#horny-intervention

[two-nines-left-spleen]

One of my favorite pasttimes is collecting insane comments on the internet, be it from a fandom or just absolutely unhinged takes

Honkai star rail edition (last one talks about Dan Heng btw)

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe cameron x sweet virgin!reader

she told you she celibate but she told me I can nail her shit

cw: mdni 18+, virgin!reader but has some other experience, lowkey a freak tho, toxic rafe, corruption kink : >, size kink, first times, rafe goes a lil crazy, sweetie pie reader x insane yandere bf rafe is lowkey my favorite trope

~ 6k words

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves <3 i didn’t read this over and i’m so sorry if there’s hella mistakes i will fix it later! this may or not be self-insert yes even that part

the trouble all began with sarah cameron and her big mouth. well really both of you were to blame, but you’d think she would be quieter when her older brother was lurking around. you were older than her by a few years, closer to his age than hers, not that it mattered though, rafe treated you like you were practically wheezie’s age. you didn’t let it sting you any more you had long gotten over trying to be seen as a woman in rafe cameron’s eyes. or maybe you just stopped watching him, he’s always noticed you but you felt out reach, until now. when he overhears his sister’s words he almost breaks the glass of water he’s holding.

“a virgin at 19 looking like you do is insane” sarah looked you up and down as you tried on the dress you’d bought together at the mall. you got shy at her words, you knew she wasn’t judging you but instead genuinely in disbelief that men weren’t throwing themselves at you. you had long mastered the art of looking unapproachable and uninterested after too many bad experiences.

“stoppp is it so hard to believe, you know how bad it’s been for me?” he really hopes no one sees him leaning against the wall next to his sister’s door, he’d look like such a weirdo. wheezie would never let him live this down, she’d barely held back on letting his little crush slip before. if sarah ever found out he’d be in another hell.

“fuck you’re right, if they can’t make you come what’s the point?” rafe winced at his sister’s words, willing away the temptation to gag. he was trying to focus on the fact that no guy had made you come before instead.

“you’re awful, but i’m done with men for a long time. im gonna focus on college and not waste time on them.” he relished in the twisted feeling that no one could touch you, even if the losers before had a chance they clearly couldn’t cut it.

“righttt being in a dorm filled with horny guys is gonna make that easier.” sarah deadpanned and you shoved her, seeing her point. you hadn’t thought about it like that.

“okay leave me alone i’ve been successful so far”

“oh my god speak of the devil, john b’s calling me over, can you cover for me? i’ll be back in like two hours max, promise.” you were a little disappointed she was leaving you but you knew how difficult it was for her to see him without someone covering for her. you nodded and pulled out your phone.

“fine but i’m ordering pizza,” rafe didn’t know if he should be terrified or elated that you two would be home alone for two hours. why did it have to be today that the rest of his family fucked off? was this divine intervention?

“save me a slice!” rafe could hear his sister rustling around, getting ready to go, so he did the same.

“you’re gonna be too busy eating di-“ rafe promptly ran off at that. he’d heard enough, his imagination would run wild with this new information.

it was half an hour later when, like clockwork, rafe made sure to be near the front door for the pizza delivery. he paid and tipped the guy, while you were making your way down at the sound of the doorbell. he hurries back upstairs, nearly running into you on the stairs. your eyes trace his pretty features and then land on the box in his hands, shock and horror cascading your face. rafe can’t believe that you look so good even now, you’re wearing a crop top with seemingly no bra underneath and high waisted sweatpants. to him you look like a model.

“hey! that’s my pizza” rafe laughs and continues up the stairs, you turn on your heel and follow him up. you’re kinda hangry and your pizza being held hostage is not helping your mood.

“i just paid for it so i don’t think so.” you both reach the top of the stairs but rafe isn’t stopping, he’s going to his room instead. this won’t do, he’ll lock the door and slam it in your face, you quickly move to stand in front of him blocking the path to his doorway. rafe thinks it’s cute that you think that would stop him, he feels a bit stir crazy over how small you look gazing up at him

“i’ll pay you back!” your hands shoot up against the doorframe, blocking entry even further. he wants to tease you a bit more but the idea of sharing a pizza in his room is way more tempting.

“nah it’s fine just let me have some.” you release your blockade and let him move past you, still with his-your pizza in his hold, following him mindlessly. if you were less hungry you would’ve realized eating pizza with your longtime crush and best friend’s brother in his room sitting on his bed was in fact not a great idea. but that fleeting concern is out the window when he opens the box and you climb onto his bed like it’s second nature. rafe does his best to stay concentrated on the present, it’s difficult when your shirt rides up and a sliver of your stomach is displayed, it looks so soft and untouched and he really isn’t hungry for pizza, he never was.

“i was gonna offer anyways for the record.” you say it while picking up a slice and rafe mirrors your action, laughing at your tone.

“yeah sure you were princess,” you ignore the way his voice sounds, the way he says your name, the way his room smells like him and it’s making your head spin.

rafe watches you eat transfixed when you lick the tips of your fingers, he can’t believe that he’s struggling to control himself over pizza but your words are ringing in his head.

“rafe do you have any napkins?” you hold up your greasy fingers and he nods his head dazedly, getting up to grab some for you and taking the pizza box off his bed with him. you move to get off then, looking around his room, you knew he wouldn’t appreciate if you snooped through his things so you just look at the pictures on the wall, the books he has. rafe finds you standing near his desk when he comes back, wordlessly handing you the napkins.

“i always forget you have a motorcycle.” your head motions towards the helmet resting on the surface of his desk.

“i don’t use it as much now.” he leaned back against the footboard of his bed, arms crossed against his chest as he watched you look at his stuff. he couldn’t figure out why you were still in his room, were you that curious?

“can i ride it? i’ve always wanted to try.” yeah rafe might just pass out now. you don’t even know what you’re doing to him, head cocked to the side looking at him so innocently he can barely hold back much longer.

“sure but i gotta teach you the basics so you don’t crash.” rafe is proud of himself for even stringing a sentence together in response. you notice a slight flush to his cheeks and ears.

“okay that’s fair.” you turn towards him, mirroring his form and leaning back against his desk. there’s a few feet between you but rafe thinks it would be so easy to lift you onto the mahogany and kiss you until you can’t breathe. his shorts feel so restrictive and he’s grateful he’s wearing black. he can’t hold back any longer, he has to know.

"is it true?" the words come out rushed, unsure of if they should even be said in the first place. but rafe’s not a quitter and he doesn’t shy away from anything really, even if the past few hours feel like a dream he would have in middle school.

"is what true?" your head does that thing again like a puppy and he nearly keels over, you’re too adorable for your own good. his gaze flits away for a second, he has to commit. your trusting expression and your airy tone make it all the more hard.

"no guy's made you come before?" you blink in shock twice before covering your face with your hands. this must be the most embarrassing moment of your life.

"ugh you heard that?"

"yeah you guys aren't exactly quiet" you might have to kill sarah cameron in her sleep, if she even comes back that is. you don’t know why you answer him, you could have just ran away but the magnetic pull of rafe cameron coaxes you to answer.

"yeah it's true" you sound defeated and rafe has to hold back a snicker, he watches you peer through your fingers at him, watching his expression.

"well i can rectify that..you know for the sake of mankind and all" there’s a smirk on his lips as he says the words that will haunt you forever. you’re sure he’s just messing with you and you huff a breath of disbelief. did he know about your little crush? you’d been hiding it so well for the past few years!

"don't tease me, rafe" you step away from his desk, moving to leave his room. even if it was just the two of you in the house you’d much rather sit in sarah’s room or watch the tv than be ridiculed.

"i'm not, it'd be a shame if a pretty girl like you gave up on men, especially for me." it’s almost as if someone dumped a bucket of cold water on your head when rafe cameron speaks. pretty girl the first time he’s called you anything that might suggest you’re not just his sister’s friend. the world spins on its axis and you try to grasp onto his words, try to understand that he might be genuine but you can’t. there’s still that voice of doubt telling you he’s just messing with you. rafe watches your expression go from shock to disappointment, you don’t believe him. he supposes it’s not that believable when he’s been purposefully avoiding you for a while. you must think he’s just messing with you, but he’s dead serious. he’ll just have to prove it.

“whatever rafe i don’t have time for your games.” you mumble it and leave his room, slamming the door a bit harder than you intended. the next few hours are torture. rafe cameron planted an insidious weed in your mind and it’s growing exponentially.

of course it’s not the first time you’ve imagined it, you’d often thought about what his long thick fingers would feel like. or how his biceps would feel under your hands if you held onto them for support. you’d fantasized about every part of him, even the tip of his nose. so the idea that it might just be within your reach had you spiraling. you took a cold shower, not that it helped, your underwear was still soaked after. no guy you’d been with had made you so wet, let alone before even touching you. it was as if the universe was testing you. a sick thrum in your body had found its way into your bones, vibrating with need and you paced in your best friend’s room thinking over all the consequences.

when you’d reached the conclusion that even if he was sincere it was still a bad idea, your phone pinged. a text from sarah that read: “i’m gonna be staying the night here, if you’re already asleep i’ll see you in the morning 🤍” with all your internal turmoil you hadn’t realized it was past the two hours she’d said. she would be out all night. you and rafe were home alone, all night. you swallowed down the lump in your throat, your heart pounding your chest. your feet were moving faster than your head, the pitter patter of your footsteps almost as fast as your heartbeat, and before you knew it you were in front of his door. you hesitated for a second breathing in deep once before knocking, the light was still on so you knew he was awake.

“yeah?” rafe did his best to hide the satisfaction he felt seeing you twitchy and shy in front of his door. you swallowed down again, looking up at him with as much confidence as you could. there was a few seconds of silence, he gave you the time you needed, looking down at you with bright inviting eyes.

“is your offer still on the table?” his face split into a grin, moving aside to let you in like you’d done before and with no hesitation you pushed past him. even the small graze of your shoulder against him set his skin ablaze. he was going to lose his mind.

“‘doesn’t really have an expiration date.” your mind was blanking at his every advance, you tried not to think about his words, you couldn’t afford to fall deeper for him.

“just don’t like tell anyone about this?” you murmured, watching him close the door behind you two and getting a bit nervous. if sarah found out you’d be in for hell. losing your virginity to your best friend’s brother wasn’t exactly a great conversation to have.

“i’m not topper don’t worry.” you believed him, rafe despite his other faults, was always respectful.

“can i kiss you?” you nodded fervently, rafe held back a laugh at your enthusiasm. he walked up to you slowly as if giving you the chance to run and slid his hands from his hips to the curve of your waist. you stood on your tiptoes, your arms going around his neck and rafe couldn’t believe this was real. maybe if he pretended it was a dream he wouldn’t be so nervous. he’d have to do just that. one of his hands cupped your face, thumb stroking along your cheekbone and your eyelashes fluttered closed at the touch. he pressed a tentative kiss to your lips.

his lips felt soft and you breathed out in relief after, as if some sort of spell was lifted. rafe kissed you again, this time letting himself breathe you in. you felt so small and delicate in his hold, he wanted to take his time with you. you had other ideas. kissing rafe cameron felt even better than you’d imagined, when he pulled back you surged forward this time, biting his lower lip making him groan into your mouth. another chill of desire wracked your body at the sound and you tested the waters by licking the seem of his lips. rafe pulled you even closer and bent down to kiss you deeper. his mouth opened and his tongue met yours. you tasted so good to him he couldn’t stop himself from sucking on your tongue slightly, making you whine in his hold. the sound flipped a switch in his mind, he wanted more of the sound, he needed to hear you say his name in that airy desperate sound again. a string of saliva connected your lips and snapped off in the middle, your breathing was heavy and his was too. you caught your breath all the while looking up at him, he held your gaze. the furrow of your brows grew deeper the longer you looked.

“we don’t have to do anything else.” him asking for consent again drew in another crushing wave of arousal, you were a lost cause. okay maybe your standards were in hell. even his cologne was better than any other guy, something woodsy and heavy, mature, not like the shitty ones you’d had to smell before.

“no-no i want to,” he’d have to ask you later why you looked so mad after kissing him, right now he had too much else to do. you could only watch as he lifted you by the grip on your waist, your legs going around his hips in fear of falling. he’d done it so casually you couldn’t process it in time. rafe set you down gently on his mattress, his weight pressed into you and your legs tightened around him. he kissed you again, already missing the taste of your lips, and leaned back. you realized what he was about to do as he sat back on his knees.

“no i-can you just come up here?” you felt far too shy for him to eat you out and although rafe respected your wishes he was a bit disappointed. he’d just have to make sure there was a next time. there were other ways to taste you anyways. he followed your lead, leaning back over you and kissing you again, tongue and teeth clashing together in need. one of his hands moved from your waist up and under the hem of your shirt, traveling up slowly until he reached the fat of your breast. the feeling of his fingers on your nipple jolted your body. usually you didn’t get anything out of a guy touching your boobs but him you were arching into his touch, huffing into his mouth. rafe loved how sensitive you were, reacting to every touch of his. he massaged the tit in his hand, reveling in how you squirmed underneath him. if you kept moving you’d feel how painfully hard he was in his shorts.

after giving up on kissing you he peeled off your crop top, trailing kisses down your neck. he bit at the skin and sucked, surely littering your neck with hickies. you smelled so sweet to him and he couldn’t get enough, biting hard in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. you squeaked at the feeling, shocked at how pleasure blurred the lines of the pain you should be feeling. being marked by rafe was transcendental.

“look at you, so fucking pretty.” you met his gaze, his eyes raking down your chest and back to your face. the compliment made your head even cloudier, you’d let him do anything he wanted already, and it didn’t even scare you. his mouth trailed lower, biting at the tops of your breasts before latching onto your nipple and sucking, biting and laving over the sensitive nub with his tongue. you writhed under him, desperate for some friction between your legs. you huffed out a breath in frustration. he took his time bruising your chest with his marks. everyone should know who you belonged to. he leaned back to admire his work, his eyes finally meeting yours and seeing your waterline filled with unshed tears. god he was being so cruel, you just wanted to come and here he was doing as he pleased.

“rafe can i have your fingers please?” he was about to take pity on you anyway but the desperate sound of you begging was too delicious to give up. he looped his fingers through yours, hands intertwined against the silk sheets next to your shoulder.

“fuuckkk when you ask like that how can i say no?” his eyes nearly rolled back in his head from your voice, he might just come from it alone. “how d’ya want them?” he knew, of course he knew, he just wanted to hear you say it. your lips were swollen from his kisses and you still managed to look so innocent under him, he wanted to mark every inch of your body so no one could touch you again.

“you know!” you huffed out, a pout on your lips that he kissed away, you still looked at him with frustration. your underwear was practically sticking to you now, you felt so warm and uncomfortable between your legs, desperate for friction. you’d never felt like this before, completely wrecked with need, unable to think about anything besides addressing your desire.

“spell it out for me, i can’t think clearly right now.” he kissed under your ear coaxing you into submission, a purr curled through you at the feeling. his lips were featherlight against you, soft and adoring and you couldn’t remember why you were holding back.

“‘wan you to fuck me with them.” it was a small mumble, slipping past your lips but rafe caught it nevertheless. his free hand hooked into your pants and pulled them down, you kicked them off and let him settle back between your legs. at least being out of your pants gave your legs some reprieve but the cool air only illuminated how drenched your underwear was. rafe’s large hand skimmed past your breasts to your stomach and rested against your waistband. he looked to you for admission and you nodded your head. instead of dipping underneath the band he trailed downwards, over the flimsy material. the ghost of his touch near your clit had you jerking under him, your hands flying to his shoulders. two large fingers pressed against the fabric, right above your opening, his fingers felt moist and he clicked his tongue at the feeling.

“baby you soaked through your panties, whose got you so worked up?” you whined, a pretty throaty sound that you’d been holding in and he vowed to pull more from you. his fingers were skimming along your opening, teasing the fabric and not quite touching you. your legs wanted to close on his hand but your hips moved closer, trying to make him touch you.

“you!” you screamed out, eyes squeezed shut as he removed his hand completely. you’d start leaking through them if he didn’t do something soon.

“that’s right me, not those fucking losers, just me.” his free hand, closed around your chin making you open your eyes and meet his. he looked crazed, pupils blown and overshadowing the blue with hooded eyes and a satisfied grin curling his lips. when you met his gaze he finally dipped his fingers beneath the band and pressed his thumb against your clit. he found it with such ease your eyes rolled back into your skull, gasping at the feeling of finally being touched. “i got you baby,” your legs spread wider for him, pulling him into you as his fingers slid through your drooling folds all the while his thumb ground against you. his fingers were so much larger than yours you could feel him everywhere. he prodded your hole with his index finger, grunting at how tight you were. streams of arousal kept pouring out of you, you needed him to do something. you squirmed under him again and rafe acquiesced, shoving his finger in. you were so tight and warm around him, slippery and soft walls hugged him as he stretched you out with one finger alone. “f-fucking tight,” he was gonna start soiling his shorts from the way you felt around his finger alone. he fucked you slow and deep, feeling along your insides for your sensitivity. he knew as soon as he found it because you screamed his name, hands clutching his arms tightly.

“feels weird,” he let you get used to the feeling, his thumb grinding against your clit. you were already feeling close and he’d barely started.

“poor pussy probably never felt this good huh?” you whimpered at his words, he was being so filthy and usually it turned you off. nothing about rafe could do that at this point. you shook your head, affirming his suspicions and his middle finger circled your opening. he was gentler this time, moving his fingers in inch by inch until you stopped clamping down. the pressure of him stretching you wasn’t unbearable but you didn’t know how you’d ever take more than his fingers at this rate. he accurately hammered against that spot, out for blood, while his thumb circled your clit. you were dripping onto his hand, coating him with your juices and the squelch of his fingers fucking into you filled the room. the sounds were so obscene you tried blocking them out with your pathetic little whines but rafe was determined to hear your soppy cunt crying for him. it wasn’t long before you felt the encroaching of your release and he knew it he could feel it in the way you clenched around him and whined when his fingers pulled out completely. one more carress of the sensitive gummy spot inside you had you seeing white. your vision blurred as you shook in your release, holding his wrist so he’d stop his motions, shivers wracked your body as you came the hardest you ever had. your walls fluttered around him, more of your release dripping down your cunt and soaking the sheets below. he was sick enough to leave them like that for the night, you smelled so sweet and he bet you tasted even better.

his fingers dipped out of your underwear and your eyes opened to watch him, probably a mistake on your part because just the vision of rafe cameron licking his fingers clean and groaning at the taste made you ready to go again. his eyes rolled back in his head at the taste, his eyes ground shut at the sugary flavor coating his tongue and teeth. he really hoped you’d let him have more later because now that he’d had a taste he wanted the full meal. you shivered at the way he reacted, your whole body on high alert from your orgasm, but even as sensitive as you were you couldn’t help but be greedy.

“rafe, can we go further?” his heart might just give out, you look nervous even now after he’s already addicted. he moves back slightly, pulling his shirt over his head and your eyes are drawn to his chest.

“thought you’d never ask.” you’re not even trying to hide how you ogle him, seeing him at the beach is one thing but in front of you, when you can touch him is another. rafe watches you reach a hand out, slightly out of range and moves closer to you, letting you touch him. your smalls hands traverse the expanse of his shoulders, his pecs, and trace the outline of his abs. when they reach the tuft of hair above his waistband, rafe has to stop you. the tiny fleeting touches make him twitch in his pants. he moves your hand to rest against his shoulder, pulling your underwear all the way off and looking down at how he completely drowns your body out.

“fuckkk can’t believe im the lucky one who gets to break this little pussy in,” he kisses along your neck, hands squeezing your waist and marveling at how diminutive you feel. he can’t wait to be inside you, he wonders if you’ll even be able to take him.

“s-so dirty” his words are heating up your entire body and you’d feel embarrassed if you weren’t arching into him. rafe moves to pull down his shorts, waiting a beat before he does.

“you sure you want this?” while taking your virginity was something he could only dream about before he needed to be sure.

“yes i want it to be you, i trust you.” you say it as normally as you can.

“we can stop whenever you want, like i said ‘offer’s not gonna expire.” you hope you can take it up even after this, maybe not even once or twice. if he could make you feel like this why would you need anyone else? then he pulls his shorts off and you start to regret your decision.

“oh-is th-that gonna fit?” his cock sprung out and slapped against his stomach, long and thick and way too big for you. you could barely take his fingers this would never fit. it looked so angry white precum dribbling down stark against the flushed pink curling along the veins and curving with him to the right. you wouldn’t survive this.

“you’ll do your best right?” you nod enthusiastically, you wanted to take as much as you could. “good girl.” oh, you’d have to explore that later. you nearly moaned at him calling you that. rafe caught it though, he knew your reactions well by now. he lined it up over your stomach, seeing how far it would go and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. your belly button was completely covered, not that it mattered he was halfway up your torso. rafe’s grip on your waist tightened, he’d ruin you for anyone else, stretch you out and mold you just for him. no one would feel as good as him and he nearly drooled at the sight.

despite how feral he felt, he made sure you were still wet enough for him to slip in, you were. his tip pressed against you, he let you drool onto him, juices swirling with his and making a sick plap plap plap sound as he tapped against you. he’s far wider than his fingers and you tried to relax. you motioned for him to come closer, his lips out of reach and you kissed him sweetly. when he could feel you relax he pushed in, instantly being shoved out. so tight he couldn’t even get the tip in. “fuuckkkk gonna have to marry you.” you don’t even process his words and he doesn’t really know he’s saying them out loud either. he tries again, pulling you slightly onto his length and you gasp at the stretch. you’re gripping him like a vice and it’s nearly uncomfortable but being inside you breaks something inside of him and he’s drooling into your mouth. you don’t even care you want more. “doin well angel-hah-taking me so well.”

the pain is an afterthought now, you want him to stretch you and fill you until you can’t breathe. you don’t know if you’ve wanted anything more in your life. so you do the unthinkable, you try moving down his length. rafe can’t be held responsible for his actions after that.

he gives into your silent plea, skewering you on his cock and pushing past your gooey rings of resistance until he’s halfway in. you held your breath the entire time as he curved into you, tip smearing precum along your walls as he molded you to him, his veins catching on your entrance and making you jolt at the feeling. you push at his chest, the pain making you scream his name as he lets you adjust. there’s tears trailing down your cheek that he licks away. he kisses you until the ache between your legs becomes distant, it’s salty and sloppy but it distracts you enough. rafe makes the mistake of looking down, sees the way you’re gaping for him and how it looks like he’s splitting you in half and he bottoms out. the snap of his hips against yours makes you moan, he’s filled you up now and you can feel him in your throat. you swear you feel him get bigger when you whine his name pathetically, his dick twitching inside you.

it’s too much and you try running from it, shoving up the length of the bed but rafe just pulls you back down. “t-too big hng can’t-“

“come on i thought you were-fuck-a big girl,” he groans into your ear, you shove against him once more and he slips out a few inches, just enough for you to relax. you can still feel him nestled against your cervix, he’s leaking into you and your thighs are coated in both of your arousal. you tap his shoulder for him to move again, pulling out until his tip is the only thing inside and then spearing all the way back in. the feeling makes you cross-eyed, his throbbing tip bumps along your sensitive spot until it nestles against you, as far high up as it can and you think you might be coming on every thrust because you’re so obscenely wet more slick just pours out of you every time. rafe knows it’s because there’s no space for anything but his cock and he can’t help but grin, watching your pussy engulf his length despite how small you are under him. every thrust sends your whole body upwards but his grip on you keeps you close, he’s almost fucking you back onto him.

“feels good hah,” you finally murmur into his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips so he can drill into you better. his thrusts are deep and slow, letting you get used to the feeling but you don’t think you like it like this. if he’s going to ruin you he might as well do it properly. “h-harder.” rafe moans your name at your request, his voice sounds so wrecked you clench down at the sound alone.

“turned this pussy into a slut, ‘couldn’t even take-hah-two fingers now look at you.” really he’s proud of you, proud that he made you like this. although he wants to tease you he can’t hold back much longer either and it’s your first time so he’s gonna be nice to you. rafe pulls out and slams back into you setting a faster rougher pace, your skin is slapping against each other and you think he might bruise your hips. your head is shoved up the length of his bed until it threatens to bump against the headboard, he puts his hand between you and the wood, his other hand holding onto the frame for support. your legs are being bent and pressed to the sides and the new angle makes him hit that spot with blaring accuracy. a sick ring of white forms at the base of his dick and his balls are slippery from your arousal. you still have a vice grip around him, something he won’t get used to but is definitely get addicted to. the room smells filthy and the sounds of you chanting his name combined with the squelch of your cunt is pornographic.

“gonna be a good girl and come around my cock?” your walls flutter at his words, like his permission has you ready to come. you come undone with one more thrust, your cunt is milking him as if coaxing him to come. “fuck fuck fuckkkk.” he pulls out just in time to come onto your stomach, shooting thick gooey ropes onto your soft skin. the white contrasts the blue and purple that is starting to bloom around your neck and tits.

you blearily watch it happen, disappointed he didn’t come inside, but warm and fuzzy from your release. there’s one thought nagging you though as you rest comfortably on his sticky soaked sheets. “it wasn’t a one time offer right?”

“no fucking way, i’m never letting you go.” rafe looks at you like you’re crazy, he’s ready to propose. there’s no way in hell he’s making this a one night stand. after all he’s broken you in, now it’s the fun part.

taglist: @ggraycelynn

[isuggestforcefem]

What I'm about to say is going to sound absolutely fucking insane but I need someone to hear me out on this one and unfortunately you are that person. Delete this if you want but I need someone to know what was revealed to me via divine intervention. This is gonna be a long one

I, as a cis boy, think the optimal strategy is to transition into a femme-presenting trans man or a lesboy or whatever you want to call it.

Now, you may be thinking, "what the fuck????" That's fair. I'm gonna try and break it down for you anyway.

I don't see anything wrong with being a boy. I'm fine as it is. However, I think being a girl could potentially be neat. So I transition into a girl, get estrogen and bottom surgery and whatnot, and bada-bing, bada-boom.

However, I can already convincingly pass as a girl. My voice is pretty androgynous and I have what some would consider a feminine build. Narrow shoulders, long hair, the works. I could still easily go by he/him even if I took estrogen because I'm already pretty androgynous.

"Why transition in the first place?" you might be asking, and I have a very simple reason for this. I want to be a lesbian. I literally cannot picture myself to be intimate with a woman as a man, and I've learned a lot about dating women from the best: lesbians. I want to follow in their footsteps and idolize women in sapphic doodles like the many lesbians before me. I also think I'm overdue for a much-needed hardware update.

Now, why would I still want to pass as a man? Well, as much as I love boobs, I don't think they suit me. Maybe a little bit, but I don't want em too big, y'know? It would also make most social interactions unchanged. I'm still just some guy. I like that energy about me. Also I got some pretty conservative family members. As long as they aren't trying to pull down my pants, I'd still be the same person to them. I'd still be the same person to me, too. I also wouldn't have to change clothes. I already wear what some might mistake for a dysphoria hoodie because it's a pretty thick and large jacket. But I am not giving up those pockets for shit. Also I don't think my skull shape passes too well? It kinda does but in an uncanny valley kinda way. My face can pass but I'm not 100% on the skull.

And, even if I transition, I can still be forcefemmed, but now with so many different layers. I'd still have that femmable egg energy. I could make the detrans kink gender-affirming. I'm still a boymoding trans girl, which is like one of the prime targets from what I've gathered (mainly from this blog). There's so many layers to it, so many things that could be done. I'm starting to think this section is a little too horny for this blog. I can't really tell.

I have contemplated this for roughly six hours and this is what I have. This solution satisfies all the conflicting ideals I have about being trans. I don't think it'd fix transphobia or anything, but I'd probably end up meeting one bigot who thinks I'm trans anyway so I might as well, eh?

Well, I guess I do still have a few problems, such as actually having to care about my looks, the expenses, shaving, ect. But other than that I'd say it's pretty airtight. This might be the new meta

Eggs are inventing new ways to be eggs in my dms I see

[harmonic-intervention]

Please find me, I'm hungry

Well.

Tommy has a tramp stamp now. Buck kinda goes insane over it.

We're past the fix-its! Have some smut instead! This is the complete version of this post. Moving further in my mission to give Tommy things I think are hot - like eyebrow scars and tramp stamps. Have fun.

