#i need to flesh this out more but for now needed to get this out of my system

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 8

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Explicit Smut / NSFW. Minors DNI (Do Not Interact), Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Fingering, Breast Play / Touching, Penetrative Sex (P in V), Breeding Kink / Creampie, Voyeurism, Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: The chapter I know many of you have been dying for. As the warning states, explicit smut, people! I didn't hold back. For my readers who don't like that, a fair warning that the chapter starts and ends with smut, but there is an important part in between regarding the bond & plot. Let me know if you want me to add markers for that tho? This chapter ended up being longer than I expected, so the next chapter will... also...have... smut. I just couldn't fit it all in here. So y'all will have another yummy treat next chapter! I started writing this series already intending for it to be spicy, but it isn't everything of course!

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The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

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Names (For those who get confused): Haneul (Abby), Seoha (Romance), Hwimori/Hwi (Mystery), Seungho (Baby)

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Part 8:

No More Waiting

They move at once. Not with chaos. With purpose. Hands, breaths, mouths. Like predators descending—not out of rage, but hunger. Not just to claim, but to consume. They don’t just touch you—they devour you.

Mystery— Hwimori’s hands grip your hips with urgency, as if anchoring himself to the only tether keeping him sane. He buries his face in your neck, breath hot, voice a trembling worship against your skin. “You smell so good, baby,” he murmurs, lips trailing your throat. “I want to live inside your bones. Want to rip myself open and pour into you. Make a nest in your ribs and never leave.”

Your gasp catches, and he shudders against you. Romance—Seoha appears at your side, his fingers cradling your jaw like you’re spun glass. “So perfect,” he breathes, brushing his lips over your cheek.

Then Baby—Seungho seizes your wrist. The bruising grip, the wild eyes, that untethered possessiveness like a match already lit. “You made me wait.” His voice is low, guttural. It’s not anger—it’s damage. “You walked through lifetimes without me. And now…” His gaze sweeps your body like he’s already stripping it bare. “Now you’ll feel what that did to me.”

You gasp as he angles his hips closer to your torso and you feel him. His burning need and desire ground into your stomach. You gasp and moan at the feeling, the sound making all of them growl in complete and utter need.

They don’t carry you to the bed. They herd you—closer, closer—with every step back met by one, two, three more bodies pressing forward. Fingers grazing your skin like it’s theirs by right. Mouths brushing exposed flesh. Words whispered in barely-restrained lust.

You can’t tell whose hands are where. Only that you're being unmade. Until your back hits the bed—and even then, they don't pounce. Not yet. They savor.

Jinu is behind you before you blink. One firm tug and you're pulled between his legs, back flush to his chest, his thighs bracketing yours. His arms wrap around your waist, steel and silk. He kisses your neck with slow-burning hunger. Not a kiss to seduce—a kiss to bind. “You belong here,” he says, low and devastating. “With us. With me. In every life. In every death. Every breath in between.”

His hands drift up, palms broad, fingertips burning into your thighs, your waist, your ribs. Like he's memorizing you through possession.

Then, Seoha and Hwimori appear before you. Together. Eyes gleaming, breath caught. Like they’re standing at the altar of something divine. “Let us see you,” Seoha whispers. “Let us remember.”

Hwimori’s fingers tremble as he reaches for your top. He doesn’t yank—it’s a slow peel, a delicate unveiling. Inch by inch, until the fabric slips over your head and falls away, leaving you bare to their ravenous eyes.

The five demons before you stare, breathing ragged. Like the sight of your bare skin was the ruin they’ve been waiting for. Seoha’s breath catches. You hear Abby– Haneul growl, deep and wanting at the sight of you in your bra and skirt. His eyes dart to the swell of your cleavage and he almost comes undone at the sight. Hwimori swears under his breath. “Fucking… god.”

Seoha presses a kiss to your stomach, eyes fluttering shut like he's praying. “You are not real,” he murmurs. “You’re a vision. A fever dream we bled centuries to see again.”

You moan at the feel of his warm lips on your skin. His kisses trail upwards, closer and closer to the treasure hidden beneath your undergarments. And then, Jinu’s hands unclasp your bra from behind, Hwimori peeling it off like a present he’s been waiting to open. And the sight of you has them moaning.

“Fuck,” Seoha hisses. Haneul lets out a growl, eyes flashing a bright topaz. Seoha continues his trail upwards on your body. “So. Fucking. Beautiful.” he says between kisses. The first right above your navel, one after the other before he places a kiss in between your breasts. His lips burn and ignite a burning desire within you. Every kiss sends shock waves down to your core. 

You whimper and Hwimori’s hands shake as they frame your waist. “If you were a god,” he breathes, “I’d burn every temple. Just to build one with your body as the altar.”

Behind you, Jinu’s breath hitches. His voice is ruined silk. “You’ve always been sacred. Ours. No matter the body. No matter the time.”

Then— Seungho. He’s standing in front of you. A prince bowed low, madness glinting in his eyes. He grabs your face—not gently, not cruelly, but desperately, like he’ll break apart if he doesn’t feel you, doesn’t anchor himself in you. And then he kisses you.

