “You’re beautiful,” is all he says, gazing at you with so much affection.

Opening your mouth, you gently take his thumb between your teeth. Biting so very lightly before flicking your tongue over the tip of it. Geto looks like he blushes at the action, pulling his hand back.

“Seems as though I’m not the only tease,” he accuses.

You mutter back at him, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His compliment had made you feel so soft and tingly that you didn’t know what to say or how to react. It’s not like he’s never complimented you before, you just weren’t expecting him to call you beautiful so earnestly. Being given compliments by someone has never made your insides flutter as much as they did just now.

He hums at you, redirecting his attention. Pulling at the hem of your shirt to show what he wants; you lift your arms up so he can remove it from you properly. Feeling so bare on top of him but not really minding, still too blissed on your orgasm to care.

Geto doesn’t waste any time, groping your tits in his large hands. Rolling your nipples experimentally and grinning wide at how you twitch and bite back moans at it. “My, you’re sensitive.”

Teeth digging into your lower lip to stop the pitiful noises he’s threatening to pull from you, “Try not to sound so pleased about that.” Your blood is still thumping through your ears, pleasure fresh in your bones.

“Would you rather I be upset?”

“I’d rather you not make– ah!–”

His wet mouth wrapping around your nipple has your words cutting off suddenly, back arching into him. Huffing out breaths at how he flicks his tongue over your sensitive skin, dizzy from the heat he’s making you feel. Pulling back with an obscene pop, licking at you a final time while keeping eye contact before swapping to your neglected tit.

He’s playing with you, or he’s waiting for you to say you’re ready for more… no he’s definitely just playing with you. Taking his time leaving marks all over your tits, even biting some places. Neglecting himself in favour of teasing you to insanity, though it can’t be that painful for him considering how he’s enjoying this immensely.

Whining at him, “You– hah!– You’re gonna leave too many marks,” he ignores you in favour of making a new mark to the top of your breast, “Suguru!”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull him back with a tug. You’re frowning at him but your eyes are so wet and dazed and you’re nearly completely naked on top of him. Covered in hickeys and his saliva, despite your pulled brows you look so euphoric.

Feigning ignorance, he simpers, “What’s wrong with that?” A finger trails over the marks he’s left, grazing a sensitive nipple in his journey, “You seemed to liked it.”

Swallowing your pride, you tell him directly, “I want more.”

“You want to cum again?” He muses, “Greedy.”

Taking offence at his accurate guess, you add, “I want… you to as well.”

Geto ignores the thumping of his heart, “Take off your panties then.”

“But…”

A brow raises at you, “‘But’ what?”

You don’t really want to tell him about how shaky your legs are, you’re a little concerned they’ll give out as soon as you try to stand. He really doesn’t need the ego boost right now, “Nothing.”

Moving off him so so carefully, you keep your hands on his shoulders as you stand between his spread legs. With the way your knees are wobbling and fingers gripping to him so harshly, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you’ve not really got a great sense of balance right now. A smug smile gracing his lips when he sees you fight to figure out how you’re going to take off your panties with your hands on him.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” You quickly answer.

“Then take them off,” a finger pulls at the waistline of your underwear only to let it snap back to you. At your continued struggle he adds, “Or do you want me to take them off for you?”

You look to him, eyes hopeful for mercy, “Please?”

“Sure,” his tone polite but you’re not sure you’re that trusting of him.

Thankfully, his hands slide them delicately down your legs, brushing against your thighs. Though, he’s an opportunist and he uses this chance to grip at your thighs, pulling at your skin further and further up your legs. Humming low to himself at the slick coating your inner thighs, unable to help himself when he drags his fingers through your folds, touching your pussy directly.

“Fuck, alright–” He bites out, pulling you to his lap suddenly, “I’ve reached my limit.”

“Wait,” he stops his frantic movements and you pull at his shirt, “Take it off.”

He doesn’t even tease, just immediately does as you asked, hastily tugging his shirt off. It’s dropped less than gracefully onto the floor. Your fingers dance along his shoulders, down his chest. You want to take it all in a bit more but he’s flopping onto his back and shucking his boxers down enough to pull his cock free.

The size of him almost has your eyes bulging, you wonder how he’s been so patient when he’s this hard and achy looking. Tip flushed deep pink and already smothered in his own leaky precum, your cunt throbs while looking at him. Caught between concern over his size and a desperate need to be full of him.

“You don’t have to take it but please just–” He grabs and moves you until you’re hovering over it, “Sit on it at least.”

Lowering yourself cautiously, you sit on him lightly. He can feel your heat and it makes him shiver, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” he snickers, “Split your pussy open on my dick.”

Geto doesn’t even give you the chance to do it yourself, hands tugging you down onto him with more force. A gasp ripping from you when he immediately starts dragging you back and forth on his whole length. Stifled groans leave him from under you, his chest vibrating under your palm.

“Sugu–”

“–Sorry,” his brows are knitted together, “I got– nnh– impatient.”

It’s so wet, slipping over him repeatedly, the head of his cock nudging your clit over every pass. Your teeth dig into your lower lip to fight the whines bubbling inside you but eventually you give up and just let yourself moan. He seems to like it anyways, cock jerking at the soft breaths and whimpers leaving you.

He’s on the brink of stupidity, you’re so soft and unbelievably warm and his tip keeps catching on your hole and it makes him shudder each time. Looking down, he watches the way you’re coating his cock in more of your slick, cock shiny with how wet you are. Lewd sounds of your pussy grinding over him fill the room and now he’s thinking about you creaming around him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life.

“Sugu,” you call out to him and he dopily pulls his eyes to yours, “Do you think I could just…” when his cockhead catches on your hole again, you press down, not even taking him in any real way and yet still stretching slightly for it.

His grip hardens on you, holding you completely still, “There’s no ‘just’ anything.” He struggles to breath out evenly, “Not with how tight you are.”

“I wanna feel full though,” you try wiggling down into him but he’s truly got you in a vice like hold.

His cock twitches as excitement rushes through him, “You asking me to take your virginity, pretty?”

Shy when you ask, “Would you?”

He’s not passing on the chance to pick on you a little bit, “How bad do you want it?”

He can feel the way your hole flutters when you think about his question, your answer seemingly downplaying how you feel, “Pretty bad.”

“Hmm,” He pretends to think about his answer.

You’re taking issue with his faux deep thought, “Sugu, stop acting like you’re not…”

“Go on,” he encourages, “‘Like I’m not’ what?”

“Like you’re not…” you look away from him, mumbling out, “Aching for it…”

“Oh? You aching for it?” The smile he’s wearing can be heard in his words.

He sounds way too gleeful over this and it’s ticking you off, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ as you lift yourself off him.

“Don’t be like that,” he sits up, “I’m not letting you go anywhere… not when I know you’re aching for my cock.”

“I did not say that.”

“That’s what I heard you say,” he shrugs.

Geto’s arms wrap around you only to throw you down onto the bed, gone from you for a second while he shoves his boxers off quickly. And then he’s crawling over you, hands tracing up your body, relishing in your reactions to him.

“You really are so sensitive,” he mutters, trailing a finger up your thigh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps.

He’s being so unbearable, the need you feel is so loud and he’s here taunting you, “You’re so frustrating.”

“You’re just a needy little thing,” he returns, “So desperate to be filled even though you’re not prepared in the slightest.”

“Then prepare me,” you whine back.

He finds this about you cute, your insatiable greed, your back and forth between shy and so horny that you’re getting pissy at him. “I should teach you some manners,” he grumbles.

You spread your legs for him obscenely, growing even more impatient. “Please, touch me,” you pull his hand towards your pussy, “please.”

If he ever gets the chance to touch you like this again he’s going to torture you because right now you’re playing so completely unfairly that he can’t even think to deny you. His brows pull up as he flushes, finding himself doing exactly what you wanted, fingers gliding through your folds.

The way you keen at his touch almost makes it worth it. “You don’t play fair,” he complains.

“Someone lead by– hah!– po– poor example, I guess,” you shudder when he slips a single finger inside you.

Geto groans at the snug heat of your cunt, closing his eyes to take a quick breath at just how you feel wrapped around his digit. The fear or cumming the minute he gets inside you is real; he’s going to have to develop an insane amount of self-restraint between then and now.

“You’re hilarious,” he leans down to whisper in your hear, “Now shhh…” He draws his finger back before fucking it back in, lewd wet sounds of your pussy filling the silence, “Hear that?” He keeps repeating his movements, taking immense joy in how you writhe under him, “I think… pretty things that are this wet and begging to get fucked… don’t get to mock me.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, eyes glassy when you look up at him, “Don’t– nnh– be sooo mean.”

“You haven’t seen me be mean,” he pulls his finger back just to stuff another inside you, grinning when you arch your back at it, “I’ve only been nice to you today.”

“Be nicer,” you pout.

“Don’t wanna be,” he smiles graciously back at you.

The fingers he has in you scissor to spread you open, pleased hums leaving him at your responses. Your mouth drops open and legs shake, fighting to close but unable to with how he’s in-between them. He’s hitting all the perfect spots inside you, crooking his digits to rub against your inner walls in a way you’re never able to reach.

He’s getting you so close to cumming that you want to hide from him, somehow feeling so much more vulnerable like this than when you were sitting in his lap earlier. Slowly, he works you to the point of taking another of his fingers, fucked open on three of them now. Your toes curl and your thighs hoist themselves on either side of his waist. Hips grinding into his hand, meeting his movements.

Geto finds the frenzied and desperate grinds into his hand adorable, satisfied with just how much more greedy you get when you’re this turned on. He already knows you must be close, your sudden drive to fuck down onto his fingers a dead giveaway to him.

He adds his thumb, rubbing circles into your clit. You jerk at it, tits bouncing in a way that has him drooling. To be honest, if you weren’t practically begging to get dicked down earlier he would’ve put his mouth on you. Maybe if he weren’t also desperate to put his cock in you he’d do it anyways but for now, he’ll settle for fingerfucking you to insanity and then shoving you full of his dick.

Your voice comes out smaller than you want, “Sugu, I think–”

“–I know,” his eyes are bright, fully aware of how close you are.

He can feel the way you twitch and clench down on him, back arching off the bed. Speeding up his movements just to get you there that much quicker and when you’re about to cum all over his fingers… he pulls them from you. Leaving you without your orgasm but so high that he could blow on your clit and you might cum.

You whine at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Expression dopey and angry, sexually frustrated from the cruel and unexpected edging he just put you through. “What the hell, Suguru?!”

His grin is wolfish, merciless expression painted over with faux pity, “I’m so sorry, pretty. Were you close?” A hand cradles your face, soothing you for something that is completely his fault.

“Why would you do that?” All he’s succeeded in is making you needier than before, squirming under him with no way to find relief.

His answer is simple, “Just to see how you’d react.”

“I shouldn’t have hung out with you today.”

“Don’t be like that,” he guides his dick to your cunt, “I’m ‘bout to treat you so good.”

“If you don’t let me cum we’re not friends anymore,” you warn.

He snickers at how genuine you’re being, “Alright.”

“I mean it, Suguru.”

“I know you do,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “That’s why it’s a little tempting.”

You whine at him, “Can you stop being so cruel for a moment?”

He blinks at you, “What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be the first person you go on a date with.”

His request confuses you, “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer you, “Those are my terms,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Okay! Fine, yes, whatever you want,” you nod at him.

He smiles and starts pushing into you, the stretch is a lot and it aches more than his fingers. You’re trying to breathe through it but it seems like he is too. His thumb is on your clit, trying to get you to relax for him. “St– stop– hah– fuck!– stop clenching so tight,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I can’t– nnh– help it,” your nails dig into his skin.

His lashes flutter when he gets his tip inside you, groan leaving him. “Wh– when I s–say date I mean– hnnn– a real date. A ‘I take you out and then try kissing you at the end of it’ date.”

For some reason, that makes your insides twist and you squirm. “Wh– whatever you– nnh– want, Sugu.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna– hah– dress up and let me take you out for your first ever date?” His fingers grip at his blanket below.

Your eyes roll as he slips further inside you, babbling out, “If you– hnn– let me cum? I’ll date only you.”

Geto sputters at that, hips driving forwards on their own making you both moan. His upper body drops down to you, lips ghosting over your neck and cheek before taking yours in a sweet kiss. He knows you’re out of your mind horny and probably not even sure of what you just said but he’s going to live in this moment while he fucks you.

He’s kissing your breath away while he slowly fills you to the hilt, trying so hard to be careful with you. His lips successfully distract you from the ache you were feeling, melting into him as he licks at your tongue.

Parting from you only when he’s balls deep inside you, head flopping to your shoulder as he moans. Struggling to keep it together, you’re wrapped so snug and hot around him, pulsing so tightly around his aching cock that he feels like he might cum at any second.

“Sugu?” When he hums, you continue, “Move please?”

You wiggle your hips into him but he’s quick to stop you with a firm hand, “If you don’t want this ending right now then you need to give me a moment.”

“Hmm, that’s awfully cute of you, Suguru,” you tease him.

“That’s bold,” he licks at the shell of your ear, “I’m going to ruin you.”

“More than you already have?”

He agrees, “So much more.”

It feels like an eternity before he’s finally dragging his hips back, that alone has your breath stuttering. He wants to set a punishing pace so bad; he wants to fuck you until you’re mad but he starts slow. Thrusting back into you at a languid pace, still carefully opening you up on his fat dick. It’s your first time and as much as he loves torturing you, he also loves pleasing you.

You’re scrabbling for purchase at his leisurely pace anyways, not expecting the heavy drag of his cock to feel this mind numbing. He chuckles lowly at the way you’re already weak for him, though it’s completely his fault considering all he’s put you through up until now.

“I think you may be the awfully cute one,” he smirks at you.

Your insides tug at his tone, “You can– hnn– be quiet.”

Leaning up, he rest on his knees, pushing your leg back and up. He has a great view of you taking him like this, able to see all your reactions. “I can but your pussy really likes when I talk.”

He’s so smug and he gets to be too because he’s right, his lightly mocking tone and that polite smile he wears is a deadly combo that has your cunt seizing around him. “I like it– hah– better when you’re nice to me.”

“You’re taking me all so well, pretty,” he praises, “Pussy sucking me right back in, so greedily.”

Your eyes roll back at how he thrusts into you, new angle hitting deeper than before, “That’s not– hnn– being nice!”

“Really?” He watches the way your hole clenches and feels how much wetter you get around him, “‘Cause you seemed to like it a lot.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him, silently asking for him to fuck you.

He looks down his nose at you, “What are you asking for?”

Sulking, “I want you to– hah– move more.”

“You should’ve just said that then,” he crooks his head to the side at you.

The slow drag out is the same as always until he’s fucking himself back into you sharply, a gasped moan stumbling from you as your hands seek stability in the mattress below. Your whine is dragged out when he repeats it over and over, brows knitted together in your pleasure.

“That’s a nice reaction,” he comments smugly.

You only hum at him, too consumed by the feeling of him shoving his dick in and out over and over in such a relentless pace that you’re seeing stars. Either you’ve closed your eyes or they’ve rolled to the back of your head because you’re not seeing much of anything right now.

Your eyes are welling with tears, chest heaving with your breaths. The stretch in your leg increasing when Geto pushes down into you further, pushing back on your leg with it. He’s basically folded it over his shoulder, you had no idea you were capable of bending this much. You’re so dazed and fucked stupid when you look to him lazily, he looks so pretty like this. Hunched over you and driving his cock in and out of your tight heat, his hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face as his expression twists in bliss.

Reaching a hand up, you tuck a strand of his hair behind his hair, “You’re pretty.”

You say it so dopily that he wonders if you know what you’ve just said, “I’m fucking you to the point you’re cock drunk and you think I’m pretty?”

A shudder runs through you at his voice, “Mhm, and– ah!– you have– hnn– have a pretty voice.”

God help him, he’s about to cum from you calling him pretty. “St– stop– hnn– talking.”

“Sugu, you feel so–”

He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, he has a feeling that whatever you were about to say would have him cumming inside you. “You’re so cute but I need you to shut up before I cum.”

From behind his hand, you look ruined. Tears slipping from your eyes, he can feel the way you’re drooling against his skin. The only sounds in the room his grunts, your muffled moans and the slick squelching of you swallowing his cock.

You want to keep telling him how pretty he is and how good he’s making you feel but even without him hindering you, you feel as though you may be beyond words now. Brain not able to form very cohesive thoughts as of this moment let alone speak them. He has you feeling so full, his cock throbbing against your walls in a way that has your skin thrumming.

Geto’s eyes lock down on where he’s stuffing himself into your little cunt, he feels himself short circuiting at the sight. Pussy bulging around him, struggling to take him all, dick so shiny with your slick. White creamy ring at the base of himself, it’s messy and lewd and it has him feeling so unbelievably obsessed with your cunt.

Thinking distantly that he’s going to do his best to impress you on your date so he can have you again, next time he’s definitely licking your pussy. Debauched groans vibrate in his chest at the thought, he’s going to make this so unforgettable for you, he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is you. He’s going to be so much worse after this and he was already down pretty bad.

Your hand grabs at his wrist, trying to tug it away so you can speak. He pulls back out of curiosity, “I– hnn– I’m– ah!–” Giving up trying to warn him after a particular thrust has you crying out, there’s no real point in warning him anyways.

He grins at your inability to say anything meaningful, “I’ve gotcha, go ahead and cum for me.”

Of course he knew exactly what you were trying to say, how does he already know your body so perfectly. He leans down to you, impossibly close, just to kiss your cheek and say, “Come on, pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze me tight before I cum in you.”

Crude and obscene and effective because his words make you shudder as you suddenly cum around him. A little frantic in how you squirm under him, eyes rolling as your hips fight to fuck yourself onto his thrusts. Pitiful whimpers of his name leaving you repeatedly, the only really comprehensive thing you’re able to utter out.

Geto’s orgasm is immediately triggered by yours, he was hoping he’d get to play with you a little more but as soon as he felt the sinful way you gripped him while you came, he was done for. Your cunt pulsating around him milking him for all he’s worth, he’s cumming so much so deeply. His hips flush to yours as he only grinds into you to ride out both your highs.

He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that much in his life and he’s unsure if it’s because it’s you or because he held back for so long. His weight drops to you as he catches his breath, feeling spent and so drunk on your pussy that if he thought too hard about you he’d get hard again.

Your hand taps lightly at his shoulder, words all garbled when you speak, “Sugu, too heavy.”

Shoving his arms under you, he rolls until you’re on top of him. Cock slipping from you in the process and it has you letting out a cute whine.

“It’s leaking out of me,” you warn him.

He groans, “Don’t say that.”

You rest your check to his collarbone, “Why not?”

“I’ll get turned on again.”

Rolling your eyes at him, “You’re an insatiable pervert.”

“You’re not much better.”

His hands tickle up your sides, repeating the motion over, it’s making you feel sleepy. “You’re still worse.”

He just hums at you, apparently not caring to argue back. “You gonna be okay to shower?”

“In a bit… and only if you carry me the whole time.”

He laughs at that, “Sure.”

You draw mindless patterns on his chest with your finger, “So… where are you taking me on my first date?”

𝒂.𝒏. this was actually a request that i got carried away with,, my requests aren't even open i just fucked with the idea that hard hehe.... i hope you all enjoyed and thank you very much for reading !!!

(i recently made a discord for my followers so if you guys are interested in that please check out the pinned page on my blog :3)

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[gloomwitchwrites]

Good evening to you. I thought about writing you many times but never had the courage to do so 😅 I saw a TikTok Trend some time ago and thought about the Reaction from our beloved task Force 141. How would they react when you "accidentally" sent them the message "He just left our house, you can come now. He'll be gone for some time". Basically pranking them by implying something shady. You can ignore this if it's weird of course. Thank you for your time and amazing writing 🙏😊

I'm so glad you finally got the courage to send in a request because I had so much fun with this one! Many many thanks because I pretty much cackled and giggled the whole time I wrote this. I'm not exaggerating. I adored this prompt. It not only gave me room for a little humor, but it also gave me the opportunity to be a little naughty!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, pranks & shenanigans, suggestive themes, mild sexual content, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, swearing, possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Five minutes and you're already causing problems.

John isn't surprised. Not in the least. Sometimes, you enjoy being on your worst behavior just because it stirs him into a frenzy.

John is sitting at a stoplight, staring down at his phone screen. A car honks but he ignores it.

He's gone. Come over.

There isn't anyone else. John knows this explicitly. Not because he completely trusts you—which he does—but because he knows your exact location at all times. He knows what you search on your phone and what things you look at on the internet. And because he knows that, he knows you're just trying to take the piss.

Locking his phone screen, John turns on his blinker. A few turns later and he's back home, marching through the door. He's not mad. Far from it. You just need a good lesson—a good spanking. Over his knee with a bare ass. That way he can watch it bounce, watch as you wiggle and squirm, hear you whimper, and watch as your arousal grows with each strike.

Then, and only then, will he keep you under him. Which is what you want anyway.

John walks silently and with purpose, approaching you as you casually lounge on the couch.

"You're home early."

John ignores the jab. "You're on one today, cabbage."

"Whatever do you mean?"

John holds up his phone. "Think I'm going to believe this?"

Your eyes widen but John can see the bluff. "I meant to send that to—"

"To me," interrupts John. “You meant to send it to me.”

"To a friend,” you correct, but John notices the smile you attempt to hide. “I meant to send it to a friend.”

No. You wanted John to come home—to be a bit neurotic, even a little possessive.

"Fine," growls John. "I'll bite."

He places one hand on the top of the back cushion while the other rests above your head. He leans in, lowering his voice.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Show me you mean it."

You tuck your knees in, drawing back your top and removing your lounge pants. When they're gone, you spread wide, revealing your glistening pussy. Your arousal is clear, and John cannot wait to sink inside.

"That's my good girl."

John "Soap" MacTavish

You sent the texts not long after Johnny left for work.

He’s gone. Won’t be home for hours. Come over.

At first, you believed that Johnny would get those texts and immediately turn around, to head home and bust down the door. He did no such thing. He didn’t even respond. Not a peep from him. You spent the rest of the day in limbo, unsure if Johnny received the texts at all.

So, when he does come home, you expect him to say something.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Good,” he replies, heading down the hall to the bedroom. “Had a briefing. We’ll be heading out for a mission next week.”

“Do you know when exactly?” you ask.

“Tuesday!” he calls back.

Nothing. This man is completely glossing over the fact that you sent those texts to him. When he reappears in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you nearly swoon at his bare chest and stomach.

“What did you get up to today?” he asks, sauntering over to grasp your hips and pull you close.

“Nothing much,” you reply, and Johnny hums in reply, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know,” he says after a beat, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “You did send me a few odd texts earlier.” He taps away at the screen at turns it around to show you.

The texts you sent are right there, glowing brightly.

“Oh, those—”

“I checked the cameras.”

“Cameras?” you choke. “What cameras?”

Johnny grins and then he’s tapping away at his phone again. When he shifts the screen around, you see yourself and him in real time. You turn to the corner of the room from where the feed is coming from.

“I never saw anyone come over. But I did see this.”

Tapping again, he changes to an earlier time during the day. It’s a feed of the bedroom, and you’re masturbating. Johnny ups the volume and you hear yourself moan.

“There’s this, too,” he says, switching to the night before when he had you on all fours, ass in the air.