Word count: 13,147 - PWP, tattoos, dom/sub undertones, possessive behavior, cum play

Excerpt:

When they got back together, Hen, with a sly little grin, had teased Buck about them being all over each other. Buck had rolled his eyes, dropped his head, and knocked his knuckles into her shoulder. He got razzed all day by the others, because yeah, he and Tommy had a pretty active sex life before, and Buck had come into work with hickeys on his throat more than once.

Only it was different this time. They’d decided to take their time, and work their way up again. Buck was too giddy about holding Tommy’s hand again, he didn’t think he could handle anything more.

They did dates, and dinners, and hang outs. They didn’t even sleep over at each other’s places when they met up there. When they kissed, they kept it strictly above the waist.

His friends would never believe him if he told them. Hell, Buck wouldn’t have believed himself a couple of months ago! But all in all, Buck didn’t mind this. They had agreed to slow it down, not to rush ahead like they did the last time, where they’d skipped so many steps. It was nice, actually, really nice to do it like this.

Buck found out more and more about Tommy, saw things Tommy hadn’t shown anyone before, and he only loved Tommy more for it.

They navigated through their re-budding relationship, and Buck had never been this happy before in his life. And things were moving, steadily, felt so natural and easy in a way Buck had never thought it could. Even the harder conversations they finally had with each other seemed easy, their words flowing and miscommunication left behind.

Slowly, they made their ways through the stages and bases. Touching above clothes, getting below the belt. Tommy didn’t take his shirt off around Buck, and Buck would admit that was surprising. Tommy really didn’t have any qualms showing off, at least he hadn’t used to.

But then things got a bit suspicious when Buck noticed that Tommy didn’t seem to like him touching the small of his back all of a sudden. He was subtle about it, Buck had to admit. Like when he put his hand there, Tommy took his wrist and pushed it further down, and Buck was always up for that. Tommy had a great ass. But he also had a really nice back, and Buck liked pushing his hands under his shirt and trace along the line of his spine, and after the fourth time that Tommy shied away from the touch, Buck finally voiced his suspicions.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking a step back from the kiss they had shared in his kitchen.

Tommy looked a little dazed, and okay, maybe it’d been more than just one kiss. Maybe it was more, maybe Buck had pushed Tommy up against the counter and thought about how he could convince him to climb up so Buck could stand between his legs, feel the insides of his thigh press against his hips.

“What?” Tommy asked, and Buck, for a moment, got distracted by how red and full and spit-slick his mouth was.

“Don’t you- you don’t want me touching your back? That’s okay, but is everything alright? Did you get hurt?” Buck got momentarily worried. He hadn’t thought about that. But they had agreed to be honest with each other, so if he was doing something that hurt Tommy, he needed to know. If Tommy had gotten hurt, he needed to know.

There was a blush high on Tommy’s cheeks when he shook his head. “Uh, no, I’m good. Not hurt.”

Which was a relief. “Then what’s going on? Is this a new thing? If you don’t want me to touch you there, that’s fine, but- it wasn’t a problem before, right? Did you not like it?”

“God, baby, calm down,” Tommy said with a slight laugh. “No, I liked it fine. But, uh … something changed.”

Buck furrowed his brows. “Like what?”

If anything, Tommy blushed harder. He pushed off the counter, made Buck take a couple steps back. He put his hands on the collar of his shirt as if to pull it up, but before he did that, he locked eyes with Buck.

“Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“O-okay, I-uh, I promise?” Buck said, but it came out more like a question.

It seemed to be good enough for Tommy who pulled the shirt over his head, and Buck would be lying if he didn’t immediately try to look his fill. It had been a while since he’d seen Tommy shirtless. And God, those pecs, the hair between them, that fucking happy trail …

Then, Tommy turned around, and Buck’s mouth dropped open. He blinked, stared, tried to form words. He felt frozen, because he had not expected this, because well.

Well.

Tommy had a tramp stamp.

[continue on ao3]

[cuzxai]

side effects - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!teader

a/n: youre exposed to sex pollen in the field. 5k words… im sorry😭

The warehouse had been cleared by the time you arrived—agents already sweeping for evidence, bodies already bagged, the sting of gunpowder still clinging to the humid air. You and Spencer were last to respond, mostly for paperwork and profiling, wrapping up what the rest of the team started. A simple cleanup, they said. Nothing dangerous.

No one had warned you about the broken vial in the corner. It was barely noticeable—just a cracked glass container, its liquid contents long evaporated into the air. You barely remembered brushing past the table it had been resting on but the chemical team flagged it almost immediately. “Unidentified compound,” they said. “Possibly synthetic. Possibly hormonal.”

They didn’t use the words sex pollen until they got the preliminary analysis back but the moment you heard the phrase, your stomach dropped. That shit never ended well in any field report. And by then, it was already too late.

“You’ll start feeling the effects within a few hours,” the hazmat technician told you, holding a clipboard and avoiding your eyes. “It’s uh… fast-acting. Intense. And it mimics extreme heat symptoms. We’re required to isolate anyone exposed. Just until it wears off.”

“Great,” you muttered. “So I get to sit in quarantine while my body tries to fuck itself.”

Beside you, Spencer shifted uncomfortably.“Someone will be assigned to supervise in case medical intervention is needed,” the tech added, flipping to the next page. “Or if symptoms become… unmanageable.” You didn’t ask what that meant.

You expected to be sent to some sterile room in Quantico. Instead, Spencer offered his apartment. Hotly. Quickly. The moment the idea was brought up, his hand was already half-raised and his voice had that eager, slightly-too-fast edge to it.

“I can do it,” he said. “We’re coworkers. I mean—we’re close. I know her. It’s better than sticking her in a glass box with strangers, right?”

You had no argument for that. Just heat blooming in your chest as you glanced at him—soft curls, worried eyes, fingers twitching by his side. They agreed. No one questioned it.

You’d been at his apartment for three hours. Three. The early onset effects were supposed to have hit by now. And sure, maybe your skin felt a little too warm under your shirt. Maybe you’d showered longer than usual, just to stand under something cool. But you didn’t feel crazy. Not like the stories went. No desperate writhing, no begging for touch, no burning arousal that left you breathless. You just felt… irritated. Restless.

Horny in a way that wasn’t quite urgent but definitely persistent. Like a low hum beneath your skin. A knot that wouldn’t untangle.

“I feel fine,” you said, for the third time. “You don’t need to babysit me, Spencer.”

From his kitchen, he raised a brow. “You’re quarantined for a reason.”

You flopped back onto his couch, groaning. “I could be home, in my own bed. But instead i’m rotting away in your living room.

“You’re not rotting.”

“You don’t know that.”

He leaned on the counter, glass of water in one hand, hair pushed back from his forehead. There was something almost amused about the way he looked at you—like he knew better but was letting you burn yourself out. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“Unless it’s a cure for vague, medically induced horniness, I’m not hungry.”

That earned a real smile. The faintest quirk at the edge of his lips. He set the glass down and crossed the room, arms folding in front of him, his frame tall and lean and calm as ever.

“You’re going to feel worse before it gets better,” he said gently. “The symptoms build.”

“And you are not helping,” you mumbled, thighs shifting where you sat.

He tilted his head. “How am I not helping?”

“Your voice is annoying,” you lied.

Spencer’s brows ticked up slightly. “That’s new.”

“Everything you say makes it worse.”

A beat passed. The air shifted. His mouth parted like he was going to speak—but he didn’t. Just studied you for a second. The flush rising in your cheeks. The way your arms crossed too tightly over your chest. And your thighs—pressing together. Trying to ease the ache building between them. The knot that was already tightening.

“You’re annoying,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

Spencer’s smile twitched again.

“I’m not the one clenching my legs together every time I talk.”

You glared. “Fuck you.”

His voice dipped an octave. “That might actually help.”

Your breath hitched. His expression stayed soft, almost unreadable—but there was something behind it. Something careful. Curious. Watching you like a scientist, like a profiler, like a man trying to read something far more dangerous than a casefile.

“I’m kidding,” he said after a moment. “Mostly.”

“You’re such a dick.”

Spencer walked back to the kitchen but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder—sharp and deliberate. You could still feel it after he turned away. You shifted again on the couch. Your shirt clung to your skin. Everything tingled. Maybe you weren’t fine after all.

You wanted to pace the apartment like a caged animal, restless in a way that doesn’t feel like arousal—but it is. It’s in your skin, your breath, your nerves. It’s in how warm the couch feels under your thighs, how every fabric that brushes your body feels like too much and not enough all at once. You’re not squirming, not really. But your hips shift a lot. And Spencer sees it.

“You okay?” he asks again. He’s in the armchair across from you, nursing a tea he hasn’t taken a sip from in twenty minutes.

“I’m fine,” you bite back, the words sharp—not at him, not really. You’re just uncomfortable. Hot. Frustrated.

He watches you with that too-big brain of his, eyes sweeping your body like he’s reading symptoms off your skin. You’ve shed your jacket. Then your socks. You sat in a tank top. Now you’re curled into the corner of his couch, arms crossed under your chest, thighs clenched tight like a pressure valve.

You know he notices. Of course he does. You catch the flicker of his gaze down your body—quick, cautious, reverent. And when your hips shift again, slow and subtle against the cushion, you see him swallow.

“It’s warm in here,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, rubbing your palms down the sides of your thighs like it’ll help. “I feel… itchy. My skin’s buzzing.”

Spencer nods, slow. “That lines up with the early stages of arousal-inducing pheromone exposure. Symptoms are typically mild at first—”

“I know what the report said,” you interrupt, huffing a breath. “I was there. I read it. Twice.”

He doesn’t take it personally. “Just making sure you remember.”

You throw your head back with a groan, eyes squeezing shut. “I remember. I also remember it saying the effects can be psychosomatic, which means this might all be in my head. Which means you don’t have to babysit me like I’m gonna spontaneously combust.”

“No,” he says, firmer than before. “That’s not what psychosomatic means and you’re not leaving.”

You blink at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes. You’re not driving in this condition and we don’t know how your symptoms will progress. I’m not risking you being alone.”

There’s something final in the way he says it. Something that makes your stomach twist and not in a bad way. You press your thighs together tighter, annoyed by how easily that helps.

“…Your voice is different,” you murmur, surprised by the words as they come out. “When you talk like that.”

Spencer blinks. “Like what?”

“Like you’re in charge.”

He shifts in his seat. “I’m not trying to be in charge.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you murmur, mouth dry. “I just said it’s different.”

Your heart thumps once, hard. You see the flicker in his jaw when you look at him again—his leg bouncing, his knuckles pale around his mug. He’s trying to be good. So good. But you’ve worked with him long enough to know the signs of when he’s not entirely in control of himself. And this is starting to look like that.

You lean your head back against the cushion and sigh through your teeth. “God, I feel like I’ve had five espressos and a daydream I can’t stop.”

“That… might actually be one of the effects,” he says, tugging at his collar.

“Oh my God, stop talking like a doctor Spencer.”

He shuts up. A beat passes. Then another. His eyes flicker toward you. You watch him over the edge of your arm.

“…Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “I’m just—I don’t know. I feel weird. And your voice is not helping.”

Spencer’s brows knit. “I am a doctor. And… my voice?”

“It’s just—it’s like everything you do feels hotter right now and I don’t know if that’s you or me or the pollen or what but—” You cut yourself off. “I think I’m going insane.”

His eyes stay locked on yours. You can see the moment something shifts in him.“…You pressed your thighs together when I told you no,” he says, so quietly it almost doesn’t register. “Didn’t think I noticed.”

Your lips part. You hadn’t expected him to say that. You hadn’t expected him to notice that, not out loud. And now it’s hanging there in the air like an admission. The tension between you thickens like syrup. And suddenly you realize you’ve stopped breathing. “I didn’t mean to,” you say.

Spencer hums, something low in his throat. He sets his mug down, eyes on you like you’re something fragile and glowing. “I don’t think you meant to feel like this either,” he murmurs. And you don’t know if he means aroused or frustrated or aching but he’s right. And it’s getting worse.

“You’re not touching yourself, are you?” he asks, a little hoarse now. “That’s what they said not to do. Until the effects pass.

Your whole body burns. “No,” you whisper.

“But you want to.” He says it like a statement. A soft, knowing one. Like he already has you figured out and doesn’t need you to say it.

Your voice comes out thin and barely audible: “Yeah.”

Another beat. Then quietly, almost tender— “Don’t.”

Your body shivers. He’s not even touching you and you can feel him. The weight of his voice. The way he’s watching you. The way your hips shift again, slower this time, like gravity is pulling you toward something.

“Spence…”

“Don’t,” he repeats, softer. “Not yet.”

Your thighs clench again. You can’t stop. Every word he says sinks straight into you. And you don’t even realize your nails are digging into the couch cushions until his eyes dip down to your hands.

“You’re not okay,” he says. “You just think you are.”

“I’m fine,” you whisper. Your voice breaks on it. You last all of five minutes.

Five minutes of shifting on the couch, of pressing your thighs together so tight they ache. Five minutes of trying to breathe normally, trying to ignore the slow, electric hum beneath your skin. Five minutes of Spencer watching you like he’s memorizing every twitch of discomfort, every unconscious move you make to relieve the pressure building between your legs. It’s unbearable. And it’s only getting worse.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out, standing too fast.

Spencer raises a brow. He doesn’t argue but you can feel his eyes on your back as you walk away—fast, too fast. You don’t even turn on the water. Just lock the door, shove your pants down, and sit on the closed toilet lid with your head thrown back and your hand already between your legs.

You’re soaked. And it’s instant, the relief of pressure from finally touching yourself—but it’s not enough. Not even close. You rub slow and firm circles, breath catching, hips rocking with every pulse of heat that crashes over you. Your thighs shake. Your toes curl against the floor. You bite your lip to stay quiet but it only makes it worse. You try to speed up, fingers moving faster, sloppier. But no matter how close you get, it won’t happen.

Your breath is a mess. Your body is screaming for something it can’t reach, and it hits you: the report warned about this. That once the arousal sets in, your brain stops registering solo touch the same way. That you need external stimulation to reset the chemical overload.

And you’re not alone in the apartment. You don’t know you’re moaning until you hear it echo against the tile. And then you hear him on the other side of the door.

“Are you okay?”

Your heart stutters. “I’m—fuck. I’m fine.” The silence after that is so loud, you think maybe he’s walked away.

“You’re not fine.”

Your breath stutters again. “Spencer—“

“I can hear you.”

Shame burns hot across your face but your hand doesn’t stop moving. It can’t.

“You said you were fine but I know you aren’t,” he murmurs through the door.

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly.

“I’m not mad,” he says gently. “But I think you’re past the point of pretending you can do this alone.”

You don’t respond. Not with words. Your legs are trembling, your hand still moving between them but you already know it’s not going to work. You’re panting like you just ran a mile, back arching off the seat—and still nothing.

Another knock. Softer. “I can help,” Spencer says, voice low.

You should say no. You should tell him it’s the pollen talking. You should warn him that once this starts, it won’t stop. You want to tell him that it’ll ruin everything between you. But your hand’s already reaching for the lock.

You barely get your pants all the way back up when Spencer gently pushes the bathroom door open, his gaze dark and steady. You try to pull your sweater down over your thighs like it’ll hide anything—but it’s useless. He saw you. Heard you. And he knows.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it, fingers curling lightly around your wrist. You don’t even hesitate—you let him lead you out, your heart hammering against your ribs, your body so wound up it almost hurts.

Spencer leads you through the hallway, the short walk to his bedroom feeling longer than any distance you’ve ever traveled. His hand stays on you the whole time, thumb stroking slow circles against your wrist, soothing and claiming all at once. The bedroom door clicks shut behind you and then there’s nothing separating you from him. No reason to pretend, no rules, no shame. Just the gnawing, burning need.

Spencer tugs you toward him until your chest brushes his. His hands settle lightly on your hips, the heat of them sinking through the thin fabric of your clothes. His forehead drops to yours, breathing you in. “Been wanting to touch you all night,” he murmurs, his voice fraying at the edges. “You know that? Sat there watching you squirm, pretending you’re fine—” His hands trail down your sides until his fingers find the hem of your pants again. “—when you’re really falling apart.”

You let out a shaky exhale, grabbing at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you standing. Your skin feels hot and tight, hypersensitive, desperate for something to soothe the ache. “I can’t—I can’t think straight,” you breathe out, pressing closer.

“I know.” He ducks his head to kiss along your jawline, slow and savoring like he’s tasting something he’s been denying himself for far too long. “You’re burning up. Need me to take care of you, huh?”

“Yes—” it leaves you before you can even think, a desperate little whine slipping from your lips. Your hips buck forward slightly, brushing against the hardness tenting his pants and the soft groan it pulls from him makes your knees go weak.

“You’re so wet already, aren’t you?” he whispers, one hand slipping between your bodies to cup you through your pants. The pressure makes you gasp, you press into his hand shamelessly. He chuckles low in his throat, all fond and wrecked at the same time. “Fuck, you’re dripping through your clothes.” You whimper, face going red. The humiliation burns but it’s nothing compared to the need clawing at you. Spencer gently nudges your chin up until you’re looking at him. His thumb traces your lower lip, slow and careful. “You gonna let me help you, baby?” You nod, already too wrecked to form words.

“That’s not good enough,” he breathes and suddenly you’re shoved back onto the bed, Spencer following you down until he’s hovering over you. “Say it. Tell me you need me.”

You squeeze your thighs together, your whole body pulsing with need. “I need you, Spencer. Please.” He grins and it’s all teeth and something dangerous glinting behind his eyes. Hungry and desperate to make you feel as good as he knows you deserve. “That’s my girl,” he mutters, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants and dragging them down your thighs slow enough to make you whine. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Could spend hours between your legs…” His voice is nearly trembling with restraint, his hands splaying over your bare thighs like he’s grounding himself.

Once your pants and panties are gone, he spreads your legs open and just looks for a moment. “So fucking pretty.” His fingers ghost over your inner thighs, making you twitch and squirm. “Look how messy you are for me already. Been suffering all by yourself, haven’t you?” You nod again, hips jerking up slightly in search of more.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, leaning down to kiss just above your mound, maddeningly close but not close enough. “I’m gonna make you feel so good you won’t even remember your own name.” You whimper again, bucking your hips in a silent plea. Fianlly Spencer drags his tongue up your slit, slow and deliberate. You cry out, hands flying to his hair.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs against you, pressing a kiss to your clit that makes you jolt. “Gonna have you coming so many times you’ll forget how to say no.” You mewl, tugging at his hair and he chuckles breathlessly, wrapping his arms around your thighs to pin you down. “No running away,” he teases, voice warm and wrecked. He flattens his tongue against you again, licking a thick stripe up your cunt before swirling around your clit with infuriating precision. Your thighs tremble in his grip, your whole body arching off the bed.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he mutters between licks. “Could get drunk off you.” You can’t even form coherent words anymore—just high, broken moans spilling out of you as he eats you like he’s starving as if you’re the only thing that could ever satisfy him. And god, you want it to last forever. Your hands fist in his hair, your hips grind against his mouth. He lets you—lets you use him, lets you fuck yourself on his tongue like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

“You’re so good,” he murmurs against you, the vibration making your whole body shudder. You’re right there, right on the edge when he slips a finger inside you. He moves perfectly to hit that sweet spot that makes your whole body lock up. You moan his name, head tossing back against the pillows and Spencer just smiles against you, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

You’re right there, teetering on the edge. Your thighs quivering around Spencer’s head— when he suddenly pulls back. A broken whine tears from your throat, hips chasing him instinctively but he just chuckles. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His fingers tighten around your thighs to hold you down.

“Not like this,” he pants with desperate eyes. “Wanna feel you come around my cock.” You barely manage a whimper of protest, your whole body screaming for release but then he’s shushing you, climbing up over you, nosing along your jaw. His hips grinding into yours and making you feel the thick, hard length of him through his sweats. “You can wait a little longer, can’t you, baby?” he murmurs, voice all syrup and sin. “Gonna make it so fucking good for you. Promise.”

You nod frantically, your hands sliding under his shirt. You’re clawing at the warm, solid planes of his stomach. Anything to get him closer, to get him inside you. “Please Spencer,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist like you could pull him in yourself. “I need you—need you so bad.” His breath shudders against your ear as he ruts against you as if he’s barely holding himself back.

“Fuck—” he groans, dragging his pants down just enough to free his cock, hot and heavy and leaking against your bare thigh. “You have no idea what you do to me. Gonna fill you up so good…you’ll forget anything else ever existed.”He lines himself up, the thick head of his cock sliding through your soaked folds—and it’s already almost too much, the anticipation, the need.

“You ready?” he rasps, his voice trembling with restraint.

“God, yes,” you sob, lifting your hips into him. Spencer smirks and starts pushing inside, slow and deep. Splitting you open perfectly as everything else disappears.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s moving, his palms hot and firm around your waist as he lifts you and nudges your hips back, steering you further up the bed like you’re something breakable—precious, even now. Even with the way both of you are trembling to touch, to fuck, to feel. Spencer’s lips brush against your ear as he leans over you and the heat of his breath sends a shudder tearing through your body.

“So tight,” he mutters roughly. His voice nearly unrecognizable, caught between a growl and a plea. “So perfect.” You can only nod, throat too dry to speak— heart pounding a riot against your ribs. You feel him shift behind you, the rustle of his own clothes joining yours in the scattered mess on the floor. You whimper and it makes him groan under his breath. You can feel the way he’s struggling to keep it together, the way his cock twitches inside of you, pulsing with need.

“Please,” you manage and Spencer rewards you by speeding up.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, like he can’t help but marvel at it. He leans down, mouth grazing your neck. It’s just above the frantic beat of your pulse. “Fuck— you need this, don’t you?” You nod frantically, back arching. You’re chasing the barest hint of him.

“I do,” you whine. Voice breaking with each thrust. “Need this— need you.”Your fingers clutch at the sheets, at anything you can grab as he fills you, thick and heavy and stretching you so perfectly you think you might actually cry. Spencer lets out low, guttural sounds. He’s burying his face against your shoulder as he seats himself fully inside you.

“Fuck,” he hisses, voice cracking. “It fits so good— made for me.” He pulls out slowly and the drag of him inside you rips a broken gasp from your throat. When he thrusts back in harder, it knocks the air right out of your lungs. Your body jolts, pleasure burning through you so hot and fast that your knees nearly buckle. He moving in long, grinding strokes. He’s dragging the thick head of his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. Just fast enough. Cruel, almost. Intentional. Controlled.

Every thrust is a brand, a mark he’s stamping deep into your body. “God, look at you,” Spencer pants against your ear. One hand slides down to press against your stomach, feeling the way he moves inside you. “Taking me so good. You can see it.”

You choke on a whine, barely able to form words. “Y-yeah. You’re so big. I need—”

“I know what you need,” he cuts you off, hips snapping a little harder, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. “You need me to fuck you until you can’t think about anything except how full you are. Hmm?” You nod desperately, hands gripping at him, at yourself, at the bed. Anything you can grab. Your whole body feels raw, wired so tight you think you might snap apart at the seams.

Spencer’s rhythm grows rougher, deeper, the slap of skin on skin filling the air along with the filthy sounds you’re both making—panting, moaning, gasping each other’s names like prayers. And through it all, Spencer keeps talking.

“Wanted you like this for so long,” he groans, voice wrecked. His hands are everywhere now—your hips, your waist, your shoulders—like he can’t touch enough of you at once. “Dreamed about it. Fucking you. Making you feel good.”

You’re barely holding on, your entire body trembling with the effort of staying right on that edge, right where he’s keeping you. When he pulls you up slightly, forcing your chest against his, it’s almost too much. One hand holds you up— the other finding your throat, squeezing softly.

“You’re gonna come when I tell you,” he breathes against your temple. “Okay?”You moan, you’re thrumming with need. There’s sweat slicking your skin. His hand slips from your neck inbetween your thighs, fingers teasing and circling just above where you need him most but not touching, not giving you that last push.

Spencer keeps fucking into you, deep and slow and deliberate. Grinding his hips in just the right way to make you sob. “You feel good?” he murmurs. “You’re dripping all over me. Making a mess.” You can’t think anymore. Can barely breathe. You’re nothing but sensation, tethered only by the sound of his voice, the relentless rhythm of his body inside yours. But still—you don’t come. Because Spencer hasn’t told you to. You want to be good for him. You want to give him everything. Even if it kills you.

Spencer’s thrusts start to falter—still deep, still good but messier now, losing that iron control he’d fought so hard to keep. His breath is ragged against your ear, every exhale a soft, desperate whimper that shoots straight through your blood.

“Spence,” you whisper, reaching back to touch his hip. You’re trying to steady him, to soothe him. “Let me— let me ride you.” He groans, low and broken like just the idea of it shatters whatever composure he had left.

“Please,” he rasps, nodding frantically, barely able to get the word out. “Okay— yes.” It’s clumsy, the two of you scrambling to reposition but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting closer, closer, closer. You straddle his lap, legs shaky from how much he’s already wrecked you but the second you sink down onto him again—God, he’s so deep—everything else fades away. Spencer’s head falls back against the mattress, a choked moan ripping from his throat. His hands find your thighs, clutching hard enough to bruise— like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You move slowly at first, savoring the stretch, the way he fills you so completely. The way his mouth falls open, eyes glassy and wide and so fucking gone beneath you. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he babbles, hips jerking up instinctively to meet your movements. “So tight, so good, you’re gonna make me come. I can’t—“

“You can,” your hands braced on his chest, feeling the frantic hammer of his heart under your palms. “You’re so deep.” And he whimpers. Actually whimpers, high and broken, thrusting up into you helplessly as you start to ride him harder. You roll your hips, grinding down just right and he loses it.

“Oh, fuck— gonna breed you.” The words tumble out of him in a stream of gasped, pleading sounds, almojst incoherent. His fingers dig into your thighs, dragging you down harder onto him. Trying to chase the friction, the heat. His pretty mouth falls open, desperate sounds spilling out with every thrust. Grunts and moans.

“Taking me so good,” he babbles. “So fucking pretty like this. So wet—feel so good around me—” You speed up, hips snapping faster. Riding him hard now, and you’re both falling apart. Spencer’s cock pulsing inside you so thick and hot you can feel him twitching already, right on the edge.

“You— ah— so good.” you pant, leaning down so your lips brush his jaw, your words a filthy little tease. “Gonna fill me up, Spence?” He gasps, the sound so wrecked it barely sounds human and his hands claw at your hips, yanking you down harder as he bucks up into you wildly now, rhythm lost completely.

“Please,” he groans, high and broken. “Yes— filling you all the way up.”

You nod, whispering, “I want it. Need it.” That’s all it takes. Spencer cries out desperately, jerking up into you for a few last times as he finally lets go. You feel it—the heat flooding inside you, the way he throbs and twitches with every pulse of pleasure. You ride him through it— triggering your own orgasm. It’s loud and messy. You’re slowing your movements just enough to make it last, to draw every last drop.

Spencer’s hands are digging where they hold you. His hips stutter weakly, his chest heaving like he’s been running for miles. When you finally collapse against his chest, both of you boneless and shaking and soaked in sweat— it’s like the entire world narrows to just this—his heartbeat pounding against your cheek, the wrecked little sounds he’s still making under his breath, the way his arms tighten around you like he can’t stand to let you go.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breathing. Just existing. Finally, Spencer’s hand lifts, trembling slightly, to run through your hair. “Holy shit,” he whispers hoarsely. His voice is wrecked, thin and scratchy like he’s been screaming for hours. “I—I think I saw God.” You huff a weak, breathless laugh against his skin.

“Good,” you whisper back. His arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you impossibly closer. And for the first time since this whole night started—you feel something other than desperation.

“Are you okay?” he asks, shifting enough to pull himself out of you— letting your guys’ mess to spill out all over him. You nod against him and he presses his chin to your forehead, breathing you in like he needs it. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs after a second, thumb brushing the side of your thigh.

“So are you,” you say, your voice soft.

He gives a weak, breathless laugh—a little hoarse thing that barely escapes his throat—and shifts you carefully off his lap, laying you back against the pillows. His hands never leave you. He tugs the comforter up over your bodies, his fingers smoothing the edges near your shoulders, almost absentmindedly like he’s on autopilot. Like he needs to be touching you, even if it’s just fixing the blanket.

He leans in, his nose brushing your temple. “You did so good,” he says quietly, almost a whisper. “You feel so good.”