It’s not a kiss—it’s an onslaught. Ruinous. Ravaging. A soul-shattering collision of everything he’s buried for lifetimes. Your lips open on a moan as his mouth consumes yours, tongue sliding in with wild, aching hunger. One hand fists your breast like he’s claiming it. His thumb rolls over your nipple, and you sob into his kiss.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans, dragging his lips down your throat, biting softly, worshipping harsh. “I’d skin the world for the way you just breathe. I’ll never let you go. No one else sees you like this. No one else gets to.”

You’re shaking. Overheated. Undone.

“You’re too much,” you whisper. 

He licks into your mouth like he wants to taste your heart. “And still not fucking enough.”

They press in like a tide, and there’s nowhere to run. Jinu’s mouth turns feverish at your neck. Seoha’s hands slide up your bare legs, slow and cruel before palming your left breast. A moan escapes you at the feel of his touch. Hwimori’s lips latch to your collarbone before you feel his shaky hand palm your right breast. He growls into your skin.  Haneul licks a stripe across your inner thigh and moans, as if he’s the one unraveling.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to us,” Haneul murmurs. “You’ve been remaking us since the first time you smiled.”

The need in the room is feral. Clawing. Endless. You’re surrounded by five demons. And every one of them is starved for you. And this time… You want to be devoured.

A whimper breaks from your throat—high, needy—as Seoha and Hwimori’s breath ghosts over your chest. Their mouths hover, eyes dark with reverence and hunger, like twin beasts starving at the altar of your skin. And then—they descend.

Their mouths find your nipples in perfect, possessive sync, hot and wet, and you cry out, body arching, writhing, trembling. Their tongues roll over your peaks like they were tasting something forbidden, something sacred. You’ve never felt like this before—like your skin was stitched from lightning and silk, like your blood was boiling gold.

Your wrists are pinned to the bed beside you, held down by their hands like you might vanish if they loosened their grip. Like they need to anchor you. Jinu trails his tongue down your neck, slow and searing, like he’s branding you in fire. His breath is ragged, teeth grazing flesh. “You taste like every lifetime I’ve lost you in,” he growls into your skin. “Let me have you in this one.”

Then—hands spread your legs. Large. Firm. Commanding. You look down, dazed, breath caught—and freeze. Haneul. Between your thighs.

His gaze is molten obsidian, locked onto yours like a wolf scenting blood. Starved. Dangerous. Worshipful. You flinch as his breath grazes your inner thigh—and your skirt is slowly pushed up, inch by inch, exposing the soft lace beneath.

He groans, low and sinful. “Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his nose up your panties with a slow inhale that shudders through him. “Did you wear these for us, baby? For me?”

You barely manage a breath, your lips parting in a gasp—but then Seoha nips at your nipple, gently, and your whole body jolts. Jinu grips your chin hard, angling your face toward him. His mouth touches your ear—hot, demanding, coaxing. “Answer him, pretty girl.”

You squirm in his grasp. “Y-Yes,” you squeak.

But Haneul doesn’t let you catch your breath. He’s inhaling you like you’re the last thing left in the world worth breathing. His nose runs the length of your heat, eyes fluttering closed like he’s praying. Like he’s already drunk off you. “That’s all well and good, baby,” he murmurs darkly, voice barely human, “but you won’t miss these—will you?”

Before you can speak, the lace is torn from your body with a savage rip. A sound that echoes louder than it should. You gasp, instinctively trying to close your legs—but Hwimori and Seoha’s grip tightens. Jinu tsks from behind, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him.

“You don’t hide from us,” he whispers. “Not anymore.”

Their eyes devour you. Hunger. Possession. Worship. You are no longer a girl laid bare. You are the offering. 

Haneul kisses the inner corner of your thigh, then the other—soft, teasing, deadly.

“Wait—mmph!” You try to protest, but Jinu swallows your words with a kiss—ferocious and deep, a growl curling in his throat. His tongue commands yours like he’s claiming territory. Like your mouth is his. You sob into him as Haneul licks just above your heat, so close it aches. Every nerve in your body is fraying.

“What do you want, baby?” Seoha murmurs against your breast, lips dragging along your sensitive skin, voice thick with devotion and madness. “Say it. Say it so we can give it to you.”

“I—” Your voice catches. You’re panting. Burning. “I don’t know—”

“You do,” Jinu hisses, dragging your face toward the sight of Abby– Haneul hovering just above your center, his tongue already peeking past his lips. “Look at him. Say it.”

Your gaze lifts—and you see Baby- Seungho behind Haneul. Watching. Possessive. Hungry. His eyes blaze red-gold like a god enraged. His jaw clenched. His chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Beg,” he says.

A single word. A sentence. A vow.

You shatter. “Please,” you whisper, tears brimming in your lashes. “Haneul… I-I need—please. Touch me.”

The groans that erupt around you could bring the heavens crashing down. “Where, baby?” Haneul hums, lips now just a breath from your heat. “Where do you need me?”

“Right there.” Your voice cracks. You don’t even know where it hurts anymore—only that it does. “Please. Just please.” 

And then— The world stops. Because Haneul moves, and you are no longer kissed. You are devoured.