“Johnny!”

He tightens his hand on your hip, keeping you close. Lowering his voice, Johnny grins. “Try again, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You watch from the window as Simon’s car pulls out of the drive. You wait until he turns the corner before unlocking your phone and selecting his name.

He’s just left. Come over.

With a wicked grin, you hit send, knowing that the texts will reach Simon any second. Leaning against the window, you wait, and then smile wider as Simon’s car sharply turns the corner and speeds down the street back to the house.

He’s hardly parked the car before he’s exiting the vehicle, storming toward the house, malicious intent clear with every step. With a triumphant giggle, you rush to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, pretending that you’re up to nothing at all.

You hear the front door slam, then Simon’s thunderous footsteps followed by doors opening and closing. Sprawling out across the bed, you tap away at your phone, acting like you're not bothered at all.

When he appears in the doorway, you deliberately ignore him for five long seconds before you casually turn your head and smile.

"You're home early," you observe.

Simon looms in the doorway. "What the bloody hell was that text about?"

"What text?" you shrug, all innocence.

Simon, deadpan, replies "He's just left. Come over."

"Oh. That was for a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A friend."

Simon slowly walks up to the side of the bed. "You're fucking with me."

"Don't know what you're on about, Simon."

The murderous demeanor you saw earlier melts away, leaving behind a mischievous glint that you know all too well. With a viper-like quickness, Simon grasps your ankle and yanks you to the end of the bed.

"Simon!" you shriek, but he's already flipping you over onto your stomach.

He plants both knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped beneath him, his large hands coming down on your wrists to pin them above your head.

"Was last night not enough?" he asks, voice a gruff whisper. "Or do you need another lesson?"

You lift your head as Simon transfers both wrists beneath one hand. He has his phone, tapping away at the screen.

'What are you doing?"

"Telling Price I'm not coming in."

"But you're scheduled."

Simon locks the phone and then tosses it to the side. "He'll understand." Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice drops to a breathy whisper. "I have a woman to breed."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It's cruel, perhaps. Even mean. But getting Kyle worked up is so goddamn sweet.

He’s protective, sometimes even a bit possessive, and nothing is hotter to you than watching him stake his claim.

Which is why you sent those texts in the first place—a way to make his heartrate spike.

He just left. He'll be gone for hours.

Kyle bursts through the bedroom door, his chest heaving as if he just ran several miles.

“Where are they?” he asks, voice a growl.

Kyle heads for the bathroom. Throwing open the door, he storms inside, but finding nothing, retreats back into the bedroom.

"Where's who?" you ask in mock innocence as Kyle opens the closet, pushing aside clothes as if he’ll find someone hiding there.

Kyle exits the closet, hands on his hips. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” You casually retrieve your phone, already knowing what you’ll find there. Opening up the messaging app, you click on Kyle’s name, and laugh.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “I meant to send that to a friend.”

Kyle’s eyes shut, and the sigh he makes is so loud you laugh harder. Clutching his own phone in his hand, Kyle shakes it in his fist.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says.

"No," you giggle. "Just a mistake."

That thin line becomes a smirk. Kyle tosses his phone onto the bed and you immediately know you’re done for.

“I know you, love. Think you’re clever, yeah?”

He saunters forward, and you push up onto your hands, sliding back along the bed.

“Kyle,” you warn.

“Tricking me just to get me home. For what? Think I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I think.

You scoot away, sinking into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Kyle matches your movements until he’s nearly horizontal over you.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I will.” His gaze roams over your body and then returns to your face. “But first, I’m going to train you into never making a silly mistake like that ever again.”

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[loafysainz]

TAKE US DADDY | LN 4

lando norris!dad x mom!reader

warn: fluffffffffff

this story is actually a the sequel of the story Don't Go Daddy.

Lando was already dressed, bag packed, and his car waiting outside, but he refused to leave without saying goodbye properly. The past weeks, Noah and Leo had been ridiculously clingy—like little koalas attached to his legs. If he left without waking them up, there was no doubt they’d wake up in tears, wailing for him. But now, as he stood in their dimly lit rooms, watching their peaceful faces, he felt his resolve weaken.

First, he crouched beside Noah’s bed, gently brushing the messy curls from his forehead. "Noah, buddy, wake up," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Noah stirred slightly, brows furrowing, but he just whined and buried his face deeper into his pillow.

Lando chuckled. "C’mon, mate. You gotta say bye to me properly."

Noah let out a grumpy hum, eyes still shut, and when Lando wrapped an arm around him, the little boy automatically snuggled closer. Instead of waking up, though, he just sighed contentedly and went back to sleep.

"Oh, c’mon," Lando groaned playfully. "You little traitor."

He peppered kisses all over Noah’s forehead, cheeks, nose—wherever he could reach. Noah squirmed, whining in protest, but didn’t actually push him away. Lando figured that was a win.

Noah let out the smallest, sleepiest hum before finally cracking his eyes open. “Daddy?” His voice was thick with sleep, and instead of getting up, he immediately rolled into Lando’s chest, snuggling into his warmth.

Lando chuckled, running a hand down his little back. “Sleepyhead,” he murmured, hugging him tight.

Noah only made a small, content noise before—just like that—falling back asleep in his arms. Lando sighed, completely torn between waking him up properly or just letting him be. In the end, he settled for placing a few more kisses all over Noah’s chubby cheeks, whispering, “Daddy’s going to work now, okay? Be good, take care of Mommy and Leo. Daddy loves you, Noah.”

Noah barely reacted, just wriggled a little before letting out the softest, tiniest sigh. His little lips were pouty, his face smushed into the pillow, and Lando had to physically stop himself from squeezing the life out of him. Instead, he pressed one last lingering kiss to his forehead and reluctantly stepped away.

Now moving to his next target.

Leo.

Leo was in the exact same position Lando had left him in last night. His little troublemaker was sprawled out in his bed, mouth slightly open, chubby cheeks flushed, and one hand clutching his tiny stuffed lion. Lando leaned in and peppered kisses all over Leo’s chubby cheeks, then nuzzled into his neck playfully.

Leo stirred, stretching like a tiny cat before blinking up at him with the sleepiest, happiest smile. His eyes weren’t even fully open yet, but his little teeth peeked through, all bright and shiny.

“Daddy…” he mumbled sleepily, reaching out with tiny hands. Lando immediately scooped him into a warm hug.

"Yeah, bud?" Lando grinned, rubbing his back.

Leo let out a deep sigh, still not fully awake. "Can I hug you… for one hour?"

Lando blinked. Oh, come on. That’s not fair.

"One hour? That’s it?" Lando teased, rocking him slightly. "What if I wanna hug you forever, huh?"

Leo hummed in thought for approximately two seconds before going, "No, no."

Lando burst out laughing. "Alright, then. One hour it is."

But literally two minutes later, Leo wiggled out of the hug, pressing his tiny hands against Lando’s chest. “Okay, Daddy. it’s been one hour!”

Lando cracked up. “That was NOT an hour, little scammer.”

Leo just grinned sleepily, dimples showing, and Lando swore his heart was going to burst. He gave him a few more smooches, leaving his cheeks all rosy before tucking him back under the blanket.

“Daddy loves you, Leo.”

And with that, he finally left the room.

****

Finally, he made his way to Y/N. She was awake, all soft and warm-looking in bed, watching him with that unreal, angelic face of hers. Lando sighed dramatically. “You sure you don’t want to come with me? Just pack up the kids and go?”

Y/N shook her head, smiling softly. “They have school, Lando.”

Lando groaned, flopping onto the bed beside her. “They’re literally babies. They don’t need school.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, reaching out to fix the collar of his hoodie. "They’ll be okay, you know."

Lando let out a breath. "I know. It’s just… they’ve been so clingy lately. What if they freak out when I’m gone?"

Y/N smiled softly. "They’ll be okay. And if they do get upset, we’ll figure it out, yeah?"

Lando just stared at her for a second, completely mesmerized. "You know you’re really pretty, right?"

Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow, like he was trying to make it last. Like he didn’t want to leave at all.

And honestly? He really, really didn’t.

But work was work.

So, he pulled away, kissed her forehead, and finally—finally—headed out the door.

****

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of a homemade meal as Y/N stirred the pot, humming softly to herself. The warm atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of tiny feet running down the stairs—fast, urgent, and filled with distress.

“Mommy!!” Noah’s voice cracked as he ran straight into the kitchen, his little brother Leo right behind him, his chubby cheeks already stained with tears.

Y/N barely had time to turn around before Noah wrapped his arms around her legs, his tiny frame shaking. Leo, slightly slower but just as upset, clung onto her other legs with a whimper.

Their lower lips trembled as they still clung to their mom legs, searching for something—or rather, someone.

“Where’s Daddy?” Noah sniffled, wiping at his eyes with tiny fists.

Y/N’s heart squeezed at the sight of them. “Daddy’s at work, love. He left this morning, remember?”

“We want Daddy!”

Leo nodded furiously, his bottom lip trembling. “We wanna go wif Daddy…”

Y/N softened instantly, brushing their curls back gently. “Oh, sweetheart. Daddy’s working, and you guys have to go to school. Remember?”

“But we wanna see him!” Noah insisted, his voice breaking with a hiccup. “We wanna go wif him! We wanna see Daddy work! Please, Mommy!” Now both of them were crying—hiccuping, sniffling, noses all red and runny.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry—Daddy will come home soon.”

“NOOOOOOO,” they both wailed in unison. “WANNA SEE DADDY NOW!”

Y/N exhaled, biting back a fond smile. “Okay, okay—let’s call him, okay?”

The second those words left Y/N’s mouth, both of them perked up just a little, their cries reducing to sniffles as they nodded frantically. Y/N grabbed their phone and pressed Lando’s contact. Within seconds, the call connected, and his face popped up on the screen.

“Hey, love—”

Before he could finish, Noah and Leo started sobbing all over again. “DADDY!!!”

“Whoa—what happened? Why are my two little spider-man crying?”

Noah and Leo immediately scrambled to get closer to the screen. “DADDY!!!” They wailed in unison, tears streaming down their flushed cheeks.

“Oh no, what’s wrong, buddies?” Lando frowned, clearly distressed.

“We wanna go wif youuu!” Leo sobbed, pressing his face against the phone screen as if he could somehow teleport to his father’s side.

“Wanna see you nowwww,” Noah hiccupped, face all scrunched up as more tears streamed down his cheeks.

Lando’s brows knitted together, his lips forming a little pout. “Oh, my babies… I miss you so much too. But I’ll be home soon, yeah?”

“NOOOO!”

At this point, their crying was getting dramatic—shoulders shaking, little gasps in between sobs, faces all blotchy and red. Y/N could hear a few people in the background of Lando’s call chuckling softly, obviously overhearing the whole scene.

Lando looked wrecked. Like, visibly about to drop everything and fly back home. Y/N met his eyes through the screen, and in that moment, they both knew—there was no way they could just let the boys cry like this.

Y/N sighed, already knowing where this was going. "Lando, should we just—"

"Yes. Absolutely yes. Bring them here. I don’t care how, just—just get here."

And that’s how, just a few hours later, Daddy wouldn’t have to miss his boys for long—because now the boys were running straight into their daddy’s arms, giggling through the very same tears they had shed that morning.

[cherienymphe]

Jawbreaker

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Who knew that asking your boyfriend's best friend for help with your sex life would make your boyfriend very angry...

warnings: DUB-CON, slightly toxic relationship, Rafe is mean but what else is new, dumb!reader, bimbo!reader, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

⭑

Rafe’s groans were loud above you—as they always were—and while his satisfaction made you feel good about yourself and your efforts, the tight grip he had on your hair reminded you of your shame. Truthfully, you didn’t think you had done anything shameful—you were only trying to do something nice for your boyfriend—but as Rafe had stared you down with that deep frown on his face and the slight curl of his upper lip…

You realized very quickly that you had done something very wrong.

Rafe slightly lifted his hips off of his bed, forcing the length of his cock further past your lips. All of the saliva on his length made the intrusion smooth and easy, but it also made you feel a tad gross, but you recalled what Topper had said.

“Blowjobs are…dirty work,” he’d said while rubbing the back of his head. “The messier it is, the better.”

He’d shrugged at you, and despite the way those words made you frown, you believed him. Not only was he a guy, but he was Rafe’s best friend, and so he had to know what he liked. That was what drove you to seek out Topper for help to begin with. That and the fact that Sarah had given you a firm no when you’d initially gone to her. Something about feeling weird giving you sex advice all the while knowing it was going to be used on her brother.

“It never hurts to…spit on it,” the younger blond had advised.

Sex was already wet and sweaty and involved swapping bodily fluids, but something about spit just never…settled with you. With that being said, you took his advice and did just that, pulling your lips off of Rafe’s cock for only a moment to spit on the tip. When Rafe cursed from above you, you knew that you did something right, but it seemed that it clicked for him on how you knew to do that, and he was shoving himself back into your mouth again.

“Did Topper teach you that? Huh?” he sneered from above you, lifting his hips over and over again to drive himself between your swollen lips.

It brought tears to your eyes, not because it hurt, but because it became clear early on that this was just as much a gift for Rafe as it was a punishment for you. The sound of your mouth swallowing him repeatedly was loud in the otherwise quiet room, only accompanied by the blond’s uneven breathing. Your nose almost touched Rafe’s stomach, and you made a noise deep in your throat.

Your boyfriend heard it.

“I should make you gag on it, you know that?” he breathed. “I should break that pretty little jaw.”

His hand guided your head over him, rhythmically bobbing your head over his lap, and when you stole a peek, your tearful gaze met Rafe’s even one. As your eyes met, you felt…torn. Rafe looked so pretty with his cock in your mouth. Those blue eyes the most expressive you’ve ever seen them, his pink lips parted, and his dirty blonde hair with a mind of its own. You really, really liked him seeing like this, but…

Those blue eyes weren’t just dripping with desire for his sweet girlfriend. Rafe was also angry—pissed—and although you struggled to grasp why at first, you were slowly beginning to understand. Rafe had a habit of losing his cool if some guy even so much as looked at you the wrong way, but even still, Topper was his best friend and you were his girlfriend. You were two people he trusted the most, and that was why you’d had no hesitation in being honest with him.

“...and what were you doing at Topper’s?” was what he’d asked you less than thirty minutes ago.

When he’d asked you about your day, it had sort of slipped out without you even realizing it, and your lips had parted at the realization you’d ruined the surprise. A frown had formed between your brows, and you’d struggled to come up with a lie, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“He was helping me with something.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it was too vague of an answer for Rafe’s liking, and your boyfriend had stepped closer, his face pinched as he looked between your eyes.

“What was Topper helping you with that I couldn’t help you with?”

Your lips had opened and closed, struggling with what to say to him.

“It’s a surprise,” you’d said to him in a small voice.

You’d given him a small smile, but Rafe hadn’t returned it, and that was the first inkling you felt that something was wrong. Rafe’s house was empty—his entire family out—and he’d moved closer to you, tilting his head.

“...and have you ever known me to like surprises?”

You’d thought about it for a few moments before eventually shaking your head, shoulders sagging a bit.

“No…but you will like this one,” you’d answered, perking up with a smile and gently tugging on his shirt.

Again, Rafe hadn’t returned it, and you’d started to think that he wouldn’t like your surprise, after all, but he was a guy, and Sarah said that all guys loved getting their dicks sucked. Besides, it was among the many things you’d come across on Rafe’s laptop one day, links and videos full of people—women—doing things that you’d never done with him, things he’d never even brought up with you.

While it wasn’t like you thought he’d leave you over whatever you didn’t do for him, it still left a bad taste in your mouth. Sure, Rafe told you all the time that he loved what he loved about you and that he’d kill for you—something that made you a tad uncomfortable actually—but there was something about knowing Rafe desired much more than you were actively giving to him.

Did he not think you’d want to? Or that maybe you weren’t capable?

“Well, where is this surprise that you had to go to my best friend for?” he wondered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Here?” you’d wondered, to which he nodded. “Now?”

Again, Rafe nodded, face stony, and you gave him a soft okay.

It was clear that he hadn’t been expecting you to kiss him, gently pressing your lips to his before parting them. As you coaxed his tongue out of his mouth, you reached for his folded arms, slowly pulling them apart before letting your hands drift to the waistband of his pants. At that, Rafe stopped you, and you pulled back slightly with a frown.

You were in the kitchen, but it wouldn’t be the first time you and Rafe did stuff in some place other than a bedroom, so you didn’t think that was why he stopped you. You found out that you were right.

When your eyes met Rafe’s, he was frowning at you with a different kind of frown now, and he slowly looked between your eyes as he studied your face. Excitement buzzed through your body as he just looked at you, but when his hands tightened on your wrists, your brow twitched, and you blinked.

“I don’t care about the surprise anymore—fuck the surprise, actually. What exactly did you and Topper do this afternoon?”

His tone and his voice had you shrinking in on yourself, and this was the moment that you realized Rafe was mad. Your lips parted as he stared down his nose at you, and when his hold grew tighter, you winced.

“I… I wanted to learn how to give you a good blowjob.”

It was the first time you were sure you’d ever seen Rafe just…freeze. The kitchen grew completely silent, and the air between you felt oddly off. Your boyfriend just stared at you for what felt like a long time, and for a moment, you started to wonder if he’d even heard you. Like you, he started to open and close his mouth a few times before eventually deciding on just snapping it shut. You watched Rafe’s jaw clench, and when he swiped his tongue between his lips, his chest was brushing yours.

“Topper…taught you…how to give a good blowjob.”

He said the words slowly, and you nodded in confirmation of the statement.

“I know that’s what you like, and-.”

“So, you gave Topper a blowjob?”

“No!”

The word came out so loud that it startled you, but Rafe’s question had startled you even more. Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, and as his own words hung in the air, you realized the cause for his sour mood. The thought actually made you chuckle, because Topper had been terrified of the same thing when you first went to him.

“We didn’t do anything that you and I would do,” you sweetly told him. “He just told me and showed me what to do.”

It was practically the same words you’d said to Topper when he also misunderstood you, but oddly enough, it hadn’t seemed to calm him down. He’d still been jittery and nervous, forcing you to basically beg him for his help. Even weirder, the clarification didn’t seem to calm Rafe down either, and you watched him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

His gaze briefly landed on the ceiling as he nodded.

“He just…told you and showed you what to do,” Rafe repeated, and you’d been dating him long enough to notice certain patterns with his tone.

You felt yourself shrinking a bit—deflating—and tears had kissed your eyes.

“I feel like you’re mad.”

Rafe had let out a laugh, but you struggled to find the humor in the situation. When your boyfriend looked at you again, he was stepping towards you, forcing you back. He was shaking his head at you—in that way that didn’t make you feel good—and you were suddenly reminded of the times when he wasn’t so nice to you and even made you cry.

“I know…I know that it takes you a little bit longer than everyone else to catch up sometimes,” he whispered, letting your hand go to gently take your chin between his fingers. “I know that.”

You struggled to piece together what he meant by that, and when you finally did, he was already insulting you again.

“...but you went to another man to help you learn how to go down, and you’re wondering if I’m mad?”

Rafe just stared at you, brows raised, and you slowly realized that he was expecting you to say something. With the knowledge that he initially thought you cheated on him, you were starting to see how Rafe might not see this from your eyes. Both Sarah and Rafe had repeatedly told you that everyone didn’t think like you did, but you hadn’t cheated on Rafe, so you were really struggling to understand his anger, right now.

You’d done it for him.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you’d whispered.

At those words, you watched as Rafe’s eyes glazed over, and he stared you down with a look you couldn’t place. You watched the corner of his lips curve upwards ever so slightly, and when he let you go, the blood rushed through your arm again. Your boyfriend took a step back before raising his arm in a gesture towards the stairs.

“Well, let’s go…”

You’d straightened at the shift in his demeanor.

“Show me what he taught you, and make me happy.”

That was how you found yourself on your knees with Rafe’s cock in your mouth, and his hand on your head. He was rough, but you’d expected it because Rafe often was. However, you also accepted that there was an added layer to that because he was pissed off. You’d genuinely gone to Topper for help and to do something for your boyfriend in return for all he’d done for you.

Yes, Rafe could be mean sometimes, but he always told you he was sorry and made up for it by putting a gift in your hand. He wasn’t perfect, no, but neither were you. You knew how imperfect you were, how frustrating you could be—something your parents had never failed to be honest with you about—and so you didn’t expect from him what even you yourself didn’t live up to.

Besides, Rafe was always looking out for you—at parties, at the mall, and even in your own home when you had another near miss. He was always buying you any dress you wanted, and he was more sweet than he was mean. At least, you thought so. He often ran you baths and detangled your hair and helped you pick out what blush or lipgloss to put on. He enjoyed dressing you up, and you enjoyed letting him.

Your life just seemed to flow so much easier and smoother since you started dating Rafe.

…and you’d always known you weren’t the brightest person in the room, so whenever Rafe expressed his frustration with that, you tried not to let it get to you. This time was different though. This time you’d gone out of your way to try and do something nice for him, to try and be a better girlfriend to make him happy…and he wasn’t happy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rafe snapped when you pulled away, letting him fall out of your mouth.

He sat up and looked down at you as you knelt on the floor, arms crossed over your chest. With one look into your eyes, your boyfriend huffed, and you bit your lip in an attempt to keep it from trembling.

“You’re being mean,” you tearfully told him.

“No shit,” he bit out, reaching for you, but you reared back.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you!”

“By going to my best friend and asking him to teach you how to suck my dick, are you crazy?”

“How else was I supposed to surprise you, Rafe? Was I supposed to take notes from all of those videos on your computer?”

A silence descended over you, and you avoided his gaze. You could feel him staring at you, and you continued to look at the wall behind him.

“Is that what this is about?” he eventually sighed.

“You like it, otherwise you wouldn’t watch it. Any of it…”

A blowjob seemed the easiest barrier to cross, but you had worried yourself a bit on how you’d ever hype yourself up into doing any of that other stuff. You’d told yourself one step at a time, but who knew that what you thought would be the easiest would cause all of this. You angrily wiped away a stray tear.

“Come here…come here,” Rafe repeated himself when you didn’t budge, reaching for you and pulling you between his knees again.

He took your face into his hands and forced you to look at him. Rafe didn’t look as angry, now, eyes softer, and he brushed his thumb along your mouth.

“If I wanted to do everything I watched then we’d be in trouble.”

He chuckled to himself, but you didn’t laugh.

“Then why watch it?” you whispered, and your boyfriend rolled his eyes.

“It’s like putting on a football game.”

“Rafe, I saw some woman getting fucked by three men at once. No way you’re comparing that to football…”

“I’m just saying…” he started, leaning in and kissing you. “It’s not a big deal and especially not enough to where you need to go running to Topper for help on our sex life.”

His hand found it’s way to your throat.

“You want to know how to make me happy then you come to me,” he lowly said against your lips. “That’ll make me happier than any surprise, you understand?”

You nodded at that, and his hand moved to your hair again as he leaned back.

“Now spit on it, baby, just like you did before.”

You did, and soon after, Rafe was in your mouth again.

His hips wouldn’t stay still as you sucked in your cheeks around him, a sound leaving your boyfriend that you were sure you’d never even heard before. The groans that left him were animalistic, and you were shocked by how much it turned you on. You didn’t think that focusing on pleasuring Rafe would be so exciting, but it filled you with something that made you feel proud.