You blink up at him, heart stuttering stupidly hard against your ribs. “You do,” you whisper back. Spencer’s mouth quirks into the faintest, most exhausted little smirk and for a second he just looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real. You reach for his hand under the blanket, threading your fingers through his. He lets out a soft, broken sound at that—almost like a whimper—and squeezes your hand tight, clutching it to his chest.

Neither of you says anything else. You don’t have to. He stays curled around you like that, close and warm and steady, until your heartbeat slows and your breath evens out. And even then, he doesn’t let go.

[cutehoons02]

Between love and revenge

*pairing: alpha leader Heeseung x omega Girl

*trope: : Forbidden love/Enemies to lovers/Dark romance

*synopsis: Y/n, an omega, has avoided an unhappy marriage with Jiwon thanks to the intervention of Heeseung, an alpha who, driven by revenge against his father, has bonded her to him. Despite the bond, Y/n struggles with anger and resentment towards Heeseung, feeling trapped between hatred and a growing passion. Their relationship develops amidst Y/n's inner conflict and Heeseung's determination to show her that, beyond revenge, there is a deeper connection. But between secrets, lies, and the weight of the past, both are forced to confront the truth of their emotions and the meaning of the bond that unites them.

Between lust and revenge <- I recommend that you read Part 1.

(6.8k❤️‍🔥)

*tags: A lot of tension, Heeseung slowly becomes downbad for her, Y/n discovers a secret that will upset his life, lies, obsession, kisses, bites, unprotected sex (in the woods) traformation of Heeseung in alpha, double annotation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) (normal sex-doggy sex) tamper with your feelings, +18 *(reference to a pregnancy to violate the laws between alpha and omega by Y/n’s father raping an alpha girl)

You had always thought that the worst moment of your life would be the day of your marriage to Jiwon. The idea of being chained to an omega who treated you like an object to possess, who dreamed of breaking your wings to force you into a golden cage, made you sick to your stomach. But now… the worst was over. Or at least, that’s what you believed. You walked towards the college cafeteria with a heavy heart and a head full of questions. The bond with Heeseung had been real. Raw. Powerful. Your body still carried the marks from the night before. But your mind? It was a battlefield. You had given everything, even what you never thought you’d offer anyone. And now… you would be watched. Judged. Commented on. You entered the grand Victorian cafeteria, and the silence was almost deafening. Everyone was looking at you. Some with their mouths hanging open, others already whispering among themselves, throwing glances your way. You could feel every unspoken word like a blade on your skin. You lifted your chin. You had to. They wouldn’t see shame, not today. You walked as if every step was a declaration: “I’m here, and I don’t regret it.”

It was then that the voice of your best friend, an Alpha, broke the tension. She ran toward you with a smile that clashed with the coldness of the atmosphere. She hugged you tightly, as only someone who truly knew you could. 'Y/n… how did it go?' she whispered in your ear, her voice full of real emotion. Then she pulled back slightly and sniffed the air. 'Oh my God… you smell like him. I can sense him everywhere.' You smiled faintly, your eyes already burning. “It was amazing,” you answered in a hoarse but honest voice. Too amazing. And at that moment, you hated yourself for still having feelings for him. She caressed your face. 'You were so brave. The Alphas… the elders… they’ll want to honor you. They’re already preparing a ceremony—' She didn’t finish. A scream cut through the air. “Y/N!”

You stiffened. Your blood froze in your veins. You turned slowly… and you saw him. Jiwon. He was walking toward you, furious, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He yelled at you, words full of venom. <WHORE! You got bonded to that piece of shit just to avoid marrying me?!> he shouted, his voice echoing off the ancient walls. You trembled. Not from his words, but from his hatred. He stopped five steps away, suddenly panting. He put a hand to his nose, disgusted. <You stink… you smell like him. That fucking Alpha!> You forced yourself to stand tall. “At least Heeseung… will let me study. Go out with my friends. Live.” <Live?!> he laughed bitterly. <You’re an Omega! Your duty is to stay at home, give birth, serve. It’s the man who works, who commands. It’s nature!> You stared at him. “It’s not mine. I don’t want that.” He looked down at you, degrading you with his gaze. As if you were just a mistake. <Your father will kill you for this.>

-No, he won’t.- The voice came from behind. Cold. Sure. Deadly. Sunghoon. One of Heeseung’s best friends. A feared and respected Alpha. He stepped forward, positioned himself between you and Jiwon. He looked down at him. -She is one of us now. Part of our family. No man will touch her again. And if any of them tries… they’ll die before they even get the chance.- Jiwon clenched his jaw, but took a step back. <It’s not over,> he hissed. He looked at you one last time… and walked away. You stood there, your heart in your throat, Heeseung’s scent still on you, your body tense, and your mind screaming. But had you won? Or at least, had you begun to?

Sunghoon looked at you with a cold, cutting gaze. There was no compassion, only a chilling, unrelenting authority. -Take her to her room,- he said to your best friend. -It’s better for her safety.- She let out a soft sigh, pulling you close. 'Hoon, don’t you think you’re overdoing it? She’s already under enough pressure. There’s no need to treat her like she’s in danger—' But he interrupted her with a cynical look. -The problem isn’t her. It’s the others.- Then he turned to both of you, his tone ice-cold: -From now on, move in pairs. And don’t open the door to anyone who doesn’t carry our mark.- It wasn’t a request. Your friend nodded, holding your hand tightly and pulling you away, away from those inquisitive eyes. As soon as the door to your room closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. You whispered quietly, almost not wanting to hear the answer: "I’ve messed up, haven’t I?" Absolutely.

Your phone had been vibrating for hours. Every relative, every branch of the family, every Omega who knew you… wanted to know if it was true. And when you answered yes, insults, threats, screams, and spit flew through the screen. They’d called you a disgrace. A traitor. A broken piece. But still, no call had come from your father. The door opened slowly. Your mother entered in silence, as though knowing she had to measure each step, each word. She sat down beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair. 'You were brave,' she said softly. 'I’m proud of you.' You looked at her, surprised. "Did you know I didn’t want to marry Jiwon?" you asked, your voice cracking. She smiled bitterly. 'I’ve known for years. I just hoped that… time would fix everything. But you’re not like me, Y/n. You don’t bend. Never.' You swallowed hard. "Did I do the right thing?" There was a long silence. Then she said: 'There’s no right answer. But if Heeseung bonded you without killing you… it means that, somehow, you’re his. Almost like you’re soulmates.' You jumped to your feet, your heart racing. "Don’t say nonsense, mom. Heeseung hates me. He did it just for revenge." But inside, deep down… a tiny spark. A stupid, fragile hope that there was more to it. That touch, that caress at the end of the knot… had been real, especially the kiss he’d given you on your forehead…

The moment was abruptly interrupted by a firm knock on the door. The headmaster. He entered with the solemnity of a judge. 'Y/n. I need you to come with me. The royal hall has been called to order.' Your blood froze. You didn’t even have time to ask why. You followed him. The hallway seemed endless. When you entered, every important figure on campus — Alpha, Omega, Beta — was there. The clans were gathered. And at the end of the room… there he was. Heeseung. Standing still, motionless, with his clan surrounding him. He was looking at you. Dark, deep, unreadable eyes. But he was looking at you. He made a slow, barely perceptible nod. It froze your blood, and then you saw him. Sitting in the middle row. Your father. The world crashed down. He couldn’t look you in the face. When he did… it was only to spew words full of hatred. ---You’ve dishonored me. You’ve humiliated me in front of everyone. You were supposed to be a wife, a mother. And instead… you allowed yourself to be marked by a murderer! By that bastard!-- Every word was a dagger. --You’re no longer my daughter. You are nothing. You are a damn disgrace.-- You didn’t know what to say, but Heeseung’s laughter was dry, muffled, yet it exploded like a gunshot in the council hall. A sound so out of place that it broke the silence, making even the oldest leaders flinch. You spun around quickly. You watched him rise slowly from the throne reserved for the supreme Alphas. His clan was silent, united, eyes focused on him, and some on you, like Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jay.

With confident strides, Heeseung stepped forward. Every movement seemed calculated. Lethal. He stopped in front of you, his body almost brushing against yours. One breath, and you would be enveloped in his scent. But he didn’t turn. His gaze was fixed straight on your father. "The only murderer in this room is you," he said, his voice sharp as glass. "You killed my brother. Not for revenge. Not for survival. But because he was stronger than you. Because you couldn’t tolerate another Alpha being superior to you." A murmur spread among the crowd. You were short of breath, your hands shaking. "And now you play the moralist?" Heeseung continued, his look full of pure contempt. "Y/n doesn’t belong to you. She never did. And she will be mine. Because inside her, there’s not only Omega blood… but Alpha blood as well." The silence became deafening. Some leaders whispered, others stared at you in disbelief. You didn’t understand. You stammered, "W-what is he saying? I… I don’t—" Heeseung laughed again. A fiercer sound, almost amused. "Your father has never spoken to you, except for duties. He has never touched you with a gesture of affection. And you know why? Because he knew you weren’t his wife’s daughter."

You turned towards your father. His eyes were filled with hatred. With blind rage. But also… with something that seemed like fear. "It was you who came to me," Heeseung continued, his tone now harsher. "You were the one who sought me out. Because something inside you knew. That becoming the wife of an Omega would have killed you. It would have taken everything from you. Including your soothing powers." A roar rose. Someone stood up. The others looked at your father, shocked. You felt like you were drowning. "ENOUGH!" your father shouted. And in a reckless gesture… he drew a sword. Panic spread. You didn't think: you immediately took refuge behind Heeseung, your heart pounding furiously. He didn't move. He didn't step back even an inch. "Say it," Heeseung hissed, his eyes fixed on that man who had ruined two generations. "Say it in front of everyone. Confess the truth." Silence fell again like a curtain. "That Y/n… is not the daughter of your mate. But the result of your sick experiment." The eyes of the council were fixed on him. Some already knew. Others didn't want to believe it. Heeseung continued, relentless.

"You raped an Alpha. Because you wanted to prove that an Omega like you could break the natural law. You wanted to see if an Alpha, and my brother’s future wife, could accept the knot of an Omega. And when the result... was Y/n... you hid everything. But she is not your mistake. She is your sentence."

Your father shouted. But no one listened. The leaders stood up, one after the other. The guards moved, and you, amidst it all... felt your knees buckle. Your eyes burned. The truths fell down on you like avalanches, the tears carved your face like burning blades. You couldn’t breathe, nor think. Only one question, desperate and raw, exploded in your throat.

"Is it true?!" you screamed, your voice cracking with anguish. "I’m not my mother’s daughter?! I was never loved because... because I was just the result of an experiment?!"

Your father didn’t speak.

But it didn’t matter. Silence is consent. The law was clear. The room was a witness. And you had just lost every foundation of your existence.

You collapsed to the floor, on your knees. Your hands on your face, your body shaken with sobs. Everyone was watching you. The leaders. The clans. The elders. But no one moved. Except for her.

Your best friend, the only one who, in that moment, could have pulled you away from that hell. She ran towards you but stopped suddenly. Not because she didn’t want to reach you.

But because of him, Heeseung.

Still there, unmoving, tall, cold. One look—just one, icy, full of command—was enough to stop her. And she obeyed. She stopped a few steps from you, bitten by pain, but helpless.

You kept crying, silently screaming. In your mind, all the lies played out, all the moments when you’d only asked for a caress, a hug, a word of love... and you had received only coldness. Now everything made sense. A horrible, sick sense, then, in the chaos of your collapse, a hand. A warm hand, placed on your back. A slow, almost imperceptible touch. It drew circles, small, continuous. Trying to calm you. To support you, and you... felt it. Him.

His scent. The one you now knew all too well. The one you had burned into your skin. Heeseung. You froze because in that gesture, there was too much. Too much warmth for someone who hated you. Too much sweetness for someone who had used you. Too many contradictions, now you understood it.

You hadn’t just been his revenge. You hadn’t just been the daughter of the man who had killed his brother. You had become the perfect pawn. His way to prove to the world that an Omega could be strong, that the rules could be rewritten... but also a weapon to mask his own needs. His desire to dominate... and maybe, something more.

You suddenly stood up. Eyes swollen, but proud, you looked at him, your voice trembling, but clear.

"I don’t want to be touched by anyone, especially not by you, Lee Heeseung."

He didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t say a word and you... ran away.

Leaving it all behind: the lies, the council, your family... and him. But not the feelings. Those, like the knot... you carried them inside.

In those days, you hated everyone.

From the first to the last. There was no face, no name, that didn’t make your blood boil. Discovering that all the Alphas knew the truth was like receiving a second knot, this time in your soul. Not just Heeseung, not just your father: even the others. All those proud, arrogant faces, who had always looked down on you... they knew, and they kept silent. Your "mother" had tried to talk to you in every possible way. She knocked softly on the door. She left letters under your teacup. Sometimes she sat outside your room, in silence, just to let you know she was there. But you... couldn’t even look at her. You had been given a new room, closer to your best friend's, in the section reserved for Alphas. An exception granted only because of your bond with Heeseung, but you didn’t feel like an Alpha. You only felt the echo of his knot inside you. A mark. A call. A sentence. The Omega aura that surrounded you had become stronger, more palpable, and at that moment... more painful. That afternoon, however, you gave in. You opened the door, and she entered in silence. Red eyes. A tired gaze. She told you everything. She said she loved you. That she had always loved you. That, even though you hadn’t come from her womb, you were her only daughter.

"I couldn’t have children," she confessed, her voice cracked. "And when your father told me that... that he had found an infant, I... I thought she was the daughter of his previous partner. That she had died in an accident. I never knew the truth. Not until much later. But when I held you in my arms... you became mine." You looked at her. In silence. "Do you know my real mother?" you asked. You didn’t even know where that calm voice had come from. She shook her head. "No. Only the Alphas know her. Only them... and Heeseung." Your stomach tightened. You nodded slowly. No tears. Just exhaustion.

You saw him every day. Heeseung. In class. In the cafeteria. In the halls. Everywhere. Always with that leader-like posture, with that inscrutable gaze and slow, dominating steps. But there was something different. A subtle tension. A crack in his usual control. He tried to talk to you. He waited for you outside the classroom. He got closer when you were taking notes. Sometimes he let you pass in front of him in line, as if it were casual. But it wasn’t. Once, he brushed your wrist when you both reached for the same book in the library. "Y/n..." he murmured. And you gave him only a blank stare, your eyes frozen. And you left him there. Another time, after a class, he followed you all the way to the courtyard.

"You can’t avoid me forever," he said, his voice low, controlled. You didn’t stop.

"Look how you managed to do it for twenty-two years," you replied without turning around. You saw him stiffen. But he didn’t respond.

Every gesture of his was poison. Every attempt, every look, reminded you that he had lied to you.

He had pretended to hate you to justify his control. He had used your desire for freedom to take revenge. He had known everything. About your birth. About your identity, and yet... he had tied the knot with you. He had chosen you, and you couldn’t understand if it was yet another lie or the cruelest truth of all.

A month had passed. Four weeks of silence. Of walls built up. Of coldness that burned more than any knot. You only spoke to his cousin, your best friend, and with the teachers, you only answered when absolutely necessary. A word here, a nod there. And the rest? Silence.

He watched you. Always. He followed you with his gaze in class. He looked for an excuse to brush past you in the hallways. Occasionally, he would place his tray near yours in the cafeteria, but you’d change tables before he could even open his mouth. Everyone had started whispering. That maybe Heeseung had made a mistake. That maybe choosing to knot with you had been a mistake. An Alpha chasing his mate, a half-Alpha Omega, and being ignored like any other student. An embarrassment. A reversal of roles that no one understood… except you. In class, you threw sharp barbs. Once, while discussing bonds and compatibility, you raised your hand:

"Professor, what happens if an Alpha deludes himself into thinking he can control an Omega just because he’s marked her body, but not her heart?" The class erupted in laughter. Heeseung didn’t move a muscle. But his fingers, under the desk, clenched until they turned white.

Another time, while discussing leadership: "There’s a difference between commanding and knowing how to lead. Some Alphas think arrogance is charisma, when it’s actually just… weakness disguised." And there you looked at him. Straight in the eyes, with contempt.

That evening, however, something in him snapped. Heeseung knocked on your door. Once. Twice. Ten times. "Y/n!" Silence, he knocked harder. "Open up, damn it!" The door next to yours suddenly opened. His cousin, your best friend, popped out in pajamas, looking annoyed.

"What do you want, Heeseung?" she huffed. "Where is she?!" he growled. "Where the hell has she gone?!" She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with feigned calm. "Maybe she doesn’t want to be found." "Don’t play games with me, ___!" He snapped at her, approaching menacingly. "Tell me right now where the hell she is!" But she didn’t back down. She looked him in the eyes and teased him with a sharp smile. "What’s wrong, does it bother you that now she gets to decide where and with whom she stays? That she’s ignoring you like a first-year girl who’s regretted it?" "Enough!" Heeseung growled. He grabbed her wrist, but without force. Only desperation. "You know her better than anyone. Where could she be?!" She lowered her gaze for a moment, sighed. Then, she looked him in the eyes. "If you know her at all... you’ll know where to find her." He stopped. His mind was in chaos. Three places. Three memories.

- "The classroom where we kissed for the first time..." A whisper. - "The waterfalls... no. Too far." And finally: - "The lake... beneath the university. On the edge of the forest." He said it in a half voice. His eyes full of panic.

"You’re crazy!" He shouted at his cousin. "You let her go there alone?! At this time?!" She pulled away from him with a sharp motion. She looked at him proudly. "She’s not just an Omega. She’s half Alpha, Hee. Like me. She knows what she’s doing." Then, with a cutting tone: "But you... do you even know what you want to do with her? Or do you just want her to come back to you to fill the emptiness you’ve created yourself?"

Heeseung ran down the castle stairs. But halfway down... he was no longer human. His bones cracked and rebuilt themselves, his clothes shredded to pieces, and his breath became sharper, deeper, wilder. The transformation was instinctive, necessary — his true Alpha nature broke free from all control. He sniffed. The evening wind immediately brought the scent. Your scent — a mix of Omega and Alpha, a fragrance that no one in the world had ever had, and within that aroma was his. Imprinted, mixed, fused. The knot was still inside you, still alive. Still his. The garden opened before him. His paws sank into the wet ground. He ran as fast as he could, between the hedges and the night flowers, sliding toward the lake like a shadow among the stars. When he neared the water... he howled. A desperate, raw, primal howl — a call. A lament. A cry of love and anger together. Where are you...? Then... he saw you. Sitting.

On that wrought-iron chair facing the lake. Still. Hair in the wind, face absent, the aura powerful — a creature born to exist between two worlds and hated by both. Heeseung ran. He jumped between the bushes, lowered his muzzle, felt the beat of your heart even from afar. When he was only a few steps away from you, your aura reacted. You turned. You looked at him and stood up abruptly to leave. No. Not this time. With a leap, he trapped you. He pushed you against the chair, with both gentleness and force, using his animal body to hold you in place. He sniffed you. Everywhere. Your neck, your wrists, your heart. Then he began to lick you. A warm, slow, adoring tongue. On your neck. Under your ear. Your jaw. Your cheek. Your chin. Every lick was a confession. A "I miss you," a "forgive me," a "you're mine," and your body… began to give in. "Heeseung…" you murmured. His name came from you like a stifled sob. He stopped. Pulled away. And in an instant, he was human again. Naked, trembling, vulnerable — his eyes… were not the same as before. A mix of deep brown and blood red. The animal soul and the human one merged within him. And all of it was directed at you. "Y/n…" he whispered. But before he could say anything else… "I hate you." The words came out like an open wound. They weren’t just anger. They were pain — a "you broke me." He stayed there, naked under the moon, silent. And for the first time… he didn’t know what to say. You spat out your anger. "You disgust me." "You're just a bastard." "You used my body for revenge, and now what? Do you want me to forgive you?!"

Each insult was a wound. But he didn’t stop. He bit your skin, with delicate animal-like tenderness. As if to say, "I’m here. Still. Even if you hate me." Then he changed. He slowly transformed. His paws became hands. His muzzle took the form of his face. His chest rose and fell in search of breath. But his eyes remained those of the Leader. The eyes of the Alpha who had marked you but also those of the boy who, maybe, had chosen you. "Stop…" he whispered. He held you tighter, pressing you against his bare chest. "Stop trying to be strong alone. Stop thinking that only you are suffering." You lifted your face, your eyes watery, full of rage. "And what do you know? You who plays at being the savior. You’re weak too, Heeseung." He closed his eyes, as if those words had hit him square in the chest, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he caressed your back, then your side. Slowly. As if he didn’t want to scare you, but to make you crumble. "I wanted to make you suffer… truly." Your voice trembled. "I thought about ending it. So you’d never be able to knot anyone. Not love. Not forget me." Silence. Only the lake. Only the heartbeat. Heeseung paled. His eyes widened. Then he screamed.

"Never say something like that again!" He grabbed you by the arms, and with slow movements, he took off your sweater. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed. He bit with gentle ferocity, not as punishment, but as a confession. A plea. A "forgive me" without words. His voice lowered, broken, angry. "You’re mine. But not because of possession. Because I feel you in every breath. In every dream. In every damn part of my being." And in the silence that followed, while his teeth left an imperceptible mark on your shoulder, you... stayed. His lips were everywhere on your neck, your chest, between your shoulder blades, along the fragile line of your soul. And his bites... Oh, his bites made you moan. Not only for the primal pleasure that set every nerve on fire, but for the dull pain you had been carrying inside for weeks. It was as if his body wanted to heal you. As if each lick, each kiss, each press of his tongue meant: "Stay. Breathe. Come back."

Your hands gripped his strong arms, the pulsing veins of his bare chest, illuminated only by the full moon. He looked like a vision, a nightmare and a dream fused together. "I can't take it anymore…" he whispered, his voice broken, labored. His fingers trembled slightly on your skin. "I want to feel your lips on mine again." You stopped him. You looked him in the eyes, those eyes so familiar yet so foreign. And you warned him. "You didn’t come to save me. You came to ease your conscience, Heeseung. You don’t want me… you want to forgive yourself." For a moment, even the wind stopped. His breath slowed, his body still wrapped in yours, but his soul laid bare. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I'm really sorry. I want to make up for everything…" And that’s when you screamed. With all the pain. With all the truth. "I want to forget! I want to forget all of this, Heeseung! I want it to never have happened! I want you to have never touched me! Never looked at me! Never chosen me!" He snapped. He grabbed your face in his hands, gently but roughly. His eyes, wet and furious, pierced through your soul. "NO, the most beautiful thing in my life… the only thing I don't want to forget… is you." He looked at you as if you were his entire universe. As if all the chaos that had built him had been created for this moment alone. "You were my ruin and my salvation. The only moment I felt peace was when I knotted you. When you fell asleep in my arms, naked, fragile… mine. Even when I pretended to be cold, distant, cruel with you… I wanted you. For years. It wasn't revenge, Y/n. It was desire. It was love I didn’t want to admit." And there, in the silence that followed, only the moon dared to watch you. Only the lake reflected your truth, and without thinking any longer, you crashed your lips onto his. It was like setting the night on fire.

Heeseung grunted against your mouth, a deep, animalistic, primal sound. His hands tightened around your waist as his tongue invaded your mouth with a hunger that seemed to have been held back for centuries. You clung to him, straddling his legs, feeling the warmth and strength vibrating from his body beneath you. You pulled him toward you, hard, as if you wanted to fuse together. You bit his lower lip with a sweet cruelty, and he admonished you with a low growl. But you, with your voice broken and venomous, degraded him with a cold whisper. "I hate you... and you know it well." But your hands spoke a different language, an ancient one, made of repressed desire and anger that burned hotter than love. Heeseung didn’t stop. He continued to kiss you, deeper, more desperately, while his fingers lifted your sweater. In a few seconds, you were left with only a thin tank top and your bra. His eyes, now red and filled with Alpha aura, scrutinized you like prey.

He also slid the tank top off you with a slow, almost ritual gesture, and when he saw your breasts covered only by fabric, something in him changed.

As if he was possessed.

His mouth fell on your chest, between bites and feverish kisses that made you moan, scratch him, pull his hair.

«You bastard... you are just my knot, nothing else.»

Yet your voice trembled, for every bite of it left you confused, every lick made you long again.

He sucked your breasts out of his bra with ardor, and you kept pulling his hair with your aura as a submissive omega, but also as a ruthless alpha. A fragile balance, perfect and then... click.

The hook of the bra gave way under his fingers.

Your breast leaped free in the crisp air of night. The nipples hardened instantly for the cold and her hungry look.

He panted, almost lost and you, with a filthy but sweet voice, whispered into his ear:

«Don’t pretend, Heeseung... you’ve always wanted me, right? Even when you said you hated me.» His hands trembled on your hips and he answered with a roaring voice:

«I wanted you... even before I knew you were mine.»

The forest was in a vibrant penumbra, only the moon filtered through the branches, drawing silvery shadows on the nody logs. The air was saturated with smells: musk, moist earth... and its scent. The spicy and pungent one of an Alpha in full call.

You didn’t have time to react.

He lifted you without warning.

«Ah!» you screamed, surprised, as your body was pushed against the trunk of a tree. His arms squeezed you with a fierce possession, as if that moment had been written in his flesh.

«Do you hear it?» he whispered against your ear, his voice crusty, broken by longing. «Your pussy is rubbing against my cock, and it’s looking for it even if you keep telling me that you hate me.»

«I... I can’t take it anymore!» you froze, trembling. «I hate you... I really do...»

But even as you were saying it, your pelvis moved imperceptibly against his, seeking that heat, that pressure.

He laughed, gloomy, deep, with a grin that was pure sin.

«No, darling. It’s not just your body that wants me. It’s every part of you. Even the one who lies to herself.»

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes lit up with an animalistic glow, and then - without further preambles - slowly slid her fingers under your skirt. The panties came down with a swift movement, and his fingers found at once the proof of your surrender.

«Already wet? So much?» he growled softly, as he stroked you with expert fingers. «I would have taken my time... Open you up, get ready, get yelled at while you were enjoying. But fuck... I can’t resist. I just want to sink into you, tie you and leave you full. Only mine.»

Your eyes were filled with confused tears: desire, anger, fear... and longing.

Your trembling hands, driven by a primitive instinct, pulled off his boxer shorts with ardor. His member was hard, imposing, pulsating with warmth. Your breath was cut off.

The wood seemed to hold your breath. Only your sighs broke the silence.

«Tell me,» he whispered against your neck. «Tell me you want me, even if you hate me. Tell me that your body belongs to me, even if it drives you crazy.»

«I hate you... but I fucking love you!» you shouted, your heart racing. «You drive me crazy, but my body... can’t stop.»

«Good little omega confused...» he muttered. And then howled, a primordial sound that shook the fronds above you.

In a single movement, it sank into you.

A moan will tear your lips, long, deep. The nails dug into his back as he began to move with force, with a wild but precise rhythm. Each shot was a message, a claim, a mark.

«I will keep you here,» he growled. «I will fertilize you, I will keep you tied up... until you learn that you can no longer run from me.»

The moon was the only witness of your bond. United bodies, broken breaths, souls entwined in a darkness that was more desire than shadow.

His impulses were bestial, ferocious, as if he was trying to erase every space within you that did not belong to him.

Each stroke of his cock made you scream, and your screams were mixed between extreme pleasure and uncontrollable tears. You cried, yes, but it was not pain - it was too intense, it was a pleasure so deep that everything shook. You felt split in two and at the same time more alive than ever.

«I hate you!» you shouted at them, with a broken voice, your face wet with tears and sweat. «You’re a bastard!»

He growled softly, squeezing you with a force that made you groan.

«And you are a little half omega and half alpha in heat, mine... always mine. Even when you insult me, your body calls me.»

Your words were full of poison and need, each offense a crooked, animalistic cry of love, which smelled something deeper. He bit your neck, strong, leaving the mark, and then sucked you slowly, mixing violence and tenderness as only an Alpha knows how to do with his mate.

Every push made you jump, your body stretched and broke under him, but you looked for it, you wanted it. His name exploded between your lips as a wave of heat swept you away, that primordial feeling that made you groan like never before.

«Keep on...» you whisper with a broken voice, almost praying. «Please tie me up. Make me yours for real.»

He grunted against your ear, going deeper.

«I want you tied to me. Tight. Filled. Possessed.»