His mouth is merciless, and the first press of his tongue is pure annihilation. Your back arches. Your moan is swallowed by Jinu’s mouth. Your body writhes in chains of touch and teeth and heat and madness. Pleasure surges through you like a wave pulled from lifetimes of longing.

And they don’t stop. Because they’re not done. Because they’ve only just begun to ruin you. And you? You want to drown.

Haneul’s tongue moves like he’s starving—and he is. Not just for the taste of you, but the power in it. The proof that you're real. That this body, this soul, is finally within his grasp again.

“Fuck, she tastes like heaven.” He groans against you. “The closest to heaven we’ll ever get.”

Your legs tremble, twitching against their grip, but they don’t let you move. They couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk you slipping away. Not when you’ve been stolen by time and fate and death before. Not when they’ve only just gotten you back.

Seoha releases your nipple with a slick pop, his mouth swollen, eyes glazed. “She tastes like fate,” he mutters hoarsely, dragging his tongue down the curve of your breast. “And I’m done pretending that I’m not addicted.”

Hwimori presses his lips to your sternum, then your collarbone, then your jaw, each kiss tender and wild, like he’s scent-marking you with his mouth. “I can feel it,” he whispers against your pulse. “Her soul is singing. She wants this.”

Jinu groans low behind you, his arms flexing around your waist like a vice. “Mine,” he growls into your ear, biting the shell of it just enough to make you jolt. “Every sound, every breath, every fucking heartbeat—mine.”

And it’s true.

You feel like you’re splitting apart at the seams, not from pain, but from how much of them is in you—around you—claiming you. It’s more than lust. It’s memory. It’s centuries of starving for something they were never allowed to touch. Until now. Until you.

Your vision blurs as your hips buck, only to be slammed down by Haneul’s grip, his arms anchoring your thighs as he devours you like the world’s on fire and your body is the only thing left worth saving.

You sob. You keen. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

“Fuck—look at her,” Seoha breathes, brushing your hair back to see your face more clearly. “She’s coming apart for us.”

Your eyes flutter open—wet, dazed—and meet Seungho’s. He hasn’t touched you yet. But the way he looks at you from the foot of the bed—like a man possessed, like a god betrayed—makes your entire body clench. His fists are white-knuckled at his sides, holding back from tearing Haneul away just to take his place.

“She’s shaking,” Mystery murmurs, brushing his fingers over your ribs, holding you down as your spine arches.

“She’s remembering,” Jinu rasps. “Her soul… it knows.”

You choke on another moan as pleasure floods you, again and again, rippling like thunder in your veins. Your hands fist the sheets. You forget where you are. Who you are. You only know them. Only know the ache they’ve filled. And the space they’ve ruined. They don’t ask if it’s too much. They want it to be too much.

Because if you’re overwhelmed— You’re theirs.

“You’ll never want anyone else after this,” Haneul growls between licks, his voice muffled against your heat. “We’re gonna ruin you, princess. Ruin you so fucking sweet, you’ll beg to never leave.”

You’re unraveling.

Hands on your skin. Mouths against your chest. Fangs brushing your throat. You don’t even register what Haneul is doing until something firm presses against your soaked folds.

"Let me see how you grip me, baby…" he breathes—voice heavy with possession, like he’s about to step into a cathedral built of flesh and need.

You cry out—head snapping back—when a single finger pushes into your entrance. The intrusion is thick and slow and real, and your body fights to adjust. It burns. It aches. It pleads. Hwimori laces your fingers with his, grounding you, as your thighs twitch. He squeezes your hand hard. “Breathe, baby. You can take it. You were made for us.”

“Oh, fuck,” Haneul groans, and his eyes—his demon eyes—flash topaz and wild, like fire licking up stained glass. “She’s so fucking tight.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath when another finger joins the first—and you keen, hips jolting. You try to twist away, but Jinu grabs your throat, pulling you back against him like a tether snapping taut. “Don’t run, kitten,” he murmurs darkly. “You’ll take what we give you.”

And then the rhythm starts.

Haneul curls his fingers inside you—dragging, pulsing, invading. Your hips buck as the pleasure spikes, sharp and overwhelming. Your walls flutter, helpless to resist. Jinu holds you in place like a living chain, and your legs begin to shake from the sheer intensity.

Seoha and Hwimori groan, their mouths never leaving your chest, sucking and biting, marking you like they need proof that you’re real. That you’re here. That you’re theirs.

“So wet,” Haneul growls, fingers thrusting harder now, deeper, smarter. “Like you’ve been waiting for this.” His fingers curl again—and this time, it shatters you. Your back bows like a bowstring pulled to its limit.

“Oh god—” you cry, trembling violently.

Haneul’s mouth covers your clit, licking with the desperation of a dying man. Worship. Destruction. Hunger. His fingers never slow—each drag a calculated sin. “Found it,” he purrs against your core. “Right there. That’s your weakness, isn’t it, princess? Let me break you open with it.”

Tears spill from your eyes—tears of shock, pleasure, need. Jinu growls and captures your lips, swallowing your sob like a vow. His tongue invades your mouth, rough and wild, as he rocks his hips up into your back—letting you feel the full weight of his desire pressing into your spine.