“Use your hand,” you heard him breathe.

You recalled Topper mentioning that, and you brought your hand up to wrap around what your lips couldn’t. Rafe lifted his hips again, one hand on your hair and the other on your wrist. When he softly told you to bring up your other hand, you didn’t quite understand why until he took it and placed it under his shaft. You played with him there, and Rafe’s satisfied moan reached your ears.

You bobbed your head over him for a while, taking in the taste of him and every sound he made. He sucked air through his teeth when you flattened your tongue against his cock, dragging it along him as you continued to suck him. All the while, you progressively grew wetter and wetter, enough to almost make you feel embarrassed. When Rafe started to sit up—albeit with difficulty—confusion filled you. It only grew when he pulled you off of him, completely standing now.

He looked down at you and you looked up at him as he rested his hands on the sides of your head.

“Open your mouth for me,” he purred. “Keep it open just like that.”

On instinct, you reached out to grip the back of his thighs as he began to thrust himself into your mouth. Something about it turned you on even more, and you didn’t know why. Maybe it was the look in his eyes? You could certainly see them better from this angle, and the blue of them looked so much darker to you as Rafe watched his cock disappear into your mouth.

Maybe it was the way you could see his chest heaving, quickly rising and falling as he struggled to breathe from how you were making him feel. His button down was open, and your eyes took in the slight glisten on his chest from the sweat. Your eyes traced his skin in the low light and then eventually his hair and how it hung along his forehead, kissing the skin there.

Or maybe…just maybe…you liked the feeling of Rafe using you.

You were completely still as he fucked your mouth, keeping your lips parted and your tongue flat for him. You liked being on your knees and letting Rafe use you as a means to an end, letting him use you to chase his high that would no doubt end in him spilling himself down your throat. You could tell that Rafe liked it too, your boyfriend not taking his eyes off of you once.

The choked gasps and groans from his mouth got louder and louder, and even if he wasn’t holding your head in place, you were sure you would’ve still remained there to let him come in your mouth, ropes of warmth hitting the back of your throat and tongue as he continued to fuck your mouth through his orgasm.

Rafe stroked your cheeks as he came, his breathing slowly becoming even again, and when he moved your head, you slid your lips along his cock one last time, tongue sliding against his length and swallowing anything left behind.

“Good girl,” you heard him murmur from above you.

When Rafe bent down to kiss you, you lifted yourself a bit to help him, smiling against his lips. His hand twisted into the hair at the nape of your neck, and you moaned into the kiss.

“You were just trying to be a good girlfriend, huh,” he whispered into your mouth.

You frantically nodded at that, happy that he wasn’t mad at you anymore.

“I guess I can’t fault you for that,” he hummed. “...but I’m still going to have to kick Topper’s ass.”

[bueckets]

Competitive Stamina

Pairing: teammate!Paige x reader

Genre: fuck buddies with unresolved issues, unbearable sexual tension, dom!Paige, strap, degradation, slapping, edging, post-game aggression sex, possessive paige, rough sex that solves nothing, idk just porn w minimal plot (I KNOOOOOW)

WC: 6.3kish?

Bus rides after a loss were a special kind of hell.

The stale air of the charter, the overhead lights too dim to be useful but too bright to let you sink into oblivion, the stiff-backed seats that creaked with every shift—everything grated on your nerves. The taste of failure sat heavy on your tongue, thick and bitter, and no amount of Gatorade could wash it away.

You sat near the back, arms crossed, jaw tight, replaying every goddamn second of the game like a goddamn. masochist. Every blown rotation, every missed shot, every second too slow on defense. It was a fucking disaster.

The low hum of the engine did nothing to drown out the tension hanging in the air. Some of the team sat slumped in their seats, headphones jammed in, pretending like they weren’t reliving the same nightmare. Others were scrolling through their phones, avoiding the inevitable post-game analysis that would come the second you all got back.

And then there was Paige.

Slouched in the seat across the aisle, one long leg stretched out, the other knee bouncing restlessly. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, the muscles in her jaw flexing every time she gritted her teeth. The blue glow of her phone screen flickered across her face, but you could tell she wasn’t actually looking at it. Just brooding.

You tried not to look at her. Tried to keep your glare aimed out the window, at the blur of highway lights cutting through the night.

But the energy rolling off her was impossible to ignore.

Fucking furious. The kind of anger that vibrated beneath the skin, white-hot, impossible to smother. She was pissed in a way that she wouldn’t let go of anytime soon, the kind of loss that would eat at her, keep her up all night, have her in the gym first thing in the morning with her hoodie up and music blasting like she could outwork the ghosts of the game.

Your fingers curled into your palms.

Because yeah, you were mad too. Mad at yourself. Mad at the team. Mad at how fucking avoidable it all had been. But mostly, you were mad at how much you felt it—how the weight of it sat heavy on your chest, suffocating. You knew you wouldn’t sleep tonight. Not because you didn’t want to, but because your brain wouldn’t let you. Wouldn’t stop dissecting every mistake, every misstep.

Paige exhaled sharply, a sound more bite than breath.

You glanced over, barely turning your head.

Her fingers drummed against her bicep, rapid, restless, a nervous tick she only ever had when she was barely keeping her frustration in check. Her knee bounced faster.

Then, she turned her head, and her eyes found yours.

Sharp. Burning.

And just like that, you were both back on the court. Back in the moment she’d called the switch and you hesitated a fraction too long. Back in the second where everything unraveled.

The muscle in her jaw flexed. You could practically hear what she wanted to say. The words sat heavy between you, unspoken but loud.

What the fuck was that?

You swallowed hard, refusing to be the one to break first. You weren’t about to sit here and get chewed out on a moving bus, in front of everyone.

But the fire in her eyes told you that this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The door barely slammed shut before Paige was on you, shoving you back so hard your shoulder blades smacked the wall. The cheap dorm drywall rattled behind you, a picture frame nearly toppling off its hook.

Her breath was sharp, jagged, her whole body coiled so tight with frustration it looked like it might snap. She was still in her jersey, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, strands of blonde hair stuck to her forehead like she hadn’t even thought about peeling them away. But it wasn’t exhaustion in her eyes. It was fury. Blazing. Undiluted.

“What the fuck was that?” she spat, stepping into your space like she wanted to press you through the goddamn wall.

Your own irritation flared, heat crawling up your spine, but she wasn’t done.

“I called it. I fucking called it. You hesitated." Her voice cut like a whip, her breath hot against your face. “You don’t hesitate.”

Your jaw clenched. “I heard you, Paige. It wasn’t just me. We all fucked up.”

“Oh, fuck off with that.” Her laugh was sharp, humorless, nothing but teeth. “I don’t give a shit about them. You were supposed to have my back. You were supposed to listen to me.”

You bristled, hands curling into fists at your sides. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who fucking cares. You think I wanted to lose? You think I don’t feel like shit right now?”

Paige’s glare burned straight through you. Her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring, like she wanted to say something even sharper, even worse, but she just looked at you. Like she was daring you to take the blame. To admit it. To fold under her fire.

But you weren’t folding. Not tonight.

“You wanna fight me over this?” you snapped, stepping forward, barely an inch between you now. “Fine. Take a fucking swing, Paige.”

Her breathing hitched. For a half-second, something flickered in her eyes—something reckless, something raw. You thought maybe she would hit you, thought maybe you wanted her to.

Instead, she shoved you—hard. Your back hit the wall again, and this time she followed, grabbed your jersey with both hands, yanking you into her.

And then her mouth crashed onto yours, all teeth and heat and fucking rage.

You gasped against her lips, but she didn’t care—didn’t even give you the space to breathe. Her fingers dug into your jersey, nearly lifting you off the ground as she pressed you into the wall, her body flush against yours, hot and furious and unrelenting.

You bit down on her lower lip, hard, just to make her feel how pissed off you were too.

Paige growled, a low, dangerous sound, and then she was yanking you off the wall, turning, dragging you with her, stumbling toward the nearest surface.

Your hands found her hips, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her jersey. She was still in her shorts, her body taut with adrenaline, with the remnants of competition. You could feel her heart pounding beneath your palm as you pressed against her, pushing back just enough to let her know you weren’t going to just take it.

But Paige didn’t give a damn about pushback. She just grabbed the front of your shirt, dragging you with her as she stumbled backward, lips never leaving yours. She was all fire, all pent-up rage, and you were more than willing to be the thing she burned through.

“Fucking—” she muttered against your lips, frustration bleeding into something else as her fingers tangled in your hair, nails scraping against your scalp. “You drive me insane.”

“You’re the one losing your shit,” you bit back, but the words barely made it out before she was kissing you again, harder this time, as if she could shut you up with the force of her mouth alone.

The room spun as she shoved you back, barely making it to the couch before you tumbled onto it together. Her body was already on top of yours, pressing you down, thighs tight around your waist. Every inch of her was tense, electric, and you could feel it—the way she trembled, the way her breath came too fast, the way her fingers flexed against your skin like she didn’t know if she wanted to fight you or fuck you.

Maybe both.

Your hands roamed, slipping beneath her jersey, tracing the heat of her back. She sucked in a sharp breath as your fingers ghosted over her spine, but she didn’t stop you. If anything, she leaned in harder, her hips pressing down, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shudder.

“I hate you,” she muttered, but her hands were already working at your jersey, pushing it up, fingers skimming the bare skin underneath.

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah? Feels like something else.”

She growled, actually fucking growled, and suddenly she was yanking your jersey over your head, tossing it somewhere behind her. The air was thick, charged, your bodies too close, too desperate, too much.

“Shut up,” she ordered, and then her lips were on your collarbone, her teeth nipping at sensitive skin, her hands gripping your waist like she was trying to anchor herself—like she was afraid if she let go, she’d lose herself completely.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to stop her or let her.

Your laugh died in your throat the second Paige’s fingers dug into your waist, her grip rough, possessive. Her body was hot against yours, muscles tight with lingering adrenaline, her breath ragged as she straddled you. Every inch of her was taut with frustration, with need, with something far more dangerous than simple post-game aggression.

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, and then your hands were on her hips, squeezing, dragging her closer, feeling the way her thighs flexed beneath your grip.

“Oh, you wanna be a smartass?” Paige growled, her fingers already sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts, snapping the elastic hard against your skin. Her eyes were wild, blown wide with something dark, something hungry.

You grinned, challenging. “What are you gonna do about it?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

A sharp crack rang out as her palm met your thigh, the sting immediate, heat blooming across your skin in its wake. You gasped, your body jerking at the impact, but Paige just smirked, her fingers soothing over the mark she’d left behind.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured, and then her hands were pushing at your shorts, yanking them down with the same force as her frustration. “You know what your problem is?”

You arched a brow, breath hitching as she ran her fingers down the inside of your thigh, deliberately avoiding where you needed her most. “Enlighten me.”

Paige hummed, slow, teasing, dragging her nails lightly across your skin before she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “You don’t listen.”

And then her teeth were on your neck, biting, claiming, distracting you just long enough for her fingers to slip lower, tracing over your already-soaked underwear.

Your hips jerked up, chasing her touch, but she pulled back, clicking her tongue.

“No,” she said, voice sharp, commanding. “You don’t get to be greedy. Not after that bullshit on the court.”

You groaned, frustration curling tight in your stomach. “Paige—”

Another sharp smack against your thigh. You gasped, your body trembling as the sting settled into a dull, aching heat.

“You’ll take what I give you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss over the mark she’d just made. “And you’ll be grateful for it.”

You barely had time to respond before she was moving again, shifting off you just long enough to grab something from her bag. Your breath caught when you saw it—the familiar black strap, the sleek vibrator she loved to tease you with.

Your pulse spiked.

“Color?” she asked, voice low, dangerous.

You exhaled shakily, your body already aching, already desperate. “Green.”

Paige smirked. “Good.”

And then she was on you again, pressing you down, pinning you beneath her as she reached for the harness, her hands sure, practiced.

“Now,” she murmured, buckling it into place, her blue eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Let’s see if you can pay attention this time.”

You barely had a second to breathe before Paige moved—gripping you with both hands, flipping you over like you weighed nothing, shoving you down onto the couch with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

The cushions barely softened the impact.

Your cheek pressed into the rough fabric, your pulse hammering against it, every nerve in your body already on edge, already buzzing with anticipation.

Then—her hands were on you again.

“On your knees,” she ordered, her voice low, firm—no room for negotiation.

A shiver ran through you at the sheer authority in her tone, and you scrambled to obey, pushing yourself up, ass in the air, legs spread just enough to keep your balance. Paige didn’t hesitate. Her hand came down hard against your ass, the sharp crack echoing through the apartment.

You gasped, your whole body jolting at the impact, the sting radiating outward in a hot, delicious burn.

Paige hummed behind you, pleased. “Fuck, I missed this,” she murmured, her fingers smoothing over the mark she’d just left. “You’re so fucking pretty when you take it.”

Another slap. Harder.

Your hands clenched into fists, your breath stuttering as the pain twisted into something dangerously close to pleasure.

“You like that?” Paige taunted, her palm resting on your already burning skin, her fingers digging in. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, voice unsteady. “Fuck—yes.”

“Good,” she muttered, reaching for something behind you, the couch shifting with her movement. A small click—then the unmistakable slick pop of a cap flipping open. The scent hit first. Sharp, clean, something cool against the heat simmering beneath your skin.

She shifted behind you, knees pressing firm into the cushions, the heat of her body radiating against your back, against the backs of your thighs. Her breath ghosted over your skin—too close, not close enough.

Then—her fingers.

She didn’t give you time to prepare.

A rough fistful of your hair, yanking hard, forcing your spine into an arch so deep your ribs strained, your lips parting in a sharp, unbidden gasp.

The pull was brutal, just shy of painful, the roots of your hair screaming—but the way her grip anchored you, controlled you, owned you—

You swallowed, legs trembling beneath you.

“Stay fucking still,” she warned, pressing the head of the strap between your thighs, teasing, dragging it through your wetness, spreading it around. “I’m gonna ruin this fucking pussy.”

She thrust, pushing in hard, deep, no warning beyond the stretch, the sheer fullness stealing the breath from your lungs.

You whimpered, your arms shaking as you fought to stay upright, your body clenching around the intrusion, the burn sharp, perfect.

Paige groaned behind you, her grip tightening in your hair. “Jesus fuck, you take it so well,” she muttered, rolling her hips, dragging the length in and out, slow at first, teasing, letting you feel every inch.

Then—another crack against your ass. Your moan was shameless, your body jerking forward, only to be pulled back by her grip on your hair.

“Fuck, you sound so good,” Paige rasped, voice thick, wrecked. Her grip on your hip tightened, her fingers digging into your skin like she wanted to brand herself into you. Her thrusts were deep, relentless, knocking the air straight out of your lungs with every snap of her hips. “You like it when I use you like this?”

Like it?

Like it?

You could barely hold yourself up, fingers curling into the couch, your body betraying you in every possible way—hips arching back without thinking, legs shaking, thighs slick with everything she’d already wrung from you.

Your mind was a haze, a mess of static, the sharp sting of her fingers bruising into your hip mixing with the raw aching stretch between your legs. There was no room for thought, for pride, for anything except the unbearable, devastating need to keep her right fucking there.

She pulled back—almost all the way—leaving you empty, your walls clenching around nothing, a sharp, helpless noise slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Then she slammed back in.

A cry tore from your throat, your body jerking forward with the force of it, pleasure spiking so sharp it hurt.

“Yeah?” she breathed, amusement curling at the edges of her voice, sharp and teasing, like she could feel how fucked out you were, like she loved it. “Fucking say it.”

Say it. Admit it. Let the words fall from your lips and cement exactly how pathetic you were for her.

You clenched your teeth, breath ragged, body trembling beneath her. The stubborn part of you—the part that fought—clawed at your ribs, held your tongue, refused to give her the satisfaction.

Her palm cracked across your ass—sharp, punishing, hot—and your whole body jerked. A strangled whimper escaped you, high and wrecked, and before you could so much as breathe, she yanked your head back by your hair, forcing your spine to arch, forcing your mouth open on a choked gasp.

“You wanna fucking test me?” she growled, voice low, dangerous, pressing in—so deep you felt it in your fucking stomach.

Your pulse slammed in your throat. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, every muscle locking tight, refusing to give her the satisfaction, refusing—

“I love it,” you gasped, your voice breaking as she spanked you again, making you clench around the strap, making your whole body shake. “Fuck—Paige, please—”

She growled, a low, feral sound, and suddenly her hand left your hip, reaching for the vibrator she’d left on the couch.

“You wanna beg?” she taunted, flicking it on, pressing the toy right against your swollen clit. “Then fucking beg for it.”

Paige yanked your head back by your hair, making your back arch, making your ass push up even higher, exposing everything to her. The stretch in your scalp sent shivers straight down your spine, the sharp pull mixing with the brutal way she was pounding into you. Deep. Hard. No mercy.

“Look at this greedy fucking pussy,” she growled, voice dripping with filth, eyes locked on where she was splitting you open. “You’re dripping all over my cock, fucking yourself on it like a desperate little slut.”

Your moan was ragged, broken, the force of each thrust knocking it right out of your lungs. Your arms trembled, struggling to keep you up, but Paige didn’t give a fuck. She loved seeing you like this—wrecked, used, hers.

She shifted behind you, digging her nails into your hip as she slammed into you harder, deeper, making the couch creak under both of you. Every thrust sent wet, obscene sounds echoing through the apartment, slick, filthy, undeniable.

“Listen to this messy fucking hole,” she hissed, smacking your ass again, fingers digging into the flesh right after. Your skin was burning, tingling, the heat radiating through your whole body. “You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you? Like a dumb little slut, letting me wreck you.”

You gasped, nodding frantically, not trusting yourself to speak—not when every thrust hit something devastating inside you, making you whimper like you’d lost your mind.

“Use your fucking words,” Paige snapped, yanking your hair harder, forcing you to arch so much you thought you might break in half. “Tell me what you are.”

“Y-Your slut,” you choked out, the words barely making it past your lips before she spanked you again, harder than before, the sting rocketing through you, making your whole body twitch.

“Damn right you are,” she muttered, her breath hot against your ear as she leaned over you, still fucking into you, still ruining you. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice high, needy, desperate.

Paige groaned, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, making you scream. Your arms collapsed, your face pressing into the couch, your body unable to hold itself up anymore—but she didn’t stop.

“Oh, fuck no,” Paige laughed, dark and wicked, reaching for your wrists and yanking them behind your back, pinning them there. “You don’t get to tap out now. I’m not done with you yet.”

You sobbed against the cushions, pleasure and overstimulation crashing over you in waves. The way she had you—spine arched, arms pinned, completely fucking helpless—made your head spin. And then—fuck—she reached for the vibrator again, pressing it right against your clit.

You howled, your whole body jerking at the sudden intensity, at the way she wouldn’t fucking let up.

“Oh, you’re squirting for me, huh?” Paige teased, her voice full of pure fucking ego as she felt the mess dripping down her thighs. “Can’t even handle my cock without making a mess, can you?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out—just a sharp, shuddering breath, a wrecked sound that barely made it past your lips. Your throat felt raw, your body trembling, pushed beyond its limits but still, still chasing more.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her amusement curling at the edges of your desperation. She leaned in close, her breath rolling hot against the sweat-damp skin of your neck. The tip of her nose ghosted over your jaw, her lips brushing the shell of your ear—not a kiss, just enough to taunt, to tease.

“Pathetic little thing,” she murmured, her voice all velvet and cruelty, her words sinking deep into the mess she’d made of you.

Her hips rolled, the strap dragging slow, deliberate, pressing deeper just as the vibrator ground into your swollen, aching clit. The sensation sent a violent tremor through you, your fingers clenching into useless fists, every nerve frayed and screaming.

Paige hummed, pleased.

“What if I just kept you like this?” Her tone was almost thoughtful, but there was something darker beneath it, something that made your stomach flip, made the heat between your legs flare so violently it nearly hurt.

She rocked her hips again, slower this time, grinding the strap deep, her other hand pressing the vibrator harder, no mercy, no relief.

Your back arched, legs twitching, your body caught between pain and unbearable pleasure. Your mouth opened again, but the sound that tore from your throat was nothing human—a choked, broken whimper, your breath catching on the sheer force of it.

Paige’s grip tightened at your hip, steadying you, owning you.

“Kept you bent over,” she murmured, almost absentminded, like she was imagining it, like she was picturing every second of it. “Stuffed full, dripping all over me, shaking so fucking hard you can’t even hold yourself up.”

Your muscles seized, heat crashing through you like a live wire. Your nails scratched at the couch, desperate, useless, but Paige just laughed, feeling the way your body convulsed, the way you clenched down tight around the strap, your walls fluttering, trembling, breaking.

“Go ahead, baby,” she groaned, biting down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. “Cum on my cock. Fucking scream for me.”

Paige laughed as she felt your body convulse beneath her, as she felt your cunt squeeze down around the strap, milking it like it was real, like you couldn’t help yourself. The moment your orgasm tore through you, she didn’t stop—kept fucking into you through it, kept the vibrator locked tight against your clit, holding you down as you twitched and shook, your body betraying you.

You screamed, legs kicking, but Paige just grinned, watching you break.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” she muttered, dragging her lips over your spine, biting down hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to own you. “Look at this greedy little hole—still clenching, still soaking my cock.”

Your brain was fried, barely able to process the overstimulation, your whole body shaking, but Paige didn’t care.

She pulled out slowly, dragging the strap through your swollen, ruined folds, making you feel every inch as she left you empty, used, gaping. Your thighs were soaked, your pussy wrecked, your skin hot and buzzing from the spankings.

Then—another slap, this time right over your dripping folds, her palm catching the mess you’d made.

You jerked, gasping, pleasure and pain crackling through you at once.

Paige chuckled, sliding her fingers through your wetness, gathering it up before shoving them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

“Suck,” she ordered, and you obeyed, wrapping your lips around her fingers, your tongue swirling over them, licking up every drop.

She groaned, watching you, eyes burning.

Paige dragged her fingers from your mouth, slow, deliberate, her touch lingering just long enough to make you chase it—your lips parting instinctively, tongue flicking out as if to pull her back in.

Wet pop.

The slick, obscene sound echoed in the space between you, and Paige exhaled, something dark, something satisfied curling at the edges of her breath.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” she murmured, her voice thick, heavy, sinking straight into your bones. Her fingers brushed over your cheek, smearing the mess she’d just pulled from your mouth, her thumb pressing against your lip, teasing, taunting.

Then—she moved.

Fast. Unyielding.

Hands at your hips, gripping tight, flipping you like you weighed nothing, like you were just another thing for her to use. The cushions barely had time to register your weight before she was spreading you open, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, pushing until there was nothing hidden from her.

You barely processed the shift before cool air hit your soaked, swollen skin, the contrast so sharp it sent a full-body tremor through you.

Your thighs were quivering, slick shining under the dim lights of the apartment, your pussy swollen, throbbing. Paige ran her fingers over it, barely touching, watching the way you twitched, still overstimulated.

“God, you look fucking ruined,” she smirked, gripping the base of the strap, tapping the tip against your still-sensitive clit, making you jump. “Think you can take more?”

Your breath was ragged, your body wrecked, but fuck—fuck, you needed it.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Please.”