You felt his knot begin to swell inside of you, slow, insistent, and the scream that came up from your throat was no longer contained. Your body bent to his, accepting everything, every pulsation, every wave of pleasure that spread like fire in the veins.

«Yes... yes, so... I want your knot, I want to feel full...» you sigh.

He stopped only when it was completely knotted within you, your tight bodies, fused into an indissoluble bond. His hands caressed you now with sweetness, the breathless breath mixed to yours but the pushes became stronger and deeper, as if he wanted to cross every border of your body and engrave his name inside you. He held you firmly, completely in his power, while the knot kept swelling inside you, and your belly began to stretch, full... full of him.

«Look how my knot is swelling...» he growled against your neck. «Your body accepts everything, wants it, begs for it.»

The words struck you like a hot and violent wave. You babbled between sobs and cut breath.

«It’s too... too deep inside... you’re... you’re filling me up... I can’t think...»

«You must not think,» he replied. «You must only hear.»

And it sank again. Deeper, stronger.

He lifted you with a single gesture, as if you were light as air, bouncing you against his chest. The friction was unbearable, sweet and fierce at the same time. And then... his finger found your most sensitive spot. A pinch, a precise touch, and the world exploded.

A scream escaped from your lips, your body trembled in a wave of uncontrollable pleasure, while the knot felt it pulsating more and more inside you, while your orgasm passed through you like lightning, hot and blinding.

«Good girl, come for me, all over me...» he murmured with a broken voice, adoring you.

You felt your excitement slide down, cover it, drip on your joined bodies. And he did not stop.

«I want you tied, filled. I will bind you again, mark you with my seed, leave you full of me, so much that every breath of yours knows of me.»

With a deep growl, you felt his movements become even slower, more powerful. And then... the heat

A liquid explosion inside you, very long, unstoppable, while the knot pulsed with violence, pushing that pleasure even deeper. You screamed, again, as you felt it fill you completely, so much that you lost the sense of time.

And for a long moment, the world stood still. Only the moon looked at you. Two wild souls, broken, chained by desire and something that neither of them had ever dared to call his real name.

Then, with studious slowness, he made you come down from his arms. Your legs shook as soon as they touched the ground but her touch didn’t leave you for a second.

His hands were fast and strong, they turned you with force and pushed you slightly forward, bent in front of him, the back arched. His gaze burned on exposed skin.

«Get your beautiful ass up,» he ordered in a roaring voice. «I’m not done with you yet.»

You were anxious. «It’s too much...» you protested with a little voice, but didn’t move.

He approached, fingers running down the curve of your hips. «You played the rebel for too long, my companion. Now you learn. You are mine. And I... am yours. That’s how the bond works.»

You sighed, but your legs did not move. His hands caressed the stretched skin, then slipped between your thighs and stopped.

«Look how beautiful you are...» she murmured. «Shine. Swell up. And you’re still leaking my seed.»

Closed your eyes, your breath broken. Yoy did not make in time to reply.

With a single leap, he was again inside you. A cry escaped from your lips, wild, uncontrollable. The pleasure hit you like a slap. The feeling of fullness, after the knot, was even more violent. Each movement was an electric shock, a liquid fire that went through your entire belly.

«Do you hear it?» he growled, sinking with ever greater force. «You take it so well, my little one. Half omega, half alpha... yet your body knows exactly who it belongs to.»

You were stuttering, unable to find sensible words. The sentences broke on your lips, between sobs and groans.

«It’s... too much... inside... too hot...»

He grabbed your hips with force. «And it will be even more. Because I want you completely. With another knot, another mark. I want you to not even walk without feeling me inside of you.»

Each push was deeper than the previous, as the words died out in your throat. Your body trembled, bending to the rhythm. And when you felt the pressure grow again, that second knot that swelled slowly, groaned his name in a broken voice, as if he were praying.

He praised you in a low voice, with words full of desire.

«So good... so mine. My perfect companion. And now you come again. I want to hear you hug me as I fill you up again.»

A few pushes were enough. Your body became stiff, then it was shaken by a violent, uncontrollable pleasure. A scream burst from your lips as she felt it everywhere - inside, around, in every fiber. And when he exploded inside you, you felt it all: the warmth, the depth, the strength. His seed filled you again, warm, abundant, and you groaned again, letting go completely.

The bodies remained united, once again merged under the full moon. There were no more words. Only breath. Only beats. Only them.

That morning, you woke up wrapped in a strange kind of warmth.

It wasn’t just the blankets—it was something deeper, more visceral… a heat pulsing beneath your skin, between your ribs, and in your thoughts.

The air carried a scent you knew all too well by now: wild mint and tobacco—the scent of his skin, his presence.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his red hair—messy and soft—resting against your neck like a silent promise.

You were wearing one of his oversized shirts, hanging down to mid-thigh, and his arms were wrapped around you with a quiet, natural possessiveness—as if he had never known a world where you weren’t his.

You moved gently, trying to slip away without waking him, but his voice reached you in a low, sleepy murmur.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your heart skipped in your chest.

You blushed, inevitably, at the memory of the night before—the moon, the moans, the knot, your bodies tangled in the woods like creatures born to vanish into the wild.

“I just… wanted to get up,” you mumbled, but the words faded as you watched him slowly sit up.

He looked at you seriously, but with a soft light in his eyes.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked, one hand brushing over your side.

You shook your head slightly. “No… just a bit… full, maybe.”

He laughed quietly, almost amused, but his gaze fell immediately to one of the marks he’d left on your neck—a deep, dark bite, still faintly sore.

He touched it gently, a caress that clashed with the roughness of the mark.

You gave him a mock scolding look, more amused than anything.

“You told me you’d only mark me like that after we got married.”

He shrugged, carefree.

“To me, you’re already mine. No ceremony. No fuss.”

“So this is your romantic way of telling me you love me?” you teased, a smile playing on your lips.

He stared at you for a moment, then tilted his head slightly.

“I’ve already told you I love you. The thing is—you haven’t said it back yet.”

His words hung in the air like a sweet blade.

They stole your breath for a moment.

You chuckled, shyly, but he didn’t smile.

He looked at you with that disarming seriousness, his heart written plainly in his eyes.

“Hey… I’m really sorry. For everything you’ve had to go through these past few weeks… and for these 22 years of your life,” he murmured.

And before you could answer, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks, your forehead.

He kissed you like he wanted to erase every doubt, every hesitation, every unspoken word.

And only then, between one kiss and the next, in the softest voice—like a confession you could no longer keep—you said it.

“I love you too.”

The world seemed to stop.

He froze for just a second—long enough to look into your eyes.

And the smile that bloomed on his lips was so real, so raw, it made you forget everything else.

Taglist: @stwrlightt @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio @ancnymcnzjy @sofiafromvenus @kayjiguki @annovaz @kkamismom12 @forrds @inishij @amortenha @sunnysidesins @isagistar @schniti-is-in-the-house @nyxiebabyyy @rubylace @petalsofink @asteriscoverde @azzy02 @sievenderz @reading-wh0re

[byjove]

I hate to condemn people for being freaky and horny but Sigmund Freud was genuinely too freaky and horny to do his job. I forget exactly how fucked that guy was and then I read about one of his case reports or theories and think “man that guy was the one who needed serious psychological intervention”.

[nanamiskentos]

THAT'S SO TRUE — toji fushiguro

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (e) and let the show begin !

prologue. → you vowed to yourself that you would rock toji fushiguro's world as a new year's resolution. but it's christmas eve already, and the year is almost over. by hook or by crook, you're gonna that gorgeous, buff older man in your bed tonight.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)

warnings. reader has never been chill a day in her life, áge gáp, dílf!toji, big díck toji (ofc), voyeurísm (sorta implied), másturbátion (f), jealous sèx, reader watches toji through binoculars, they match each other's freak, creámpíe, reader gets called 'slutty' and 'doll', orál (m and f. receiving)

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. that's so true — gracie abrams

a/n. incredible art by sakimichan 🍃 i had so much fun writing this 😁 reader is an adult!! i imagined toji to be 35-ish, and reader to be 22...? its christmas day for me so i'm a tad late 😩

mp3. bet you're thinking 'she's so cool' kicking back on your couch, making eyes from across the room. wait! i think i've been there too!

if your friends knew what you were up to right now, they'd skip the intervention and go straight to dragging you to the nearest police precinct.

forget a lecture, they would slap a pair of handcuffs on you first, citing charges of being horny to the first degree.

officer! she just can't keep it in her pants!

but did you care? not in the slightest.

you adjust the blinds, nudging them just enough to angle your binoculars a little lower. focus sharpened, lens zoomed in, and there he was. the object of your totally healthy, not-at-all unhinged plan.

the target in question? toji fushiguro.

your next-door neighbour, who also happened to look like he'd walked straight out of a naked biker calendar. leather jacket snug over his broad shoulders, a frame built for sin, and pectorals that were so sculpted, you often dreamed of bouncing walnuts off them. just to see if the nuts would crack.

months ago, you had made a new years resolution to yourself that you wouldn't end this year without bagging the man at least once.

yet here you were on christmas eve, a few days shy of the year's end, still plotting and scheming like a bond villain on how you could charm the socks right off toji fushiguro.

but you feared that tonight was beginning to deliver a cold, harsh slap of reality.

your heart suddenly gives an undignifed lurch as toji swings off his motorcycle in one fluid motion. but your smirk — yes, you had been smirking and you wouldn't deny that, vanished the moment your binoculars caught sight of her.

right behind him, a woman dismounted with all the grace and mature confidence that you wished you could summon on a good day.

you twist the focus knob, an unfamiliar figure sharpening into clarity. tall, polished, probably closer to toji's age rather than yours, and way too pretty for your scheming, heinous comfort.

she's hooking her arm through his like they did this all the time, and her cherry-sweet smile beams up at him like he'd hung the damn christmas lights himself.

and then, then! she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, casual as a snowflake fluttering onto the concrete below.

your chest tightens oddly, though whether it was from jealousy or sheer mortification, you couldn't tell. and you didn't want to tell.

toji fushiguro, for his part, didn't seem fazed, at least, not outwardly. he turns his shaggy head away, smiling faintly with that gruff and polite expression he sometimes wore when someone cornered him into small talk.

not that it mattered. you couldn't stop the frown that tugged at your lips, watching the pair disappear out of view, the motorcycle keys still dangling from his thick fingers.

you sigh, setting the binoculars down with a little more force than necessary. tonight was supposed to be your night, the grand finale where you capped the year off with a big win in the shape of this six-foot-two man, with green eyes that could strike you dumb.

and you had even planned ahead! you'd been certain that there wouldn't be any pesky interruptions, particularly of the pint-sized variety.

not that you had anything against megumi fushiguro, he was a good kid — if a little unnerving with that brooding energy he carried around like a hefty backpack.

but still, you'd never really spoken to him much. call it morals or basic decency, but dragging a clueless kid into your schemes just felt a little wrong.

so when you had overheard toji casually mentioning that megumi was out for a sleepover with some friend, something about how nice it would be to have a night for himself, you had taken that as a sign from the universe. a green light.

fate herself waving you through the doors to make your move.

except now, traitorous fate had also thrown you a curveball in the form of the older, mystery woman who had been clinging to toji's back on the motorcyle. all expensive burgundy fur, and a darling blowout that was way out of a college student's pay cheque.

still, you're not the kind of woman who folds at the first sign of trouble. no, you think, squaring your shoulders. who would you be if you gave up now? perseverance is the backbone of triumph, or something like that.

the walls of this apartment are criminally thin, and you trust that the muffled thuds coming from next door are none other than toji fushiguro leading his...date up the stairs and down the hallway. the metallic jingle of keys confirms it, a sound that sends a pang of irritation prickling beneath your skin.

your gaze shifts to your desk, to the corkboard cluttered up with polaroids of your friends, random university flyers, and pinned up lecture schedules that you never follow. you press three fingers to your lips, in a respectful and solemn kiss, before tapping your photograph of aaron hotchner, in a promise for the near future.

"i won't give up, hotch," you murmur, the solemn, printed face of thomas gibson crossing his arms — gazing back at you, a beacon of motivational determination.

and with that, you grab a notepad and the first pen you can find, even though it's half-dried and it can barely write. you flip the pages open, and begin dotting down your back-up plan on how to score toji fushiguro tonight.

you're pretty sure it's been an hour since you started furiously scribbling on paper. five dried-out pens and a mountain of crumpled drafts later, each one titled with variations of how to get toji fushiguro in my bed, your notepad is starting to look like a pathetic manifesto.

you sip idly at your grape soda, the fizzy sweetness staining your tongue a violent purple. and listen, to be clear, you're absolutely a feminist. truly. you're not the type to believe in pitting women against each other. that's messy, unsophisticated, and frankly it's far beneath you.

but sadly, here's the other thing. desperate times call for desperate measures. and as much as you hate to admit it, toji fushiguro, your brooding and hulking neighbour with shoulders that eclipse the sun, has your resolve teetering right on the edge. the wanting and lusty human spirit is unbreakable, and the idea of losing is as appealing as licking sandpaper.

the sound of a low thud breaks through your plotting, as you drop the end of the pen out of your mouth. your ears perk up at the faint creak of a door opening. you recognise the gruff voice, muffled through the thin walls.

"damn heater's out again. 'm just gonna go check the switch downstairs."

uh-huh. that's what you thought. this was just act one of the stage play.

see, about forty five minutes ago, inspiration had struck. you'd realised you needed to get toji out of his apartment, and given his bear-like simplicity: eat, sleep, grumble, repeat, it wasn't exactly that easy.

but every man needed his rest, and no man could rest on christmas eve when the snow was sticking to the window pane from the cold.

so, you had snuck downstairs and flipped the heater's breaker to his apartment off, leaving the rest blissfully untouched. setting an ideal trap for the vast man.

you crack your door open, just enough to watch him lumber off towards the left staircase.

it's one of two routes down to the basement, and the fastest, if you hadn't intercepted fate. about twenty minutes into your plan, you had grabbed a handful of out of order signs (printed with comic sans, the true villain of typography) and plastered them halfway down the left flight of stairs.

you dart towards the right staircase, your knee-high socks skimming the concrete steps in a frantic descent. as you reach the halfway point, you hear the telltale grunt of a frustrated toji.

"damn management can't even warn people about closures," he's muttering to himself, heavy footsteps falling in line behind yours.

right on cue. by the time he reaches the basement, there you are, innocently peering at the big, clunky switchboard. like it wasn't you who had just broken into it to render toji's apartment a freezing chill.

your sweater's been strategically tugged off one shoulder, and you're pretending the icy air isn't slicing at your bare legs, left exposed by the shortest pair of shorts you own.

"what brings ya down here?" toji grunts, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

you count it as a small victory when his eyes sweep over you, slow and deliberate, before the older man coughs and shifts his focus back to the switchboard. you sidle closer under the guise of curiosity, so close that the fabric of your sweater brushes his arm. the steel biceps flexing under the tight, black fabric of his tee.

"i don't know," you sigh, feigning innocence with a touch of melancholia, "it jus' got so cold of all a sudden." you cross your arms over your chest, pretending to shiver just enough to catch his attention without looking concerningly ill.

toji glances down at you briefly, his brow furrowing, "mhm. yeah," he mutters, before turning back to the labyrinth of switches, "can't believe how these clowns the place."

you watch as the man leans in, studying the panel like it's some kind of ancient artefact. his expression is set in that serious, furrowed way men always get when faced with the unfamiliar terrain of household maintenance.

cute. almost.

you, of course, had done your homework. a quick google search of the model number earlier had led you to the manual, and you already knew it was the purple switch on the top right. but why rush, eh? if toji fushiguro wanted to play handyman, who were you to deprive him? especially when you needed a little more time to set the mood, to give him some ideas.

every time his fingers hovered closer to the correct switch, you leaned in, cutting him off with casual chatter. enough to have the man's eyes drop over you once more, before flicking away before he could break the bounds of propriety.

"so, are you doing anything tonight?"

"what?" his gruff tone reverberates through the dim basement, bouncing off the concrete walls.

you flutter your lashes at him, meeting his sharp, verdant gaze, "i mean, it's christmas eve. got any fun plans?"

he straightens slightly, his hand falling from the panel as he looks right at you, "nah. just stayin' in." but toji tilts his head and throws the question back at you, "why aren't you?"

"why aren't i, what?" you tilt your head to mirror the man, feigning confusion, "staying inside? i was, but then i got cold. y'know, busted heater and all."

toji exhales through his nose, and you watch mesmerised as the scar twitches over his lip, "no, doll. i mean, doing something fun. you're young. got your whole life ahead of you to be old and boring."

the faintest flicker of a genuine smile tugs at the corner of your glossy lips. if only he knew. you clear your throat, "i guess," and you shrug, the movement subtle, but just enough to let your sweater slip a little further off your shoulder, "it's just not my...taste."

your gaze trails over him, deliberate but not obvious enough to tip the scales out of your hand. you hope that you're not wide-eyed taking in how his broad shoulders ripple, almost tense?

"ah." toji fushiguro, everybody. a man of great wit, and even greater vocabulary.

he's tapping a knuckle against the switchboard, frowning at the rows of colourful levers like they've personally insulted him. you take the moment to edge a little closer, peering up at him with a deliberate and doe-eyed expression.

"need help?" you ask, voice sweet enough to break through teeth.

toji snorts, "you? help me with this?" he glances at you sideways, one thin brow quirking up, "i've got this, doll," but he seems to sober up, remembering that he does not have this, "unless you even know what this thing does?"

"of course i do," you shrug, feigning nonchalance, "i'm pretty good at flicking the right switch."

and what a sweet, untainted victory when toji's movements still. he doesn't tear his gaze away from the switchboard, but his hands pause and you see his lips twitch, "uh-huh."

"you should probably head back upstairs," he says gruffly, his tone almost concerned, "basement's freezin' and you're gonna catch a cold in, uh," and toji's gesturing vaguely at your thin ensemble, clearly trying to be polite.

"i know, but i was just comfortable in this," you run your hands, pretending to tug at the hem of your shorts. ignoring how the goosebumps are practically beating your ass right now, and you're about an inch of a temperature drop away from hypothermia.

toji fushiguro mutters something under his breath, something about attitude and young people these days, but he doesn't move away when you sidle back closer to him again, the faint brush of your arm against his making the great man stiffen up again.

"so, no christmas eve plans at all?" you press again, cocking your head, "not even a little festive cheer? eggnog?"

"festive cheer?" toji scoffs, finally pulling the purple switch as the low hum of the heater continues to chug away. dusting his hands off like he's just solved a national crisis, like you couldn't have solved that ten minutes ago, "i'm not big on christmas."

"that's tragic," you sigh, "and i was gonna ask you to stand with me under the mistletoe." your tone is teasing, light enough to deflect any serious questions but you let your lips form a soft pout. just enough to teeter on the edge of innocence. the faint, almost-whine in your tone is carefully calibrated: harmless on the surface but laced with the kind of undercurrent that can plant ideas in a man's head.

"ya' got jokes tonight," toji's gaze lingers, a little longer than necessary. you don't miss the way his shoulders draw tighter together. how his jaw ticks, but the real prize for you is when his hand slides up to rub the back of his neck, fingers kneading at the thick muscle, like he's trying to shake something loose.

the corner of your mouth twitches again, oh. you've got him now.

"imagine going through life, so lonely on christmas. that's gotta do something to a person." you're so not seeing the pearly gates, but you've come to terms with that.

"yeah? like what?" toji huffs.

you tap a finger against your chin, pretending to think, "well. for starters, it probably makes you very grumpy."

"tch, 'm not grumpy," toji rasps, but his tone says otherwise, as he runs a hand through sleek strands of dark hair, "yer' something else, you know that?"

"i've been told."

tojo shakes his head again, and you don't miss the faint smile tugging at the corner of his thin mouth, "alright, kid. time to head back up before you freeze to death down here."

time's up on this charade. you puff out a breath, your coy bravado dimming just a little bit, "fine, fine. but i'm not a kid, y'know."

toji's green eyes flick to yours, like chips of sea-glass as he holds your gaze, before turning back towards the stairs, "yeah. i know."

you follow him up in silence, the soft patter of your socks suddenly too cold on the pavement. at the top of the steps, toji pauses, glancing back at you with an unreadable expression, "get some rest. and make sure no-one's messin' with the switches."

"why would they do that?" you say, a touch too quickly.

"no reason," toji says, just as abruptly, stepping back as though putting physical distance between you two would help, "but it's all fixed now. go on, back to your apartment."

you blink, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift, "what? no thanks for keeping you company."

"thanks," toji fushiguro says flatly, but his gaze isn't unkind.

"wow. don't get too sentimental on me now."

"goodnight," the man deadpans, swinging your door open for you, just for good measure. before turning on his heel, and heading for his own room.

back to the drawing board.

toji fushiguro is convinced that the universe has it out for him. some karmic retribution is surely circling overhead, just waiting to strike. because really, what other explanation is there for his constant predicaments?

his life had been fine, a little lonely, sure, but manageable. until you moved in next door, perhaps sometime last year. sweet, maddening, entirely too pretty for your own good.

what the hell was toji supposed to do with that?

he's still rubbing the back of his neck, pushing open the door to his apartment. his date, right, was still perched on the old couch, scrolling through her phone. she's looking up at him when he entered, arching a brow.

"hey, you were gone for a while," she lightly comments, tucking her phone away.

"yeah, uh, sorry 'bout that," he mutters, crossing to the kitchen, "this place has a habit of breaking down on me."

shui had set him up with this woman, insisting that toji needed to crawl out of his self-imposed hermit hole and start living a little.

"you're not getting any younger, fushiguro," shui had snarked, as if toji didn't already feel every year weighing on him. so, fine. he'd agreed, figuring one dinner with a woman way out of his tax bracket wouldn't kill him.

and to be fair, the date had been...fine. the woman was attractive, sharp-witted, and she didn't pester him with inane questions. the kind of woman that most people would be thrilled to spend an evening with. but toji just couldn't shake the strange emptiness that had settled in his chest.

still, he had told himself to quit overthinking. maybe he was just out of practice. or maybe shui oddly had a point, and he needed to stop letting life pass him by. so, he'd invited her back to his place, hoping another glass of wine and small talk would lead one things into another.

what he hadn't counted on was running into you in the basement. how your light voice would replay in his head, that teasing lilt burrowing under his thick skin and leaving him restless.

tojo shakes his head, reaching for a couple of glasses and the half-decent bottle of wine that he kept stashed away from megumi's prying hands. kid was at that age where he was too damn curious for his own good about everything. his brain, however, was still stuck in the basement, circling around you.

what the hell had you been doing there anyway? sidling up to him all close, sickeningly sweet perfume or some shit that made his jaw clench. batting long lashes at him, and teasing him about mistletoe kisses.

civility. decency. that was the bare minimum that he could give you, wasn't it?

"you've got quite the collection of, uh, things up there," his date's voice pulls him back, gesturing to the open cabinet with a polite smile. toji glances at colourful boxes of cereal, and the little plastic bowls with cartoon animals splashed all over them. megumi's favourites.

"yeah," he says gruffly, pouring the wine, "got a kid. just the one."

she nods, taking the glass he hands her, "that's sweet. how old?"

"six. he's...not here tonight."

before his date can reply, catch the insinuation that he's thrown out, another sound filters through the paper-thin walls. a giggle, a sweet laugh followed by a voice he knows all too well.

"i know, right! he was like, totally into me!"

toji freezes, the wine bottle hovering mid-pour over his second glass. he sets the bottle down with a little more force than necessary, pretending not to notice the way his date glanced toward the wall, clearly having heard you too. fantastic. as if the universe hadn't done enough to torment him today.

his teeth ground together as your voice floated through again, a singsong lilt that made his chest thump, and irritation flare all at once. what were you even talking about? who the hell was 'totally' into you?

"uh-huh," you had been laughing, your voice carrying through the wall, "and then, he asked me out!"

toji's grip tightens on his glass, wondering who on earth managed to pull you into a date. wait, why did he even care?

his date seems oblivious to the internal war raging inside of him, taking a sip of her wine and smiling, "so, what's your son's name?"

"megumi," he mutters, absently, eyes flicking through the wall like he could see through it if he squinted hard enough. ugh, what an awful thing to think. what was wrong with him? acting like freak, not able to mind his own business.

his date's laugh is soft and polite, "that's cute."

cute, yeah.

you thought it was cute too, didn't you? he remembered the way your eyes lit up when megumi toddled after you once in the hallway, clutching one of his ridiculous animal-print bowls.

"oh, what did i say?" your voice drifts again through the walls, following by a light laugh, "look, he was cute and all, but he just wasn't my type."

toji rubs a hand down his face, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his noise. you're just his neighbour. you're entitled to have your fun, to live your own life. that doesn't mean he has to like hearing about it.

meanwhile, his date sits stiffly on the couch, politely pretending your voice isn't bleeding through the walls like a radio she can't turn off. she's doing a commendable job of feigning disinterest, but toji knows it's killing what little momentum the evening had.

he clears his throat, trying to salvage things, "so, uh, got any plans for tomorrow? something fun for christmas?" great, now he's stealing lines from you.

her smile tightens, polite but clearly wavering, "just lunch with my family. my sister's bringing her kids over."

toji nods, grasping at conversational straws, "that's nice. i've got, uh, a brother. and an annoying little cousin."

"right," and she's glancing up at the clock, her patience thinning faster than her smile.

"oh, come on," your voice pipes up again, clearer this time, "you know my type's never been those kinds of guys. i like the big, rough ones." there's a pause, and then you laugh, the sound both coy and infuriatingly knowing, "yeah, like a bit older. all muscles."

toji freezes, trying to pretend like his insides aren't doing the tango. his date, on the other hand, has clearly reached her limit. her lips purse into a tight smile as she stands, smoothing her dress, "look, you've been nice and all," she says, voice clipped, clearly cutting off the chances of a second date, "but i really should get going."

toji fushiguro doesn't argue. doesn't even try to stop her. just watches as her expensive-ass coat swings off his couch, her heels clicking toward the door and her figure vanishing down the hallway.

he slouches back on the couch, arms sprawled wide, feigning a calm that he doesn't definitely feel. in truth, he's seconds away from keeling over, his chest tight and his pulse betrays him.

"huh?" your voice filters through the paper-thin walls, questioning and laced with mirth. the sound sends a shiver down his spine, and down somewhere else, "oh, my neighbour? toji, yep, that's him!"

his head jerks up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, eyes boring into the wall like he can will it to dissolve. tch, he's being such a dog. his ears are straining, sharp and unreasonably hopeful.