“She’s close,” Hwimori pants beside you. His voice sounds wrecked. 

And then—you see him. Seungho. A shadow. A storm. A demon forged in ruin. He approaches slowly, and the sight of him knocks the breath from your lungs. His eyes are aflame. The bulge in his pants is obscene, straining. But it’s his expression that makes your pulse spike.

He kneels beside Haneul—silent, deadly. You don’t know what he’s about to do until his hand lifts— And presses down on your lower abdomen. Firm. Unrelenting. The pressure makes you wail.

Your walls clench around Haneul’s fingers like a vice, your thighs locking around his head—but he doesn’t stop. He groans into you, fingers and tongue now in perfect tandem, unrelenting in their devotion to your unraveling.

Seungho watches you. Watches the desperation in your eyes, the tears, the panic, the surrender. “You’ll fall apart for us,” he growls low, pressing down just a fraction more. “We want to watch you break.”

Your fingers claw at Seoha’s forearm and Hwimori’s wrist. You can feel Jinu biting at your neck again. The air is thick with sweat, panting, the sound of your slick echoing with every thrust of Haneul’s fingers.

And then— You detonate.

The coil in your stomach snaps with brutal intensity and you scream—a sound pulled from your soul and carried across centuries. It echoes through the room like prophecy. Your vision whites out. You shatter—like glass caught in the crosswinds of your past lives. Like every moment you were ever separated from them has come rushing back in fire.

You don’t know where your body ends and theirs begin. But you know one thing: You are theirs.

And they will never let you go. Not in this life. Not in the next. Not even in death. 

“Good girl,” Jinu growls into your ear, breath ragged, as your scream fades into a broken, trembling whimper.

“That’s it,” Hwimori whispers, brushing your damp hair back from your face, his forehead pressed gently to your temple. “Come for us, baby. You did so well…”

“You were perfect,” Seoha murmurs, voice velvet-slick and reverent as his lips kiss the trail of tears on your cheeks. “So fucking perfect. That’s our girl.”

“You took it all,” Haneul rasps between your thighs, lips still shining with your release, voice dark and ruined with awe. “Just like that. All for us.”

Their praise wraps around you like silk ribbons. Tethering. Claustrophobic. Divine.

Your body trembles as you sag into Jinu’s arms, heart thundering so hard it hurts. Your vision pulses—blurs at the edges like you’re underwater. And then—

Your eyes flash open. But they’re not the same. The world swims in red. You blink once. Twice. And everything shifts.

Threads.

Crimson threads, glowing, humming—stretching from your chest like living veins of fate. Five of them. Writhing. Pulling. Binding. Each one connects you to the demons who now stare down at you with wide eyes, breath halted. They feel it too. A sharp inhale cuts through the silence like a blade drawn clean from its sheath.

“She’s—” Seoha chokes.

“Her eyes…” Hwimori whispers.

You gasp. You can see the soulbond. You can feel it in your bones—burning, sacred, ancient. As if your blood had been waiting for this moment across lifetimes. It rushes through you like lightning on open water, cracking you apart from the inside.

The bond snaps into place like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know existed. But not all of it. Not completely just yet. You sob, overwhelmed. There’s too much in your chest—devotion, obsession, love. 

The boys surround you instantly, their touches softer now, voices turning worshipful. “You’re glowing,” Jinu breathes, holding you tighter.

“She’s ours,” Haneul says, almost reverently, like he’s speaking a prayer. Seoha cups your face in trembling hands. “You feel it too, don’t you, darling? The bond. The promise. The truth of us.”

“It’s okay,” Seungho soothes, lips brushing your knuckles. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere. Just breathe.”

But you can’t. It’s all too much. You reach for one of them—any of them—but your fingers tremble too hard. Your vision tunnels. Your mouth opens—but no words come.

The last thing you see is Seungho, standing above you like a shadow cast by the past, eyes wide and haunted. “She’s passing out—”

And then you go still. Your head falls against Jinu’s chest, lashes fluttering shut. The soulbond sings in your blood. And you fall into unconsciousness cradled in the arms of demons who have waited lifetimes to bring you home.

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The first thing you feel is warmth. Then pressure. Then breath.

You stir, the world a blur of color and heat—and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat- Strong and steady- surrounding you. You blink through the haze, vision slowly focusing on the soft, amber glow flickering from the room’s sconces, and realize you’re not lying down. You’re in someone’s arms.

Jinu’s.

You’re cradled in his lap, your head tucked beneath his chin, his strong arms wrapped tight around your frame like he’d fused you to him in your sleep. His scent—earth and sandalwood and something darker, ancient—floods your senses. He’s shirtless, and the heat of his bare chest radiates into you.

You blink again. They’re all here.

Seoha was seated at your side, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline. Hwimori, crouched at the edge of the bed, his hair falling forward as he watches you like a silent sentinel. Haneul leans against the wall, fists clenched at his sides, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Seungho is seated at the foot of the bed, elbows on knees, shirt discarded, glowing eyes locked on your face like they’re drinking in every breath you take.

None of them had slept in the two hours you had been unconscious.