Paige’s eyes darkened.

“Then spread those fucking legs wider,” she commanded.

And you did.

Paige smirked as you obeyed, spreading your legs wider, exposing yourself completely—flushed, dripping, needy despite how wrecked you already were. But she didn’t give you anything. Not yet. Instead, she pressed the tip of the strap just against your entrance, teasing, not pushing in, just barely letting you feel the pressure.

Her fingers traced lazy circles over your trembling thighs, pressing down on the spots she’d spanked raw, making you flinch, making you feel every mark she’d left on you.

“You really think you deserve more?” she taunted, dragging the tip of the strap through your soaked folds, never giving you enough. “After that fucking disaster on the court?”

You whimpered, your body twitching, desperate for more friction, but Paige just smirked, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“You cost us that game,” she murmured, her voice low, dangerous. “Didn’t you?”

You swallowed, cheeks burning.

“I—”

Slap.

Paige’s palm met your inner thigh, hard, making you jolt, making you yelp.

“Try again,” she said, her grip on your chin tightening, nails digging in. “Say it.”

You shuddered, your body betraying you, thrumming under her control, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“I—I lost us the game,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige hummed, pleased, dragging the strap down again, teasing, but still not giving you what you wanted. “Louder.”

You whimpered, your face burning hotter.

“I lost us the game,” you gasped, the words tasting like shame, like submission.

Paige grinned. “Yeah, you fucking did.”

And then she thrust in, hard, no warning, splitting you open in one smooth, devastating motion.

You screamed, your back arching, your whole body shaking at the sudden stretch, the sudden fullness.

Paige groaned, rolling her hips, making you feel every inch of it. “That’s what a fucking loser like you deserves, huh?” she muttered, one hand gripping your throat, the other pressing the vibrator right against your clit. “Getting fucked like a brainless little toy.”

You sobbed, your body already teetering on the edge, too much, too fast, but Paige just grinned, watching you struggle, watching you break.

Then—she stopped.

Everything.

No movement. No friction. The vibrator still humming against you, but not pushing enough to get you there.

You whined, your hips bucking, trying to chase it, but Paige held you down, her grip on your throat tightening.

“Oh, no,” she mocked, tilting her head. “You think you’re getting off that easy? After you fucked up my game?”

You gasped, your body shaking, the pleasure so close, so unbearable—

But Paige just smirked, lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “You’re not cumming until I say you can.”

Your breath hitched, your entire body screaming for release, your skin hot, your muscles tight, that unbearable edge turning into something sharp, almost painful. Paige was still inside you, thick and unyielding, the vibrator right there, your clit swollen, throbbing—but she wasn’t moving. Just watching. Waiting.

Fuck. Fuck.

You needed it, needed her to just move, just do something, but the moment your hips jerked forward, chasing friction, Paige’s hand tightened around your throat, pressing down just enough to steal the air from your lungs. Your back arched, your body helpless, caught between pain and pleasure, oxygen slipping from your grasp.

“You don’t listen,” Paige murmured, shaking her head, like she was disappointed in you. “I told you—you don’t get to cum yet.”

Her grip eased up just enough to let you breathe, let you speak.

Your jaw clenched. Your pride flared—some stubborn, defiant part of you that hated being told what to do, even if your body was betraying you, even if you were dripping around her, desperate for more.

Fuck that.

Your hands snapped up, grabbing at her wrist, trying to pry her fingers away from your throat.

Paige’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.

“Oh, you wanna fight now?” she taunted, laughing at you, mocking you, like you weren’t even a threat, like you were nothing more than her plaything.

Rage flared in your chest, heat curling in your gut, fueled by humiliation, by desperation. Your nails dug into her wrist, and you bucked your hips hard, trying to throw her off, trying to gain some kind of control.

Bad fucking idea.

Paige growled, low and dangerous, and before you could blink, she had your wrists pinned above your head, her weight pressing you down, her breath hot against your ear.

“That was fucking stupid,” she muttered, her voice dark with something dangerous, something predatory. “Now I’m gonna make you beg for it.”

You struggled, tried to fight back, but she was stronger, her grip iron, her body unshakable.

“You love this,” she whispered, grinding her hips down, making the strap press deeper, making you whimper. “You love being under me. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking toy.”

You clenched your teeth, shaking your head, your breath ragged.

“N-No—”

Slap.

Paige’s hand cracked across your face, your head snapping to the side, heat blooming across your cheek.

Your gasp was sharp, shocked, but the second she grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing your eyes to lock with hers, your stomach dropped.

Because she knew.

She saw it. Felt it.

The way your pussy clenched around the strap. The way your thighs trembled. The way your lips parted, breath hitching, body betraying you entirely.

Paige smirked.

“Oh, you liked that,” she mocked, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit, making you jolt, making you whimper. “Fucking filthy.”

You hated how right she was.

Hated that you were fucking soaked, your body burning, your pride cracking under the.

She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, her voice slow, teasing, cruel.

“Say it,” she whispered, rolling her hips, dragging the strap out of you, just enough to make you ache, to make you chase it.

You clenched your teeth, fighting it, fighting her.

She laughed, mocking, pressing the strap just against your entrance, right there, but not inside, not giving you what you needed.

“Say it,” Paige murmured again, her voice slow, dragging over the syllables, rolling them over her tongue like she relished the sound. Like she knew she had you. Like she owned you. “Say you love it.”

Her tone was laced with something dark, something dangerous, but it was her eyes that truly wrecked you—those piercing blue irises locked onto yours, drinking in your desperation, your humiliation, your surrender.

You shook, your entire body trembling, every nerve burning with the unbearable edge she had you dangling over. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, aching, needing her to just move, to just fucking fuck you, but she wouldn’t. Wouldn’t give it to you until you admitted it. Until you broke completely.

Your fists clenched above your head where she still had them pinned, nails biting into your own skin as you tried to fight it, tried to hold on to the last shreds of your pride.

But it was slipping.

You could feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, your body betraying you, betraying everything, and fuck—fuck, she knew. She could see it.

Her smirk deepened, her fingers tightening around your wrists, pressing them harder into the cushions, her body looming over you, suffocating in the best fucking way.

She waited.

She didn’t repeat herself. Didn’t need to.

Your breath hitched, caught in your throat, your thighs quivering where they were still spread wide open for her, still needy, still so fucking wrecked.

And then—

“… I love it.”

The words were barely a whisper, barely more than shame slipping from your lips, and the moment they left your mouth, Paige fucking grinned.

Her fingers released your wrists, only to slide down, wrapping around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur, to make your breath stutter.

“Good fucking girl,” she purred, her voice thick with pride, with ownership, with pure fucking satisfaction.

And then she slammed back in.

Hard.

No warning. No buildup. Just a brutal, unrelenting thrust that forced a wrecked cry from your lips, your back arching, your body convulsing under her.

She didn’t ease you into it. Didn’t fucking care that you were still trembling, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive. She just used you, fucking into you with brutal, merciless strokes, making your breath punch out of you with every thrust.

Her hand tightened around your throat, her other hand grabbing your hip, holding you still, forcing you to take it, to accept it, to submit completely.

“Say it again,” she growled, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice dripping with sin, with dominance, with something feral.

You whimpered, your whole body wrecked, already tipping toward that unbearable edge again, already so fucking close.

Her hips snapped harder, her cock splitting you open, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, ruining you.

“Say it again,” she snarled, her grip on your throat tightening, the vibrator pressing harder against your clit, sending a white-hot shock through you.

Your entire body twitched, fire spreading through your veins, through every nerve—

And then—

“I love it—fuck, I fucking love it.”

Paige moaned, deep and guttural, her hand sliding up, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing you to see how much she was enjoying this. How much she loved seeing you like this—ruined, helpless, hers.

“That’s fucking right,” she spat, pounding into you harder, her fingers digging into your cheeks, her nails biting into your skin. “You fucking love it. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking slut.”

You sobbed, pleasure crashing through you, your whole body convulsing as she fucked you through it, as she held you down and forced you to take every second of it.

And fuck—fuck—she wasn’t stopping.

She had you right where she wanted you—under her, wrecked, body trembling, clenching around the strap, soaking both of you. She was fucking you through another orgasm, grip tight on your jaw, vibrator still pressed to your swollen, abused clit, your body unable to do anything but take it.

Her breath hitched, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she watched you fall apart.

“God damn,” Paige grunted, her gaze locked on the way your thighs shook, the way your fingers clawed at her forearms, the couch cushions, fucking air—like there was anywhere to go, like she wasn’t going to hold you right there until you had nothing left.

“You’re so fucking pathetic like this.”

You sobbed, every nerve fried, pleasure tipping past unbearable, white-hot static frying your goddamn brain—

BANG BANG BANG.

Your whole body seized. Paige froze.

For a second, the only sound in the room was the both of you panting—loud, breathless, soaked—

Then—

“HEY!”

A voice from the other side of the door. KK. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whispered, mortified, pure horror crawling up your spine.

Paige, though? She fucking laughed.

“Yeah, we’re serious,” she called out, still breathless, still inside you, still fucking smug. “What do you wan?”

A groan. Another thud of a fist against the door.

“It’s two in the fucking morning! Some of us don’t wanna listen to your freaky-ass sex life all fucking night!”

You covered your face with your hands. Paige grinned, completely unbothered, shifting her hips just enough to make your breath hitch, like this was funny, like this wasn’t the worst moment of your entire fucking life.

“Maybe you should get some fucking earplugs,” she shot back, smirking.

“Or maybe you should go fuck in a soundproof basement like a normal goddamn person!”

Paige snorted, her body shaking from how hard she was holding back laughter.

“Not my fault this bitch is loud as fuck.”

You kicked her.

Hard.

Paige cackled, her whole body shaking on top of you.

“Jesus Christ!” KK groaned, slamming the door one last time before stomping away, voice trailing off as she disappeared down the hall. “Fucking lesbians, man…”

Silence.

Then, Paige propped herself up on her elbows, grinning down at you, still breathless, still flushed, still inside you.

“Well,” she smirked.

She rocked her hips—slow, teasing, devastating.

“Where were we?”

A beat.

Then, from the depths of your absolute humiliation, you mustered the last bit of strength in your body—

“KK! YOU’RE GAY TOO, BITCH!”

Silence. 

A door slammed down the hall.

Paige lost her shit, laughing so hard she actually collapsed on top of you, her whole body shaking, still breathless, still inside you.

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. “I hate you.”

Paige propped herself up, still grinning like an absolute psycho, eyes gleaming.

“No, you don’t.”

[prokopetz]

"But doesn't having a notion of 'balanced' combat inherently imply that all combat encounters are expected to be fair and winnable" well, no – it implies only that the GM has the ability to know whether a given combat encounter is fair and winnable.

There's a story that's been going around for decades about a Dungeons & Dragons party who encountered a large room full of treasure while exploring a dungeon. Immediately suspicious, they asked their GM a series of detailed questions about the room, but no obvious dangers were identified. Satisfied, they moved into the room – and were immediately set upon and eaten by the dragon that had been sitting atop the pile of treasure the whole time, which the GM hadn't mentioned because the players never specifically asked about the presence of living creatures within the room.

While this is obviously an extreme and ridiculous case, it illustrates an important point: as GM, you're the group's eyes and ears. If you don't describe something, the player characters literally can't see it – that dragon was effectively invisible from their perspective. The trick is that active malice isn't the only way to invisible-dragon your players; a group can also find themselves invisible-dragoned because the GM simply failed to provide sufficient information for the risk in question to be identified. This can happen through neglect, but it can also happen because the GM themself was unaware that the risk was present.

Now, hold on, you might be saying: the GM "plays" the entire world. How is it possible for the GM not to know that a risk is present? Well, that brings us back around to the subject of combat balance.

A game in which "balanced" combat is a meaningful thing to discuss is typically going to be one in which both the players and the GM are actually making strategic, tactical, and/or logistical decisions, rather than merely producing a description of their characters making such decisions. Without a good handle on the interplay of these decisions, it's completely possible for the GM to be wrong about the level of risk the scenario they've constructed entails.

That's actually pretty critical, because even if you don't care about the game being fair and winnable (and that's a perfectly valid stance), your players are still depending on you to be their eyes and ears, and to give them enough information to make good decisions about whether the fight in front of them is one they can win. A game where not every fight is expected to be winnable needs to be a game where the players have the opportunity to walk away.

No matter how objective you try to be, your own sense of the answer to that question is inevitably going to colour how you communicate about it. You being wrong about the level of risk at hand inherently increases the chance that your players will make bad choices. The party eating a TPK because they made a stupid decision is one thing; the party eating a TPK because they made a decision that looked reasonable from their perspective based on your unwitting miscommunication of the level of risk involved is quite another!

Sure, once the dice hit the table I'm probably going to realise that I fucked up, and I can adjust things on the fly to bring the level of risk that's actually present in line with the level of risk I communicated – but that's extra work I don't need with everything else that's on my plate. And that's a best-case scenario; if I'm running the game for a hardcore let-the-dice-fall-where-they-may group (and such groups tend to have a pretty significant overlap with groups that are cool with not every fight being winnable), I may not be able to adjust the fight's parameters on the fly without violating the social contract of the table.

Basically, whenever I see an OSR game with tactically crunchy combat brag about how its author never even thinks about "balance", what that's telling me is that running this game is going to create a whole lot of extra work for me as a GM. This is not a selling point.

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part i)

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: this is soft daddy Joel like you've never seen before. angst, angst, angst. just heart-wrenching, gut-clenching, bucket-full-of-tears kind of flow. but I promise, I swear to you, it's going to get good!

Joel had spent the past week trying to ignore it.

The sound was distant, muffled through the walls, but it was there—constant, sharp infant's cries cutting through the night like something wounded, something helpless. The baby never laughed, cooed, or made small, gurgling noises that kids were supposed to make. Just crying. Night after night, the same pitiful wails, like it was fighting sleep and didn’t know how to be comforted.

And the mother?

Leela. That was her name. Tommy and Maria had told him her family had been here before them, before all of this, that she’d grown up in Jackson, that the big house across from his had always been hers. He instantly believed it—her place didn’t look like the others. It was well-kept in a way that wasn’t just for show. The wood was aged but polished, the porch steps sturdy, and the windows wiped clean even in the dead of winter. A home, not just a shelter.

But it wasn’t warm.

Not with that sound in the night. Not when he never saw anyone else go inside.

No one knew who the kid’s father was, and Leela never said. She wouldn’t even let people help her—not Maria, not the older women in town who had tried, not even the ones who had kids of their own and knew what to do. And now, at the end of another long day, that fucking baby was crying again.

Joel had tried to let it be. Had forced himself to breathe calmly, stay in his house, shut the curtains, turn over in bed and pull the blanket over his head like some stubborn old bastard trying to pretend it wasn’t his problem.

But it was.

Because he could hear it. Because it sounded fucking miserable. Because he’d had enough.

When the cries began to get worse into the night, that was his last straw. With a frustrated sigh, he yanked on his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, and stepped out into the cold, the door crashing shut behind him. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the road, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared. The wind was sharp, biting at his skin, and when he reached her porch, he had half a mind to just bang on the damn door until she answered.

But then—he hesitated.

There was still a kid in there. The devilkin, probably. A baby nevertheless. And it's struggling mother.

He exhaled through his nose, loosened his fingers, and reached for the old metal knocker instead. Three firm, steady raps.

A pause. A paddle of footsteps down the staircase inside, light and hesitant. A sniffle. A sigh.

The curtains fluttered from nearby—just a fraction, just enough for him to catch the glint of an eye in the darkness, shedding a blade of light onto the frozen lawn. And then the door creaked open.

The poor mother looked like hell.

Her eyes—pretty, brown, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded—held the kind of exhaustion that settled deep, beyond sleep, beyond fixing. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lips chapped to brown, her hair falling loose from whatever attempt she’d made to pull it back.

And the baby—the cries hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were worse now. Closer. Desperate. The sound reached him in waves, piercing and thin, rattling against the walls of the house and clawing at something deep in his chest. A familiarity.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. Her voice was raw, barely holding together. “I just…”

She trailed off as if the words had run out, or maybe she didn’t have the strength to find them. Then the baby shrieked, and she flinched. A full-body recoil, like something had struck her. She turned away, pressing her wrist to her nose, shoulders curling inward, folding into herself as though she could disappear into the space she took up.

And Joel—well, he had been ready to lay into her. To tell her to do something, to figure it out, to stop letting that kid cry itself raw night after night. But looking at her now, standing there with her arms wrapped tight around herself, shaking from something that wasn’t just the cold…

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, against every instinct, every frustration, he surprised himself by saying—

“Let me try.”

X

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

Didn’t stop to think if he had the right. Didn’t question if she would let him in, because the noise was still there, splitting the air, working its way under his skin like a thorn that wouldn’t come out. His jaw tightened, his hands curled into fists, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing past her and her doorstep.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Well, he had been, just not anymore.

It was desperation. A need to stop that noise. That noise had been giving him sleepless nights for a week now. And with it, came the memories he’d spent years burying. He couldn't afford to let them resurface by the likes of this strange, terrible mother.

The house smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and something softer underneath—like linen, like the lingering scent of a person who lived there and never left. It was dark, too, save for the single glow spilling from a room upstairs. His boots were heavy against the worn floorboards, his breath tight in his chest as he took the stairs two at a time. Three doors on the second floor, but only one was open.

He stepped inside.

The first thing he saw was the cradle, right in the centre of the empty room, as if placed there on purpose, a little crib mobile fashioned into wooden horses, dangling mid-air.

Old. Hinges barely holding together. The wood had worn smooth from time, its edges dulled, like something that had been used for generations. The mattress inside was thin, its fabric stained with age, but the sheets were neatly tucked. Arranged properly. Everything was in its place.

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—someone failing.

And then the baby. No older than a month, wriggling in its white nappy, legs kicking in frantic little bursts, tiny fists curled so tight they trembled. Tears slicked its cheeks, its face blotchy and red, its mouth stretched wide in a scream so raw, so piercing, that it stole the breath straight from the lungs. It was exhausted. Starving.

But goddamn, if that wasn't one beautiful fucking baby.

Biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, glassy with exhaustion, wet and searching. A head full of thick, dark hair, damp and curling at the ends. But it wasn’t chubby the way babies should be. Not soft enough. Too small, skin drawn tight, movements restless but weak. Malnourished.

His jaw clenched. He barely registered the sharp footsteps rushing up behind him until her voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

He cut off her protest with an abrupt, “Boy or girl?”

She stopped short. Lips parting. Swallowing down whatever she’d been about to say.

“Girl.”

Joel’s gaze flicked back to the baby. He noticed the slight bloating around her belly, the way she arched and curled, restless, like she couldn’t find a position that didn’t hurt. That explained the shrieking. Colic, for sure.

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

“I—I’ve been having trouble with…” She gestured vaguely to her chest, gaze dropping, almost ashamed. “I tried water... um... I don't know.”

Jesus Christ. Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose. Too late at night or too early in the morning—he didn’t know which, and at this point, it didn’t matter. His head ached. His body ached. And this kid—this poor, starving little thing—had been too hapless to be born to this fucking clueless, stubborn mother.

“Need to call Maria,” he said under his breath.

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t need anybody’s help. I'm fine.”

He let out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “You don't. Your girl sure does. And try saying that when this crib empties in the next week.”

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

He barely registered it. He was already moving, already slipping into old instinct, the one he thought had died a long time ago.

Stepping closer, Joel reached into the cradle, hands slipping beneath the baby’s small, rigid body. Carefully, he eased her onto her stomach, a shush falling from his lips, settling her against his forearm, palm spanning nearly the length of her body. Christ, she was so fucking small. Too small. Probably premature. A frail little thing, light as air, fists still curled, breath coming out in tiny, shuddering gasps between cries.

Leela stood stiff beside him, her breath uneven, arms wrapped around herself like she wasn’t sure if she should step forward or pull away.

Joel didn’t look at her. His focus stayed on the baby. The way her tiny limbs jerked, how her cries wavered like she couldn’t decide if she had the energy to keep going.

He started rubbing slow, steady circles against her back, the calloused warmth of his palm pressing gently but firmly over her fragile bones. Something old stirred in him—something buried deep, something that twisted like a knife. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t let himself. Just kept rubbing. Kept murmuring something low, quiet, something he wasn’t even aware of.

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

The wails started to waver, breaking apart in the middle, turning into stuttering hiccups, then snivels, a laughable baby burp that even had him breaking into a small smile. Then—

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

Joel exhaled, keeping his touch steady as she shuddered against him, her tiny fingers twitching against the sleeve of his jacket.

“See?” His voice was rough. “Just needed a little push.”

Leela didn’t respond. She was staring. Not at him, exactly, but at his hands, at the way he held the baby. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Observing him, learning.

When he glanced down, she was blinking up at him, half-lidded, her breath slowing, her little body going limp with exhaustion. She made a wet, little noise, almost a soft coo.

“She got a name?”

When the silence lingered, he lifted his head, caught Leela’s stare, and cocked a brow when she didn’t answer. Then, she silently shook her head.

Joel frowned. “You didn’t name your kid?”

And just like that, something clicked into place. The way she stood there, arms locked tight around herself. The way she hadn’t called the baby anything. The way she hadn't moved a step close to protect her baby from this stranger. The hesitation in her voice, the way she held herself together like she was bracing for something.

“She ain’t yours?”

Her gaze flickered. “She is.”

Soft. Firm. After a beat, she lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the crisscross of stretch marks across her stomach, just above the line of her pants.

Joel sighed through his nose. His fingers ghosted over the baby’s small back before he finally let go, letting her rest in her mother's arms. It felt wrong—leaving the baby there like that—but he slipped his hand away, albeit unwillingly, and stroked her fine, dark hair once. Twice. Then forced himself to stop.

He exhaled sharply, standing upright, rubbing a hand over his face. His patience was hanging by a thread. His chest ached with something raw, something angry. He had no business being here, no reason to care, but—

"Look," he muttered, voice tight, "you shouldn't have had a kid if you were just gonna sit around and do nothing. Jesus, at least get yourself some help."

Leela cringed. It was barely noticeable, just a flicker of movement, but he caught it. She turned her face away, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, and bit at what little was left of her nail, worrying it between her teeth.

The sight of it—it wasn’t what he expected. He had been bracing for an argument, for defensiveness, for anger. But there was nothing like that. Just the quiet gnawing of her thumbnail, the restless shifting of her fingers.

Something settled uneasily in his chest.

He exhaled sharply. "Maria’s coming in tomorrow," he said, firm. Like he was setting it in stone. "Whether you like it or not. She'll know what to do."

That made her glance up. And for the first time, he really saw her.

Not just the exhaustion, the red-rimmed eyes, or the way she curled in on herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible—but the fear. That deep, paralyzing kind of fear that settled into a person’s bones, made a home there.

Then his eyes flicked downward, back to the baby. She had her mother’s eyes. Big, dark, and brimming with something wild, something untamed. Something fragile, caught on the verge of bolting. And in that moment, they both looked the same.

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

Leela swallowed thickly, lips parting like she wanted to speak. But when she did, her voice barely made it past her throat. “Take her.”

Joel blinked. For a second, he thought he must’ve misheard.

But she was looking at him—really looking at him now, eyes wide and wet, breath uneven like she’d just sprinted a mile. And the way she was standing, trembling, fists curled into the fabric of her sleeves—She meant it. She was serious.