"yeah, he's so perfectly my type. tsk! yes, of course, i wish he'd just...yeah. anyway. but," you sigh, a dramatic exhale, "but i just don' think he's into me."

toji freezes, as heat floods his face, creeping down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. there's a traitorous clench in his groin as his stomach flips in a way that's both exhilarating and completely unwelcome.

the truth — shameful and complicated as it is — is that he is very much into you. has been for months. and it's getting worse.

every time you lean into him with those wide, sparkling eyes, every time you tease him with some playful jab or brush your fingers against his arm like it’s nothing, it carves a little deeper into his self-control. you're sweet, bright, always full of questions and comments that manage to sound innocent and maddeningly suggestive all at once.

but there's a prickling shame that comes with it, too, a harsh voice in the back of his head that tells him to grow the hell up. he's a grown man, for crying out loud.

a grown man with a kid who needs him, who already has enough on his plate without the complication of a pretty little neighbour who could turn his world upside down without even trying.

what could he offer you, anyway? you, who barrels down the hall in the mornings with an oversized bag bouncing against your hip, always late for something important, always in motion.

your life is big and full and bursting with possibilities. his, by comparison, feels...worn. quiet. comfortable in a way that makes him feel ancient when he looks at you.

still, it doesn't stop toji from looking. or from thinking things he shouldn't, like how your laughter lights up even the dullest days. or sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, pulling his hard cock out to tug on it, imagining your doe-eyes peering up at him.

toji rubs a hand over his face, groaning quietly into the crook of his elbow. what the fuck is he supposed to do with this?

you're starting to lose precious steam. for all your big talk about not giving up and winning toji over, the spark of confidence that got you this far is starting to sputter out. the lines that you'd carefully scribbled in blue ballpoint ink, a full script of fake laughter and coy quips begins to feel...a little tragic.

half an hour of pacing your apartment and pretending to be on the phone has left you feeling deflated, and painfully self-aware. your voice has grown too practiced, too rehearsed and you're starting to wonder if you even sound convincing anymore. and for all you know, toji fushiguro didn't even hear one word of it.

he's probably in there, sprawled on his couch, having a great time with his date. maybe laughing, maybe pouring wine, or maybe he's taken her to bed. fuck, your stomach lurches as your insides flip for no good, kind reason.

you glance at the cooling grape soda on your nightstand, still fizzing lazily in its can, and suddenly feeling quite awful. disgusted with yourself for the plotting, the dramatics, and the fact that it hasn't paid off in the slightest.

with a sigh that's more frustrated and resigned, you flop back onto your bed, ignoring the slight bounce of the mattress as you land. your apartment suddenly feels too hot, the air sticky and stifling.

you kick off the blanket that's bunched around your ankles, and you lie sprawled on top of the quilt. head tilted back against the pillows as you take in the dull hum of the light fixture and the occasional creak of the pipes.

with a despondent sigh, you find yourself half-heartedly parting your legs — maybe to entertain some false fantasy instead. you could have gone out, maybe really lived a little, just as toji had suggested.

you roll down the waistband of your shorts, pulling at the soft, elastic band. just tugging them down enough so you can trail your hands over the flesh of your thighs. yeah, you were that morose right now.

perhaps, you should have accepted the invites to all those christmas parties. you could have dolled up a little, grabbed a sweet drink or two on the house, fallen into the strong arms of a stranger?

you trail your hands over thin, soft skin. nails gently grazing over your mound, as you quickly run your middle finger through your slit, already dewy and moist. you muffle a small whine, because for all your showmanship earlier, you weren't above decency. and these walls were truly that thin.

but it's hard to not buck your hips up into your own touch, working your puffy cunt open with steady fingers. one finger, and then a second, fluttering at a gentle pace. how telling that the mysterious stranger in your fantasies is suddenly far older, with hazy green eyes and charcoal hair falling over his face.

you substitute the slap of your fingers for his, pretending its a rough thumb that pulls at your clit, gently pushing the throbbing hood up to run misshapen circles over the bundle of nerves.

"hah," you try to gnaw at your lower lip, keeping your mouth shut, as you're desparate for the creak of your bed frame to not carry over into the apartment next door, "t-toji, please."

there's a faint thud from next door, like someone has just hit their head. but you can hardly register it in your own mind. shuffling whines leaving your lips, as you use your fingers to stretch out your slick, sodden walls. getting faster, and faster with each piston-like gesture to curl the pads of your fingers up. searching, keening around for that rough spot that makes you squeal.

your eyes are fluttering shut, lashes falling against your cheek as your jaw tightens, heartbeat beginning to race as you heave for air, back arching up as you use your other hand to furiously flick over your clit, building up a steady ache in your wrist that you ignore, "ah, ah, toji, r-right there, fuck, 'm close."

each press of your finger against the walls of your entrance results in a large squelch echoing through your ears, getting closer and closer to that devastating peak, all the while as hallucination-toji snickers down at you and —

"hey!"

and just like that, your long-awaited orgasm, your beautiful climax, well. she disappears with nary a goodbye. your eyes snap open, heart hammering as you blink up at the dull ceiling. your hand is yanked away from your cunt, the cool air suddenly hitting the slick that's coating your fingers. your mind stutters, scrambling for clarity as an all-too-familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

"hey! c'mon, doll. don't have all day."

toji. toji fushiguro. oh, shit.

the panic rises quickly, what are your options? dive out the window and hope that you land on your feet? or fake an illness so convincing that you convince him that's contagious so he leaves? you consider it for a moment, but something else takes over. far more brave, or just reckless and lust-addled. you pull yourself upright, tugging your shorts back up. you shift your sheets, making sure that the dark, translucent patch is covered.

you pad towards the door with the air of a man marked for execution. when you swing it open, you're met with a red-faced toji. is he flushed?

you drop any cute pretense, and instead, lock your petulant gaze on his chest, straight up with the no eye-contact rule. it gives you a real, shameless good look at those heavenly sculpted pecs.

"what do you want?" you ask, voice as flat as you can possibly manage. but you're keenly aware of that mirror-gloss still coating your hands, and you wonder if its too obvious to scrunch your fingers in your sweatshirt. gross, someone get you out of here. the misery of your own making.

toji stands there, entirely dumbounded, and you notice the flush creeping up the peachy tan of his neck, a shade deeper than usual, "what do i want? what do you want?" he says, his voice rock-rasp.

you swallow thickly, ignoring the addled scent of leather, musk and something far more faintly addictive, "i have no idea what you mean."

toji huffs, obviously amused, before mimicking your voice with exaggerated sweetness, "oh, toji, please. right there, toji." he's mocking you, and your skin burns with the recent memory of that exact tone.

you consider for a split second if you can just hand him your lease tomorrow morning and call it quits. but then, toji continues, "y'know these walls are thin, right?"

you cross your arms, trying to steady yourself, ignoring how your poor cunt clenches with the faint memory of her ruined orgasm, "really? i had no idea."

toji mirrors your actions, his arms folding, but the effect only pushes his pecs up, and you try not to get distracted. but it's hard, very hard, "don't get all smart with me now. been hearing you giggle all evenin' and being all slutty."

"thought you had a date," you mutter, the act of playing pretend has long since passed and you're too far gone now to pretend. you scowl up at toji, meeting his gaze head-on, feeling your heart race as his eyes narrow and his pink lips part slightly. you can almost feel the urgent heat of his gaze dragging over your hand, your damp fingertips.

"how'd you know about my date? suddenly real concerned for me?" toji tilts his head, voice laced with infuriating amusement, and you fight the urge to lash out, to throw yourself into him and kiss him fuckin' stupid. instead, you dig in your heels, staying put.

"no, i'm not concerned," you stutter, floundering for a reason, "i'm just, well —"

"who asked you out?" toji cuts through your flickering thoughts, an undercurrent of something sharper in his tone.

"huh?"

"who was it? the one who isn't your type?" toji fushiguro says this all so casually, making your stomach flip. so he had been listening, he heard every word of you flouncing around your room.

you swallow hard, ignoring the sudden fluttering in your chest, "why? you jealous?" the words spill out before you can stop them, you raise an eyebrow, feeling a small victory in the way his priggish expression falters just slightly, "just go back to your date, fushiguro."

"gettin' real bold now," he murmurs, and you realise just how close the two of you are. how you can feel his body heart radiating off him. the tension between you is suffocating to say the last, and you can't decide if you want him to step back or push closer. he doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"thanks to your pretty antics, she sent herself packin', and now i'm all on my lonesome."

"how sad for you," and you suddenly curl your lip, "get a vibrator."

toji's maw drops open for a split second, before he shakes his head, "you first. don't know how you were doing all that without one," and he nods to your hand, "and because i wasn't hearin' much else."

something bold and red-hot comes over you, egged on by the damp sticking to your thighs, "want a visual demonstration?"

you barely have time to form a coherent thought before toji moves, a low growl rumbling in his barrel-like chest as he surges forward. his hands, large and calloused and warm, cup your face with surprising gentleness, though the intensity in his gaze leaves no room for doubt. then, his lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting. the faint scrape of the scar cutting across his mouth sending a shiver through you.

it's not careful, it's testing and tasting. as if he's waiting for you to push him away. but oh, you're not going anywhere. not when his kiss is setting your nerves alight, and sending your heart into a dizzying free fall. merry christmas to you, indeed.

you respond in kind, just as desperate, your hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders. the solid, hefty weight of toji beneath your fingers grounds you, even as the world tilts on its axis.

"ohh, look at you," toji all but purrs, pawing his hands over your back, your waist, settling over your hips as he pushes you further into your apartment. a strong arm stretching out to slam the door closed, tugging you further in. it seems he's too needy to even reach the bed, and you whine as you're shoved with your back to the wall. his hand coming up to make sure you don't quite slam in with too much force.

toji's lips are practically meshed to your own, and he's already pulling at the waistband of your shorts again. just as you were doing earlier, and you shudder, feeling thick fingers run along your hips.

"s-shit," toji gasps, "if ya' don't want me to —"

you groan, "no, n-no. want you," your voice quivers suddenly as warm fingers press into your soaked cunt. finding home right among your weeping slit. you don't even see where your shorts have been thrown, instead focusing on toji's hazy eyes flickering when they see that you've been wearing nothing underneath. all damn evening.

you don't think you've ever seen the man so dishevelled, heaving for air, as he tries to come to terms with all this, "so when you were in that basement, jus' tryna tease me? is that what you wanted?"

you can't help but laugh, but it's quickly cut off when toji's pressing a hot kiss to the very tip of your clit, it's so feather light and oddly gentle for the gruff man, and it has you keening over.

"that's it, gon' have you all in my mouth. gonna drink ya' up, it's what you wanted, right?" he uses two fingers to press right up against your entrance, parting your oozing folds so he can narrow his eyes at how ready you are for him, "gonna put this all in a cup, and drink it."

"t-toji!" you whine out, feeling your head go all light, and weightless, watching toji play with your core. seeing the older man gape at how you're soaking divots into his fingers, seeing emerald eyes darken with a carnal need to taste you. right now.

"stay still, doll. yeah, just for a sec," toji's hands tighten around your thighs, smacking a fat glob of spit over your trembling core, letting his index finger run the fluid up and down your pussy, a ragged laugh running raw from his smart mouth, "had no idea you were like this, been burying your pretty fingers in your cunt for me before, right?"

you need to get a hit of your own in, before toji fushiguro turns your mind to mush, "you been fisting around your cock for me, then too? bet it super hard when — fuck!"

your words are cut off by the flat pads of his fingertips coming down to deliver a jolt to your throbbing clit, slapping wet arousal around as toji almost glares up at you, but it's softened by lazy fondness.

"watch ya' mouth, doll. 'm wanting to go easy on you tonight."

he's delving straight into your cunt, like a man starved and searching for salvation between your thighs. you feel your mind go blank, that ruined orgasm of the past hour practically gaining a life of her own and cheering once more, coming back to you in embarrassing, full force as it barely takes a few, quick munches of toji's tongue around your sweet pussy.

that's all you need before you're quickly seeing flashing stars, and doing your best to hide the tremble in your thighs. but toji's having none of that.

his laugh is low, mocking and so ruined, "tchh, i really did interrupt ya' didn't i? must have been so close on that bed," but he's not stopping, practically speaking into your stimulated cunt, punctuating his words with buttery kisses, "must have caught ya' on the very edge for her to so ready for me."

"shut u-up."

"your wish? my command," toji snickers, letting your slick, running juices gather over his chin, "and you taste so good. she's a sweet thing, right," and you realise that he's not talking about you, but rather, about your weeping, glossy cunt that's shoved against his sharp nose. you've got the man practically pussydrunk already, and he's hardly gotten a good feel for it.

his hand comes to rest on your bare thigh, tapping it, "now 'm gonna need you to move that, yeah, that's right," you're slotting it over his broad shoulders, and it pulls him closer. and at this point, you don't even care for how you should be embarrassed, should be feeling some shame at having this rugged, older man salivating into your cunt. but there's a shocking glee instead, a quiet victory that's bubbling in your abdomen and already demanding an encore.

his tongue darts out again, this time he's prodding the muscle at your entrance, feeling for that slight resistance made weaker by your fingers earlier, all on your own. the very tip of his tongue in you has you whining again, slapping a hand over your lolling mouth.

"move that hand," toji grunts, punctuating each word with a flick to your clit.

"i c-can't," you gasp, hands finding a home in his clingy, dark strands, "people are gonna hear-ahhh," he's practically mouthing himself onto your pussy, slick strands separating from his lips each time he pulled away for air. the stimulation is making you so much more sensitive, tears springing to the corners of your eyes as the pleasure begins to sting so deliciously.

you pull fingers through ink-black hair, delicate threads that are soft to the touch and feather-light, "h-here, toji," you curl your fingers to angle him perfectly just so, and the burly man is letting you use him, letting you drag his mouth over your slippery folds. just so you can get him to flick his tongue over that spot that makes you cry out so perfectly.

and toji thinks he's never seen a greater sight. he feels a dizzy, heaving tightness in his jeans, that ache building in his groin like he's about to bust his load just from having you fall apart so prettily on his tongue. he ups the pace, making sure to nimbly etch patterns over your heated, swollen clit. he had you right where he wanted you, needed you, and he'd be damned before he'd left you high and dry.

"y'know, 'm thinking about to see this pretty pussy cum again," and toji sounds so proud, taking gratified in the fact that after only one taste, he's already attuned to the signs of your climax. the way your eyes roll back in your head, tears pricking at your eyes in a way that makes his cock ache even harder.

you're unabashed now, rolling your hips into him at a messy pace. letting spikes of white-hot and red-searing pleasure curl up in your abdomen, ready to burst. the entirety of his lower chin is coated in sweet slick, glistening his rough scar, with a clear drop just beading at his lip.

"i-i think 'm gonna, toji, toji - feels s-so —"

toji's mocking you, pitching his raspy voice up again to capture your tone, "oh yeah? 'm gonna, what? what are ya' gonna do? gonna cum, because that's what i'm here for, doll."

he's making a mess now, switching between a cool, short puff of air at your throbbing clit, and letting his tongue push into your gummy walls, unending pleasure until —

"aaand, cum. now, doll."

it bursts within you, swiftly and briskly. so intense that the edges of your visions become clouded with dark spots, a hazy vignette of sheer pleasure from toji's mouth running all over the filthy mess you've created. the gushing climax that must be soaking the scuffed, dark floorboards beneath toji's bent knees.

you don't even realise that you're still babbling his name, entirely lost in the daze of your second orgasm of the night. little cries of toji, like a prayer over and over, mantras that are making toji grin with his gleaming lips underneath you. all as he wraps his arms around your thighs, lifting you with brute strength. all the while not separating himself from your oversensitive cunt, petting soft kisses over your inner thighs, "gorgeous thing, aren'tcha? think ya' give me another one?"

you groggily lift your head as he sets you down on the bed, caging you beneath his considerable frame, "why? don't wanna, uh, stuff my stocking tonight?"

toji's green eyes flicker with mirth, amusement, only punctuated by him rolling them back in faux-disgust, "still runnin' that clever mouth, hah."

you squirm as he pushes his rough hands under your sweatshirt, letting both hands cup your breasts, pinching and twirling fingertips over your nipples, "are you a, mmph, a candy cane, toji?"

he doesn't break his concentration from where he's peeling your top off, "what nasty shit are ya' gonna say now?"

you giggle as he brushes past a particularly ticklish spot, "because i think you're s-sweet, and i wanna suck you."

"fuck."

in the blink of an eye, he's got you perched over on your knees, just as he hovers you. waistband pulled down enough to reveal black boxers, close enough that you could stick your chin out and press a soft kiss to the darkened patch of pre-cum that must be driving toji crazy.

and well, it's big. like it's jingle bells, jingle balls type of big. you drag your eyes from soft, curled black hair at the base of his groin and down an angry, thick red shaft that makes you clench your thighs.

"wan' me to slide over your chimney?"

that gifts you a barked, punched laugh out of the man — toji's got a large hand wrapped around his cock, "c'mon, doll. put that smart mouth to good use then," inching it closer to your lips in silent permission. you part your lips, anticipating the savoury pre that coats your tongue, the translucent fluid dripping from your mouth already.

he's thumbing down on your lower lip, easing the red mushroom tip into your waiting, eager mouth, "hah, think ya' were meant to take me. how's...how's this slutty mouth so perfect?" toji sounds ruined, all rock-salt rasp and his pink lips fall open, and a flush is painted over his tan skin.

you've never been one to give up, ready to angle your head lower, eager to take as much of him as possible into your mouth. but it's a hard stretch, as crystalline tears cling to your lashes, from the tight wrap of the back of your mouth around his throbbing cock.

toji's got his hand wrapped in your hair now, and you can tell that he's trying to be gentle with the strands as he angles your head lower, purring as you take him so well, "f-fuck, a perfect tease, yeah? fuckin' amazing," and you know he's telling the truth, for his cock is practically twitching with a life of its own in your mouth.

you've got this man hazy and drunk, just from sucking you off, and the realisation makes you whine all over again. reaching a hand down in between your thighs to rock up against your clit, all at the same steady pace.

and you know that toji is close, for those sculpted thighs of pure muscle tremble now, the powerful cords quivering as he bucks his hips, fucking your mouth in long, steady strokes. you also realise that you want him to cum, just like this, to have thick white fall from your lips to really seal and sweeten the deal.

but suddenly, you're left popping your lips shut, as toji groans, genuinely groans and shudders, pulling himself out of your mouth with a wet slop!

"don' give me that look, doll," toji chuckles, his chest heaving underneath the sculpted outline of his dark shirt, "can stuff ya' mouth with my cock later, if that's what you want. but 'm really gonna lose it if i'm not in her right now," and he's angling you back to give a loving, gentle pat to your glistening cunt.

rough, calloused hands slide across your bare back with an unexpected gentleness, against the soft curve of your spine as toji presses you into the mattress, so your head is finally resting back against the pillow.

toji's enjoying this, you know that, just from how he's taking your times to pull your thighs apart, sucking in a harsh breath at how your sleek entrance practically winks at him. tugging his hands roughly on his rock-hard cock, all so he can run the fat tip over your clit, making you mewl.

"don't t-tease, toji," you sniffle, feeling the searing tip push up against your clitoral hood, that nerves so stimulated that you're bucking up into him, wanting toji to just put the damn thing in already.

"fuck, doll," toji's taking a small mercy on you, pressing the first inch into your cunt, "i don't 'm the tease here, god knows how long you were jus' jacking off on the other side of the wall. hopin' that i'd come and stuff you like this?"

each inch that's bullying itself into making your head spin, making you wrap arms around his thick neck, just as he presses a soft kiss to the crook of your collarbone, "ya' good, doll? 's not too much for your, hnngh, tight lil' cunt, is it?"

you mewl as he bottoms out, and the stretch is unlike anything you've ever felt before. it's so deliciously big within you, scraping at the inside of your walls, "wan' be on top, toji."

"oh, yeah? lucky that i like ya' this much, givin' me orders and bossin' me around," toji huffs, using thick arms to pull you up instead, flipping you around so he's got you straddling his thighs, split apart so perfectly around his gliding cock.

"mmph, 's much deeper like this, toji," you chase after his lips, running your tongue over the taut, rigid scar that cuts over the right side of his mouth, all while he starts to set a maddening pace, bouncing you like a pretty toy over his cock, swabbing your insides with buttery wads of pre-cum, all sticky and loud in the silence of the night.

"lookin' good, doll," toji's grin can only be described as shark-like, and he's clearly pleased by the echoing squelches from the filthy mess that's dolloped between your groins, the smack of your ass against your thighs, tacky strands sticking to skin.

your chest is pressed against his shirt, and he's so enjoying the view. loves seeing how the swell bounces and hypnotises him, fuck, toji wonders how he's gonna go about the rest of his life away from you and your perfect pussy.

your eyes widen as you glance back, swivelling your head over your shoulder to watch the smacking movement of you against him, at how his thighs hold you up with a steady rhythm, "you're f-fuckin' me really well, toji," and god, he thinks he might just lose it all, then and there. the praise from your dewy lips is rushing straight into his cock, turning his mind to mush as he finds himself on some sort of autopilot.

he needs to cum in you, right now, needs to feel you milk him for all he can give. to stuff your syrupy cunt with mounds of weeping inches, and he's picking up the pace. smacking heavy, laden balls against your skin, so you whine and keen into him.

you're so caught up in the pleasure that you don't even realise toji had said something, words snapping around his teeth as he bounces you over and over, making sure that you ride him good, "w-what?"

"a date, doll," toji groans, smacking your hand away from your clit, just so he can toy with it, faster and faster, "lemme take ya' out properly, what'd ya' say to that, huh?"

"wanna take me o-out?" you all but weep over him, spearheaded on his tip, and raking sharp nails over iron abs, all underneath his tight top, "please, please, t-toji, wanna go out with you! and then," you hiss as he angles himself just right, curved sheath kissing that perfect g-spot deep within you, "and then i wanna do t-this all over again."

it makes toji's hips stutter, "yeah? pretty girl wants me to take her out, parade her around t-town, hah, i can do that. i can do all of that," he's gasping, feeling your tight heat snatch the life out of him. each girthy vein rubbing itself against your tacky cunt, "i can do all of that, and more. jus' lemme show ya', i'll spoil ya' for anyone else. those d-dumb college boys."

and you look at him with such gorgeous, pretty eyes that toji wonders how on earth he's gonna function now, with you so supplanted in his life. on his cock, even. he can taste something faintly sweet and artificial on your tongue, like tangy grape as he sucks on the muscle.

"never wanted a-any of them anyway, jus' you, toji. only you."

toji fushiguro loses his mind, he's cumming and his own orgasm is hitting him so hard that, in the back of his mind, he's concerned at how he's just filling you up. sloppy thrusts slowing down as thick, white translucent spurts paint your insides, right up to where he can see the divot of his tip through your abdomen. where you've taken in him so deep.

"s-shit," toji presses his mouth to yours again, harder, "look what ya' doin' to me, ruining me," and he also feels just a little bad for ruining your sheets, right as your own umpteenth climax for the night hits you, glossy and clear over the black tufts of hair. your pretty mouth pulled open in a wordless cry of his name, but toji doesn't let go. he lets you ride it out, that sticky mess becoming an afterthought for later.

in the hazy glow, toji's eyes wander over the mess of your room. but something else catches his attention, wads of paper flattened by an empty can of soda. he tilts his head, hair falling over his forehead, dampened by sweat. reaching for the paper with his curiosity piqued.

before he can fully read the words, you're suddenly pawing at his arm, practically leaping into him to get in the way, "wait, toji, don't! hey, that's private!" your voice is an odd mix of urgency and embarrassment, nothing like the angelic whimpers from a few minutes ago. you're swatting at his thick hand, trying to grasp at his fingers.

ignoring your protests and squirms, he crumples the paper open and reads the bold, hastily scrawled letters: how to get toji fushiguro in bed.

damn. so you had been responsible for that heater, the staircase, a fake phone call. he always did like them a bit cuckoo-bananas.

toji chuckles darkly, glancing up at you, barely able to suppress a grin. you're flushed, looking like you'd rather disappear into the floor, oddly shy despite the fact that you were so bold, and a minx riding him earlier to hell and back.

"look, i can explain. don't be mad, because i swear —"

toji groans, shifting you slightly in his lap, "mad? doll, 'm hard all over again. how'd you want it this time?"

[hederasgarden]

Do you have any darker thoughts about your fav ATJ characters?

Bestie, I have so many thoughts, and I’m totally blaming @otaku-girl-ao3 for this. A few weeks ago, we spent an afternoon on Discord brainstorming what the ATJ characters would be like as dark versions of themselves and how that would manifest in distinct and interesting ways.

Just a quick note—this is quite a departure from the usual content on my blog and the type of things I typically write about. Recently, I’ve been gathering the courage to explore some darker themes in my writing (I blame BookTok for introducing me to a lot of questionable tropes). Please be kind and let me know if you’d like to see more of this kind of writing from me!

Characters: Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven the Hunter), Friedrich Harding (Nosferatu), Tangerine (Bullet Train), and Ives (Tenet) Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Dead dove, do not eat. VERY dark, depraved, and horny thoughts direct from me to you. Not all themes are tagged. Read at your own risk.  Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

Sergei is a meticulous planner, taking his time to observe you and learn your habits. He likely comes across you by chance—perhaps while on the job or visiting his brother. It’s your scent that first grabs his attention, but it’s not what draws him back. It’s the softness and sweetness in your demeanor, the vulnerability you exude, completely unaware of the dangers around you. You’re the easiest prey he’s ever tracked, unaware even of the most basic threats. You’re always buried in a book or your phone, headphones on at full blast. If it weren’t for his quiet intervention, you would have been robbed or worse on your way home at least twice. 

He takes you because he believes you're not meant to be on your own. You need someone to care for you, to protect you from the world that you don’t fully understand. Really, it’s lucky your paths crossed. He’s certain you’ll come to see things his way in time. Until then, he’s turned his home into a beautiful little cage for you to live in, complete with an entire library filled with your favorite books, cozy blankets to keep you warm, and all the ingredients for the meals you love to cook and enjoy. He’s done his research on what you like and he’ll bring you anything you ask for. Afterall, he’s a provider at heart.

There’s no concern of you running away. You've seen the large snow leopard that prowls around outside, and the one time you made a foolish attempt to escape, Sergei was quick to show you that he wouldn't always be so gentle or understanding. As @writercole suggested, once he has you back, he’ll also end up keeping you tethered by the ankle for a while, a lesson that if you try to run, he’ll leash you.

After you recover from that experience Sergei finds you’re a much better pet, settling into your new life and role. You start cooking for him when he's home, and willingly crawl into bed beside him, seeking out his warmth on those cold winter nights. Soon, Sergei knows you’ll be ready for the next step: starting a family of your own.

Friedrich (in a modern AU) strikes me as the type who would quietly manipulate situations to his advantage, working behind the scenes to ensure things unfold just how he wants. He’d spot you working at a cafe or store he frequently visits and, from that moment, start working on a plan to make you his.

Rather than using overt force, he’d rely on subtle pressure and gaslighting, making you doubt yourself and your choices. He’d skillfully set up circumstances to undermine you—ensuring you miss out on a job you desperately need, getting you fired, or putting you in a position where you have no choice but to turn to him. When you're at your lowest, he’ll swoop in as the savior, the one who appears to protect you. His goal is to make you dependent on him alone, carefully ensuring that when the time comes for him to make his move, you're in no position to resist. Consent would be questionable, but he'd remind you every time you hesitated that you said yes, that you asked for his help, and that you invited him in.

I can also see him isolating you from friends and family, slowly pulling you away from the support system you once had. He’d definitely be the type to love-bomb you, showering you with overwhelming attention and affection, using his money and influence to manipulate you further. 

He strikes me as a baby trapper, sabotaging your birth control or tampering with his condoms to ensure you get pregnant. He believes you'd be the perfect wife and mother—you just need his help to realize that. Once he has you, he’d be the most loving and attentive husband, always caring, but beneath that sweetness lies an unshakable belief that he knows what’s best. He’s the one who makes the decisions, subtly guiding everything with quiet confidence until, over time, the balance shifts in his favor and you start looking to him for help with even the easiest things. Despite all of this, Friedrich would likely still view himself as a good person, firmly rejecting any notion that he is abusive or in the wrong.

Tangerine is on the opposite end of the spectrum, much more inclined to use brute force and physical violence to make you understand your place. He has a short temper and struggles with impulse control, especially when you don't follow his demands. There’s no slow build-up with him—he has no time or patience for romance. The moment he sees you on the street, he decides you’re coming home with him, and that’s final. Or maybe Tangerine and Lemon are sent to kill your husband but when Tangerine sees just how sweet you are, completely unaware of who and what your husband really is, he decides to keep you for himself. After all, no one's going to miss you. They’ll assume you died in the house fire with your husband. 

Once he had you he would try and spoil you with a beautiful place to live, fine clothes and decadent food. He’d want you to look and dress a certain way for him. A darker version of him would fit the profile of a classic abuser—lashing out at you in anger, only to later show up with flowers and a hollow apology, turning the blame onto you as if you were the one who provoked it.

“Why do you have to make things so fuckin’ hard, huh?” Tangerine questions, caressing your bruised skin. “I hate when you make me do this to ya luv. You need to listen better.”

He’d definitely be the most terrifying of all the dark versions of the ATJ characters because of his unpredictability. (I do not know why but I have such a strong sense he’d pop you in the mouth/back hand you with those rings on and just….yeah.)

If Ives were to go dark, he’d likely abuse his power and authority in the workplace, targeting someone beneath him—someone who wasn’t military and who he could easily manipulate using his strength and knowledge. Maybe you’re his admin, someone he works closely with, and no one questions the fact that you’re often in his office with the door closed or staying late to finish tasks together. He’d be blunt about his intentions with you, setting clear expectations for how things would unfold. His actions would be predictable—if you were a good girl, you’d be rewarded; if you misbehaved, there would be consequences. Ives would be a steady, unyielding force, confident that, with time, you’d fall into line.