“You’re awake,” Jinu breathes, his voice cracking at the edges. His grip tightens possessively. “You scared us.”

Seoha leans closer, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Do you remember what happened?”

Hwimori’s eyes flick across your features, searching. “How do you feel?”

You swallow, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel… amazing.”

It’s not a lie. You felt great. As if the bond had healed any fatigue and grogginess. It’s just not the whole truth.

They visibly relax—only slightly. Seungho exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. Haneul’s head drops forward, but his eyes never leave yours. 

“You passed out,” Seoha says softly. “You glowed.”

“You were thrumming with power,” Hwimori adds. “The bond reacted. Too strong, too fast.”

Jinu nuzzles your temple. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?”

“I am.” You nod to ease their worry. You look down to see that you were draped in someone’s shirt- Haneul’s. But that was the only thing you had on. Your cheeks flush. “Did—did someone…?”

Seoha nods, his expression tender. “We cleaned you. Down there.”

You glance down, embarrassed.

“You were trembling,” Hwimori adds gently. “We just wanted you comfortable.”

A wave of love rolls over you—and something else. That hum again. It’s a strange pull. You look at each of them, your heart stuttering. Shirtless, glowing eyes, all of them so achingly beautiful in the low light. Jinu’s body beneath you is all sharp lines and broad strength. Seoha’s chest rises and falls with quiet restraint, lean and cut like a sculpture. Hwimori’s frame is deceptively strong, his arms lean with muscle and his collarbone dusted with faded marks of tension. Haneul’s muscles are coiled like a predator ready to strike, his arms flexing with each breath. And Seungho—Seungho looks like wrath carved into devotion, the angles of his body rigid with something close to pain.

You’re starting to love them. Every inch. But something is missing. Something tugs at your soul, unfinished. Like you’ve walked through the door, but not stepped inside. You had felt nearly complete a while ago. A euphoric feeling of connection to them as the bond strengthened. But deep inside you knew there was something missing. 

You blink up at them. “Can I… ask you something?”

They tense. “Anything,” Jinu says, voice low.

Your eyes dart to each of them. You’re certain this was it. The missing piece. “I need to see you. All of you. As you really are.”

The silence is immediate. Their gazes darken. Jinu’s arms tense. Seoha’s smile falters. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” Haneul mutters.

Hwimori’s fingers twitch. “We’re not… safe. Not in those forms.”

You shake your head. “Please. I need to. The bond—it’s not whole. Not yet. I can feel it.”

Jinu presses his forehead to yours, a low growl in his throat. “If you’re scared, even for a second—”

“I won’t be.”

You take each of their hands, one by one.

“I want to see you,” you whisper. “All of you. Not just the masks… please.”

Seoha’s jaw clenches. “Even if we look like monsters?”

“You never have.”

Something breaks in them. And then it begins. Shadows ripple. The air thickens as their skin darkens—not into black or red, but a rich, violet-blue hue etched with glowing marks and patterns, sigils carved into flesh like ancient poetry. Amber eyes burn brighter, like lanterns in a storm. Their veins pulse violet. Their presence swells until it chokes the room, not painful—but potent. Electric.

You gasp, tears welling. This is what they’ve been keeping from you? How in the world could they ever think you could despise them?

They’re terrified. Seoha won’t meet your eyes. Jinu looks frozen. Haneul’s teeth are clenched so tight they could shatter. Seungho—your dark blade—his jaw trembles.

You trace the patterns of Jinu- the one closest to you. His eyes flutter shut at the light feel of your fingertips on his face. You marvel at him, at who he truly is. What all of them really were. One by one, you place your palms on their chests, feel the warmth of demon markings, trace them like scripture. You lean forward and press a kiss to Seoha’s throat. To Hwimori’s chest. To Haneul’s ribs. To Seungho’s stomach. To Jinu’s heart.

“You’re beautiful.”

A silence washes over the room as they freeze. Like you’ve said something impossible. Something forbidden. Jinu’s breath catches in his throat. Seoha goes utterly still. Haneul looks away. Hwimori’s shoulders tense. Seungho clenches his jaw so tight you hear it crack.

“You don’t have to lie to us,” Jinu murmurs, almost too softly. “Not about this.”

“We know what we are,” Haneul mutters, eyes fixed on the floor. “We’ve seen the way humans look at us like we’re monsters.”

“We are monsters,” Seungho says hollowly, his amber eyes flickering with something unreadable.

You step forward—heart burning, soul alight. “Then let them call you monsters,” you whisper, voice trembling with truth. “Because if you are, then you’re mine. Every shadow, every scar, every part you were taught to hide—give it to me. I won’t run.”

They stare at you in shock and disbelief. As if your words were too good to be true.

So you prove it. You go to Hwimori first, his demon form trembling under your touch. You lift your fingers to his jaw, brushing over the gleaming marks that curve over his cheek. “You always feel everything I feel. You carry my pain like it’s your own. You’re not a monster, Hwi. You’re my mirror.”