"You're right," she whispered, voice barely there. "I might kill her. Just take her away, please."

A slow, sinking dread pooled in his stomach. His fingers curled at his sides, restless, itching for something to hold onto.

The baby stirred weakly against Leela’s chest, small fingers twitching up to her mother's neck, dark lashes fluttering against flushed skin. She had gone quiet, her body still in that way newborns only got when they were too damn exhausted to keep crying.

His hands twitched at his sides. He knew what he should do. He should take the kid. That was the right thing, wasn’t it? He should lift her into his arms, swaddle her in a blanket, turn on his heel, and walk out the door. Hand her off to Maria, and let someone who actually knew what they were doing step in. Hell, she’d been talking about trying to set up a proper nursery in town, get the kids what they needed—she’d figure it out.

But Joel didn't move; couldn't move.

Because now that he was looking at her, really looking, he saw it—saw the fear clinging to her like a second skin. Not fear of him. Not fear of what people might say. Fear of herself. Conviction was a luxury.

She stood there, arms wrapped tight around herself, her body drawn inward like she was trying to make herself small as if shrinking could somehow erase the truth. The baby rested against her chest, quiet now, as if sensing the shift in the air. Her fingers barely touched her child, hesitant, light, the way someone might hold a delicate piece of glass they weren’t sure they could be trusted with.

Joel’s stomach turned.

“I—I'm not—I can’t do this.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, frayed at the edges, raw like an old wound that had never properly healed.

He felt something sharp and hot twist inside him, something he didn’t want to name.

“You ain’t givin’ her up.” His voice came out rough, low, unwavering.

Leela let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking her head. “Do you think I have a choice here?”

“Yeah.” His eyes stayed on hers, unrelenting. “I do.”

She sniffled, shaking her head again, but her fingers twitched against her sleeve, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

And Joel—Joel had seen this before. Had known people like this. People who stood at the edge of something dark, looking down, unable to turn back. He’d been one of them once. It made something ugly rise in his chest. Made him angry in a way that didn’t make sense, and didn’t sit right.

Because this mother—this stupid, foolish, ignorant girl—had no business being like that. She didn't even know what kind of luck she'd struck with that baby girl. He would've killed to be where she was, even if it was for a moment.

"You're a fucking coward if you're thinking about giving your daughter up.” The words left him, sharp as a blade, before he could stop them. “You got plenty of choices, but you're too goddamn pigheaded to make the right one."

She flinched. Not just in surprise, but something deeper—like he’d struck her with all his might, like he’d confirmed every awful thing she’d ever thought about herself.

Joel’s jaw locked. It was too late to take it back.

He should’ve stopped. He should’ve taken a breath, let the words settle and left it at that. But something about her, the way she stood there like she was waiting to be knocked down, made his patience snap clean in half.

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

The air outside was colder than before, or maybe it felt that way. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped onto the road, his breath coming sharp, ragged in the quiet of the night. His fingers ached, curled into tight fists, his pulse still hammering.

He was halfway across the street when something in him shifted.

His anger thinned, the heat of it fading just enough for everything else to creep in—her voice, her hands trembling, the way her arms had tightened around that kid like she was afraid of herself more than anything else.

He slowed, stopping in his tracks. The house loomed behind him, dark except for that single upstairs window.

Joel looked up at the home.

The cries had started again. Thin, reedy wails carried through the cold, through the walls.

He stood there, staring at the lights flickering against the frost-covered glass.

This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

X

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

Not that he ever did, but last night was worse than usual.

Every time he closed his eyes, it was the baby’s cries again. He saw Leela’s face, dark and hollow, eyes too big for her sunken frame. He heard her voice, raw and trembling, telling him to take the kid—like it was the only way. Like she didn’t trust herself to keep her alive, already grieving her.

Even now, as he tugged on his gloves and prepared for patrol, he kept seeing the way she had watched him with her baby. He remembered the way she desperately looked at him, waiting for him to take the baby from her, as if letting go was the only mercy she had left to offer.

Maria was there now. She had let herself in, just like that. Hadn’t knocked, hadn’t hesitated. And Leela had not met her at the door, hadn’t locked it after Joel had walked out last night.

He adjusted the rifle on his back and exhaled sharply.

Not his problem. He shouldn't be bothered with it. He’d done his part. More than his part. He had brought help in, and gotten someone else to deal with it—someone better suited for this kind of thing. Maria would figure it out. She always did.

Still, as he swung himself onto his horse and rode out for patrol, that damn house stayed in the back of his mind. The way it stood there, quiet and still, while something inside was coming apart at the seams. The way Leela had stood in that dim room, shoulders curled inward, looking more like a ghost than a person.

He shook it off and went through the motions. Focus on the day ahead.

Patrol was long, tedious, and more of the same—checking the perimeter, clearing out old trouble spots down his trail, making sure everything was as it should be, and scouring supplies. A welcome distraction. When he stopped by Ellie’s as usual, she narrowed her eyes at him from behind her sketchbook, muttering something about how he looked like shit.

“Didn’t sleep,” was all he said. And she didn’t bother to press. Ellie was another long, welcome, more pesky distraction.

By the time evening rolled around, he’d fallen back into his routine. Routine. That was what mattered. He groomed his horse, rubbing his hands along its mane just to keep them busy. He cleaned his rifle, making sure the gears weren't easy to jam and stopped to pick up some new gear at the store. He grabbed a whiskey—alone—just to take the edge off, slowing down for a bit.

He finished the evening like always, grabbing a boxed dinner from the mess hall, not bothering to make small talk. No one asked anything of him, and he didn’t offer anything in return. A night like any other. Something he repeated to himself, just to ground himself to reality besides the weight of his breaking boots.

Then he saw her. Maria was still at that house, waiting by the porch swing, face tense. She spotted him almost instantly and strode straight toward him.

Joel nodded at her in greeting, shifting the box under his arm. "You good?"

Maria didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Sure. Got a second?”

He tipped his chin toward Leela’s door. "All set over there?"

“Far from it.” Her voice was tight, laced with something he didn’t like. “I need your help.”

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

But Maria didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smirk. Instead, she followed him inside his house.

Joel's 'home' was nothing special—functional, practical. Just a space to exist in. A couch pushed against one wall which he used more than the bed upstairs, a table he used out of necessity, a kitchen stocked with the bare minimum. Not much to look at, or even stay for long. It wasn't home, but it was enough. Certainly nothing like Leela’s home, where history bled through the worn floorboards, through the walls, a place that had been lived in.

Joel didn’t let himself think about it too much. He dropped the box of food onto the table, turning to Maria with his arms crossed.

“Well?”

Maria sighed, staring out the window toward Leela’s house. The porch light flickered weakly, and the house itself looked darker than it had last night. Like it had collapsed in on itself a little more.

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

Joel huffed, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, pretending not to hear the implication behind those words. “Figured.”

“No,” Maria said, sharper this time. “I mean it.”

She turned back to him, her eyes shadowed with something heavier than just concern. She looked tired—worn—in a way that wasn’t just about the town or the thousand responsibilities on her shoulders. It was personal.

Joel exhaled through his nose, already feeling the walls closing in on this conversation.

Maria rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s disturbed. I don’t think she’s had a proper meal in days. She’s having trouble breastfeeding, let alone keeping herself together enough to care for that baby.” She shook her head. “I can’t be there all the time. I’ve got the whole town to run, a hundred things to look after. Tommy’s drowning in work. We're stretched thin as it is.” Her eyes met his, steady and pointed. “You’re my last resort.”

Joel frowned, jaw ticking. “And do what, exactly? Pretend like I've done this dance before?”

“Just be there,” Maria said so positively, like it wasn’t the worst fucking idea in the world. “Make sure she doesn’t slip up with the baby. Help where you can. Just a few days—until Tommy and I can step in.”

Joel dragged a hand down his beard, exhaling slowly. “You have got to be shitting me. You want me to play babysitter.”

Everything in him wanted to refuse. He’d done his part here. Hell, more than his part. He didn’t owe that woman anything. She had a nice home. Pretty face. She had her newborn. And if she didn’t know how to handle it, that was on her. He wasn’t looking to take on another burden. Christ, wasn’t he supposed to be done with this kind of thing? Wasn’t he past the point of taking in lost causes?

But Maria didn’t look like she was giving him a choice. Her voice softened, dropping to something quieter, edged with meaning. “I don’t think she had this baby with someone she knew, Joel.”

Joel stiffened. Maria’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unspoken there, something heavy, something that didn’t need to be stated outright. Still, it landed in his gut like a stone.

She let the silence stretch, let him fill in the gaps. And he did.

“I hope you understand what I'm getting at,” she continued. “I don’t think she wanted this at all.”

Joel clenched his jaw, staring at the floor, pretending like he didn’t hear them. He didn't ask how she knew, didn’t even ask what she’d seen in that house today that had led her to that conclusion.

Because he already knew. He’d seen it, too.

The way Leela couldn’t bring herself to name the baby. The way she looked at the child was like she was something fragile, something unfamiliar, something that didn’t belong to her. The way she had looked at him—not with resentment, not with anger, but with resignation.

Like she was handing over the baby because she genuinely believed it was the only way to save her. A fist of darkness curled in his stomach.

He knew what it was like to lose a child. He knew what it did to a person, how it tore through you, how it hollowed them out from the inside. But whatever this was, it wasn’t grief. This was something worse. He prayed he would never have to deal with this.

This was a woman standing on the edge of the deep and the dark, staring down into it, wondering how much further she could fall before there was no coming back. And there was a baby—a fucking baby—at her feet. Yet, she was ready to take that fall.

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, rubbing the back of his neck.

But the truth was, he’d already stepped in. Already gotten himself involved. Whether out of desperation or some obstinate, buried need to fix things that were beyond saving, he wasn’t sure. And now, if he walked away, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with the consequences.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the walls a little tighter. A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, reluctantly, he sighed. “This is a big fucking mistake, Maria. I'm the last person who should be over there with her.”

Maria nodded, hearing what she needed to hear, relief flickering across her face. “You'll figure it out. I'll be around if you need anything. Thank you.”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn't know what the hell he’d just agreed to, but something in his gut told him it was going to end real bad.

X

Morning light washed over his neighbour's house, soft and cold, as Joel made his way up the steps. It must’ve been the perfect little home once, back when the world was still whole—white clapboard, modest porch with a swingset, somewhere that had been waiting too long for someone to come back home. A place built to last. And maybe, before seasons and silence collapsed, it had.

But time had sunk its teeth in. The paint had started peeling in the corners, the wood of the steps groaned under his boots, and though the windows were clean, there was something hollow about the way they sat in their frames as if no one had looked out of them in a long time. It didn’t have the neglect of a broken-down house, but rather the hush of a place that had lost something vital.

And the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

Maria had been right—that girl really didn’t have a single clue.

He pushed the door wider and stepped inside, careful, slow, not wanting to seem intrusive but unable to stop himself from taking in the room. It wasn’t what he expected.

Her home wasn’t cluttered, wasn’t in disarray, but there was something about it that felt… off. A mind too busy to bother with the details of living. Against one wall stood two large blackboards hung haphazardly over shelves, filled with complex math equations, numbers and symbols scrawled out in clean, sharp lines. A few pieces of chalk lay scattered at the base, alongside crumpled papers and a wastebasket that never quite caught them. Shelves held solved Rubik’s cubes, closed notebooks, and empty pens stuck upright in a pen stand. On the table, a coffee mug sat with dried stains at the bottom, an imprint of hands that had used it over and over, mindlessly, then set it aside without a thought.

Joel frowned, taking it all in.

A fucking scientist. That was the last thing he’d ever have guessed about her. Dr Leela last-name-something, the resident nerd mom.

He didn’t know what he expected when he climbed the stairs, only that something about the house still put him on edge. It wasn’t just the oddity of it—the blackboards filled with numbers, the pages of equations scattered like fallen leaves—it was the fact that none of it felt lived in. Clinical. Like the house had been built to serve a purpose, but never for a person.

He reached the top step just as he heard the baby girl’s soft fussing from down the hall. The sound made him hesitate. It wasn’t the sharp, desperate cries from the night before. This was softer, almost a coo, the kind of sound that made something in his chest tighten before he could push it down.

Carefully, he stepped forward, peering into the nursery.

Leela stood by the cradle, one hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles over the baby’s tiny stomach. It was almost an imitation of what he’d done the night before, but the difference was clear—where his movements had been firm, knowing, hers were unsure, like she was following a set of instructions she didn’t quite understand.

She looked different in the daylight. Dressed neatly in a long, thin nightgown that fell to her ankles, her black hair was left loose, unbrushed, hanging past her hips in uneven waves, obviously never seen the business end of a scissor. The exhaustion was still there—was part of her, woven into how she held herself—but her face was smoother, her shoulders less rigid, like she had settled into something.

The floorboard groaned beneath his boot. Leela looked up. She even tried for a small smile. A little, ghostly quirk of her lips.

“Hello, Joel.”

He didn’t respond. Something about how she looked at him, or maybe how she looked past him, unsettled him. He didn’t like feeling that way—not in someone else’s home, not when he was meant to be in control of the situation. Instead of answering, he stepped toward the cradle, glancing down at the baby.

The baby girl let out a high-pitched whine, stretching, her fingers curling and uncurling before she kicked her little legs. Then, as if noticing him, her mouth widened into a gummy, toothless grin, her round face alight, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

Joel couldn’t help himself. His lips twitched, just slightly, before he shook his head.

“Managed to—?” He gestured vaguely toward her chest before pulling his hand back, curling it into an embarrassed fist against the cradle.

Leela caught on. Her fingers twitched at the pearly buttons of her nightgown. Just a small, involuntary movement.

“Oh… Maria told me to hold her close to stimulate… you know.” She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I fed her one of the bottles she gave me, too.”

Joel nodded. “And?”

Leela looked down at the baby. “She stopped crying.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

Leela’s fingers tightened against her arms. “I… don’t know how to hold her without making her cry.”

The words made something dark flicker through him, he didn’t have the energy to name it. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was close. Frustration. Exasperation. A sharp-edged bitterness he couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Joel scoffed. “You can’t hold your own baby?”

Leela looked away, her heart breaking in her eyes before she managed to mask it.

Joel exhaled, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It’s not all math,” he muttered.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he reached into the cradle, slipping a hand beneath the baby’s head, cradling her against his arm, careful, practised. He eased her up, letting her body settle against his forearm, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.

The second she was in his arms, something inside him cracked.

She was tiny. So fucking tiny. Tinier than Sarah had been.

Joel swallowed thickly, feeling the light weight of her against his chest. He hadn’t held something this fragile in years—hadn’t let himself. But muscle memory took over before he could stop it before he could remind himself that this wasn’t the same. It was already clawing its way back to him. He rubbed a slow, steady hand over her back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She was warm and soft, her tiny fingers twitching against his shirt.

For a second—a half a second—he let himself sink into it.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

The scent of her, like the faded remnants of old cotton, the delicate press of her body against his. A ghost of something long lost. A time when his arms had been full like this when his days had been nothing but cradling Sarah against him, balancing a baby bag on his shoulder, and pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, filled with groceries, with the Texas sun overhead.

A different life. A different world. One he had no business remembering.

Joel forced himself to blink out of it. He cleared his throat, shifting, pressing the feeling down before it could take hold.

“And that’s it,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t that hard.”

Leela was watching him. Not like she was waiting for him to say something—not like she even expected him to. She was watching the way he held the baby, the way she settled so easily against him. Studying him, the way she studied numbers and equations, looking for a formula, an answer.

He breathed out. “Here,” he muttered, shifting the baby carefully toward her. “You try.”

Leela didn’t reach for her baby immediately.

Her hands hovered, hesitant, fingers twitching like she wasn’t sure how to move them. Joel could see it—the tension coiling in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. Her breathing shallowed, her chest barely rising, as if even that movement might disturb the delicate balance between her and the tiny life in front of her.

But finally, she forced herself to move.

Her hands, unsteady, cupped beneath the baby’s body as if she were handling something breakable, something foreign. It was careful, but too careful—unnatural in a way that the baby could sense. And sure enough, the second Leela pulled her in, her arms locked tight, too rigid, too unsure, and the child stirred. A tiny whimper. Then a sharp, warning cry.

Leela stiffened, her grip faltering. The sound made her flinch, her breath catching, as though she’d been struck.

She barely lasted five seconds before her resolve cracked. She was already shifting forward, already pushing the baby back toward Joel, who took her without hesitation.

The crying stopped almost instantly.

Joel settled the baby against his chest, bouncing her gently, a practised movement. He didn’t have to think about it—his body just did what it knew, routine kicking in where hers faltered. The baby let out a soft, sighing coo, her tiny body relaxing, as if she knew she was back in capable hands.

Leela, however, looked shaken. Not in a dramatic way—she wasn’t crying, wasn’t breaking down—but her hands curled into fists, pressing against her stomach like she needed to hold herself together.

Then, she winced.

Joel’s attention snapped back to her, his gaze dropping to the way she clutched at her lower back, her body tilting forward ever so slightly like the pain had taken her by surprise.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “You wanna sit down?”

She nodded, barely. A tiny dip of her chin.

Joel glanced around. There wasn’t much in the nursery. Just the crib, a long wooden bureau, and a mattress on the floor pushed against the far wall. No chair, nothing to lower herself onto easily.

With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his hold on the baby and stepped closer, offering an arm. “C’mon.”

Leela hesitated. Not out of pride—he could tell—but maybe out of uncertainty like she wasn’t used to being helped. But when she tried to move on her own, another sharp grimace crossed her face, and that was enough.

She let him guide her.

Joel was careful, supporting her weight without making a big deal of it. The baby stayed nestled in the crook of his other arm, still resting peacefully, unaffected by the movement. It wasn’t easy—manoeuvring both of them at once—but it was instinctual.

He helped her lower onto the mattress, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch before finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. Leela eased back against the wall and settled into the thin cushion. A long, quiet sigh left her lips, her posture unwinding slightly like she’d been holding herself taut for hours—maybe longer. But even then, she still didn’t entirely relax.

Joel watched as she lifted a hand to her face, brushing back loose strands of hair, her fingers pressing briefly into her temples.

"I'm sorry, Joel."

He frowned. “For what?”

She inhaled deeply. “It’s only been three... four weeks since I delivered. I’ve just been feeling out of it ever since.”

There was no shame in her tone, no self-pity. Just a quiet fatigue. A statement of fact.

Joel pressed his lips together.

Four weeks. Jesus. That explained a lot. The exhaustion, the stiffness in her movements, the way her body still seemed like it hadn’t recovered from what it had been through. Hell, no wonder she looked like a ghost of herself. The human body wasn’t meant to bounce back that fast—not without help. And from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to ask for it.

“She came too soon,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Leela shifted, tilting her head slightly toward him. "Eight months," she said, voice softer now. "That’s not normal, is it? It’s why she’s so tiny."

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Leela waited, like she wanted him to say more. When he didn’t, she tucked her knees up onto the couch, resting her chin against them.

She rubbed a tired hand into her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

There it was. Not frustration. Not helplessness. Just quiet, resigned truth.

Joel glanced down at the sleeping baby, still curled against his chest, her breathing soft and even. One tiny hand had fisted itself into his shirt, gripping instinctively—like she knew, on some level, that she had to hold on to something, someone, to stay safe. His grip on her tightened slightly.

Leela’s words sat heavy in his chest. I don’t know how to hold her without making her cry. And now this—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He’d heard new parents say those words before. Hell, he’d felt it himself, back then. But something about the way she said it—flat, detached, like she wasn’t even fighting it anymore—made something inside him go stiff.

Joel breathed out, shifting his arms so the baby settled more comfortably against him, and she felt so heavy all of a sudden.

Too much quiet, too many things unsaid pressing at the edges of his mind. He didn’t want to sit in it—didn’t want to acknowledge what it stirred in him. So, he broke the silence the only way he knew how.

"You could start by giving her a name," he said, glancing at Leela. "Not that 'baby girl' is a terrible name."

Leela blinked, then looked down at her daughter, studying her as if she were just now realizing that, yes, she still had to name the kid.

After a thoughtful moment, she lifted her gaze back to him. "Do you want to pick one for her?"

Joel snorted. "Me?"

She nodded, entirely serious.

He shook his head. "I think I'm gonna stick with 'baby girl.'"

Leela let out a small breath of laughter, barely there, but it softened something in her face. She bit her lip, thinking of a name, then murmured, "I always liked the name Maya."

"Maya?" He tested the name on his lips. "I like that. Maya. It’s pretty. Rhymes, too. Leela, Maya."

Leela’s lips twitched at that, and she shifted forward, moving closer without thinking, drawn in by something unspoken. She leaned down, head dipping toward the baby still curled up against Joel’s chest.

And for the first time since he stepped into this house, Joel saw it.

That fondness. It was small, but it was there—the quiet, aching kind of love that didn’t need words. The kind that made itself known in the way her fingers smoothed over the baby’s forehead, tracing delicate lines across her tiny features. In the way her body curled just slightly, instinctively, around her daughter, like even in her exhaustion, she was drawn to protect.

"Maya, Maya, Maya," she whispered, barely a sound, breathing the name into her daughter's ear as if speaking it into existence.

Joel watched her for a long moment, an unfamiliar phantom kick in his ribs. It was too much. Too close to something he didn’t want to touch, something that felt like the past reaching for him with cold fingers.

He should leave. He knew he should. Should’ve gotten up, handed the baby back, given some half-hearted promise to Maria that he’d check in, and then walked out that door.

But he didn’t. Instead, he settled in a little more, stretching his legs out, arms still loosely cradling the child.

He finally broke the silence with, “So, you’re some kind of scientist?”

Leela glanced up at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m more towards math.”

Joel frowned. Math. In a world like this?

People didn’t survive with numbers. They survived with bullets and knives, knowing when to run and when to pull the trigger. You either killed or died. You either protected or raided. You didn’t see too many folks walking around trying to save themselves with goddamned math equations—unless they were Fireflies with delusions of rebuilding the world. That was the kind of thinking that got you shot.

His gaze flickered back to the crib. What the hell kind of life was she leading before all this?

He leaned back against the wall. “And just how long have you been here alone?”

“A long time.” She didn’t elaborate. Just glanced down at the baby, adjusting the folds of the swaddle with careful fingers. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought—“Not anymore.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of that.

His gaze flicked toward the stacks of books on the baby’s bureau, thick with dust on the edges but well-thumbed through. He hummed. “And you do… math?” He made it sound ridiculous because it was.

She only nodded, unbothered. “Analytic geometry and a bit of mechanics. My parents used to work at NASA. I took up their research once I was old enough to understand. They loved to teach me all about it.”

Joel blinked. NASA? Ellie would lose her little mind if she were here.

He studied her again, reassessing. She didn’t look like someone who used to be involved in something that big. Not now, anyway. Dressed in an old nightgown, her hair hanging in dark, tangled waves, bruised-looking eyes that made her seem older than she was.

He hesitated before asking, “And just how old are you?”

“I’m turning thirty soon.” She didn’t sound glad about it. Then again, no one ever did.

But there was something about that number that made his stomach turn. Maybe because of all her intelligence, all her sharp, clinical detachment, she looked young under the weight of everything she was carrying. Or maybe because twenty-nine didn’t seem old enough to have gone through the kind of hell that made a mother flinch at her own baby.