[ghostgirl-22]

tw somnophilia but art and patrick cuddling every night to sleep and patrick always wakes up hard with art sleepily grinding his ass against him. he’ll never admit to it out loud though and patrick has to have an intervention bc he cant control himself from grabbing his hips and grinding back :( he wants him sooo bad. of course art secretly loves it 🙂‍↕️

Oh yes anon! I chopped it up a little bit but your somnophilia is still very much present </3

CW: 18+ NSFW, Somnophilia can have a dubcon to cnc element to it so obviously don’t read if that freaks you out. No proofreading is the norm.

——

The problem starts when he mentions it to Art. That he’s kinda liking boys. That he’s sorta into their teammate Tony. He’s not great at tennis but he’s pretty. They’d been flirting with each other, teasing each other a little bit. “I kissed him once,” Patrick admits.

“Huh…that’s cool,” Art shrugs. He plays it nonchalant but it’s clear he never knew anything about it.  

“I think I might try it out this weekend.” 

”Try it out?”

”Yeah, I might hook up with him. I bought this lubricant that heats up when you put it on. It’s kinda hot.”  

“Oh,” Art says, distracted. He’s endlessly distracted by homework and tennis and whatever else he’s got going on. 

Patrick doesn’t really think about it again till that night. Art comes to him sleepy, in his boxers and a little white t-shirt rubbing his eyes, shirt riding up while he scratches his head.

”I can’t see the tv that well from my side,” he says, climbing into Patrick’s twin. They’re not even watching anything that interesting but Art settles in next to him. Lays down in front of Patrick, golden curls still damp from the shower smelling sweet  like the herbal essences conditioner he stole from his ex. Patrick swallows it down but he’s stiff right away. They used to share the bed all the time when they were kids, but they’re much bigger now. And normally they rarely sleep together unless the bed is at least full sized. 

Patrick kinda likes boys now. But he’s liked Art for longer than that. He’s gorgeous… and he looks like…well, art. Beautiful. He has the kinda body all the ancient horny artists his classics professor loves, would carve out of marble from memory Patrick knows it. Not that he’d ever admit it to him.

As gorgeous as he is, as badly as Patrick wants to just… cross the line. He doesn’t have a bunch of friends and he gets too much out of Art to risk fucking this up but… Jesus, his skin is so soft.

Art dozes off in the middle of an episode of Psych that he’d been so desperate to watch. They’re too close. There’s too much of him all over Patrick, carelessly spread out and snuggled up. Patrick is so hard he stays up late, anxious Art will feel it at some point in his sleep. 

What actually happens is so much worse. He wakes up too early and Art is still asleep, pressing up against him. All wiggly. His ass rubbing, no grinding up against Patrick’s dick. Patrick has to hold his breath, has to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from grabbing his waist and pushing back. Pulling Arts thin boxers down, wetting his dick and slipping inside. Art stills eventually and Patrick does gymnastics to get out of the bed so he can go fucking jerk off in peace.

Art is the prettiest sleeper because of course he is. Patrick snores and drools, wakes up with his eyes all coated in sleepy stuff. Art sleeps like he’s on display. Golden curls fanned out as he grips his pillow, his perfect jawline settled and relaxed, the lean muscle of his biceps on display beneath his shirt sleeves, t-shirt riding up revealing his solid hip bones, one leg bent, his bare knee jutting out from beneath the blanket. He sleeps peacefully, cheeks hollow, lips pouted. Even in his sleep he has to tempt Patrick mercilessly. It’s his job. 

Patrick hurries to the bathroom and shuts the door. Leaning against it as he shoves his hand down his sweat pants and jerks himself furiously. Every detail of Art spread out in his bed already committed to memory. 

He thinks he’s done. But it happens again the next night. Art pads over to his bed and gets in. “No i want the outside,” Patrick says thinking it’ll make a difference if he can press his ass up against art as they watch tv rather than the other way around. Instead he wakes up with Arts leg and arm draped over his waist.  Art is half hard, breathing light and hot against Patrick’s ear as he sleeps and Patrick’s own dick is swollen and very obviously hard, pressing along Arts thigh.

It’s harder to unwrap himself. It’s harder still, not to grab at Arts dick and start jerking him in his sleep. 

He sits on the toilet lid jerking off. Wondering what he did in a past life to have to put up with this level of temptation.

Patrick flirts with Tony during practice but it’s not quite the same as it was before. For starters Art is definitely hanging around them more. it’s not like Art tries to stop it. But if Patrick didn’t know any better he’d think Art was acting a little flirty with Tony too. Laughing at Tony’s jokes or asking him for advice on a new diet regiment when he could care less about the guy before.

And again Art needs to sleep in Patrick’s bed because suddenly television is oh so important to him. Patrick wakes up again the next morning with Art squirming all over him. And he knows it’s bad. Knows it’s fucking wrong. But honestly he’s not really doing much more than using the movement. 

Yeah he’s rubbing himself off on his sleeping best friend. Yes he’s grabbing his hips, rocking his erection along the perfect swell of Arts bottom but they’re both fully clothed. Sure the fabric is paper thin. Sure he comes so hard through his boxers that a bit of the wet seeps onto Arts clothes. Sure he sneaks out of bed and hurries to the shower just as Art starts to stretch and wake up properly. But it’s not like he’s doing anything more than what could have technically happened unconsciously between them both if he was still asleep.

The following night he’s hard before Art gets into his bed. He can barely wait till morning. By then, he's pushing back as Art wiggles. Biting down on his groans. Art is reacting too in his sleep. His cock getting hard. Patrick reaches around and rubs him through his boxers. He makes little noises, wiggles his hips even more and Patrick just comes faster. Rubbing Art till he feels the wet spot spreading along his heated palm.

Art rolls over with a soft sigh and settles back into sleep. 

He’s all flushed when he wakes up later thinking maybe he had a wet dream. Patrick reassures him. “Dude it happens to everyone. Sometimes for no reason.” He knows it’s horrible and so wrong but it just feels so fucking good.

It’s Friday and Patrick’s made plans to hook up with Tony tomorrow night. He’s gonna sleep over in Tony’s dorm room while his roommate’s out of town. Figure out what he likes. He hasn’t shared anything else about it with Art since that night last weekend and Art hasn’t really brought it up. 

It’s a hot night, unseasonably warm for spring and the school isn’t about to turn on the air yet so they’ve got the windows open. It’s too hot to be all up under each other but Art comes over anyway. Half naked. Only in his boxers. He climbs in all sinewy and long. Just a living breathing work of… yeah. 

Patrick could tell him no. Could tell him to stop doing this. Hell, he could even suggest they push the beds together for more space but he’s sick. Wants to use Arts pretty sleeping body for his cock in the morning. 

And when morning comes it’s predictable. Art rubbing up against him. Patrick does the careful balancing act of pushing back without waking him. Grinding up against him. And then something happens that he doesn’t expect.

“Oh fuck, pat?”  it’s arts groggy voice. He’s awake, still letting his hips move. 

Patrick stills, mildly panicked.

“Yeah?” He whispers pretending to just wake up too.

“Your… i feel your…cock. It’s so…”

“I know dude I’m sorry i—“

Art starts pushing back harder against it. “Mmm it feels kinda good.” He sighs. 

“Uh—uh yeah?” Patrick stammers getting a little tongue tied. His whole body thrumming all of a sudden.

“Mmhm,” Art whines, moving faster. “M-maybe I’m into guys too?”

“Shit,” Patrick breathes. He’s on a knife’s edge right and Arts is just pushing it back on him eagerly. Patrick can see he’s got his hand down his boxers. Jerking himself off. Patrick grabs his hips, his waist to provide more friction. It feels so good not to hold back, not to be gentle and they’re rocking hard, the mattress squeaking while they’re grinding into each other. Tension rising to euphoric levels and then, almost too fast, Art is panting, moaning, jerking, coming in his boxers. It’s so fucking hot. That’s all it takes for Patrick to blow it, all pressed up against Arts ass. 

“Oh fuck yes,” Patrick breathes as he comes down. 

“Mm,” Art rolls over. “What if i like boys too?” He asks softly.

“Uh shit… then uh… we should explore that.”

“Me and you?”

“Yeah…if…if you want.”

“But what about Tony?” Art asks. He almost nails the innocent tone but he’s just a little too earnest and that rings… false. 

Patrick smiles as it dawns on him. “God you’re such a fucking snake,” he laughs.

“What do you mean?” Art says, grinning. 

“Oh fuck off. Getting in my bed every night you never wanted me to sleep with him.”

“I dunno what you mean, I just wanted to see the tv.”

“Mmhm.”

“And maybe I remembered you’d always get hard when you fall asleep. It used to wake me up in the middle of the night… like you did when you were rubbing it all over me in my sleep this week you pervert.”

“Yeah that getting hard thing happens with you… when you’re in my bed. And if I’m a pervert what’s that make you? Grinding all over me every morning and giving me a complex you little freak.” Patrick says, shoving him playfully. 

Art laughs.  “It makes me more useful than Tony… at least for your little experiment. Fuck him. Or better yet, don’t.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Patrick smirks and shakes his head before rubbing Arts bare thigh. “god you’re such a manipulative little shit, aren’t you?”

“But you like me.” Art points out.

“Yeah I like you. Maybe me and you can figure out liking boys together.”

[edenspoem]

dry humping with ellie..

els is such the type to start dry humping as a joke, but then slowly the suggestive nature begins to whirl her brain 180 and genuinely starts bucking into you. like, you just bend over to retrieve something from the lower cupboards and her lanky ass slinks over, hooks both curled hands into your folded hips and thrusts you into her groin, giggling, "dang, all this for me?" and you can just feel two lazers burning holes on your ass, bobbing limply as she continues to hump you. you grouse in a chuckle, "hey! stop that– that is not for you!" but she doesn't listen. of course. it's redundant to even attempt a complaint. then it keeps going, and going– anddd gooinggg, till she can't stop. the jab of her steel denim button just gets harsher and harsher, with airy moans to get all blushy about, "uhuhh~ fuck, your ass feels s'good– shhhit–" her teeth clamp, hissing cold air. realistically, the inseam of her crotch was tightening just right to split her folds and sandwich her achy clit, not that your ass had any physical stimulation to give her. you intervene, an intervention destined to spoil, forwarding your hips out of her grasp and locking your spine upright, "okay, els, please–" to your dismay, horny hips follow, and grinds denim against denim like a literal horndog. her strapping grips mark dents around your hip crest, using you as support while she possessively ruts into your plush butt, summery hot breath coating gales on your ear, "don't pull away, mhh– fuck you think ur' going?" and hacks a timid laugh, caving open lips to your ear and clasping points of her teeth lightly.

[rebelspykatie]

Part 3

ao3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Eddie’s pretty sure he’s never thought about kissing another guy. He rarely thinks about kissing anybody. For the longest time, he was convinced that no one would ever want to kiss him, so he never saw the point in dwelling on it. 

But maybe that was unusual. He might have mistaken his apathy for normalcy when really he’s the freak. The average person probably thinks about kissing an awful lot. He’s listened to Jeff talk about asking out Lacy from his calculus class and Gareth go on and on about how unfair it is that he can’t make out with his boyfriend behind the bleachers to know that the average high schooler is pretty horny. 

Yet, Eddie’s childhood wasn’t littered with school yard crushes. There aren’t fond memories of girls that he imagined sneaking off with during lunch period or recess. There’s just…nothing. A part of that was his rocky childhood and jumping from his parents, to just his dad, to Wayne. But a lot of it was pure disinterest in the hottest girl in their grade growing breasts before all the other girls, or how tenth grade Mandy would make out with anyone with the right incentive. 

He’s never thought about it long enough for anything to stick. He figured, one day, when he was old enough to escape Hawkins and all the small minded bigots who think he’s a devil worshiper, that he would find a girl that appreciated his specific eccentricities. That he’d settle down somewhere quiet, a little closer to the city than Hawkins, and find some blue collar job and start a family. That’s just what everyone does, right?

He knows that’s not true, though. That everyone doesn’t follow that path. He knows people like Gareth and Robin, and apparently Steve, don’t get to just walk into happily ever after. There’s no white picket fence in their future, and Eddie’s never had to confront that reality so head on before. He knows what it’s like to be different. To have a target on your back. But, it’s nothing like the ostracization of being gay. 

Thinking about kissing Steve scares him. When he closes his eyes, it’s a looping replay of that day. Steve’s soft lips on his unmoving ones. Big hands cradling his face. He can perfectly recall the terror and confusion. It’s seeped into his bones now, because he’s realized something about himself and he doesn’t know what to do with the information. 

He can do nothing. He can move forward and pretend that he doesn’t wake up panting, picturing Steve on top of him pressing him into the mattress with their faces attached. He doesn’t ever have to acknowledge that for the first time in twenty years of living, he’s having honest to god wet dreams that involve another person. And that person he’s envisioning is a guy. Everything can just be swept under the rug.

But he’s pretty sure it scares him more to know that he can’t. It’s eating away at him. Eddie feels trapped in his own skin. The truth is clawing its way to the surface, wanting to break free, even if Eddie’s shutting down as it tries to spill out. He knows it’s inevitable, that overflow. The dam breaking. 

It takes an intervention to set everything in motion. Wayne’s been fussing over him for weeks. He’s been doing that worried parent thing that he thinks Eddie doesn’t know about, where he stands outside Eddie’s closed bedroom door like he wants to knock and say something, but doesn’t. He’s studying Eddie over their morning cereal like the little floating letters are going to spell out why Eddie’s been holed up in his room almost mute. 

But the final straw is when Wayne comes home from work to Eddie painting figurines on the stairs of their new trailer while pretending that he’s not watching Steve help Max fold laundry next door. There’s this polite distance between them and Eddie that didn’t exist before, this wide expanse where before Eddie would’ve been sitting on the picnic table in front of Max’s trailer teasing both of them, or maybe helping if it was a low pain day. 

Instead, he’s sat like a toddler in timeout, taking furtive peaks over the little paint brushes and praying that Max’s sharp intuition about situations like this is dulled by her literal lack of being able to see Eddie from over there. Steve can see him, though, and Eddie’s feigning that it doesn’t bother him. What a grave he’s dug for himself here. 

“Boy, don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” Wayne sighs as he climbs out of his truck, this world-weary, too knowledgeable sigh that makes Eddie squirm. 

“I don’t know what you mean, old man.” Better to just play ignorant. Even though Eddie’s pretty sure he can’t escape Wayne’s withering gaze. He hasn’t in over ten years, so he likely won’t be starting now. 

Wayne just stares at him. A raised eyebrow and crossed arms that tell Eddie he means business. He’s not getting out of this. 

Eddie’s jaw shifts and he looks down at the figure in his hands. “I don’t really know what to do, Wayne.” 

“Move over,” Wayne says, settling down beside Eddie until they’re shoulder to shoulder, barely waiting for the little shuffle Eddie does to make room. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares across the yard in the same direction Eddie was moments before, a contemplative look on his face. “This about that boy?”

Eddie follows his gaze over to Steve. His silence goes on a little too long before he softly says, “yeah.” 

Wayne hums, still looking at Steve. “You know, you always were a late bloomer.”

That grabs Eddie’s attention. He turns towards Wayne, who takes that as his cue to continue, and sets down the figure behind them. 

“Nothing ever happened when I thought it would when you were a boy. Lizzy said you took forever to walk and talk. I kept waiting for you to come to me about the birds and the bees, but you didn’t. Not sure if that was a good thing to let go, but I knew you weren’t getting yourself into trouble. Probably wasn’t much I could offer you that public school wasn’t already teaching you.” 

Eddie wonders briefly if he should’ve hidden the condoms in his room better, but maybe that’s what gave Wayne the confidence to leave Eddie to his business. Even if they were collecting dust before they became dust that day the trailer cracked open.

“You never brought anyone around.” He nods in the direction of Steve. “Not until him.” 

The conversation with Steve is distantly replaying in his head. How he went over their every interaction with Robin and they came to this same conclusion. Maybe Eddie really is an idiot. 

“It wasn’t intentional,” Eddie adds. “I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing, son. That’s part of life.” He pats Eddie on the back. “It’s ‘specially a part of being in love.” 

Eddie’s not sure he’s willing to start that train of thought, yet. He’s grateful for the quiet, unspoken acceptance, but he’s not ready to think about labeling it something as profound as love. He flounders for a second before saying, “I think I’ve missed my chance there,” as he looks back over at Steve. 

“Are you dead and I don’t know it?” He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder. “Seem pretty real to me.” He whacks Eddie’s head gently. “Ain’t nothing missed if you’re still alive to make things right.” 

“Hey!” Eddie laughs, mock offended at the attack, rubbing the back of his head and leaning away from Wayne. “Isn’t it socially unacceptable to joke about someone that was legally dead for almost three minutes?”

“I think I get leeway as the one that kept you alive for ten years by myself.” Wayne wrangles him into a side hug, pulling him to his chest with an arm around his neck. “Just cause things are broken, doesn’t mean you can’t fix ‘em, son.”

[harmonic-intervention]

I miss Tommy, so have some bottom dom!tommy smut.

Word count: 4037 - pwp, daddy kink, dom/sub undertones, orgasm delay, powerbottom!tommy/servicetop!buck

On ao3 now.

The first time Tommy bottomed for Evan, they didn't really take their time. Both of them were too keyed up - Tommy because he hadn't bottomed in a while, and Evan because he was so eager to make it good.

Tommy didn't really have a preferance, never did, especially now with Evan when everything was so much better than anything he had ever experienced. But there were times when he preferred one over the other, and before Evan, when that happened to be getting fucked, he often had to make do with toys and his own fingers.

Even, or maybe especially, in the gay scene, there were still expectations for the roles in the bedroom. Not for Evan, though.

So, the first time, there was little finesse and little foreplay, just them, a bottle of lube, and a desperate need.

It was only the first time of many, after all, and Tommy made sure they took their time in the future.

Tommy liked to play, and now, he got to play.

Tommy loved this - telling Evan exactly what to do, how to do it, and don't you make a mistake, boy. More than once, he had tied Evan down to the bed and ridden him how Tommy wanted to, ignoring Evan's pleads for more.

Today, though, it was missionary, because that was Evan's favorite position and Tommy had decided that he was going to be a little nicer today.

(They mostly fucked in missionary, actually. Evan had once said that he liked being able to see Tommy, and liked being able to thread their fingers together. Staring down or up at Evan's face, into his eyes, watching every minute change in his expression was ... well, Tommy had to admit missionary was rapidly becoming his favorite, too.)

Tommy was laid out on his back, a pillow under his hips because Evan was nothing if not thorough. Speaking of Evan, he was currently two fingers deep in Tommy - two fingers, because Tommy had made him pull out the third one.

He was partial to a good finger-banging when the mood struck, but this was less about feeling good or even the prep - this was all about teasing Evan.

See, Evan easily fit into the role of service top whenever Tommy took the reins like this. It was all about doing everything for his partner, taking care of them, making them come as much as possible, all while ignoring his own need. He tended to forget all about his own dick, following Tommy's orders enough to keep him satisfied.

The point for Evan was to get Tommy off and do it well. Which was why Tommy would not allow him that. He wanted to get him to a point where he couldn't forget about his needs.

He'd put Evan on his stomach, situated between his thighs, and told him to keep one hand on his hip. The other, he was allowed to use to finger Tommy open, but he was under strict orders to not even graze Tommy's prostate - or else.

Evan did as he was told with a determined look on his face, but Tommy could admit that he was having way too much fun watching that determination slowly shift into frustration as Tommy did not let up.

He slowly let him work his way all the way up to three fingers, giving him clear instructions as to when to spread them, when to push them deeper, when to take one out. And Evan listened beautifully, even though he obviously did not want to.

Tommy shifted a little, stretched his spine, pulled up one leg to plant his foot on the mattress, and Evan halted his movements, looking up at Tommy all wide-eyed and hopeful.

He played with the thought of telling Evan to get back down to one finger, just to fuck with him, but if he was honest, he was more than ready to move on. His stamina was good - great even - but everyone had their limit.

"Think we got it, don't we?" he asked, rubbing his leg along Evan's side.

Evan nodded so hard Tommy worried he might give himself whiplash. Upon command, he pulled his fingers out, slowly, and cleaned them off.

Evan shuffled around the bed on his knees, locating the bottle of lube somewhere half covered by the sheets.

"Condom, Evan," Tommy reminded him.

Evan scrunched up his nose in distaste and Tommy couldn't fault him. They rarely ever used condoms anymore, but the way Tommy was seeing this, he'd probably have to clean up on his own after, and he didn't think he'd be truly up for it when it came to it.

So, easier clean up. Evan seemed to understand that reasoning without words, too, since there was no complaining from him when he fetched one of the ones they still had in their bedside table.

"Put it on," Tommy instructed. "No touching yourself outside that."

Evan did as told, quickly and efficiently rolling the condom down on his cock, dripping and flushed a deep color. Still, Evan dropped his hand to Tommy's knee, not touching himself just as told.

"That's it." Tommy beckoned Evan closer with a curl of his fingers. "Come on now. Closer."

Once Evan had settled back between Tommy's thighs, sitting back on his heels, Tommy allowed him to put his hands back on his legs. Seemingly absentminded, Evan ran his hands up and down, up and down, staring down at Tommy's own cock with hunger in his eyes.

Tommy nudged Evan with his knee. "Alright, baby. Let's get started."

Evan did not need to be told twice. He pushed Tommy's legs further apart a little bit with his own bulk, and positioned the head of his dick right against Tommy's hole. He started slowly moving in with a controlled push of his hips.

Tommy couldn't help the sigh that left him. God, this was nice. But he wasn't here to just lose himself in enjoyment. He wanted to be a little mean, now.

The tip was in, and just as Evan was about to push deeper, Tommy locked eyes with him. He could see the exact moment Evan realized that he wouldn't like what Tommy had to say, and oh, how right he was.

"Stop. Pull out."

Evan looked at him, devastated. He halted in his movement, and his fingers curled into the bedspread. He made no move to do as told, staring wide-eyed at Tommy as if that would change his mind.

Tommy tilted his head. "Be a good boy now, Evan."

Sure-fire way to get Evan to comply. He had a praise kink a mile wide. Tommy had rarely ever had to actually do something to punish him when they played like that - thinking he had disappointed Tommy was punishment enough.

Evan did what Tommy asked of him and pulled out, sitting back on his heels again. His hands moved from the sheets to Tommy's thighs, but just before he could actually touch him, he halted.

"Can I touch you?" His voice was soft, quiet.

There we go, Tommy thought, there he is.

Tommy nodded. "Go ahead."

Evan put his hands on his thighs and kept him there for a moment, then started moving them. He felt Tommy up nice and heavy, but kept his fingers away from his cock or ass.

Yeah, there he was. There was that good boy.

Tommy was content to watch Evan for now, watch him run his hands over his skin, watch him try his very best to stay focused on anything other than the way he had to leave Tommy's hole empty.

With a content sigh, Tommy folded his arm behind his head. He smirked at Evan, who was watching him like a hawk, eyes caught on the flex of Tommy's biceps.

"You look like you want something, baby. Mind telling me what it is?"

For a moment, something like defiance flashed in Evan's eyes, and Tommy could guess what he was thinking. As if you don't know what I want.

That was only for a moment, however, and Evan dropped the act in favor, of sliding his hands along Tommy's inner thighs, closer to his cock. "I wanna fuck you."

Tommy quirked an eyebrow and clicked his tongue. "You can say that nicer." He moved his free hand as if giving Evan the stage. "Come on."

And Evan did not disappoint. His eyes went big and wide, like every time he wanted something really badly. "Please," he started, "please, I wanna make it good for you, please, please, lemme put it in, please, just a moment."

Tommy bit his own tongue to keep his composure. God, did he love this. Evan was just so good at asking, at begging.

"Just a moment, huh?" Tommy asked, pretending to think about Evan's request. "You sure you're gonna be able to pull out? Remember how difficult it was for you when it was just the tip?"

Evan opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared back down between Tommy's legs as if his dick would give him the strength he needed. He took a deep breath, swallowed what saliva must have pooled in his mouth.

"Please," he groaned.

Tommy shrugged. "You gotta give me more than that. Please what, baby?"

"Please!"

"Please what? Use your words now."

The dam broke. "Please. Please, let me, I wanna do, I wanna make you ... please." Another breath, another heavy swallow. "Please, daddy."

There we go, Tommy thought. That was what he wanted, that was what he loved - Evan desperate, so desperate to get his dick wet he couldn't form full sentences.

For another moment, Tommy pretended to think about it. He shrugged slightly. "Well, if that's what you want so bad." Tommy sighed, as if he wasn't dying for it at this point, too. "Come on, then."

He did not need to tell Evan twice. He moved closer, one of his hands on Tommy's legs to guide them to bracket his hips while the other one dug for the discarded bottle of lube again.

As Evan slicked back up, Tommy leaned up a bit and curled two fingers under Evan's chin, tipping it up.

"You come, you get punished. Got it?"

Evan nodded and leaned down to plant kisses on the skin of Tommy's knee and thigh. "Thank you, thank you," he mumbled.

Without instruction, Evan positioned himself again and pushed in, slowly, almost glacial, continuously looking up at Tommy, just waiting for him to say something and make him stop.

While yes, Tommy had thought about it, he'd ultimately decided against it. He'd also thought about clenching down and making Evan really fight for his self-control, but he was done with dragging it out. Maybe another time.

After all, he was playing with his own patience, too.

So, he kept his mouth shut until Evan was all the way in, until Tommy felt so pleasantly full, when he sighed in contentment.

Evan's eyes were closed, and his brow furrowed as if in concentration. Tommy shifted a little, bringing his knees closer to Evan's sides.

"You doing okay, sweetheart?" he checked in.

Pretty blue eyes opened again. "I'm good," Evan said roughly. "Just need a moment."

Which meant he was so keyed up that he almost came from just pushing in.

Tommy hoped he was as good at keeping the smug look off of his face as he thought he was.

He reached out, cupping the side of Evan's face with a hand and watched him lean into it, nuzzle his nose against the heel of Tommy's palm.

"There's that boy."

Evan smiled and rightened himself up again, but he didn't move except for miniscule jolts of his hips. Tommy decided not to punish him for that. He knew this behavior, he knew Evan couldn't control it.

"You really want it." He didn't pose it as a question, but Evan nodded nonetheless. "Then give it to me. I wanna feel it."

Another quick nod, and Evan gathered his legs up, hooking the backs of Tommy's knees over the bends of his elbows, and leaned forwards to jam his hands into the mattress.

The first time Evan found out how flexible Tommy was, he'd come almost immediately. Tommy didn't do yoga simply for his health, okay?

"This okay?" Evan asked softly, leaning close enough so that Tommy could lean up and kiss him.

"This is perfect," Tommy said in return, slightly moving his hips side to side just to really feel how big Evan was inside of him. "Fuck, you feel like a dream."

Evan made a quiet sound, like a strangled moan and a gasp in one. He shifted slightly. "Can I move?"

God, did he sound desperate. But he also sounded like he would listen if Tommy told him no.

When Tommy didn't say anything for a moment, Evan leaned in close to kiss him again, whispering, "Please, daddy, can I move?" against his chin.

Brat knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't forget what we're doing here," Tommy said. "You get me there first. You come before me, there'll be consequences."

"What kinda consequences?"

That made Tommy laugh for a moment. He remembered the time when Evan intentionally went against orders because he was a little too into what Tommy had promised as punishment. Not a mistake Tommy was gonna do twice.

"Not telling you, baby. Now do your thing, will you? I thought you wanted to."

It was all that Evan needed to finally move. And move he did.

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in immediately, not even pausing to take a moment. He didn't always do it, tended to like it better to start slowly and build the pace and strength of his thrusts up over the time, but Tommy could tell he was on a razor's edge.

And thank god for that.

There were no pretenses now, only Evan's single-minded focus on getting Tommy off. And he was good, so good at it. He thrived under being told he was good, yearned to be good, so he had meticulously studied whatever got Tommy's rocks off to give him the best experience in bed that he ever had.

His precision in finding the right angle to hit Tommy's prostate on every single push inside was unmatched, and sometimes, he used that knowledge to tease, but not today.

Today, it was a constant thrum of pleasure from the press of Evan's cock, from the way he filled Tommy so well, from the way it felt as if he went even deeper every single time he thrust inside.

"That's my good boy," Tommy praised. "You're doing so good."