He shudders, eyes wide and glassy. A soft, disbelieving sound escapes him as he clutches your hand to his chest like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

Next, you move to Seoha. His body is coiled like he’s ready to run, even as need burns behind his eyes. You press a kiss to the swirling pattern that stretches down his sternum, then another to the hollow of his throat. “You’ve always seen me. You make me feel like every word I say matters. You’re not just a fantasy I want to live in—you’re the truth I want to wake up to.”

He exhales like he’s collapsing, hand gripping your wrist so tightly it almost hurts. But he’s shaking. And in his eyes—hope flickers. Starving and terrified.

You turn to Haneul. He’s still, watching you with guarded hunger. You take his face in your hands, kiss the scarred symbol just beneath his eye. “You protect me like I’m sacred. You always have. Even when it hurts you. This body—these marks—don’t change what you are to me. They just show me what you’d survive for my sake.”

His lips part but no words come. Just breath. Shaking. Desperate. He leans into your palm like a man who’s never been held.

Then—Seungho. You approach him slowly, like he’s an injured beast ready to bolt. But he doesn’t move. You press a kiss to his jaw, to the jagged violet marking there. “I don’t care how cold the world made you. You burn for me. You never stopped burning. And I see it now—in every inch of your skin.”

His head tilts back. His throat bobs with a strangled sound. 

And finally—Jinu. He hasn’t moved. His demon form still and regal like a statue carved from midnight flame. But his eyes—the gold in them is molten. You walk into his arms. Press your lips to the curve of his collarbone, to the streaks that glow over his chest like ribbons of power and pain.

“You’ve always carried the weight of the world, haven’t you?” you whisper. “Even then, you bore it in silence. I know what you think… that you failed me. That you failed your family. That you’re cursed to lead, but never protect.”

Your fingers trace a glowing line that pulses against his heart.

“But you’re wrong.” You look up at him, eyes soft but unrelenting. “You didn’t fail me. You found me. Again and again. And maybe the world worships you now for your voice, your beauty, your power… but I worship you for surviving.”

He exhales shakily. His arms wrap around you like he’s trying to hide you in his skin. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper again, to all of them. “All of you.”

They break. Seoha moans like he’s unraveling. Hwimori buries his face into your neck. Haneul groans like he’s in pain. Seungho whispers your name like a litany, like a curse, like a vow. Jinu cups your face and stares at you like he’s found the meaning of eternity.

The bond thrums—bright and breathless. It pulses between your ribs like sacred fire. And then— They descend. Kisses like oaths. Hands like hunger. Worship like war.

“You’re ours,” Jinu breathes against your jaw, voice cracked with yearning.

“And we’re yours,” Seungho growls into your throat.

“You made us real,” Seoha murmurs into your chest.

“You made us whole,” Haneul says, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

“You chose us,” Hwimori whimpers, holding your waist like you’ll vanish.

Lips map your skin like scripture. Tongues trace every place you’ve ever ached. Teeth leave promises where words would fail. You’ve seen them now. And you’ve never wanted anything more. The crimson threads pulse—harder. Thicker. Glowing with a sacred hunger. And then it hits you. Not just the tenderness. Not just the love.

But heat. Ache. Need. A raw, consuming ache blazes through your gut. Not emotional—carnal. It’s visceral, physical. It crashes into you like lightning. Your knees buckle and your eyes snap open—glowing red again, brighter this time. Like a fire finally given oxygen. “I—” Your voice shatters. A desperate gasp. “I… need—”

They’re on you instantly. A blur of breathless movement. The boys crowd close, drawn to you like moths to flame. Their eyes glow, their skin still alight with markings and pulsing power.

“It’s the bond,” Jinu says, voice low, reverent. His eyes burn. “It’s calling us. You’re feeling all of us now.” Their bare skin brushes yours and it feels like fire. Every graze stokes the need until it’s unbearable—devouring. You clutch at Jinu’s chest, panting. “Please. I need you. All of you. I can’t— I can’t hold it in.”

Growls. Gasps. Groans. The air thickens as hands descend on you once more. “You’re trembling,” Seoha breathes, palm at your ribs. “You ache for us.”

“You want to be filled,” Seungho mutters darkly. “You want us inside you.”

“She’s dripping already,” Haneul grins from the bed’s edge, fangs bared. “Fuck, she was made for us.”

Jinu lifts you effortlessly, laying you down on the bed like a sacred offering. His gaze flicks to the others—and they understand immediately. It would be him first. Of course. The one who made the pact. The one who waited the longest— across lifetimes. The one who sold his soul first to find you again. 

His hands trail up your torso like devotion made flesh. “I knew you in every life, kitten. But this one… this one is ours to claim.” He leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s sinful—filthy—holy. Then he slowly peels Haneul’s shirt off your frame, eyes devouring every inch of skin you bare to him. He drinks in the sight like it’ll never be enough.

Around you, the boys settle in. Seoha lounges on the desk chair, one hand already palming his bulge through his sweats. Hwimori sits at the edge of the bed, his hand curled tight. Haneul lounges on the couch, eyes locked on you like he might jump at any moment. Seungho stands by the wall, breathing hard, his body tense like a live wire.

You know they’re watching. And it doesn’t shame you. It ignites you. You need them here. All of them. Your voice trembles. “Jinu… please. I— I need you. It burns.”