Joel wanted to press further. Wanted to ask why she was alone, how the hell she had made it this long without the baby’s father, how a girl who could do math for NASA ended up here—malnourished, exhausted, hunched over on a mattress like she was carrying the whole world on her back.

But before he could, Maya stirred.

A small, sleepy movement. Tiny fingers wriggled their way free from the swaddle, barely curled, stretching toward the air. The whimpering started softly, then built, that newborn cry that was both fragile and urgent all at once.

Leela straightened instinctively, her hands twitching toward her daughter. But this time, when she lifted Maya from Joel’s arms, she didn’t hesitate. She held her with a little more certainty, a little more care, cradling her close to her chest as if she were nestling something precious rather than foreign.

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

Then, before he could so much as glance back up, Leela started unbuttoning her nightgown, the lapel falling open.

His eyes snapped away so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Christ.”

“Oh, god—! I’m so sorry, Maria said to try—”

“’Sall good,” he muttered, fixing his gaze firmly on the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at her. “Just, uh—go for it.”

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

Joel nodded stiffly, still keeping his head turned. But in the silence that followed, his body didn’t quite relax.

He listened. Not just to her, but to everything. The rustle of fabric, the faint, uncertain exhale as she adjusted her hold, the wet, rhythmic sound of the baby nursing, the occasional tiny sigh. A noise so small it barely existed, but it filled the quiet all the same.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, sinking into himself, gaze flickering absently around the room. He took in the details he hadn’t paid much attention to before.

The crib—old, but sturdy. The mess of books stacked against the walls, as if she had been trying to build some kind of fortress out of paper and ink. The curtains were drawn too tight, like she didn’t want the outside world bleeding in. And the emptiness—the distinct lack of anything that made this place a nursery. No toys. No clutter. No warmth.

He knew that kind of space. Knew what it meant when a room felt temporary, even when someone had been in it for years.

“I’m decent now.” Her voice was quiet but certain.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. A blanket was draped over one of Leela’s shoulders, concealing both her and the baby beneath it. His eyes traced over her face, the way she was staring down at Maya—not with the ease of a mother who had done this a hundred times, but with the focus of someone trying to get it right. Like she was handling some delicate equation she couldn’t afford to miscalculate.

The baby suckled noisily, and Joel saw the way Leela’s fingers curled against the fabric, white-knuckled.

"Do you have many children, Joel?" she asked suddenly.

He stilled. The question—simple, almost offhanded—landed like a hammer.

His fingers curled against his knee, tightening. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d asked himself that. But coming from her—a woman he barely knew, holding a baby that wasn’t much more than a handful of weeks old—it hit differently.

Did he have many children? No.

But he had one. Had. That word sat on his tongue, sour and heavy, pressing against the backs of his teeth. He could say it. Could let it out, let it breathe. But if he did, it would only linger, thick and unwelcome, in the air between them.

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

Leela nodded once, quiet and accepting. She didn’t pry, didn’t press—just dropped her gaze back to Maya, adjusting the blanket with slow, careful fingers.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but he believed her. Maybe it was the way she said it—flat, unbothered. Not some empty reassurance, not some half-hearted attempt at sympathy. Just a statement. Honest. And somehow, that made it worse.

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable.

Joel let out a slow breath and glanced toward the window, toward the faint light filtering through the edges of the curtain. The town was waking up. People were starting their day, going about their lives. Normal. Simple. This? Sitting here in this too-empty house with a woman he didn’t know and a baby who had seen too much of the world already? This wasn’t simple.

Then, her voice—quiet, hesitant.

"Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?"

He turned to look at her, watching as she nursed the baby beneath the blanket. Her head was slightly bowed, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, rhythmic circles against the tiny foot poking free. It was such a small, natural gesture—one he’d seen a thousand times from mothers who loved their children without thought, without hesitation. And yet, coming from her, it felt… disconnected. As if she was mimicking something she wasn’t sure she believed in.

The question settled deep in his chest, pressing against something sore.

"Never." The answer came without thinking. Without doubt.

Sarah had never been a stranger. From the second she was in his arms, slick and tiny and furious at the world, she was his. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing, but love—love had been instant, bone-deep. A gut punch. A freefall. A terrifying, irreversible thing. It had been impossible not to love his daughter.

That’s how it should feel. But Leela—she looked like she was still waiting to wake up from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

Leela exhaled softly, barely a sound, but Joel caught it. It hit him harder than it should have.

"I wish I felt that way," she muttered.

That did something to him.

It wasn’t pity, exactly—Leela didn’t seem like the kind of woman who wanted pity. No, it was a knowing. A recognition of something lost, something stolen before it ever had a chance to be hers. Joel had lost things, too. He understood that kind of grief, even if this one wasn’t his to carry.

Leela had slipped back into that blank, distant sadness, like she was stuck in it, unable to claw her way out. And Joel wasn’t the kind of man who offered words where they wouldn’t make a difference, but Maria had asked him to help, and he’d told her he would. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. He never had been. Words were never easy for him. Feelings even less so. But he knew how to read people, how to see what they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

So, he did what he could.

"She looks like you," Joel mused, almost without thinking.

Leela hesitated, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. "You really think so?"

He smirked, nodding toward Maya. "Look at that. The eyes, the nose, the hair. That’s all a mama’s girl."

She glanced down at the baby in her arms, her fingers stilling against Maya’s tiny foot. For a second, something in her expression wavered—like she was trying to see what he saw, trying to find herself in this child. "Mama’s girl," she murmured, testing the words on her tongue as if they didn’t quite belong to her yet.

Joel felt something shift in his chest, just a little.

It was something.

Still, his eyes drifted over the room, taking in the stark walls, the empty corners. The air in here was cold—not from the weather, but from the lack of anything. There was no sign of her in this space. No warmth, no comfort, no life. It felt temporary, like she hadn’t put down roots. Like she was waiting for something.

Or maybe like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay.

He exhaled, tipping his chin toward the crib. "Though, she’s gonna be real disappointed when she sees the state her mama’s kept her room in."

Leela’s brows knit together as she looked around as if really seeing it for the first time. "I tried my best. Is it that bad?"

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "It could use a little more work." He gestured toward the crib. "Fix another one of those." Then to the bare space near the window. "Somewhere to sit. Some shelves there." His gaze travelled to the walls. "Fresh coat of paint. Some new lights."

Leela studied him carefully, her lips pressing together. "I don’t want to impose."

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms. "You won't. I like to keep busy."

Leela gave him a look—one of those assessing, sceptical looks he was starting to recognize from her. The one that suggested she wasn’t sure if she could trust him yet. "Are you sure?"

Joel let out a short, dry chuckle. "I was a contractor before the world went to shit, sweetheart. This is a cushy job." Then he cocked a brow. "And I’m fifty-six, not dead."

Leela bit her lip to hide a teasing smile. "Could’ve fooled me."

Joel levelled her with a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "You want me to take that crib back down?"

That did it. She laughed—an actual laugh. Not the polite kind. Not the uncertain kind. A real, full sound, one that cracked through the quietness of the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.

The motion jostled Maya, making her let out a startled cry of protest.

Leela immediately sobered, her expression softening as she adjusted the nursing baby under her blanket, tucking her closer. She began to coo under her breath, "Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Mama’s here."

Joel caught it. That shift again. That slight change in her voice when she said Mama. Like she wasn’t quite sure of it yet. But it wasn’t just an obligation or just guilt, or uncertainty.

This time, it sounded like she meant it.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Just sat back and watched, letting her find her way.

X

Fifteen days.

That was how long he’d been here. How long he'd been wedging himself into a life that wasn’t his, in a house that wasn’t his, with a mother and child that weren’t his to take care of.

And yet, every night, when the baby cried, he found himself plodding up the stairs like it was instinct. He’d lean in the doorway, watching as Leela sleepily nursed Maya, her heavy arms curled around the tiny, wriggling body. Some nights, she fed her from the bottle, but as the days passed, that sipper gathered dust.

It was slow. Subtle. She was feeding her baby more.

And Joel—he was still fucking here. He didn’t think much about the why of it because he figured if he did, it would only lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer. All he knew was that it felt natural, falling into this quiet rhythm with them. Like it had always been this way.

The couch downstairs became his bed. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it didn’t matter much. As long as he didn't throw his back out. It was easier than going back to an empty house. Leela, for her part, never asked him to stay, but she never told him to leave, either. Maybe that was her way of saying she wanted him around. Or maybe she just needed him to be.

"You don’t have to—" she had started one night, catching him setting up his makeshift bed.

"I know," he cut off before she could finish.

He kept his hands busy, too. That helped a lot.

The crib came first. A slow project, one he didn’t rush, because what else did he have to do? He sanded the edges and smoothed them down so there’d be no risk of splinters. He reinforced the frame, extended the width, and even managed to track down some pink paint to liven it up.

It was a stupid thing, but it made him feel like he was doing something. Like he was helping in a way that made sense.

Leela had caught him painting one afternoon, crouched over the crib with careful, measured strokes.

"Pink?" she’d said, standing in the doorway, one brow raised.

Joel had glanced up, brush still in hand. "What? You don’t like it?"

Leela had hummed, considering. Then, softer, "I think Maya will like it."

Something about the way she said it—like she was finally thinking about that, about what her daughter would like—made him grin to himself. He continued the long stroke of paint down the crib.

Then there was Leela. It had been easier, at first, to pretend he was only here for the kid. That his concern for her was secondary. But after the first week, it became clear—that wasn’t true.

She was unraveling.

Joel noticed it even when she thought he hadn’t. The unbearable insomnia. The way she startled awake like she was being wrenched from nightmares. The way her eyes stayed shadowed, dark-rimmed and tired, and how she never seemed to eat a full meal.

Just because he tried not to bother, didn’t mean he didn’t notice. She had once fallen asleep at the kitchen table, arms folded beneath her head. Joel had set a bowl of soup down in front of her, the sound making her jolt awake, eyes wide, gasping and panicked.

She blinked at him, disoriented, pushing her unruly hair out of her face. "I—I wasn’t sleeping."

"Alright," he said, pushing the plate closer. "Eat."

Leela wavered, nose scrunching. "I’m not—"

Joel shot her a look. "Eat."

She sighed. But she picked up the spoon.

He didn’t bother to push or pry any further. He stopped himself there. Because what the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t the kind of person people confided in. It was better off this way.

So he willfully ignored it. Turned the other way when she wiped her eyes too hard when her shoulders shook just a little when those deep, muffled sobs filtered through the walls at night. Every part of him told him to cross that invisible line—to do something—but instead, he stepped outside, leaned against the stoop, stared at nothing.

One night, he heard it—soft at first, then breaking, like something deep inside her had finally snapped. Anyone reasonable would've gone up to comfort her. Fuck, it was already turning him inside out.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long moment, jaw tight, staring up at the dark landing.

Then he turned around, walked outside, and sat on the porch steps, letting the cold bite into him. Good. He huffed out a wispy breath, quietly waiting for the sounds to pass. This wasn’t his problem.

One unlucky day, the second he stepped into the stables, Ellie gave him a knowing, annoying look. "Jesus, what's worse than shit? Because that's what you look like."

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip on the saddle he was carrying. "Thanks, kid."

Ellie narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and giving him a once-over. "Seriously, you look like hell. Where the fuck have you been?"

Joel grunted, busying himself with the straps, not looking at her. "Been around."

Ellie scoffed. "Been around? What the hell does that mean? You've been busy playing house with the lady at the big house?"

His jaw flexed and fingers tightened on the cords. And Ellie caught it. Her smirk sharpened.

"Oh my God. That’s exactly what you’ve been doing, huh?"

Joel shot her a look. "No."

"Yes," Ellie drawled, crossing her arms. "Dude. I knew something was up. You’ve been MIA. I thought maybe you finally croaked in your sleep, but nope—turns out, you’re off fixing pipes and babysitting."

"I ain’t babysitting," Joel muttered, too quick.

Ellie smirked harder and drawled out, "Riiiight."

Joel let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, shaking his head. "She needed help. That’s all."

Ellie clicked her tongue, rocking back on her heels. "Hmm. Right. Just help. No attachment, no paternal instincts kicking in. Oh, definitely not. Not Joel Hardass Miller. He’s just the neighbourhood handyman now."

He cut her a sharp look. "Ellie."

She grinned, enjoying this way too much. "What? Just saying. It’s kind of adorable. Old man Joel, all domesticated. It's nice."

Joel muttered something under his breath and turned away, ignoring her. Oh, but she was far from done.

"So, uh…" she cleared her throat. "How’s the baby?"

He hesitated.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d started watching that kid. Listening to her. He knew Maya’s different cries now—hungry, fussy, lonely. He knew the way she liked to be held, the way she calmed when he rubbed her tiny back. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would hear her tonight, whether he was there or not.

"She’s uh, good," he said finally. Kept his voice level, unaffected. "Stronger. Sleeps better."

Ellie studied him. "Bet she likes you."

Joel shrugged, trying to play it off. "Babies like warm bodies, Ellie. Ain’t that deep."

Ellie snorted. "Sure. And you're a warm bundle of joy." And then, just when he thought she was about to let it go—"You’re gonna miss her, huh?"

Joel's hands dropped to his sides. Ellie wasn’t teasing anymore. Her voice had gone softer, something knowing creeping in.

And he didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t about to start thinking about that. About leaving. About hearing those cries and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be the one answering them anymore.

Joel slowly adjusted the saddle and grunted. "You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help me get this horse ready?"

Ellie sighed, shaking her head, but didn’t push. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dad."

"Ellie."

But she was already cackling her goddamned head off. "This is rich. Daddy Joel."

Still, Joel stayed in that big house. Just a few more days. And the more he stayed, the harder it became to keep his distance.

It had started small—fixing things around the house, making little adjustments to help Leela care for the baby, and bringing her food. He fashioned a sling for her out of an old scarf and showed her how to wear it. At first, she’d been rigid, reluctant. But Maya—baby girl took to it immediately, curling into her mother’s chest, small fingers grasping at the fabric.

Joel wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but something about that moment had stuck with him.

Because for the first time, he saw Leela hold her. Not just carry her.

And then there was Maya herself. The little ray of sunshine was growing, filling out. No longer that fragile, underfed thing he’d first seen in the cradle. Her limbs weren’t so thin anymore, her eyes brighter, more alert. She’d started watching things with intent—fixating on his hands when he worked, tracking his movement around the room, making little fists and clumsily bringing them to her mouth.

She smiled more, too. And it did something to him. It shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have felt that warm pull in his chest every time her tiny mouth curled into something resembling a grin. Shouldn’t have liked the way her whole body wriggled when she was excited. Shouldn’t have let himself get used to the small weight of her when Leela, in her exhaustion, wordlessly passed her to him, and he found himself rocking her without thinking.

But it had happened, slowly and without permission. And now, when he held her, it felt natural.

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

And then, on what must’ve been the third week, Tommy and Maria showed up at the door. Joel knew it the second he opened it—that this was an extraction.

Tommy stood there with that damn smirk, the same one he used to wear when Joel got him out of trouble—except this time, it wasn't his brother who had been looking for a way out.

"You're officially relieved of duty, big brother."

Joel grunted, letting his brother pull him into a quick hug. He clapped him on the back, but his grip was just a little too firm. A little too final. "Didn’t know I was on duty."

Maria stepped in next, squeezing his shoulder, her eyes warm with something Joel didn’t want to name. "Thank you, Joel."

He didn’t say you’re welcome. Didn’t say anything at all. Just gave a small nod, because that was easier than acknowledging the importance of what he’d done. No need to attach importance to what he was walking away from.

He felt Leela before he saw her.

She stood behind them by the front door, her arms loose at her sides, watching but not interfering. She was dressed in a warm sweater and pants this time, although he liked seeing her in that long nightdress of hers, the one with the pearl buttons.

She didn’t say anything. And neither did he. Because there was no point in goodbyes.

Instead, he gave her a nod—brief, almost impersonal—and then he turned, stepping off the porch, his boots heavier than they should’ve been.

Maria’s voice, quiet but clear, carried behind him as she spoke to Leela like she was approaching a wounded deer. "You feeling okay, baby? Come on, let’s talk."

Joel kept on walking. Crossed the street.

And for the first time in fifteen days, he realized—he didn’t want to go home. Because home meant silence. Home meant absence.

Home meant walking into a house where there was no tiny, fussy cry in the middle of the night. No bleary-eyed woman fumbling with a bottle, no soft, small weight curled against his chest when exhaustion finally won out.

For fifteen days, he had fallen into something. A rhythm. A purpose. A role. And now, as he stepped through his own front door, into the empty space that used to feel normal, Joel realized he’d done something reckless. Something he never should’ve allowed.

He’d let himself care.

X

[I really like this one, so much! I love how sweet it turned out, how JOEL of him it is, and how Leela is just that sweet, confused mother. I think I'm going to really love building on this one! ]

[ taglist : @cuntstiel , @bubblegumpeeeach , @evispunk ]

[esotericbluntbaby]

compensation

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: going against your wishes, your boyfriend decides to fight another match after spraining his wrist the last time he boxed. injured, he returns home to his girlfriend, who can't help but feel more than just "angry."

mentions: boxer!hamzah, bf!hamzah, angsttt, female reader, sub! hamzah, blood, bruises, nsfw!

GUYS IM SORRY I FORGOT TO POST THIS PLS DONT KILL ME

--

this was the first time that hamzah kept you in the dark, betraying your trust in him.

he was always a strong-willed, passionate boy; in fact, it was one of the things you found attractive in him. he kickstarted his youtube with his resilience and determination. giving up was simply not an option for him; one way or another, plan after plan, he'd get his goal even if it meant he had to cut off his limbs and sell them. if hamzah wanted something, he would get it, similar to a horse kicking whenever it's being restrained. though, normally, he knew when to stop pushing, especially when the cost was more than the benefit.

the last time hamzah boxed, his wrist fractured like a 6 year old cracks a wishbone. you, obviously, knew that getting hurt was apart of his hobby; you didn't like it, but you accepted that it was inevitable for some part of him to be banged up and broken. he allowed you to stay in the hospital with him during the time he was getting monitored, meaning that you were allowed to hear the doctor tell him that he had to wait 6 weeks to box again.

during the hospital visit, hamzah realized he had a match in exactly 5 weeks. you argued with him, telling him that there would be no way in hell that he'd be able to box until his wrist is fixed. of course, being as stubborn as a mule, hamzah argued back that he had to fight if his life depended on it. eventually, the night settled in as you laid in bed together that night, cuddling; he told you that you were right. reassuring you that he wouldn't be fighting, he kissed you goodnight. you thought you wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

that was, until tonight, an hour after the match: when hamzah walked in the front door, bloody and bruised.

his eye began to swell, darkening around the indents of his skull. the black eye that adorned his face was accompanied by a deep gash that exposed the layer beneath his skin. he looked at you with guilt plastered in his banged up face, furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips being muted by the extent of his injuries. you didn't have to guess where he was: you felt betrayed by the fact that you knew exactly what he went out to do. alongside his injuries and deception, came a girlfriend who wasn't going to speak to him.

--

not a single word was said when you grabbed his other wrist and walked to the bathroom with him; the room was filled with silence and guilt radiating off of him. he was currently sitting on the toilet seat as you rummaged around the medicine cabinet for materials that would help you fix his wounds. though you were upset, you weren't going to leave him to tend to his own injuries; you were still his girlfriend, after all. sitting on the floor, you grabbed his wrist to check how worsened it became.

"baby-"

"no, hamzah."

from your previous arguments, you knew that hamzah has a habit of overloading you with pet names. he knew he fucked up; you know he fucked up. him starting his sentence with "baby" helped you realize that he knew he's in the doghouse.

taking the textured, cotton gauze, you began to wrap his wrist with a softness that foiled your emotions towards him. you felt his eyes trained on you like the aimbot of a video game; his gazed fixated on every single movement you made. he noticed the way that you still looked so pretty even when you were mad at him. the way your face looked, tensed and full of agitation, created a pool of guilt that he swam in. he hated making you upset, but he simply needed to box. it was passion. it was commitment. he had to do it; at least, that's what he was telling himself. however, no matter how much he told himself that he had to fight, he knew it was wrong of him to go against your wishes and back. he knew you wanted the best for him and his physical being.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being stupid and i shouldn't have went behind your back like that."

you listened to him apologize, yet, didn't respond. in fact, you didn't even look at him. there was no acknowledgement of his apology; it was almost like it never even happened in the first place. he needed to know how truly upset you were. instead, you focused on wrapping his wrist with a second layer of gauze, to keep everything in place.

"baby, please. just talk to me- i don't care if you cuss me out or give me hell for betraying you like that, just- please talk to me," his mannerisms were tense and rushed, "how do i fix this? how do i get you to speak to me? i'll do anything- i swear- you want me to quit boxing completely? i will. you want me to do all the housework in this house? i will- i'll do every single chore. shit, if even just sitting in a corner for days with no food or water would get you to speak to me, i'd do that. please, baby- please."

you finished wrapping the gauze by the time he finished his speech about what he'd do to get you to speak to him. you began to touch his face, examining the bruise on his eye and cheekbone like a scientist looking through a microscope. suddenly, he grabbed you by the cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

"i'm sorry. please, just speak to me. i'll do anything. talk to me. i just wanna hear your voice."

listening to him yearn for your voice made you feel a certain type of way. yes, you were mad. however, in a way, this whole situation was turning you on. you hated to admit it, but your boyfriend looked attractive with a black eye and bruised cheekbone. the fact that he was begging for you to speak to him made the sexual tension you were feeling within you even worse. his submissive side was creating a potion of ecstasy in your stomach; you wanted to see how far he'd go.

you sighed, "i don't know anymore, hamzah. you told me you wouldn't. i trust you less."

"i know, pretty, i'm sorry. i'll earn it back, i promise. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being an idiot."

standing up as his face followed where your eyes were, you rubbed it against his open wound, earning a wince from him as he gripped onto your waist. butterflies emerged in your stomach, causing you to feel similar to how light a fairy is.

"thanks for the warning," he said with sarcasm and irritation laced in his voice, opening his eyes from the hard shut he indulged in

"you don't deserve one."

he pulled you onto his lap, causing you to straddle him on the toilet seat. taking your cheeks, he cupped your face in his hands and sighed. he looked at you with a level of submissiveness you haven't seen in him. normally, hamzah was the dominant one; yet, you didn't mind that the roles switched.

"what can i do to get you to not be mad at me?"

"i dunno. you're a smart boy," you grabbed his cheek and stroked it with your thumb, "figure it out, baby."

you saw a lightbulb flicker on in his eyes. he sensed the tension in the room wasn't only angry, but there was also sexual tension in its silver lining.

"you want me to make it up to you?"

you leaned towards his ear, now whispering, "how are you gonna do that, hamzah?"

you felt something poke at your ass from beneath you, a slight twitch emerging from it too. your words made him as hard as a rock.

that's so fucking hot.

"baby, i thought you were mad at me."

"oh, i am. trust me, i'm fucking pissed."

he kissed you on the cheek, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the jawline, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the lips, "i'm sorry."

moving down to your neck, he kissed it longer than the pecks he gave you previously. you felt a sucking motion, as well as his tongue swirling on your sweet spot, shortly after. your breath got heavier, almost as if your lungs were being weighed down by hot air. your lips parted as he sucked a dark spot onto your neck.