In return, Evan gave him a breathless smile and impossibly sped up.

"You wan'a hand?" he asked.

Tommy actually took a moment to think, lost his train of thought when Evan changed pace again to instead slam his hips harder against the backs of Tommy's thighs. He had to take a moment to close his eyes and just take it in, a moan leaving him involuntarily, thoughtlessly.

"Daddy?" Evan prodded but made no move to let Tommy catch his breath.

What a guy.

"Think I don't need it."

Tommy had known way before he and Evan started having sex that he could come untouched, but back in the day, it was a rare thing he could only get to with excessive stimulation. Excessive seemed to be Evan's middle name, though, so Tommy rarely ever needed extra to come. Or wanted it, for that matter. It kinda made him crazy that Evan could get him off without touching his cock once.

Evan dropped his head and moaned at Tommy's admission, eyes clenched shut in concentration. He took just a moment for a pause before he pushed back in hard. Tommy had to give it to him, he hadn't thought Evan would last this long after everything, but he was nothing if not committed. Tommy had told Evan to make him come first, and Evan would do everything in his power to do it.

The backs of Tommy's legs were starting to feel a little tight, like they were about to cramp from their position, but he didn't even need to say anything, Evan was that in tune with his comfort.

He slowed down until he was barely moving at all and pulled his arms out from the backs of Tommy's knees, moved them to bracket his waist instead. He leaned forward to kiss Tommy again, this time for longer, and without the strain on Tommy's joints that he was slowly starting to feel.

Tommy sighed into the kiss, knowing that as soon as he opened his mouth, Evan would try and shove his tongue inside. He was a little gentler in his approach than Tommy expected, slowly curling his tongue behind the row of Tommy's teeth.

"You doing okay, baby?" Tommy asked into the small space between them, taking in Evan's flushed face. His curly hair was sticking to his forehead on one side.

"So good, daddy," Evan assured him. "Love you."

"I love you, too." And how. "Now come on. Get us there."

Evan buried his face in the crook of Tommy's neck. Tommy wrapped his arms around his back to pull him closer. From this position, Evan couldn't find the same momentum, but he didn't need it. He grinded his hips against Tommy's in tight circles, pressing right into his prostate.

Tommy bit the bolt of his jaw, buried a breathless gasp in the skin just below Evan's earlobe.

"Do you know how good you are, baby?" he mumbled. "Do you know how good you make me feel? How - ah, fuck - how I love having you inside me like this?"

Evan nodded against the side of Tommy's throat, his movement a little desperate.

"Hm, I don't think you actually do, sweetheart. Don't think you know how fucking lucky I am. Don't you- oh, fuck, fuck, there baby, you got it."

While Tommy was whispering into Evan's ear, Evan had shifted slightly, tried to crawl in even closer, and thus pushed his cock even deeper, so deep that Tommy thought he could feel it in his throat.

If made to choose between this constant grind against his prostate or the fast and hard fucking from before, Tommy would probably rather choke on his own spit. The latter had been great, but so was this, and he so loved having Evan pressed right against him, wrapped in his arms.

Without moving away, Evan tried to get more back and forth movement into his hips, and while that was nice, too, he quickly gave up in favor of drawing tight circles into Tommy, instead, a continuous press against his prostate now that made him gasp and moan.

Evan started begging, "Please, please, please," over and over under his breath, and Tommy was reasonably sure he wasn't even aware of it.

That paired with the constant stimulation of that big cock rubbing his insides in just the right way had Tommy teetering on the edge. Just a little something.

He didn't even have to say anything for Evan to deliver. He somehow managed to plant a knee, and he used that leverage to fuck into Tommy in short but harder thrusts without moving away from his place snuggled into the line of Tommy's jaw.

And then, he started talking. Begging, more like it. "Please, daddy, haven't I been good? Haven't I done you good, aren't you close, don't you wanna show me I'm good? I love you, come on, please, you can get it, you can, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel you come so bad, I wanna make you come, please."

No-one Tommy had ever had sex with begged this sweetly, and no-one had ever begged for Tommy to come before Evan. So of course, Tommy was a fucking goner.

The fingers of one hand buried themselves in the short curls at the back of Evan's head, the other gripped his side hard enough to leave the shape of his fingernails.

He groaned, long and deep in his chest, something that may have been Evan's name or maybe just some gibberish. He could hear Evan's own groan right in his ear when he clenched down on his cock, just to feel it, just to drag it out a little.

He shot off on his own chest and belly, and he could feel Evan move his head a little as if to watch. He probably was, seemed to have a near obsession between watching Tommy's cock or watching his face when he came.

Evan kept up the gentle sway of his hips, working Tommy through his orgasm as if there was nothing else in the world to do, and when Tommy finally came down to catch his breath, he realized with pride that Evan had held out.

He loosened his fingers from Evan's waist, rubbed over the red crescents left behind soothingly, then brought a hand to Evan's cheek.

"You okay?"

Evan nodded. "Can I-? Daddy, can I come now?" He didn't whine, but it was a near thing.

God, somehow, Tommy had bagged the best boy in the world. With a thumb rubbing over Evan's blushing cheek, he nodded.

"Of course you can. You want to come inside or on me?"

There were days when Evan would kill to come on Tommy's tits, or his face, on his thighs or ass, or on his stomach and watch their cum pool together.

Not today, though, judging by the way Evan looked devastated for a moment. "Don't make me pull out."

Tommy laughed, still giddy in the wake of an amazing orgasm, and stroked his hand through Evan's hair. "Don't worry, baby, I won't. You've done so good, you got me off so good. You can come, baby, you've earned it."

It only took two more thrusts before Evan dug his teeth into the skin next to Tommy's adam's apple, and he stilled, muffling the moan of Tommy's name against his throat.

He didn't move further, only to collapse bonelessly against Tommy's chest, and when Tommy clenched down a little once more, just a tease, the lids of his eyes fluttered.

Tommy let up, instead ran his hands up and down Evan's back, through his hair, waited for him to calm down a little.

His erratic breathing slowed, the mewling sounds he let out on almost every exhale quieted and disappeared, and with a huge sigh that seemed to press Tommy further into the mattress, Evan raised his head and opened his eyes.

"Fuck," he said, voice a little rough now.

Tommy chuckled. "Pretty much, yeah."

Evan nuzzled in for a kiss, mumbling, "God, I love you."

They kissed for a moment, soft and slow, but the cum drying on Tommy's skin was starting to itch, and when Evan pulled out and tied off the condom, his movement was sluggish.

"Wanna go clean up in the shower or do you want a bath?" Tommy asked.

"Can I have a bath?" Evan asked immediately.

Thank god for the - back then irresponsible - large expense for a bathtub big enough to fit two tall, buff firefighters.

Tommy got up, and Evan dropped back onto the bed, folding his arms under his head, looking like a right pillow princess.

It didn't take long for Tommy to put the lube back in the drawer, throw the condom away, and prepare the bathtub - after he cleaned up the worst of it, he was not willing to sit in cum-water for a prolonged time.

They sat together in the bath shortly after, Evan's back to Tommy's chest, with his head resting back on Tommy's shoulder - perfect position for him to kiss at Tommy's jaw sleepily.

While the sex was fun, Tommy almost liked this part even more, when Evan allowed himself to relax, and let Tommy take care of him.

Tommy was already making plans for next time. He couldn't wait to see how Evan would end up after, after Tommy had been more mean. After he had made him work even harder.

He knew Evan would get him back for it, but that was half the fun.

[magnagaruzenmon]

Happy Ending

A little something silly for our fantasy/ dnd lover fans

The barbarian paladin approached the Temple of Bovara with an injured gait that was more limp than strut. He was bruised, bloodied, and smelled like scorched leather and dragon breath. In short: it had been a week.

He needed healing. Maybe some holy milk despite the rumors . Possibly a divine intervention. But mostly—he needed her.

The temple doors loomed large, carved with sunbursts, sacred vines, and a suspicious number of lovingly detailed cow thighs. Diablos shoved them open with one massive hand and immediately inhaled the rich perfume of the place: roses, honey, and something thick and sweet that always clung to the back of his throat. Like cream. Or sin.

And there she was.

At the altar, a whirlwind in white and gold silk, her horns peeking through dark hair in two perfectly askew buns. The cleric was humming—humming—as she tried to stack jars of milk higher than seemed advisable. One fell. She caught it. Barely.

“Momo,” he said softly.

She turned, bright-eyed. Her whole face lit up like he was a birthday cake and she was two glasses of wine deep.

“Diablos!” she chirped. “Oh no—you look like you got stomped by a wyvern.”

“Elder dragon,” he muttered.

Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh. You know I hate when you fight those.”

“You hate that I make you worry,” he rumbled.

“No, I hate that you keep ruining your hot dumb body.” She stalked over, hands immediately on his chest, glowing faintly. “Honestly, you need a leash.”

“I’m open to that,” he said, giving her a crooked grin. “But I thought your goddess was more into ropes.”

She flushed—hard—and smacked his chest with a glowing palm. “Inside. Now.”

He saluted and trudged into the private healing chamber, shedding weapons like a molting dragon. Axe, sword, rifle, hand cannon. She followed with a loud sigh, scooping up a small bomb he accidentally left on a pillow. “Why do you even have this?”

“Backup smiting,” he said, already shirtless.

The chamber was steamy, fragrant with rose milk and divine aphrodisiacs. Soft cushions lined the floor, and a mural of Bovara loomed over everything—bare, bountiful, and mid-moo.

Diablos tilted his head. “Why does your goddess always look like she’s halfway to climax?”

“Because she is,” Momo said sweetly, pulling off her robes like she was unwrapping a birthday present. Her body—lush, strong, and holy in the most profane ways—was barely contained by a golden bra and matching panties.

She straddled him without hesitation, glass of milk in one hand, glowing fingers already pressing to his side. “Drink.”

Despite the rumors he heard of tit turning people into horny Holstaurs against their will He took it and downed it in one go. Warm. Creamy. Definitely sacred. Maybe cursed. He didn’t care. If it turned him into a rutting bull man, well… Momo would take responsibility.

Probably.

He let out a long sigh as he laid back, his body groaning like an old cathedral. “I think I’m starting to understand the whole joy part of your religion.”

“You’ll feel very joyful soon,” she teased, her hands glowing as they trailed across his skin, lingering here, squeezing there. “Bovara’s blessings come with… side effects.”

“What like having a gorgeous woman massage you?”

“Among other things,” she murmured, tracing a wound with her thumb and leaning over him. “This one’s nasty.”

“So’s my crush on you.”

She snorted—actually snorted—before slapping his chest again. “You are the worst.”

“You say that,” he whispered, “but your eyes say otherwise.”

She flushed again, lips twitching.

“Do you want kiss me better?” he asked.

“I have to,” she said solemnly. “It’s divine doctrine. Holiness by osmosis.”

Their eyes locked. A long beat.

Then she leaned in, pressing her lips softly to his chest. “Blessed be,” she whispered, and watched as the wound mended under the glowing light.

Diablos sighed again, this time much deeper. His breathing slowed, the tension finally bleeding out of him under her touch. Her magic pulsed warm and steady, flowing from her palms into his wounds—and something else, too. Something older. Richer.

She looked up, expecting a sarcastic remark. But his eyes were closed. His breath had evened out.

He was asleep.

Momo blinked. “…Wow. Most people don’t pass out after seeing my boobs.”

She glanced up at the mural of Bovara.

“Don’t you dare do something weird while he’s unconscious.”

The mural’s eyes sparkled.

“Oh, no.”

At first, there was only warmth.

Then came the smell of clover. Sweet grass. Milk warmed by sun. And the slow, sensual tolling of cowbells in the distance.

Diablos blinked.

He was no longer in the temple.

He stood barefoot in a golden field, waist-deep in tall grass that shimmered with pink and silver under an impossible twilight sky. The clouds were shaped like hearts. The moon had udders. Somewhere, a flute played what could only be described as erotically pastoral jazz.

“…oh gods. Not again.”

He turned.

She stood at the edge of a hill, radiant and curvaceous, bathed in sunlight that moved like silk. Her horns curled elegantly above her head, her robes flowed like cream, and her eyes sparkled with divine mischief.

Bovara.

The Cow Goddess of Fertility, Joy, Creation… and, evidently, really weird dreams.

“You’ve been drinking my milk again, haven’t you?” she said, walking toward him, each step jiggling with celestial intention.

“I was bleeding. Momo told me to,” Diablos grunted.

“Oh, I love that little cleric of mine,” Bovara cooed, circling him slowly. “So faithful. So bouncy. And she keeps giving you my gifts without reading the fine print. Tsk.”

“I’m not turning into a cow am I?”

“No, no, well kinda… you have embraced my teachings and knowledge in ways few others have. You handled it beautifully. This is a little different.”

He stiffened. “Define ‘different.’”

Bovara leaned in, her voice like honeyed cream poured over a temple bell. “You see, you’ve got dragon blood. Fiery, ancient, stubborn. Combine that with my blessing, and… well.” She snapped her fingers.

A shock ran through Diablos’s spine. He gasped, stumbling, as his muscles swelled and reshaped, his skin taking on a faint sheen of gold. horns grew, curling outward like a bull’s, thick and heavy. His breathing hitched—hot and ragged—as something primordial woke up in his chest and groin both.

His hands flexed. His back arched. And behind him, a thick tail with a tuft of fur and scales whipped out like it had always been there.

“What… what did you do to me?” he moaned, his voice deeper, rougher, vibrating with heat and hunger.

“I blessed you, Diablos,” Bovara purred, stepping behind him and pressing her hands against his now broadened back. “I made you whole. The bull. The dragon. The stud.”

He staggered forward, falling to his knees as the pressure built in his body—every nerve alight, every muscle burning with desire, need, the sacred urge to mate, claim, breed.

“You’ll be back to normal soon,” she added sweetly. “But for now… you’re going to feel exactly what it means to be mine. To be hers.”

His eyes flared open—red and glowing.

“Hers?” he growled, panting. “You mean—?”

“Oh yes,” Bovara giggled, walking away, the sky rippling behind her with a wink. “Momo. She’s the only other holstaur in reach. You will find her.”

Diablos collapsed onto all fours, his breath heaving. Every part of him ached with strength. With arousal. With purpose.

“Bovara…” he groaned, clawing at the earth. “This feels like cheating.”

“No, darling,” came her fading voice on the wind. “This is courtship.”

Diablos stirred on the cushions, his chest rising with a slow, labored breath.

Then, like thunder cracking in a velvet sky, he jolted upright—eyes snapping open, crimson and molten.

“Momo,” he gasped, voice hoarse like a lover’s prayer.

The cleric flinched, dropping the healing crystal she’d been holding. It clattered to the floor with a sharp ping. “You’re awake? Finally! I swear, if you moo one more weird thing in your slee—”

Her words died on her tongue.

Because he was changing.

Right before her wide, unblinking eyes, the barbarian paladin she’d healed, and secretly longed for—grew.

His muscles bulged with supernatural strength, the curve of his back rippling with both dragon’s heat and something… bovine. Fur bristled across his shoulders and thighs. His feet—hooves now—dug into the soft temple rug with impatient weight. Thick, glinting scales danced across his arms and chest in streaks of gold and ember-red.

And then—

Horns.

Massive. Curved. Crown-like.

His eyes flared, glowing with lust and power. A heavy tail lashed behind him—furred, twitching, insistent.

“Oh my Bovara,” Momo whispered, stunned. “What happened to you?”

Diablos looked at her—and it was like the last thread of restraint in the cosmos snapped.

He stared like a starving man stumbling into paradise. Like every silent wish and fevered fantasy had been answered and placed in front of him in one glorious, curvy, horned package.

Momo stepped back slowly, breath catching. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He opened his mouth to speak.

What came out was a low, guttural moo that vibrated through the air like thunder in a heatwave.

Then, barely intelligible through the need, came a gravel-thick growl:

“You’re… a holstaur.” He panted. “I… need… to—**moo—**to mate!”

Momo blinked. “Is that what we’re calling it now?!”

But her body had already responded. Her breath hitched. Her skin tingled. And her heart—oh, her heart—was galloping.

Because this wasn’t just heat. This wasn’t just a barbarian paladin gone wild.

This was him. Diablos. Overflowing with a divine hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with finally—finally—having permission to love her the way he’d always wanted.

He advanced, slow and reverent, as if closing a sacred distance. His massive hands curled into fists like he was holding himself back with the strength of mountains.

She didn’t run.

She didn’t flinch.

She just watched him approach—eyes locked, lips parted, cheeks flushing with that dangerous blend of fear and desire and something too big to name. Her fingers trembled at her sides.

He stopped inches from her, his chest heaving, his scent warm and electric—grass, smoke, divine milk, and man.

Momo’s voice cracked, trying to tease, failing to hide the thrum in her throat. “Fine.”

She reached up, grabbed his broad, burning shoulders—and pulled him down.

Their mouths met with the fury of crashing waves and the ache of prayers finally answered.

It wasn’t careful.

It wasn’t clean.

It was raw and sacred and overdue.

He kissed her like she was holy. Like her lips were the altar and he was the worshipper too long denied. His hands, trembling, cradled her face like he was terrified she might vanish. His kiss was trembling at first, then deeper, hungrier, more desperate.

Momo melted. Giggled breathlessly against his lips, surprised by the tenderness in so much raw power. Her hands roamed up into his wild hair, fingers tangling and yanking—not to stop him, but to anchor him.

The kiss shifted. Grew hotter. Deeper. Sloppier.

Tongues tangled. Teeth clashed. Moans escaped—needy and involuntary.

And then—

She felt it.

A warm pulse rolled down her spine. Her body arched, the divine power rising in her blood like moonlight through milk. Her breath caught, and her form bloomed—hips rounding, thighs thickening, breasts full and heavy. Her horns lengthened and curled with celestial grace. Her skin flushed with golden warmth.

A soft, feminine moo escaped her lips as she leaned into him.

He didn’t pull away.

He groaned—low and sacred and overwhelmed—and held her tighter, like she was everything.

And then, between deep kisses and holy shivers, he choked out the truth in one broken, sacred breath:

“I love you. Like… so much.”

She froze. Only for a second.

Her eyes searched his—those molten, red-gold orbs burning with not just lust, but adoration. She saw it all there. Every unsaid thing. Every stupid, brave, silent ache.

And then—gently—she kissed him again, slow and soft, her forehead resting against his.

“I know,” she whispered, her horns brushing his. “Me too.”

They held each other like the world had just begun.

And maybe, thanks to Bovara…

It had.

Momo smirked as she pushed Diablos down onto the floor she fully undressed them both as she locked eyes with him. Her gaze was furious wild and unapologetic as she stared at his now massive cock. It stood proud and painfully erect for her.

She smiled and said, “is this all for me?” Before lightly touching his cock and watching precum ooze out. She smiled as it tasted like cream before she mounted him.

Overcome with need she leans over as she fully sinks down onto Diablos’s cock. He moans as she graciously puts her breast into his mouth.

“Drink my blessed milk,” she says and Diablos drinks. He feels his mind become cloudier but freer as his complex thoughts and worries just wash away with each tender sip. They both moo as the rut into each other like animals. Momo’s walls viciously clench around Diablos as he tries and fails to resisting cumming inside her.

He groans as he fills her womb with cum. Momo groans in appreciation and approval at being bred and for a moment she feels Bovara’s divine essence fill her and Diablos as it moves through them as they drink in each other’s presence. Moans and mood fly as they reach their mutual peaks.

The morning sun streamed lazily through the stained-glass windows of the Temple of Bovara, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the long wooden table. Plates of food were scattered in organized chaos: fresh-baked honey bread, thick slices of fruit glazed in cream, grilled sausage, eggs glowing golden with magic, and—of course—more milk than should be legal.

Diablos sat at one end of the bench, arms crossed behind his head, grinning like he didn’t just “consecrate” half of the private healing chamber ago.

Momo sat across from him, fork in her mouth, cheeks puffed with food like an angry chipmunk. She glared at him as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“You’re staring,” she mumbled, chewing.

“You’ve got cream on your lip,” he said, voice low and lazy.

“No, I don’t,” she said, immediately licking at nothing.

Diablos smirked. “Yeah, you do.”

She narrowed her eyes, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and threw a grape at him. It bounced off his cheek and landed in his lap.

“Hit me with one more fruit and I swear I’ll turn this temple into a honeymoon suite.”

“We already did,” she said under her breath.

“Yeah, but with decorations this time.”

Momo rolled her eyes, but her ears were flushed pink. She stabbed another slice of honeyed peach, trying to look disinterested, even though she kept sneaking glances at him—his forearms, the way his shirt clung to his chest, the scar that trailed along his collarbone.

He caught her looking. Again.

“What?” she asked, mouth half-full.

“I like seeing you eat,” he said casually.

“Why are you always so weirdly turned on by food?” she asked, blushing as she took a bite. “Is this a barbarian thing or a bull thing?”

Diablos leaned forward, eyes lidded, lips curving into a slow grin. “I don’t know, Momo. It’s just that I like watching you feel safe and do all the little things you do when you’re being fed or taken care of. However You’re also the one who moaned over that melon slice last night.”

“That was divine produce,” she said, voice rising defensively. “It had a literal joy enchantment on it!”

“Sure it did.” He winked. “And your little leg shake had nothing to do with it, right?”

She nearly choked on her bread and had to down half a cup of milk just to survive. Big mistake as the Milk rushed through her body filling her with a renewed lust and need.

The air between them buzzed, hotter than the sun outside. Diablos’s smile faded into something heavier, hungrier. His foot brushed hers under the table. Just once. Then again.

Momo froze.

She looked up. Their eyes met.

His fingers curled around his cup slowly. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

She nodded. Just barely.

The tension was ridiculous. Like a thunderstorm waiting to detonate. Her skin buzzed. Her thighs clenched. Even the milk seemed thicker somehow—suspiciously so.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have let Bovara bless the food,” she muttered.

“I didn’t,” Diablos said. “You did.”

“She likes it when people are well-fed and well-loved!”

He leaned forward, voice lower now. “You gonna ‘love’ me on the table or after I clear the dishes?”

Her face turned crimson. “You’re such a menace.”

“You keep feeding me,” he shrugged. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

There was a pause.

A dangerous, delicious pause.

Momo stood suddenly, slamming her hands on the table. “Okay. That’s it. We’re eating outside. With supervision. In full armor.”

Diablos leaned back, laughing. “You sure? I was thinking dessert.”

Momo tossed a napkin at his face and stormed toward the garden, muttering under her breath.

He followed her, still barefoot, still smirking.

And behind them, the milk pitcher trembled slightly—glowing faintly with divine mischief.

When they got to the garden Momo could barely contain herself as she lifted her robes to grant Diablos easy access to her pussy, and without a second thought he plunged his cock into her soft wet tight hole.

“Ah ah moo,” Momo moaned feeling the aura of Bovara consume her Diablos grabbed and massaged her breasts. Kneading them with desperate fervor as he thrust into her. Momo’s eyes rolled back in pleasure as Diablos continued mounting her. Her mind filled with visions of little holustar children running around with scales around their collars and slitted eyes.

Momo turned to Diablos and kissed him. A kiss of claiming of marking. Their bodies heated violently before they reached their peaks.

Momo’s eyes rolled as she was filled again. It left her feeling whole complete. She smiled at Diablos before settling her down.

“You’re dangerous,” Momo teased

“Yeah but you love me,” Diablos shot back. Momo smirked and said,

“Yeah I do,”

“Good now come on. I have to report to the guild hall,” Diablos chortled. Momo sighed but happily took his arm and hand as they walked. The guild hall buzzed with the usual chaos—adventurers swapping stories and scars, contracts being scribbled, coins changing hands fast enough to make the gods blink. The place smelled like steel, ink, and too much ale before noon.

Diablos towered near the front counter, relaxed in his half-unbuttoned tunic, arms crossed and mood entirely too good for someone who’d just fought an elder dragon and temporarily become a divine bull hybrid. Momo stood beside him, a little shorter than usual thanks to being in her “human” form, but her presence just as radiant—robes flaring with every step, cheeks still flushed from their overly affectionate breakfast.

The guild associate, a tired elf with reading glasses and the posture of a tax accountant, slid a leather pouch of coin across the counter.

“All verified. Congratulations, Diablos. Elder dragon slain. Property damage minimal this time. Payment in full.” The elf blinked. “And uh… there’s also a temple tithe on your behalf. From the Order of Bovara. Labeled ‘blessing surcharge’?”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Diablos muttered.

Momo just hummed and nudged his side with her elbow. “You did scream ‘praise be to Bovara’ mid-transformation.”

“That was involuntary and I was full of divine hormones!”

The elf cleared his throat and pointedly looked away.

As they walked out into the sun-warmed plaza, Momo glanced up at him. “So. Why adventuring?”

Diablos slowed, hands in his pockets. His smirk faltered just a little.

“I guess…” he started, then trailed off. “When I was younger, I noticed something. People only told the truth when I hit them hard enough.”

Momo blinked. “That’s… a bit intense.”

He chuckled softly. “I don’t mean just violence. I mean in battle, people are honest. You see their fear. Their courage. What they really want. They can’t hide it. No pretending. No small talk. Just—truth.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then: “So you’ve only ever felt seen when you were in danger?”

He shrugged, then looked over at her, softer now. “Not always. Not since I met you. After my first quest, I came to the temple for healing, thinking you’d be another polite priestess who’d patch me up and send me on my way.”

She smiled, slow and genuine.

“But then you looked at me like I was already whole, even when I was bleeding out on your floor. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t flatter. You just… told me to stop bleeding on the tiles.”

Momo laughed, her eyes crinkling. “To be fair, you were leaking onto the sacred mosaic of Fertility Eternal.”

“And yet,” he said, smirking again, “you’re the only one who made me feel like I didn’t have to fight to be understood.”

Momo slowed her pace, then reached out and took his hand without fanfare. “I’m glad I’m your earnest friend who you don’t have to fight.”

His grip tightened just a little, reverent.

They walked in silence for a while longer, hand in hand, until Momo tilted her head and said, “Wanna know something weird about me?”

“More than usual?”

She grinned, then exhaled. “Bovara chose me when I was twelve. Just… appeared. In a dream. Said I was hers.”

“That young?”

She nodded, her smile fading a little. “Yeah. And… her blessing came with some changes. I, uh… developed faster than the other girls. Fuller. Rounder. More… cow-adjacent.”

He looked over, sensing the tension. “They bullied you?”

“Oh, relentlessly,” she said, faking cheer. “Called me names. Said I looked unnatural. One kid even mooed at me in class.”

He winced. “Want me to find him?”

“I already cursed him with lactose intolerance.”

He blinked. “Remind me never to cross you.”

She smirked but her gaze dropped again. “The temple was the first place that didn’t make me feel like a freak. They called me sacred instead of shameful. But even then… I didn’t feel like I belonged. I still longed for something. For someone who didn’t see the blessing as a burden.”

Diablos’s voice came out low. “You were never a freak. You were always divine.”

She turned to him, surprised.

“I don’t mean just holy. I mean… you. You’re joy. You’re creation. You’re everything Bovara stands for—except with better comedic timing.”

Her face flushed pink.

“And,” he added, “anyone who ever mocked you should thank Bovara that I met you after I got my rage under control.”

She laughed, tearful and warm. “You’re ridiculous.”

He squeezed her hand again. “And you’re miraculous.”

They stood in the middle of the square, the world buzzing around them, but wrapped in a kind of private stillness. A sacred, stolen breath between battles, between blessings.

Then Momo’s stomach rumbled. Loudly.

They both looked down at it.

Diablos raised an eyebrow. “Another divine craving?”

“I swear, if Bovara is trying to make me snack-horny again—”

“…Snack-horny?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I MEANT—”

“Too late, it’s canon now,” Diablos said, grinning. “Guess we’re getting dessert.”

Momo rolled her eyes then said, “I have to go back to the temple for a bit, then we can get all the desert you want,”

Diablos laughed and shot back, “you’re the one with the rumbling tummy,” Momo smiled as Diablos followed her to the temple

The sun was dipping low, turning the sky into a rich swirl of apricot and lavender, when Momo and Diablos crossed the threshold of Bovara’s temple.

The golden doors swung open with their usual soft mooo, and the familiar warmth washed over them: rose milk incense, polished marble floors warm from the sun, and the faint scent of wildflowers and cream. The air shimmered faintly with divine energy—as always—but today, something felt… thicker. Tighter. Like the temple itself was holding its breath.