He strokes your jaw, eyes like amber flame. “Where do you need me, baby?”

“Please,” you whimper, arching. “Touch me. I need you. Everywhere.”

Jinu lets out a low, vicious sound as he kisses you again—this time rough, hungry. His teeth graze your lip. Then he drags his mouth down your throat. Between your breasts. He takes one nipple in his mouth and sucks hard—possessive, almost cruel with need. You cry out, your fingers in his hair. “Jinu—! Please, please—”

He groans against your skin. “You sound so good when you beg.”

“You were always mine,” he growls, trailing kisses down your stomach. “But now? Now you’ll feel it.”

When he spreads your thighs, it’s ravenous. He stares at your glistening mound like it’s the center of the universe. “Say it,” he commands, voice dark. “Say this pussy belongs to me.”

You tremble beneath his hands. “Yours,” you gasp. “It’s yours. All yours.” 

He chuckles—low, dangerous and thrilled. “Good girl.” Then he descends—and devours. Your hips jerk. A scream tears from your throat. His tongue is everywhere—feasting like a man finally let into heaven.

You writhe, fisting your hands into his hair. He groans at the sensation. “Mmm, you were right, Haneul,” he growls between licks. “I could eat this meal every fucking day.”

“Told you,” Haneul grunts from the couch, hand wrapped tight around his cock. “She tastes sweeter than honey.”

“Sweeter than sin,” Seoha adds, his voice wrecked, his pants tented as he strokes himself slowly, eyes never leaving your body. Hwimori leans in, capturing your hand in his and bringing your knuckles to his lips as Jinu continues his relentless onslaught. You’re shaking, drowning.

And then Jinu adds a finger. Then another. You moan—loud, uncontrollable, broken. “So fucking tight,” he hisses. “How the hell are you going to take me, baby?”

You sob, gasping. “Jinu—please—I—”

He doesn’t stop. His tongue laves over your clit. His fingers curl inside you—relentless, wicked, perfect. He eats you like a starving man.

“Such a good girl,” Hwimori whispers.

“She’s going to fall apart again,” Seungho mutters, hand moving faster.

“So close,” you gasp, voice cracking.

“Come for us, baby,” Seoha breathes.

You do. With a cry, you shatter. Eyes glowing crimson, back arching, fists tugging at Jinu’s hair as he moans into your climax and keeps going. He only slows once you’ve ridden out the full shock of it.

Then he kisses up your body—your stomach, your chest, your collarbone—before reaching your throat. “You’re divine like this,” he murmurs against your skin.

“And you’re ready,” Seungho breathes.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Jinu rises above you, sweat-slicked and shirtless, muscles tight with restraint. The sharp planes of his torso glisten under the low, golden light—every ridge and carved hollow painted with glowing demon markings, coiling across his blue-purple skin like ancient scripture. His chest heaves. His abs ripple as he pants, hunger carved into every line of him.

And then— You watch in need as his fingers curl around the waistband of his sweatpants. That massive bulge has haunted your fantasies, but now, as he pulls them down and his length springs free, your breath catches audibly. Your mouth parts in stunned, trembling awe.

He’s huge.

A jolt of nerves crackles through your chest. How is that supposed to fit? Jinu watches your reaction with a quiet, dark satisfaction—like he knew you’d doubt it. 

Around you, the others react. Seoha moves to your side and presses a kiss to your temple, his voice a warm balm laced with obsession. “You were made for us, baby. You were always meant to take him. To take all of us.”

“You’re ours,” Haneul grunts, palming himself shamelessly as he watches. “Every inch of you. We’ll make sure you remember that.”

“You’ll stretch around him,” Seungho mutters, voice hoarse. “You’ll cry, and you’ll beg, and we’ll fill you until you forget anyone else ever existed.”

Hwimori just watches you with wide, trembling eyes—devotion, awe, need burning in their depths.

Jinu doesn’t take his eyes off you. He lifts your thighs onto his forearms, bending over you like a predator staking his claim. Then he leans in and devours your mouth, tongue plunging, hungry and wet. When he breaks the kiss, he whispers, “Just relax, baby. Let me in.”

You nod, breath shaky. He slides his fingers into yours, entwining them, and pins them down beside your head—locking you in, body and soul. “Eyes on me,” he murmurs, amber gaze glowing. “Do you trust me?”

You nod again. Trembling. He pushes forward. Your mouth parts in a soft, shocked gasp. The thick head splits you open slowly, deliciously. Your walls clench instinctively, unsure, overwhelmed. Your nails dig into his hands as you whimper.

“Fuck,” Jinu groans, head dipping, eyes fluttering shut at the first feel of you. “You’re gripping me like you were made for this.”

You gasp, voice shaking. “J-Jinu—”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know, kitten. Just breathe. Let me in.”

The stretch is maddening. Your thighs shake. The pain flares, sharp and real—but there’s want in it. Need. “You’re doing so well, my love,” Seoha calls from the bed’s edge, his voice breaking with emotion.

“So fucking good,” Seungho pants, stroking himself slowly. “Look at her. Taking him like that.”

“Hold her, hyung,” Haneul says. “She’s our girl. She needs this.”