"i'm sorry, pretty girl. forgive me?"

"not yet."

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "why not?"

"i need more than that."

"tell me what you need, pretty. i'll do it."

you leaned closer to his ear, kissing his neck and the area between, "you know what i want from you."

standing up from the toilet seat, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to your bedroom. your lips began to intertwine with his as he walked through the hallway, your tongues melting together like two lollipops on a hot day. he laid you down on the bed, still kissing you with everything he had; he needs you to forgive him.

letting go of your lips, he moved closer to the edge of the bed, taking off your shorts and leaving you in your underwear. feeling exposed in front of hamzah was always nerveracking in your own way; however, this time it was different. you knew hamzah had to please you, leaving you with a newfound confidence.

"are you okay with this?" he asked, exhibiting a level of care that you were all too familiar with.

"do whatever you want to me, hamzah."

taking your underwear off, you were left laying on top of your sheets in a tank top. his arms wrapped around your legs like a snake to its prey, prying your legs apart with a sense of desperation.

"you're so pretty like this baby," he kissed the inner part of your thigh, "you're so fucking pretty."

he spit on the area between your legs, earning a subtle gasp from you. his tongue began to lap on you, dropping saliva on the area of you that was already wet. between your legs, you felt the roughness and neediness of his tongue. his hands squeezed your inner thighs as pleasure began to unravel the metaphoric yarn located in your stomach. hamzah was eating the fuck out of you, leading to your moans getting louder and louder with each and every movement his tongue created against you.

his tongue produced a dance that only the both of you would know. some parts were as fast as light, while other ones were full of yearning and slowness; he knew exactly how to balance it for you to feel the best that you could feel.

your hands made its way to his hair, "you're so pretty like this, hamzah. my boy- my pretty boy."

his movements got faster as his grip against your thighs tightened even more, as if you were going to fly away if he let go. similar to his hands, you squeezed his hair as his movements quickened in pace; you could feel the yarn unraveling like a rubber band about to snap.

"f-fuck- hamzah, i'm close-"

he kissed your core, before his tongue sped to a pace you haven't felt before. you watched him eat you out like there was no tomorrow, leaving loud moans echoing the room, before he felt you release into his mouth. kissing it once again, he looked up at you as his hands massaged the pillows that he was in between. you looked at each other with love while he watched your heavy breathing and fucked-out expression.

"forgive me?"

"i forgive you. please go box someone else, baby."

confusion was apparent in his face, "what?"

"you're so fucking hot when you're bruised and yearning."

--

author's note!

this is so short omfg i hate using anatomical words for smut LOL more coming soon!

[venuslarkspur]

Can I please request a teen female reader (15-17?) who’s entered the games to help her family, like all the responsibilities have fallen to her after her dads death 🥺💕(ANY CHARACTERS WILL DO) ILY UR PINK HAIR FIC AS WELL)

Playtime’s Over.

Pairing(s): Squid Game Characters meet Fem!Teen!Reader, (ALL PLATONIC). Contains: Thanos, Se-Mi, Kang Dae Ho, Seong Gi Hun, Cho Hyun Ju, Park Gyeong Seok.

Summary: Them just doting on Teen Reader and wanting to protect her!

Note: This can be read as gender neutral as well! I didn’t really go out of the way to make it female looking back. NOT PROOFREAD I COULD NOT BE ARSED

Warning(s): ANGST, mentions of eating, VIOLENCE, family problems.

Thanos

- He immediately takes a liking to you and can straight away tell you’re not actually 18. (I’m with the firm belief this man would have a soft spot for kids)

- Forces the rest of the group to refer to you as “yeodongsaeng” (or little just sister) and it makes you feel loved, even though you know he’s full of shit , kids see everything.

- You swear that sometimes he thinks you’re his actual sister, with the way he acts towards you; others in the game constantly think you’re actual siblings.

- Nearly gives you some of his drugs before he remembers your age and tells you to scram and do your homework.

- Doesn’t let Nam-Gyu shit talk you, would sooner slap him on the head than let him do that, and firmly reminds him you’re his younger sister now as well. That thought of being his sister made you want to vomit, but you wouldn’t mind Thanos being your brother though.

- Bonding over your father’s not being around anymore! Even though your circumstances are very different.

- When 2 players are called In mingle. He hesitates, despite the drugs running through his system; he shouts at Nam-Gyu to go with Min-Su while he drags you into a nearby room. Dumbfounded you still were, as he picked you first.

- You had found someone, despite his countless flaws and bullshit. There was still someone, until there wasn’t anymore. And you were left alone again.

Se-Mi

- You’re the only one she’s letting call her ‘unnie’, very protective of you even before knowing your true age.

- If you need a distraction she will let you play with one of her rings while she asks you how school is and how you are doing.

- Very torn when she hears you’re providing for a whole family by yourself, wants to be there for you. Since you’re a kid with no parents to guide you here.

- Would give you her milk carton and egg. She doesn’t want it anyway just take it!

- Lets you trail after her like a duckling.

- Isn’t afraid to tell anyone to leave you alone if you’re getting picked on.

- Has an epiphany when she realised the reason your so good at the games is because it probably hasn’t bee long since you played them on the school courtyard :(

- Protects you in mingle, even though she knows she won’t always be able to keep you safe. But it ended up being her you failed to save.

Kang Dae-Ho

- Was the first person to jump in and help you when you were getting abused by one of the other players, an older man that you had pickpocketed quite recently; naturally, he longed for his revenge, firmly punching your stomach, you fell to the ground immediately; he grabbed your hair and before he could land a blow on your face another player stepped in.

- “Leave the kid alone.” Another man, younger this time whose number read “388” had jumped in to defend you. The older man backed off slightly, but still felt the need to verbally attack you. “You know this little bitch?” He spat out, locking eyes with you. “This kid stole cash from me!” He screamed pointing an accusatory finger at you. You weren’t denying, you hanged your head in guilt; even if you explained your circumstances, he wouldn’t care. “Maybe she did, but shes just a defenceless kid,, lay off.” and with that the stingy man trotted away, maintaining eye contact with you.

- Player 388 had checked up on you after that, since that day you were overly attached to him. Trailing after him, he didn’t mind at all not one bit. He told you he actually had several older sisters and it was nice to have a younger one for a change.

- He respects your strength and perseverance more than anyone, having to provide for an entire family when you’re just a kid yourself is TIRING work and unimaginable for him.

- Encourages you to make your own choices, like don’t pick “O” or “X” just because he did.

- Makes sure you are one of the first prioritised during mingle, he saw what happened to Young-Mi and couldn’t live with himself if the same happened to you. You do a lot of hand holding after what happened to Young Mi; he’s scared to let go.

- He hates seeing how little hope there is in your eyes for someone so young, it’s his personal mission to make you feel hope again.

Seong Gi-Hun

- Even though he’s kind of in his depressed era rn, all he sees when he looks at you is his daughter staring back at him. Acknowledges straight away that you’re only a bit older than her.

- It takes you a while to catch on, but you eventually realise why he’s protective of you. His own daughter wasn’t around anymore is the conclusion you came to, where she is or if she is you don’t know. Only that he must not see her anymore.

- scolds you quite a lot, telling you that you shouldn’t even be here anyway. That instead you should be doing your homework or studying for your next exam.

- When the cameras watch he has to distance himself from you, he doesn’t want the Frontman to know of his now emotional connection with you.

- You remind him of Sae-Byeok in an odd way.

- Would never forgive yourself if you died, you’d constantly be on his mind.

Cho Hyun Ju

- I can’t lie she initially tries to stay clear of you, she knows if she gets too attached and you die, she won’t be able to live with herself.

- But she can’t seem to get rid of you, you follow her around like a baby duck.

- You, Her and Young-Mi become like a sisterhood, she’s the oldest and you’re the baby of the group. You both call her ‘unnie’

- Young Mi gives you her food and Hyun Ju follows along and passes you some milk. Because you need it to be “big and strong”

- She has so many questions about how you ended up in here. Where are your parents? What are your family doing if you’re here? Shouldn’t you be in school?

- When Young Mi dies she gets very protective of you, she’s not losing you as well.

Park Gyeong-Seok

- Projection!!! He’s missing his daughter, you’re missing your dad! The perfect duo.

- On a serious note he hates how attached he is to you.

- You joined his group in the 2nd game and you played Flying Stone. He knows something was off about you, even putting on a tough exterior you seemed so childlike. When you confess your actual age he’s horrified, he didn’t want to believe it. How on earth are you in debt?

- He can’t believe you’re providing for a whole family. He struggles just providing for his daughter.

- Encourages you to hit “X”, trust me you don’t want to die here, you can’t help your family from your grave.

- If you seem a little hungry he offers you his food.

- You’re attached by the hip during mingle, you never left his side.

- He comforts you during the riot in lights out. Cradling your body, and running his hands through your hair to calm you down; wondering if this is how he’d hold his own daughter if she were here.

- You beg him not to go with the others in the revolt, he almost doesn’t. And later he’d wish he didn’t.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

pt5

Last day on earth

hey guys warning might be ooc cause i am writing this half asleep

"SHOOT- I'M LATE AGAIN!"

You had band practice with the others today

Why are you always late?

You promised them, and you accidentally slept through your alarm. Again.

You forgot Lyla was down for today too, she was focused solely on the anomalies today, so she couldn't wake you up.

Shit.

You scrambled around in your room getting ready for the day.

You put on your clothes and quickly do your hair.

You tried looking for your guitar and forgot you left it downstairs.

You ran downstairs and almost tripped.

You stopped when you saw everyone eating breakfast at the table.

Without you.

It made you less mad that they were together without you, you were used to them being together without you.

It made you sad how you never even realized.

"..You guys have been having breakfast together? Without me?"

They all went silent. You could see the guilty looks on their faces. As soon as Dick opened his mouth to talk, you shut them up.

"Why would you even-" You stopped yourself, you had things to do. "You know what? This is a problem for future y/n."

You grabbed your keys and put it in your bag while you ran around trying to finish getting ready.

"Alfred, I'm gonna be gone till later, I promised my friends I'm gonna be at band practice"

You ran into the bathroom to finish brushing your teeth.

"Also if one of them shows up at the door, please let them in! Hobie's my ride today!" You called out from inside the bathroom

"Alright, young miss." you heard Alfred say from the kitchen.

You did your makeup quickly and put on your shoes.

You grabbed your bag that had your guitar picks inside, along with some essentials like money, a hairbrush, makeup, etc.

You just needed your phone, which you had left in the kitchen.

As soon as you run out of the bathroom and into the dining room you get jumpscared.

"Boo." Hobie jumped, scaring you.

You screamed before play hitting him

Okay, screw you too, spidey-senses!

While you explained to Hobie you were almost done getting ready, you could slightly feel the others glaring at you and Hobie.

it wasn't them trying to figure him out,it was them judging him.

Damian couldn't understand, why were you hanging out with someone like him?! He's too punk and crazy looking, it's so dumb you were excited to hang out with him.

He snapped out of it as soon as he saw you and Hobie about to exit the manor.

He was about to demand to know where you were going, but suddenly as soon as you were about to walk out the door, you felt Hobie pull on the back of the collar of your shirt.

"Hm?" you asked Hobie

"Don't you think you're missing something, Tinkerbell?" Hobie asked, pointing to your back.

"what do you mean? I have everything, I think. I have my lipgloss and everything.." you started rambling to yourself for a bit, checking the mental checklist you had for yourself.

After a few moments, you realize you thought you had your guitar with you!

You did not!

You ran to grab it, everyone looking at you both.

You grabbed your guitar and said bye to everyone.

Jason does not like Hobie.

He didn't even get to introduce himself to your family.

He straight up ignored all of them, besides Alfred, to see you!

He didn't like how excited you were to just be around him.

He didn't like how naturally you guys play fought like siblings.

He didn't like how close you guys seemed.

He didn't like how he walked around like he's been here before.

He didn't like how he had a nickname for you.

He needed to know who this guy was.

But how?

He followed you both to your practice. While dressed in a red hood.

Oops.

He watches as you both get into your car and go to a place to practice music.He sees a tiny 12-year-old girl with short black hair playing electric guitar, like you.

He sees a blonde girl with half her hair of hair shaved off getting her guitar ready while talking a curly haired boy with big doe eyes.

He sees the boy next to her getting his keyboard ready while awkwardly flirting with the girl.

He sees a boy with stupidly luscious hair getting the amps up and ready.

He can see them all getting slightly anxious, he assumes it's because of you being late.

He didn't know its because they could all sense someone watching them.

Finally, you and Hobie walk in and immediately feel the presence.

You text Miguel that you feel a tiny bit anxious and send him your location.

Better safe than sorry!

After an hour or two of playing, you all decide to sit down and take a break.

The feeling someone was watching you was still there, it just died down the slightest bit.

After a while, Pavitr finally spoke up.

"Am I the only one feeling that someone watching us?"

Immediately you all said different variants of yes.

It was so strange, why would anyone watch you guys?

You assumed it was maybe a kid on the street who was listening to your music, but that didn't explain your spidey senses going off.

As soon as you were about to talk about it, all your spidey senses went off, and someone popped up in front of you.

Red Hood, or your brother, Jason Todd.

Immediately everyone got up and gave you knowing glances.

Sure, you never told anyone about your family's identities, but technically everybody in the spiderverse and their moms knew.

Something about you being a mix of two multi-verses.

"Woah! No need to get so defensive!" Red Hood said, putting his hands up.

"why are you here?" you asked, glaring at him dead in the eyes. Well, he was wearing a mask so you looked at him where his eyes were supposed to be.

"Can't someone drop by for a visit? You guys were great, by the way," he said. You weren't sure what he wanted.

At this point, you had Peni hidden behind you. Sure, he wouldn't ever do anything to any kid, but it was a force of habit you had to protect her.

You didn't notice Hobie slowly moving beside you to protect you if anything happened.

"Welp, I just came in to check on regular civilians, nothing wrong with that," he smirked. he knew he was getting under your skin.

"well, it's a good thing we don't need help. Goodbye." you shooed him away like he had done multiple times to you.

He scoffed and left.

You all let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

It was getting late anyway. You should all start packing up and go out someplace to eat.

It was your turn to choose which place to go, and you immediately chose Batburger.

As soon as you all ordered and sat down, you all immediately started talking about why Red Hood popped by.

Your friends all knew about the neglect from everyone, no one understood why they were here.

Why now?

The topics changed throughout everything, from school drama to plans for the future, to plans for future hangouts.

Everything was great, you all grabbed your meals and were eating the mountain of food you guys ordered.

"I'm telling you, the food in my universe is so much better!" Miles argued with you.

"it's so not! It's greasy!" You argued back

"like batburger isn't?" Miles smirked, you both played arguing.

You gasped dramatically. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" you play slapped Miles.

"LISTEN DINGBAT I SAID-" Miles rudely pointed his finger in your face.

"GET YOUR FINGER OUT OF MY FACE!" You and Miles started throwing fries at each other's faces, everyone else at the table laughing at how stupid you guys are.

Suddenly, your spidey senses went slightly off. Not enough for you and Miles to notice, but the others stopped laughing.

You didn't understand until you heard a very familiar voice.

"Is there a problem here?" You looked up and saw your other brother, Dick, looking at you guys with his stupid signature smile.

The same smile that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

Immediately you and Miles straightened up. Not in fear, but because you didn't want him to see you enjoying yourself.

"No, Richard."

You see him flinch at the use of his full name and not his nickname. His smile slightly faltered, but not enough for anyone other than you to notice.

"All alright then." he started walking away and you noticed behind him were your other siblings, Tim and Damian.

Shit.

You needed to get out of here.

Gwen immediately noticed you looking slightly panicky and immediately started holding your hand to calm you down.

It worked.

Everyone looked at each other, almost to say "Let's go."

You all left and decided to go to a park to calm down.

You all lay down on the grass in quiet. It was nice.

You don't mind doing anything with them, as long as you are together.

You wish you could stay in this moment forever.

After a while, you and Peni ended up falling asleep.

Noir came and picked up Peni.

Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr had to go home to their respective universes.

Hobie took and carried you home, there's no way he was gonna leave you lying in the middle of Gotham at night.

He made sure to carry everything you had with you into the manor.

Alfred let Hobie in as soon as he saw you being carried by him.

As soon as he got inside, Jason offered to carry you to your room, but Hobie had already started walking toward's it.

"Nah, sorry mate. She's knackered right now and moving her around might make her go mad."

As soon as he got to your room, he dropped you off on your bed took off your shoes and tucked you into bed, kissing you on the forehead, something that he's done to all the spider kids as a form of affection.

As soon as he went downstairs, he started getting questioned by everyone there.

"Who are you?" asked Damian.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy?" Hobie teased.

"Why is she so attached to you?!" Asked Jason.

"I ain't got a scooby doo," Hobie replied.

Soon, the questions turned into everyone yelling at Hobie for no reason.

You woke up from the commotion.

You went downstairs to see Hobie having a serious face.

That was not a good sign.

You kept walking further until you were on the same floor as everyone else.

"What's going on?" you asked rather meekly.

No one heard, so you spoke louder.

"What's going on?"

Still, no one heard, so you had no choice but to yell.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!"

Everyone stopped to look at you. Everyone but Hobie was surprised to see you speak that loudly. They weren't used to you using that tone.

Everything was silent and tense for a moment.

"Well? is anyone gonna say anything or are you all gonna act stupid?" You were cranky. You needed a nap.

"We don't want you hanging around those guys anymore." your father, Bruce said.

"I don't care. I still am gonna be with them," you said.

"You don't have a choice," Damian added, agreeing with his father.

"Well nothing is stopping me, I'll still see them," you replied, glaring at Bruce.

"You're under my roof. You can make your own decisions when you aren't living here." Bruce said, rather mad you won't be obident.

"Maybe I don't want to live under your roof..." you muttered, thinking no one would hear.

"What was that?" you heard Dick say, clearly expecting you to crumble and apologize.

"Maybe I don't wanna live under your roof!" you turn to look at Hobie. He looks proud.

"Then leave." you hear Tim say.

"All alright." you start walking to your room to pack your essentials.

Everyone suddenly looks shocked. They weren't expecting that. You felt Hobie put a hand on your shoulder and help you pack. You grab your phone and see you never replied to Miguel's texts where he asked if you're okay.

You reply to him and tell him you're alright. You ask him if you can stay at his apartment because of family problems.

He immediately replies and says yes.

You finish packing up and go downstairs.

You didn't say bye to anyone as you left.

You went to a random abandoned building to use your bracelet to make a portal to Miguel's universe.

Hobie tagged along, to keep you safe.

As soon as he saw Miguel take you inside, he waved bye and went to his universe.

As soon as you got inside, you broke down.

Over how tired you are, over how your family treated you, and how you just wanted a hug.

You fell asleep hugging Miguel that night

hi guys this is kinda bad but like idk i might make a fluffy oneshot of the spiderkids js hanging out cause reader deserves a break idk

tags (please let me know if i missed anyone!): @bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n

[aikuwrld]

men who are DEVOTED munchers becoming a stuttering mess when you ask to give them head… they look at you like you just asked the most incredulous question in existence. you? give him head? right now? he’s so used to servicing you— the thought of you giving him head already had him shamefully twitching in his pants and dizzy.

“are you sure, my love? no, i mean, you don’t need to… i mean—”

poor baby can barely put a sentence together even before the touching has even happened. don’t get him wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t want it. he’s indulged— matter of fact, he’s stroked a few ones out at the thought of you sucking him off. on your knees, pretty glossy doe eyes looking up at him while you struggle to take all of him in your mouth. it’s just that he’s always been a little shy. too embarrassed to ask you. it’s pathetic— hilarious even that a burly, bulking man of his stature couldn’t bring himself to ask his darling little wife something so simple. he was devoted to you. the man worshipped you. he knew his purpose. it was clear as day in fact. to service and care for you. to follow you like the smitten fool he was. he knew that he was meant for nothing else the moment he had laid his eyes on you. he was yours.

your husband’s putty once you begin leaving behind the softest of kisses down his chest and trembling stomach. the smell of his skin and the hushed whimpers every once in a while leaving his pretty lips dulling your senses. you had to pull away to admire the sight— your hungry eyes drinking in the mesmerizing sight of your man. the contour of his prominent muscles; the number of ruthless hours he’d managed to put into training never failed to impress you. the tank he wore now bunched up and resting on the swell of his pecs; buds glossed over with drool while his chest heaved with every shuddering breath he took, and god, the trail of thick hair leading down to his veiny lower abdomen.

he’s practically a pathetic puddle of moans and drool while you attempt to push another inch of his twitching length down your throat minutes later, the tuft of hair on his abdomen tickling your nose as your mouth painfully stretches to take in his fat girth. your tousled hair not going unnoticed as he begins to comb it back, chivalrous as ever while he holds it back with one shaky hand, the other draped over his burning face.

“ah, hnng..! fuuuuck… just—just like that, pretty…”

he drools out, a fucked out mess of groans and praises just for you as he bucks his shaky hips into your mouth involuntarily, apologizing hastily at the sound of your gagging. but oh, how you could practically live off this rare sight. your panties soaking wet at the sight of your husband selfishly chasing his high. you suck in your tear stained cheeks, hallowing them out as his fat leaky tip hits the back of your throat. you were no better than him; a slobbering, gagging perverted mess as you begin to massage and stroke the base of his wet cock.

“gonna… oh— oh, god… don’t… please, baby, i’m gonna…”

he strains out, his hips twitching up as his head presses back against the arm of the couch, his bulging biceps flexing from the iron grip he has on your hair as he thrusts into your mouth once more. you pull away from his thick girth to catch your breath, eliciting a whine that you swear had you ascending. sticky gloss and spit trailing down his cock and connecting from your lips as you push his cock against his tense stomach to lick at the veiny underside. you allow the tip of your tongue to massage against a vein before leaving behind sloppy kisses at the thick shaft down to his twitching balls. he jolts forward in shock, heels digging into the plush surface of the couch. the veins straining underneath the thin skin of his large hands, almost like they were ready to burst with how tight he fingers were interlocked with the roots of your hair.

he can barely control himself, at this point mindlessly babbling on about how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you, how close he is to cumming. you begin to massage the base of his sticky cock once more before sliding the wet shaft past your lips, slurping shamelessly as you begin to bob your head back up and down. it doesn’t take another second before he shoots his thick load right down your warm, wet cavern. riding out his orgasm as you massage and you pull your head up with a pop, gasping for air as he begins to wipe at your mouth, praising you for taking him so well. he definitely didn’t mind a bit of spoiling here and there. especially from you.

⟢ reiner, erwin, choso, nanami, sendou, niou, noel, tokimitsu, yukimiya, diluc, sanji, zack, aki, vash, sanemi + your favs . . (〃ω〃)

[itneverendshere]

need your confession - brother bsf! rafe

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: smut <3

part of this universe

It was the biggest game of the season so far—your university’s team against their biggest rivals.

You, however, were sitting on the bleachers, arms crossed, wrapped in your thickest winter jacket, trying to not to shiver like a little bitch, your legs pratically fusing to the metal. Next to you, Kie had a bucket of popcorn balanced on her lap, one boot casually propped against the row in front of you like she wasn’t on the verge of hypothermia too.