Momo paused, sensing it first.

“…She’s here,” she murmured.

Diablos raised a brow. “Bovara? She doesn’t usually make house calls, does she?”

“Only when something’s about to get interesting.”

As they entered the central hall, the temple’s light shifted—glowing warmer, deeper, and impossibly radiant. The offerings on the altar glowed. The air hummed. And then—

She arrived.

Bovara didn’t walk into the room. She existed into it.

A towering holstaur goddess with skin like sun-warmed cream, golden eyes, and curves carved from divinity itself stepped down from a shaft of light, her hooves clacking gently on the marble as her long tail swished. Her white and gold silks flowed like water around her, and her horns glimmered with pearlescent charm.

Her voice rang out, playful and loud, like laughter at a midsummer feast.

“Well, well… what do we have here?”

Momo immediately dropped to a respectful bow—half formal, half sheepish.

Diablos stared for a second too long. “…You weren’t kidding about the suggestive harvest murals.”

Bovara’s gaze slid toward him, and her lips curled into a smile so knowing it should’ve come with a warning label.

“And you must be the sacred stud who broke my cleric’s curse of celibate longing,” Bovara purred, eyes raking over Diablos with both divine amusement and appraisal. “My my. You’re even handsomer without fur. Mostly.”

Momo turned a scandalized shade of red. “Goddess—!”

“Shush, little milkdrop,” Bovara said fondly, waving her off. “I’m doing divine work.”

Diablos cleared his throat, somewhere between flattered and terrified. “Uh. I hope you’re not here to smite me.”

Bovara laughed—a rich, musical sound that made the floor vibrate and the walls sway with joy. “Smite you? Please. I ought to canonize you.”

She twirled a strand of her long golden hair and stepped closer, her gaze softening as she looked at Momo.

“I’ve been taking inventory,” she said, voice suddenly velvet. “Checking on all my little beloveds. And what do I find when I come home?”

She gestured between them, beaming.

“One of my brightest clerics… has found her soulmate.”

Momo’s breath caught.

Diablos’s eyes widened. “Soulmate?”

Bovara winked. “You think that kind of spiritual-moo-transformation happens with just anyone? Please. Divine bonds don’t just manifest because someone drinks temple milk and gets horny. You two were written into each other’s story before either of you knew what a blessing was.”

Momo looked up at Diablos, stunned, her hands nervously twisting the fabric of her robes.

He met her gaze, and for once, words escaped him.

Bovara tilted her head, knowingly. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That tension between you—not just lust, but that unbearable, beautiful ache. That’s mine. That’s soul-thread. It doesn’t unravel. It tightens.”

Momo swallowed hard. “So… this wasn’t just divine heat?”

“Oh, it was,” Bovara said, winking. “But divine heat, when matched with true devotion, burns forever. You’re not just lovers. You’re bound.”

Diablos exhaled sharply, then turned toward Momo fully. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but certain.

“Then I’m glad it’s you.”

Momo smiled, shy and glowing, like she was thirteen again and hearing the goddess call her for the first time.

“I always hoped it would be you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Bovara let out a proud little moo-sigh. “Oh, you two are going to make the most fertile chaos.”

Then she clapped her hands and the entire temple rang like a bell.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go bless a goat mid-labor. Try not to immediately rip each other’s clothes off in the vestibule.”

She disappeared in a puff of glittery mist and faint erotic laughter, leaving Momo and Diablos alone in the golden light of the temple.

The silence stretched.

Momo turned to him, dazed. “So… soulmate, huh?”

Diablos shrugged. “I mean… I did say I love you mid-moo. That counts for something.”

She laughed, giddy and warm, and leaned in to bump her horns gently against his.

“Guess we better start planning our next offering.”

Diablos smirked. “Marriage, or… another ‘blessing’?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Why not both?”

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

The Shaggy Uso — Jhea.

warnings — none. :)

thaaaa pit bulls: @spiicii @cheappop @acknowledge-reigns @maineventabbey @love4brutality @minteagalaxea

The show had ended over an hour ago, but Jey was still half-dressed in the locker room, a towel around his neck, gear pants loose at the waist, and his shoes untied. The post-show adrenaline was fading, replaced by that restless kind of energy he only got when something or someone was stuck in his head.

His phone glowed in his hand, thumb hovering as he scrolled through the late-night chaos of wrestling Twitter. Half the roster was tweeting memes, the fans were debating about main events, and then there it was; smack in the middle of his timeline like divine intervention.

Rhea had posted again.

“If I ever saw a lil brown pitbull puppy with one ear folded down I’d probably cry and die and adopt the dog on the spot. Just saying.”

Jey blinked. Read it again. Then again.

His heart stuttered like it caught a cramp. The image formed so fast in his head he nearly dropped the phone. A tiny pitbull. One ear folded. Big sad eyes. And her. Rhea. Picking it up like it was the most precious thing on earth. Pressing it to her chest. Kissing its snout.

He nearly barked.

Jimmy sat across the room, icing his knee, earbuds in, but he noticed the sudden shift in Jey’s face, the way his brows knit together like he’d just read an obituary or an erotica. One or the other.

“You good?” Jimmy asked, pulling a bud out.

Jey didn’t answer. He was rereading. Still. Lips slightly parted, like he was trying to understand a prophecy.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Jimmy said, side-eyeing him now. “Or like Rhea just tweeted again.”

“She did,” Jey muttered.

“Dawg,” Jimmy sighed. “You gotta let that woman live.”

But Jey didn’t hear him. Or he did, and didn’t care. Because the idea had already started blooming in his head. Something stupid. Something brilliant. He reread the tweet a fifth time, eyes snagging on one phrase: one ear folded down. Who the hell even says that? That was too specific to be random. That was a sign.

That was fate.

“She tryna get adopted,” he whispered. “That’s what I’m hearin’.”

Jimmy threw his head back, groaned. “You down astronomically, bro. I’m beggin’ you, go outside and touch some fuckin’ grass.”

But Jey was already unlocking Roman’s contact. Because he remembered something. Something ridiculous. Something his cousin had pulled out during WrestleMania weekend last year when they were drunk in Vegas. A little tin. Silver. Shiny. Like it came from another planet. Roman had called it special gum. A single chew, he claimed, would transform you—temporarily—into a dog. Not like metaphorically. Not like a horny joke. A literal dog. Four paws, wet nose, tail waggin’, whole thing.

Roman said he only used it when he was bored.

Or to mess with Kevin Owens.

But Jey wasn’t bored. He was lovesick. And desperate. And maybe out of his damn mind.

However… he also had a plan.

If Rhea wanted a puppy, she was gonna get one.

A small, loyal, soft-eyed one with a floppy ear and a whole lot of feelings.

And for once in his chaotic, complicated life… Jey Uso was gonna sit. Stay. And maybe even get adopted.

—

The hallway outside Roman’s private locker room was eerily quiet, like the calm before a very stupid storm. Jey paced twice, then knocked. Lightly. Then a little harder. Then once more for drama. He didn’t even wait for an answer before cracking the door open like he was sneaking into confession.

Roman was sitting inside with his feet up on a bench, shirtless in his black joggers like he lived at the White House. His hair was in a low bun, and he had a single AirPod in, clearly listening to something important—like war strategy or lo-fi trap remixes of church hymns.

He looked up, annoyed but not surprised.

“…What the hell do you want?”

Jey stepped in, tried to act casual. Failed instantly. “Lemme get that gum.”

Roman blinked. “What gum?”

“The gum, Uce. You know the one. The one that makes you…” Jey dropped his voice. “A lil canine.”

Roman stared. “You talkin’ about the prototype gum I got from that shady-ass chemist in Brooklyn that might’ve been laced with ketamine?”

Jey clapped once. “Yes! That one. That’s the one.”

“No.”

“C’mon, man. It’s important.”

“Is it national security?”

“Kinda. Emotional national security.”

Roman sighed deeply, dragged a hand down his face, and reached under the bench. He pulled out a sleek, flat tin labeled “Bark Mode™ – DO NOT CHEW UNLESS YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY SURE.”

“…What the hell are you planning, Jey?”

Jey lit up like a possessed Golden Retriever. “I’m gon’ become a puppy.”

Roman looked directly at the camera that wasn’t there. “Of course you are.”

“I saw her tweet, bro. She said she’d adopt a puppy. One ear folded down. That’s me. I’m him. I’m the puppy.”

Roman shook the tin once, gum rattling inside like a very bad idea. “Let’s say I give this to you. How the hell you gon’ get anything useful outta this? She ain’t about to sit down and tell a dog all her romantic preferences.”

“That’s where you come in,” Jey said, pointing both fingers like a middle-school boy with a group project idea that sucked.

Roman didn’t blink. “Nope.”

“Wait, hear me out,” Jey pushed, stepping closer like he was about to sell him a timeshare. “You… are dating her sister.”

Roman’s expression didn’t change. “No.”

“So like… you could just casually call her, and be like, ‘Hey babe, how’s your sister? Does she have a crush on anybody backstage? Oh, crazy—there’s a lost dog in her room.’ Boom. Rhea talks. I get the intel.”

Roman stared at him like he was trying to will his cousin into spontaneously combusting. “You want my girlfriend to randomly call her sister after I drop you off in front of her locker room, and try to get her to talk about you? Like… unprovoked?”

“Yup.”

Roman looked up at the ceiling. “Have you touched grass today?”

Jey scratched his neck. “Physically or spiritually?”

“You need prayer. And therapy. And a leash.”

“You got the leash?”

Roman stood up, towering, tired, but morbidly curious. “You serious about this?”

“I’m in love, Uce.”

Roman exhaled, handed over the gum tin, and muttered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You got four hours before you poof back into human form. And if you end up in a shelter, I’m not driving to pick you up.”

“I’m gon’ be fine,” Jey said, already unwrapping a piece. “She’s gonna scoop me right up and call me something cute like… Meatball or Duke.”

Roman squinted. “You better pray she don’t name you ‘Stupid.’”

Roman paused with the gum tin still in his hand, staring at his cousin like a teacher about to assign detention. “Wait. Is Rhea even here still?”

Jey blinked. “I think she’s at the hotel already.”

“You think?” Roman’s voice sharpened. “You about to chew transfiguration gum that might’ve expired and you don’t even know if she’s in the building?”

Jey shifted his weight, suddenly a little less confident. “I mean… she posted an Insta story from the hotel mirror like thirty minutes ago, so…”

Roman groaned. “See, this is why you need a handler.” He pulled out his phone, already shaking his head as he dialed.

Jey blinked. “Wait, who you calling?”

“My girlfriend. The sane Ripley sister.”

The phone rang once, then twice, before a bright voice answered. “Hey baby.”

“Hey love,” Roman said, his tone dropping several octaves into certified boyfriend mode. “Hey, quick thing—I’m tryna reach Rhea. She left her makeup bag in Liv’s locker room and Liv dropped it off here thinking you were still with me.”

“Oh,” Ryan replied, totally buying the cover story. “She’s at the hotel already, babe. I’ll text her.”

Roman waved a dismissive hand Jey’s way, mouthing chill as Jey started miming ask her! ask her! behind him like a child on Christmas Eve.

“Nah, no worries,” Roman continued smoothly. “I gotta talk to her about her Hell in a Cell match for SummerSlam. What room number?”

There was a pause, then Ryan answered sweetly, “Of course, babe. Room 560, the Hilton Inn. She’s probably still up, she was ordering dessert when I left.”

“Perfect. Thanks, love. I’ll call you later.”

“Love you too,” Ryan said before hanging up.

Roman slid the phone back into his pocket and turned slowly to face Jey, who was now holding the gum tin with both hands like it was a holy artifact.

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” Roman muttered.

“I didn’t drag you,” Jey grinned. “You walked.”

“You’re lucky Ryan didn’t ask why the hell I’m handling a makeup bag,” Roman grumbled. “Next time I’m tellin’ her you lost your mind and wanna be her sister’s rescue dog.”

Jey was already halfway to the door. “Room 560, right? Hilton Inn?”

Roman called after him, “You better not hump a pillow in there. I swear to God.”

Jey clutched the gum tin, already grinning with anticipation as he followed Roman down the hall. “I’m not humping any pillows,” he said confidently. “’Cause you’re dropping me off right in front of her door.”

Roman let out the longest exhale known to man. “This is not how I pictured middle age.”

He yanked his duffel bag over his shoulder while Jey all but dragged him out of the locker room, energized by pure delusion and horny determination. Within twenty minutes, they were walking through the side entrance of the Hilton Inn with the kind of paranoia that made it look like they were about to commit a felony.

Now, the two stood cramped inside the ice machine alcove on the fifth floor—Roman deadpan, Jey bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid before his first school play. Just three doors down was Room 560: Rhea Ripley’s current location, according to reliable intel from Ryan, the only normal person in this situation.

Roman leaned against the wall like a man who had seen too much. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.

“Too late,” Jey grinned, holding up the piece of gum between his fingers like he was about to chew into destiny.

Roman didn’t even try to stop him.

The gum hit Jey’s tongue with a snap. He chewed twice, three times, and then it happened—his vision blurred, the hallway spun, and his limbs melted inward like taffy.

With a soft poof and a weird little shimmer in the air, Jey Uso ceased to exist.

In his place sat a tiny, perfectly adorable pitbull puppy—just as Rhea had described in her tweet. Brown fur, soulful eyes, one floppy ear, and the exact kind of little round face that could make someone cry and die and adopt on the spot.

Roman blinked. “Oh my God, it worked again.”

The puppy barked once—more like a squeaky cough—then looked up with that smug Jey Uso expression like yeah, I did that.

Roman crouched down and stared at the tiny creature that used to be his cousin. “You’re actually brown. Like, perfectly brown. You look like a caramel M&M with legs.”

The puppy wagged his tail. He was thriving. Until Roman reached to pick him up.

Instantly, Puppy Jey twisted and chomped down on Roman’s finger.

“OW! Joshua! Really?!” Roman hissed, yanking his hand back.

Puppy Jey just tilted his head innocently, tail still thumping against the floor like who, me?

Roman cradled his bitten finger and glared. “I should just give this gum to you and Jimmy every time I want peace and quiet. At least when you’re in dog form, you can’t tell me about your love life.”

Puppy Jey barked twice, clearly offended.

Roman grumbled, picked him up with a reluctant sigh, and walked toward Room 560 like a man delivering a cursed artifact to a powerful sorceress.

“You bite her and I swear I’ll put you in a kennel.”

Roman now stood in front of the door to Room 560 holding Jey like he was a sack of potatoes with a snout. Puppy Jey wiggled in his arms, his tail wagging like a windshield wiper in a hurricane.

“This is insane,” Roman muttered, crouching low. “You bite her, bark at her, hump her boot, or sneeze on her… and I’m disowning you.”

Puppy Jey blinked up at him like he was the picture of innocence. His floppy ear bounced with each breath. Roman rolled his eyes and set him down on the carpet just in front of the door.

“Good luck, Meatball.”

He knocked once—sharp and fast—then turned and power-walked back to the alcove like he had just lit a firecracker.

The hallway was silent for two seconds. Then four.

Click.

The door cracked open.

Rhea Ripley appeared in sweatpants and a sports bra, her long black hair messy and damp from a shower. She looked left. Then right. Then—

“BARK!”

She froze.

Slowly… slowly… her eyes dropped to the floor.

And there he was.

A tiny, brown, one-floppy-eared pitbull puppy, staring up at her like she was the moon and all the planets. His tail wagged in frantic little circles. His entire butt wriggled.

Rhea blinked like she was hallucinating.

“No,” she whispered. “No fucking way.”

The puppy barked again. Louder. Happier. Almost like—hey, you manifested me, babe!

She dropped to her knees so fast her keys fell out of her pocket. “WHERE did you come from?!”

In the distance, Roman leaned against the ice machine alcove wall, watching the whole thing unfold with the dead-eyed resignation of a man who’s seen too much. He muttered to himself, “This is my life now. Gum. Dogs. Unpaid dog delivery.”

Rhea scooped Puppy Jey up and immediately buried her face in his fur.

“You have ONE floppy ear. Oh my God. You smell like outside. Who left you out here? WHO would be this cruel?”

Puppy Jey just licked her chin and nestled dramatically into her arms.

Rhea gasped. “You’re staying with me. Obviously.”

Roman, watching from a distance, mouthed, Oh, my God, as she turned and walked back into the room, the door shutting behind her. He rubbed his face and groaned, “I just helped my grown-ass cousin break into a woman’s hotel room in the form of a puppy. I need a sabbatical.”

—

Jey had imagined heaven a few times in his life. He figured it probably involved Rhea in lace, low lighting, and maybe a playlist of slow jams.

What he hadn’t predicted was that heaven would also include her sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed, calling him “baby boy” in a voice so soft it practically melted the drywall.

“You want a belly rub, huh? Is that what you want?” she cooed, ruffling his ears. “Wanna be my little spoiled Meatball?”

He barked once. Loud. Affirmative.

Then she flipped him gently onto his back and started rubbing his belly in slow, perfect, heavenly circles.

Jey saw God. His tiny puppy leg twitched involuntarily. He let out a whimper he did not approve of.

Stay cool, man. Stay strong, he told himself. But his tongue was already lolling out. He was kicking his legs like a wind-up toy. There were no thoughts left. Only belly rubs and her voice saying things like, “You’re such a good little man, aren’t you?”

Then her phone rang.

The belly rubs stopped.

Jey’s eyes snapped open. The trance broke. He scrambled upright, tail going stiff. Alert. Focused. Distracted only because the love of his life had stopped rubbing his damn belly.

“I’m sorry, little guy,” Rhea said, grabbing the phone from the nightstand. “Give me a second.”

Jey huffed. Loudly. She didn’t notice.

She answered and immediately hit speaker.

“Hey Bianca, what’s up?”

Bianca’s voice blared through the phone, high-energy and full of trouble: “Girl we finna turn UP tonight! I just got us a section at SkyBar and Liv already halfway drunk off one tequila!”

“I can’t,” Rhea said, sighing as she sat back down.

“Why the hell not?!”

“Put me on FaceTime.”

Rhea hit the accept button, and the screen lit up with Bianca’s excited face. Rhea flipped the camera to show the tiny pitbull.

Bianca screamed so loud the puppy flinched.

“Oh. My. GOD!!”

“I know!” Rhea said, cradling Jey closer like a new mother. “Someone just dumped him off outside my room like a little lost soul. He was just there.”

“STOP IT!” Bianca squealed. “LOOK AT HIS EAR! You have to keep him!”

“I’m already attached,” Rhea admitted, stroking Jey’s head. “He’s literally perfect.”

Jey was vibrating with conflicting emotions, had no idea whether to feel victorious or terrified.

Then Bianca said the words that made his fur stand up.

“We’re all coming to the room. Give us like five minutes!”

Rhea lit up. “Bet. I’ll text you the room number.”

Bianca waved at the camera. “Don’t let anyone touch him before I get there, I swear to God, he’s mine second.”

The call ended.

Well I guess we don’t have to call Ryan, Jey thought.

Jey remained upright in Rhea’s lap, eyes wide, tongue out in panic. She ruffled his ears one more time and said, “Guess you’re gonna have a slumber party, huh little guy?”

Jey barked once.

But internally?

He was screaming.

Five minutes later, the door to Room 560 flew open like someone was chasing a piñata. Liv Morgan and Bianca Belair burst in wearing matching energy: messy hair, crop tops, and the kind of boots made for stomping through nonsense. Bianca had a half-empty bottle of tequila in hand, and Liv was already barefoot.

“Oh my GOD, where is he?!” Bianca squealed.

Rhea pointed to the bed.

And there he was; Puppy Jey, now flopped dramatically on his back, looking like a tiny brown loaf of bread with a tail.

“He’s even cuter in person!” Liv cried, crawling onto the bed immediately. Bianca was close behind, setting the tequila down and cooing as they both surrounded the tiny dog like he was a living Build-A-Bear.

Then it happened.

Double belly rubs.

Four hands. One belly. No thoughts. Jey’s tongue fell out again. He kicked. He hated himself.

“I wanna name him Meatball,” Rhea said proudly, sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed.

Liv tilted her head. “He kinda looks like a Sir Barkington though.”

They all burst out laughing.

“Sir Barkington the Third,” Bianca added, fake-posh. “Knighted by Queen Rhea of Badassia.”

Puppy Jey whimpered.

Bianca grinned wickedly. “Or maybe… you should name him Jey Jr. Since ole’ boy is obsessed with you.”

Rhea rolled her eyes. “He is not obsessed with me.”

Liv raised her brows so hard they almost left her face. “Girl. I practically saw him drool over you during your entrance last week.”

“He wasn’t,” Rhea insisted, but her voice had that weak wobble of someone lying to herself. “He’s just… friendly.”

“Uh-huh,” Bianca said, picking up the tequila and sniffing it. “Friendly men don’t trip over their own shoelaces watching you stretch.”

“I don’t know,” Rhea admitted, plucking at a loose string on her sweatpants. “I mean… he’s cute.”

Puppy Jey’s ears perked up so fast his neck cracked.

“…But,” she added, “I just don’t know. I think he may be trying too hard.”

Jey whimpered again. It was involuntary. The betrayal stung worse than the neutering he was starting to fear.

Liv yanked the tequila out of Bianca’s hand. “Hold up, I need more tequila for this.”

Bianca grabbed a pillow and launched it at Rhea. “Girl, you’re hot. Of course he’s gonna try too hard!”

“I’m not saying that’s bad,” Rhea laughed. “It’s just… sometimes when a guy tries too hard it’s like—what are you overcompensating for?”

Puppy Jey closed his eyes.

He was officially rubbing his tiny face into the bedspread, trying to disappear.

So this was how he died. Death by double belly rubs and ego annihilation.

Before Jey knew it, the tequila hit. You could tell by the way Bianca was now swaying on the edge of the bed, dramatically holding Puppy Jey like he was her emotional support plushie. Also how Liv was lying upside down off the side, feet up against the headboard, giggling every thirty seconds for no reason. And Rhea?

Rhea was quiet.

Too quiet.

She sat cross-legged again, her back against the pillows, a soft look pulling at her features as she watched the girls fawn over the dog that had literally been dropped at her door.

“He really likes you,” Liv said with a smile, passing the puppy gently into Rhea’s lap again.

Rhea caught him easily, stroking between his ears as he melted against her stomach. Her fingers slowed. Her face softened.

“I like him too,” she murmured.

Bianca blinked, sobering just a bit. “You talkin’ about the dog or—?”

“I mean…” Rhea laughed under her breath. “Both.”

Puppy Jey froze.

Rhea scratched his neck absently, her voice lowering like she was finally letting something slip loose. “Jey’s sweet. He really is. I just don’t know if he’s like… you know…”

She paused.

“Mr. Husband Material,” Liv finished for her, more sober than expected.

Rhea nodded slowly. “Exactly. Like, he’s got this charm. And that damn smile. And he smells way too good for his own good. But I’ve also seen him in six different flirting scandals, two on-camera almost-kisses, and that one very confusing TikTok where he moaned into a mic.”

Puppy Jey let out a whimper that could’ve been a cough or a soul leaving a body.

Rhea smiled down at him, brushing her thumb gently over his floppy ear. “But then he’ll do something sweet. Like help Kayden carry her bags even though no one asked. Or buy food for the ring crew without telling anyone. He’s got heart, you know?”

Bianca was holding her heart like she was watching The Notebook.

Liv sniffled. “You need a man with heart, Rhea. And thighs. And a soft voice that says ‘uce’ all low—”

“Shut up,” Rhea laughed, eyes still on the dog.

Puppy Jey tilted his head. Their eyes locked.

And for a second, Rhea swore he understood her.

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his nose. It made a little smooch sound. Jey’s whole brain lit up like a firework factory.

Rhea smiled. “What do you think, Meatball?” she whispered. “Should I give the Samoan my time?”

Jey barked. One sharp, immediate, emotional bark that echoed off the walls like a confession of love.

The girls gasped.

“He said YES!” Bianca squealed, kicking her feet.

Liv wiped a fake tear. “He barked in favor of love!”

Rhea stared down at him, smiling thoughtfully.

“Alright then,” she whispered, “Maybe I will.”

And Puppy Jey wagged his tail like it was the happiest day of his life—because it was.

He just hoped he could find a way to tell her before she tried to register him with a vet.

The night had turned cozy. The tequila was half gone, Liv and Bianca had migrated to the floor with snacks, and Rhea was curled on the bed, swaddled in a blanket burrito, cradling Puppy Jey like he was her firstborn child.

He was warm, full of belly rubs, a little dizzy from being called “handsome man” no less than fifteen times, and dangerously close to falling asleep in her arms.

Rhea kissed the top of his head again and again, slow and affectionate, like this was the dog she’d been waiting for her whole life.

“I think we’ll register you in the morning,” she whispered, rubbing the side of his face. “Get you some shots. Maybe a little hoodie.”

Puppy Jey’s tail thumped against her thigh. His eyes rolled back a little. She was kissing him again. His entire face this time. His snout. His forehead. She was cooing in a voice nobody had ever heard Rhea Ripley use on a living creature.

“You’re just the bestest boy in the whole wide world, aren’t you? Yes, you are. You’re my little Meatball. You’re mama’s sweet angel…”

And then it happened.

Mid-tail wag. Mid-happy sigh. Mid-another kiss right on his damn nose—

BAM.

There was a sudden poof, a flash of warmth, and then—

Puppy Jey disappeared.

In his place, a full-grown, very human, very naked Jey Uso was now awkwardly curled in Rhea’s lap like a man who had just been reborn out of hell.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Rhea screamed and immediately launched backward, falling off the bed in a tangle of limbs and flannel.

Liv and Bianca screamed too, mostly because screaming is contagious.

“WHAT THE FUCK—WHO THE FUCK—WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” Rhea yelled from behind the bed, grabbing the tequila bottle like a weapon.

“WAIT! WAIT! DON’T HIT ME! It’s me—it’s Jey!”

“I CAN SEE THAT, JOSHUA.”

He held up both hands like a suspect caught mid-robbery. “I can explain, okay?! There’s a logical, beautiful, romantic explanation that involves science and mild stalking.”

“HOW LONG WERE YOU THE DOG?!”

“…Roughly four hours.”

“FOUR. HOURS?!”

“Technically three hours and fifty-three minutes but yes.”

Bianca had grabbed a towel from the bathroom and tossed it at him like he was radioactive. Liv just whispered, “This is the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever seen.”

Rhea stood up slowly.

“Start. Talking.”

Jey scrambled to sit properly on the edge of the bed, wrapping the towel around his waist and trying to gather what was left of his dignity—which, frankly, wasn’t much.

“Okay. So. I saw your tweet about the puppy with the one floppy ear. And I thought… wow. That could be me.”

“…Excuse me?”

He kept going. “So I hit up Roman. He’s got this gum. Magic gum. Don’t ask questions. It turns you into a dog. For like four hours. I figured—if I showed up at your door as the dog of your dreams, maybe you’d say something that’d tell me if you actually liked me back. Y’know, like some intel.”

There was a long, stunned silence.

Then Rhea blinked. “So instead of just talking to me… like a normal person… you became a dog.”

“Yes. For love.”

Bianca was howling in the corner. “This is Shakespearean levels of dumbass.”

Rhea just stared.

And then—God help him—Jey smiled, a little sheepish. “So… should we still go register me in the morning? Maybe under ‘Jey Jr.’?”

Another beat.

Then Rhea burst out laughing. Fully, uncontrollably, chest-shaking laughter as she shoved him back onto the bed.

“Did you touch grass today?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”

“You’re insane.”

“I know.”

“Like, clinically.”

“Yup.”

She leaned over him, one eyebrow raised. “And what exactly do you think happens now?”

Jey smirked. “You could still give the Samoan your time.”

She kissed him. Hard. Quick. Smirking against his mouth.

“Only because Meatball barked in your favor.”

[spitinsideme]

Kinger, Zooble and Jax make an intervention to Pomni and Raghata because they’re too horny and they’re tired of them making out everywhere. Like during the intervention.

yesss ... they are FED UP WITH THEM MAKING OUT !!! LIKE GIRLS STOP KISSING WITH INTENT TO EAT EACH OTHER OUT AND INSTEAD EAF YOUR FUCJING FOOD !!! pomni is pissed that theyve been disturbred

zooble has just given uo at this point