“Tell me again why we’re here when we could be literally anywhere else?” she asked, tossing a kernel into her mouth.

You exhaled sharply, your breath visible in the freezing air, eyes locked on the opposing team’s bench. “Kelce.”

You’d never missed a game in your life, the stupid sport had somehow made it’s way into your heart. It was practically coded into your DNA after a lifetime of being dragged to them, of screaming at refs, of celebrating wins and mourning losses. Although today you were more than tempted to do so, but you came, just to prove—to no one in particular—that you weren’t a coward.

Out there, somewhere in that sea of helmets and shoulder pads, was your biggest one-night-stand mistake. You were less than excited to see him skate across the ice.

Kie followed your gaze, pausing mid-chew. “Oh. Oh.” She swallowed. “You didn’t tell me he was on their team.”

“Because I was trying to block it out,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

There he was, stretching like he was God’s gift to hockey, that same smug smirk on his face that made you want to throw up in your mouth a little. The same guy you made the mistake of hooking up with last summer, back when you were blissfully unaware he was a complete waste of oxygen. Before you knew he played rough on and off the ice, throwing cheap shots at your brother, running his mouth, and generally acting like a walking red flag with skates.

“You have the worst taste in men,” Kie whispered dramatically, shaking her head.

“I was young and dumb,” you defended. “And drunk. Mostly drunk.”

“Still. You hooked up with a guy Kelce would literally throw himself into a fire to destroy. I’m surprised the universe hasn’t imploded.”

You groaned, sinking deeper into your jacket. 

Five minutes later you were gripping the railing, heart thudding as the teams lined up for the puck drop. The second your brother skated out, you tensed. Because you knew that motherfucker was going to say something.

And sure enough, after the first few plays, you saw him slide up beside Kelce during a pause in the game. His head tilted, mouth moving. Oh fuck no.

Kelce straightened up, grip tightening on his stick.

“Oh, shit,” Kie muttered, leaning forward. “Is he—?”

You braced yourself, waiting for your brother to lose it—waiting for him to drop his gloves and snap.

But before he could react, Rafe did.

One second, your brother looked ready to commit a felony, and the next, Rafe skated between them, shoving your biggest mistake back with his stick. Not hard, but enough to make a point. Enough to say, not fucking happening.

You blinked.

“What the fuck?” Kie breathed. “Did he just—?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to understand it too.”

Your brother shot Rafe a look, something between confused and annoyed, but Rafe ignored it, leaning in to say something low enough that even the refs weren’t paying attention. You couldn’t see his face, but whatever he said made the other guy’s smirk falter.

That did things to you.

The second the puck dropped, Rafe dropped him.

You hardly saw it happen. One moment, your biggest mistake was skating forward, and the next—bam. Rafe’s fist connected with his face so fast you almost missed it.

Kie sucked in a breath beside you. “Shit.”

You shot up from your seat, eyes still wide, watching as the guy hit the ice like a sack of bricks. Flat on his back, motionless for a second, before he started to stir.

Rafe just stood over him, still gripping the front of his jersey, still looking for a reason to throw another punch. His helmet was tilted back slightly, visor pushed up just enough to reveal that look—that look—the one that usually meant someone was about to get their ass beat.

The refs were already swarming, whistles blaring, but Rafe wasn’t moving.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, gripping the railing.

Kie was still frozen. “That was—wow. That was—”

“Unhinged?”

“Hot,” she finished.

You whipped your head toward her. “What?”

She raised her hands. “Unhinged, sure, but also—”

You groaned, eyes snapping back to the ice just in time to see the refs finally pry Rafe off the guy, shoving him toward the penalty box. He went willingly, shaking his hand out like his knuckles didn’t ache from the impact, that same fucking smirk plastered on his face as he skated off.

Then, because he was an asshole, he looked right at you. Through the glass, through the crowd—right into your fucking soul.

And winked.

You felt your entire body heat up, which pissed you off because fuck Rafe Cameron. Fuck his stupid protective streak. Fuck his broad shoulders and that stupid confident smirk and— You were sitting way too fucking close to the penalty box.

Close enough that when he stepped inside, he barely had to turn his head to see you.

You were still gripping the railing, eyes narrowed.

Rafe sat down, leaned back, then tipped his head toward you—he was expecting a thank-you.

You scowled. “Are you insane?”

It didn’t even matter that Rafe Cameron was built like a linebacker or that he had at least five inches on you. You were prepared to climb his ass like a tree just to wring his stupid, smug neck.

He smirked, rolling his shoulders like knocking someone out was just another Tuesday for him.

“I mean, I’ve been told,” he said, voice muffled through the glass, “but you're welcome, princess.”

Your mouth actually dropped open.

Kie choked on a laugh beside you.

“You—you think I’m gonna thank you?” you seethed, standing up so fast the people behind you flinched in their seats. “You just got benched for ten minutes.”

Rafe shrugged, running a hand over his chin like he wasn’t even listening to you. “Worth it.”

You nearly groaned at how good he looked with his helmet off, cheeks flushed from the cold, blue eyes sharper than usual. 

“You can’t do that.

“Can’t protect my girlfriend’s reputation?”

“Stop calling me that,” you hissed, wishing there wasn’t a glass stopping you from punching his face.

“What? I thought we were still doin' that.”

“We were never doing that.”

“We definitely were,” he countered, tilting his head. “Y'were all over me last week, princess.”

“Stop it.”

“Habit,” he said, so fucking nonchalant.

“Drop it.”

“Can’t.” He grinned, giddy, like this was his favorite thing in the world. “Kinda like it.”

Your eye twitched.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temples. “You are so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Heroic?”

Kie wheezed.

“You volunteered to be my fake boyfriend.”

Okay so you were lying through your teeth now.

“You begged,” he corrected, like the little shit he was. “Practically threw yourself at me.”

Kie was actually crying.

You clenched your jaw so tight your teeth hurt. “I asked you one time to pretend to be my boyfriend because some guy wouldn’t take a hint.”

“And I did an amazing job,” Rafe said, nodding like he deserved a fucking trophy.

“You got into a pissing contest with him,” you deadpanned.

His grin widened. “And he backed off, didn’t he?”

You made a sound so aggressive that Kie clamped a hand over her mouth.

Kie nudged you. “You’re staring.”

“I’m glaring,” you corrected.

You made a deeply frustrated noise, something that probably wasn’t human, something that just encouraged him further. Rafe looked so fucking smug, he knew exactly what he was doing to you, like he thrived off it.

The ref skated over then, tapping the glass with the butt of his stick. “Cameron, quit flirting and focus.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, tapping his stick against the glass once before turning back to the ice, still grinning.

You slumped into your seat, suddenly exhausted.

 “So, when’s the wedding?”

Later, at the victory party, you were still ignoring him, not that it was stopping him.

Rafe had been glued to your side all night, trailing after you like a fucking golden retriever, hands always on you—guiding you through the crowd, resting on your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your jacket just because he could.

And you—you were trying so fucking hard to stay mad. To hold onto your annoyance, to remind yourself that you didn’t ask him to knock a guy out in front of thousands of people just because he ran his mouth.

But he was making it impossible. Especially now, when he slid up behind you, arms sneaking around your waist, voice warm against your ear. “Still mad at me, girlfriend?”

You stiffened, but he just laughed, squeezing your sides before you could pull away. “Thought you’d be a little more appreciative. Y’know, considering I defended your honor.”

You turned in his arms, narrowing your eyes. “We are not together.”

His hands slid lower, settling on your hips, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Fuck, he was so fine, disgustingly fine. The kind of fine that made you want to throw something at him just so you wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that your body loved being near his.

You scowled.

Rafe just smiled. “Y’look real pretty tonight, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you damn near saw your past life. “Shut up.”

Rafe just grinned, fingers flexing against your hips like he had any fucking right. You smacked his hands, stepping back, but he just reeled you back in like a fish caught on his line.

“You are so annoying,” you hissed, trying to peel his hands off you like they were stuck with super glue. “Let me go.”

“Nah,” Rafe said, cocky as ever, grip tightening just to piss you off. “I kinda like it here.”

You made an indignant noise, smacking his chest this time, but that only made him chuckle. You wanted to scream, maybe—kiss him a little, which was exactly why you needed to stay the fuck away.

Some girl passing by stopped, looking between you two with a dreamy little smile. “Oh my God, you guys are so cute together.”

Rafe beamed, like he’d just won a fucking award. “Right?”

“No,” you snapped, shoving at his arms. “Don’t encourage him.”

The girl just giggled and walked off, and you were left fuming while Rafe watched, amused.

“You’re still enjoying this way too much,” you accused, crossing your arms.

“‘Cause it’s fun, princess,” he teased, hands still resting on your waist, like they fucking belonged there. “Y’get all riled up. It’s cute.”

Your throat hurt in a way that had you wanting to actually fight God.

“I’m about to get real uncute if you don’t back up.”

Rafe smirked, ducking his head like he had a secret to tell. “You sure?” His voice was low, sweet like he thought he could charm you.

You shoved at his chest hard, and he finally let go, but not without laughing to himself like this whole thing was so fucking funny.

“Go bother someone else, Rafe.”

“But you’re my favorite,” he shot back way too fast, and you hated that your stomach flipped like a damn pancake.

Your jaw dropped. You smacked his arm so fast he actually flinched.

“Don’t start,” you warned, but Rafe lived to start shit.

“Not my fault you like it,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your eyes narrowed into dangerous little slits. “I don’t like it.”

Rafe just raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Mhm.”

You scowled, about to curse him out properly, but before you could, his fingers brushed your waist again—light, teasing, just enough to make your breath hitch. 

You slapped his hand away so fast it echoed.

“Stop.”

Rafe grinned, like your suffering was his favorite form of entertainment.

“What? ‘S not my fault you’re so touchable.”

You gasped, actually gasped, because what the fuck kind of line—

“If you don’t stop this shit—”

“What?” He leaned in, voice low, too close, like he wanted you to feel the words. “You gonna hit me? Y’know I like it rough.”

You nearly malfunctioned, body glitching, brain buffering, eyes blinking at him like he had lost his goddamn mind.

“Don’t—” You inhaled so sharply your lungs burned. “Don’t ever say that shit to me again.”

Before you could even form a proper death threat, his hand curled around your wrist, just enough to stop you. To still you.

Jesus Christ, his hands were warm.

Big and solid and warm, even in this freezing-ass party house, even with the cheap beer and half-melted ice lining the countertops. His fingers pressed lightly into the inside of your wrist, just above where your pulse was doing its best impression of a goddamn hockey buzzer.

His other hand found your waist again.

Your breath hitched and you hated that he noticed.

“Knew you liked me, princess.”

“You’re delusional,” you snapped, jerking your hand back, but he just tsked, his grip firm but easy, he knew you weren’t actually trying.

He pulled you closer. Just an inch, enough to make you feel him.

His voice dropped lower. “Y’know,” he murmured, lips just brushing your ear, “You sure let me touch you a lot.”

Your spine snapped straight.

“I don’t,” you gritted out.

His fingers flexed on your waist. “No?”

“No.”

“Then stop me.”

Oh, you wanted to, you should have.

But you hesitated for just a second too long, because he was too close. Too solid. Too much of everything you swore you didn’t want, but now, right now, standing in the middle of a party where nothing else existed but him—

You didn’t move.

And Rafe knew it.

His smirk turned slow, lazy, and then—oh, you bastard—he tipped his chin down, catching your gaze with his like he dared you to look away.

You couldn’t.

Your pulse was a war drum against your ribs, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a growl, because he was going to do it.

He was going to—

His lips came down against yours, no hesitation. No teasing. He’d been waiting for this, he knew you had, too.

You didn’t have time to process before his tongue swept past your lips, and—fuck—your knees almost buckled.

Because Rafe Cameron kissed like he did everything else.

His fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, this wasn’t enough. His other hand cradled the side of your face, tilting your head up so he could kiss you deeper, pressing and taking like he already knew you’d let him. He knew exactly where to touch, how to hold you so you wouldn’t dare pull away.

Then— oh —his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, slow, before slipping past, deepening the kiss like he was starving for it.

Your whole body reacted.

It shot straight down your spine, pooling low in your stomach, Rafe wasn’t giving you a second to think—his lips moved against yours in that filthy rhythm, his tongue teasing, stroking against yours, coaxing a sound from your throat that you hadn’t meant to make.

That did something to him.

His hands tightened, one splaying across the small of your back, pressing you flush against him, the other sliding up to your neck, angling your head just how he wanted—deeper, messier.

And, God help you, you let him.

Because fuck, he kissed so good.

Rafe groaned into your mouth, the sound needy. His teeth scraped lightly against your bottom lip, biting just enough to make you gasp, and he took advantage—kissing you deeper, he wanted that little sound, he’d do whatever it took to pull more from you.

His fingers sliding down—tracing the curve of your ribs, teasing the edge of your top like he was thinking about pulling it off right here.

Then he changed the rhythm, slowing down, torturously. His tongue tangled with yours in a slow tease; he wanted to make you feel every second of it, he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He kissed like he was made for it.

Rafe tilted his head, lips dragging along your jaw, down to your neck, where he bit, hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“Knew you'd let me.”

Your chest heaved, your whole body felt wrecked, and he hadn’t even really touched you yet. You should have slapped him, pushed him away.

Instead, you wanted more.

So you rose onto your tiptoes, pressing your chest against his, searching for friction—and shit, Rafe felt it. His entire body shuddered, his breath stuttering as he realized—no bra. Just you, warm, your nipples pebbled from the cold, pressing right against his chest through your flimsy top.

Rafe groaned into your mouth—wrecked. His grip on your waist nearly dropped for the shock.

Your hands slid up, nails scraping hard against the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, tugging—and fuck, that sent him feral.

He swallowed your gasp, mouth slanting over yours, tongue slipping inside—hot and wet. His tongue teased, then took, deep and demanding, like he owned you.

He pulled back just enough to spit—hot and slick—right into your tongue, eyes burning as he murmured, “Take it.”

And you did, you fucking did.

Because you were gone—ruined—nothing but the overwhelming need to feel him everywhere.

Rafe groaned, like he couldn’t believe you just let him do that, then devoured you again, tongue licking into your mouth like he wanted to live there.

His hands wandered, slipping under your top, tracing up your bare sides, thumbs barely brushing the underside of your tits—so close but not enough, teasing just to drive himself insane.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice ragged. His forehead pressed against yours, hands still gripping you tight,. “Gonna be the fuckin' death of me.”

And God help you, you wanted to finish the job in the middle of this hallway.

His forehead was still pressed to yours, his breaths coming hot against your spit-slick lips.

You were so close, your chests heaving together, and just to be a brat, you rolled your hips just a little.

Rafe let out a guttural groan, his hands flying down to grab your ass, yanking you against him so hard you swore you felt his pulse everywhere.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ,” he groaned, mouth dropping open against your throat.

His forehead pressed to your shoulder, his entire body shuddering as his thumbs finally, finally swiped over your nipples, dragging over the soft, sensitive skin.

“You tryin' to make me lose my shit?”

“Maybe.”

Rafe moved, backing you up until your spine hit the wall, one knee pushing between your legs, parting them like he had every fucking right. 

His tongue was relentless, fucking into your mouth in deep, filthy strokes, like he wanted you to choke on it, wanted you messy. His spit dribbled from the corner of your lips as you kissed him back just as desperately.

Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, hard enough to leave marks, and fuck, Rafe loved it. He groaned into your mouth, hips grinding against yours, chasing the friction like a man starved.

“Y'like teasing me, huh?” he panted, dragging his mouth down your jaw, nipping at your pulse, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His voice was strained. "Makin' me wanna fuck you stupid?”

You whimpered.

That was all he needed.

His hands yanked your hips closer, grinding you against his thigh, right there, and fuck, you felt everything—felt how hard he was, how badly he wanted you.

You wanted him just as bad.

“Rafe—” you gasped, head tilting back against the wall, body burning.

He grinned against your throat, smug and dark. “There’s my girl.”

You whined, nails scraping against the back of his neck, and Rafe swore.

“Gonna fuckin' kill me,” he growled, his teeth nipping at your collarbone, his hands now fully cupping your tits, squeezing like he needed to feel every inch of you.

Your hips rocked against him, your body completely shameless, seeking out every bit of friction you could get. The slick between your thighs was unbearable, and his thigh between your legs was making it so much worse.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you groaned, and that did it. That fucking did it.

His hand snapped to your jaw, forcing your head back so he could drown you in another filthy kiss. His tongue pushed into your mouth, dominating, possessive, his spit mixing with yours until it was dripping down your chin.

He loved it—loved you like this, breathless, wrecked, nails digging into his back, chest pressing flush against his like you were trying to fuse your body to his.

Rafe wasn’t even thinking anymore, his hips rutted against yours, his hands gripping your ass like he wanted to leave bruises, like he needed you to feel him tomorrow.

He broke the kiss, just enough to look at you, and fuck, he’d never seen anything hotter—lips swollen, spit everywhere, your breath all shaky and uneven.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers slipping lower, teasing. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

His thigh flexed between your legs, and you gasped, body jolting, the friction was too good, too much, and Rafe fucking felt it. His smirk was nothing short of wicked as he did it again, pressing you harder against the wall, grinding his leg up into you.

“That feel good, baby?” 

You could barely get the word out. “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He kissed you again, this time slower, his tongue licking into your mouth in long, lazy strokes, he had all the time in the world to ruin you. One of his hands slid up, fingers wrapping around your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, holding you in place.

Your pulse hammered against his palm. Rafe felt it. He fucking loved it.

“So fucking needy,” he murmured, his thumb tracing over your jaw, his other hand still gripping your waist, still rocking you against his thigh. His knee nudged up higher, pressing right where you needed him most, and your fingers tightened in his shirt.

“Rafe—”

He grinned against your lips. “That’s it, baby.”

Your brain was dead, but somewhere in the mess of it all, one clear thought hit you—

Of course he was the type of guy to talk you through it.

Of course, Rafe fucking Cameron would be the kind of guy who couldn’t just let you fall apart on your own. No, he had to be right there, dragging you through it, forcing you to hear every filthy, possessive word dripping from his lips.

The pressure between your legs was building, tight in your tummy, and you didn’t care that you were still in a fucking hallway, that anyone could walk by. You were too lost in him.

Rafe must’ve seen it on your face because his smirk faded. His fingers tightened just a little around your throat, his thigh flexing again, and fuck—

You whimpered, your hips rolling against him, chasing more, more, more.

Rafe groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his lips brushing yours as he panted.

“God, fuckin' love you like this,” he muttered.

Just to wreck you further, he tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his, his blue eyes dark.

“You’re shakin',” His tone was smug, satisfied, “You gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice was pure sin. “Just like this?”

You gasped, pleasure sparking like electricity through your veins, and Rafe smirked—because he already knew the answer.

His grip on your throat tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch, to make you dizzy with it.

“Fuck, you’re close, aren’t ya?” he murmured, voice rough, teasing, eating up the way you moaned against his mouth. “So fuckin' desperate for me you’re about to come like this—rubbin' yourself on my thigh like a needy little thing.”

You should’ve been embarrassed, should’ve cared that you were still standing in a fucking hallway, grinding against him like you’d lost every ounce of dignity.

“Tell me, princess,” he growled, his thigh flexing between your legs, making you bite your lip. “Did that motherfucker ever make y'feel like this?”

You didn’t regist the words at first, but then you realized Rafe wasn’t just asking—he needed to hear it. 

Your breath hitched, nails digging into his shoulders. “No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “Never—fuck—never like this.”

That was all he needed.

His grip tightened, his hands sliding down to grab your ass, dragging you against him harder, rougher, making you moan into his mouth. 

“Didn’t fuckin' think so,” he muttered, his teeth grazing your jaw, “That’s my pretty girl,” he coaxed, his lips still dragging down your throat.

Your body tensed, thights closing around his.You gasped, back arching against the wall, fingers pulling at his shirt.

Your breath came in desperate, uneven gasps.

He couldn’t just let you have it.

No, Rafe fucking Cameron had to drag it out—had to make sure you felt every last second of it, had to talk you through it like he got off on watching you break.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his grip on your hips bruising as he forced you to keep moving against him, his thigh flexing up to meet you with every devastating grind. “Don’t fucking stop now.”

You whimpered, your entire body on the verge of collapse, pleasure building so deep that it almost hurt.

His fingers slipped under your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him, to see the way his blue eyes were blown with want.

“That’s it,” he murmured as a wrecked sound ripped from your throat, your body arching against his, because fuck, fuck, fuck—you were still right there.

Your breath hitched, your legs trembled, your mind blanking.

“Oh, fuck—” he groaned, feeling you shake apart in his hands, eating gup every twitch, every little gasp. His lips pressing against your cheek, murmuring filthy, wrecked praises against your skin.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, his voice thick with pride,  “Look at you.”

Your body was still buzzing, your breath coming in uneven gasps, your legs shaking where they were wrapped around Rafe’s waist. His forehead still pressed against yours when your phone rang.

The shrill sound cut through the post orgasm haze in your brain like a bucket of freezing water to the face, bringing you to the absolute insanity of what had just happened.

Oh, fuck.

Rafe groaned, annoyed, pressing his lips to yours again, not ready to let you go. “Ignore it,” he muttered, “They’ll call back.”

But then you saw the name on the screen.

Kie.

Your stomach dropped.

“Shit,” you whispered, your hands immediately shoving at Rafe’s shoulders, wiggling out of his grip. He hesitated for half a second before letting you down, his brows furrowing at how suddenly you pulled away.

Your legs barely worked, body was still tingling from the way he had just ruined you, but you forced yourself to stumble back, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Kie?”

“Thank God,” her voice came rushed, stressed. “It’s—fuck, it’s Liv. She got rookied.”

Rookied.

You knew what that meant. Some asshole upperclassmen had put her through some fucked-up hazing bullshit, and now she was probably wasted, crying, or worse.

“I’m coming,” you said instantly, already running a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look less like you’d just been getting wrecked in a hallway.

Rafe was watching you.

You could feel his eyes on you, his body still so close, his hands still flexing at his sides like he wanted to grab you, pull you back in.

But you couldn’t think about that.

Holy shit.

Your childhood friend, your brother’s best friend, the guy you had a crush on when you were twelve.

You had just grinded on Rafe Cameron like a desperate whore and fucking came on his thigh in the middle of a goddamn hallway.

You felt your face go hot, embarrassment sinking in like a slow-moving poison, drowning out the last bit of euphoria still clinging to your skin.

Rafe stepped closer, his brows drawing together, picking up on your demeanor.

“You okay?” His voice was still rough, breathless.

You swallowed hard, shoving your phone into your pocket. “I—I have to go.”

His frown deepened. “What? Now?”

You nodded, your hands shaking as you avoided his eyes, you couldn’t look at him.

“I have to take Liv home,” you rushed out, already stepping away, trying to put distance between you and the biggest mistake of your life.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “Need help?”

His voice was genuine, and for some reason, that made your stomach twist even more.

“No,” you said shaking your head. “I—I got it.”

His eyes searched yours, you knew exactly what he was looking for—regret.

You didn’t say another word. You just turned and walked away, ignoring the way your legs still trembled, ignoring the way your lips still tingled from his kiss, ignoring the way your heart slammed against your ribs because holy shit, what the fuck did you just do?