Jinu kisses the corner of your eye as the tears spill. “You can take it. You’re my good girl. You were meant for me.”

You cry out as he presses deeper—so deep. 

“I’m halfway in,” he breathes.

“Halfway?” you rasp, disbelief in your tone.

His groan is animal. “Gripping me like a fucking vice—fuck—how are you this tight?” He thrusts deeper, and you arch, mouth open in a silent scream. His shoulders flex above you, every muscle drawn tight. He leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth again as he rocks forward—finally, finally bottoming out. Both of you moan, trembling. It feels like something ancient has clicked into place. Like puzzle pieces reuniting after centuries.

“You feel…” Jinu groans, nearly choking on the words. “You feel like fucking home.” He kisses your tears away, voice shaking with reverence. “I’ve waited 400 years for this. To claim you. To fill you. You don’t even know how long I’ve suffered for this moment.” He stills inside you, letting you adjust. His kisses trail your cheek and your jaw. You’re trembling beneath him, tears drying on your skin—but the fire inside you burns brighter now.

“I’m going to move, baby.”

You nod, breath catching. “Please.”

He pulls out almost entirely—just the head stretching you—and slams back in. You yelp. Loud. Good heavens for all that is holy. Your head snaps back into the pillows. He groans, jaw clenching, hips working slow and steady. “So wet. So fucking tight. This pussy was made for me.”

Each thrust is deeper, harder. His hips roll with control, with rhythm, with claim. You sob with pleasure. He watches you break—eyes glowing amber, demon markings pulsing along his arms and chest. His control starts to crack. His movements sharpen.

He lets go of your hand and wraps one large hand around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Anchoring. “Mine,” he growls with each thrust. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Your nails claw at his back as he devours you from the inside. There’s nothing gentle left. Just raw, desperate need. His hips slam into yours with a deafening slap, one after the other. He owns you. Body, soul, and destiny.

The pressure in your belly coils tighter. A fire rising. “J-Jinu—” you gasp, barely able to breathe. “I— I’m close—!”

“I know, baby,” he grunts, his pace faltering. Sweat drips from his jaw. “So am I.”

Your hand claws at his wrist as the pleasure builds into agony. The sound of skin slapping, his low groans, your mewls—they fill the room. You’re on the edge. Every thrust of his cock into you feels like a lightning strike of pleasure, striking deep into your bones. It’s all so much. Too much. You shut your eyes tight at the feeling.

“Eyes on me, beautiful,” Jinu growls, forehead pressing to yours, hips pounding into you. “Don’t look away. Watch me while I make you mine.”

You do. You look into those blazing amber eyes, and it breaks you. You scream as your climax shatters through you, your body trembling violently around him. Your walls pulse, clench, milk him. Stars shine at the flutter of your eyelids as you reach your peak.

“Fuck—!” Jinu roars. He thrusts like a madman. Once, twice, and then slams into you one last time—deep—and spills himself inside you.

Hot. Endless. Claiming.

“Take it,” he breathes, his voice shaking with ecstasy and reverence. “Take all of me. You were made for me. Made for me to love. To worship. To fill.”

His hips keep moving, shallow and slow, working every last drop into your womb. “I waited centuries for this,” he groans into your neck, still rocking. “You’re mine. My soul. My everything.” His kisses rain over your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips. You whimper under him, body trembling with aftershocks.

The bond hums between you, molten and eternal. You don’t just feel him inside your body. You feel him in your soul. Jinu’s chest heaves against yours, every inch of his skin pressed to your slick, trembling body. He stays rooted deep inside you, refusing to let even a drop of him spill.

He holds you like he’s trying to imprint his shape into you. His lips find your temple, warm and sweet. “You did so well for me,” he whispers, breath shaky, voice wrecked with love and possessive pride. “Took me so perfectly, just like I knew you would.”

“Fuck…” Haneul’s voice cracks as he fists himself from where he’s leaned against the wall. His topaz eyes bore into you as he spills into his own hand, grunting your name through clenched teeth. “So perfect. So fucking perfect.”

“Always knew you’d be ours,” Seungho pants, His crimson-stained gaze never leaves your face. “Took him like you were born for it. Like your body’s just… ours.”

Jinu presses his forehead to yours. “You’re such a good girl for me… for all of us.” You shiver as he slowly pulls his hips back just a little, still buried in you, just to feel the way your walls tighten instinctively around him again. He groans deep in his chest.

Hwimori purrs, his hands still sticky where he’s come beside you, quiet moans escaping him as he presses his forehead to your shoulder from behind. “You smell like us now… like him. I love it. I love you.”

Seoha grunts softly from the desk chair, hips rolling into his hand one final time before he spills with a hiss. “That face you made when you came—fuck, baby. You’ll break me.”

You smile sleepily, deliriously. Your body aches, your skin glows, and your heart feels heavy in the best way. They were yours, and you’d take them soon. You were claimed. Adored. Bound.

Jinu finally pulls out with a low growl, the thick drag of him from your oversensitive walls making your breath hitch. He watches the mess drip from you with pride, then leans in to press a final kiss to your navel—his palm spread wide over your lower belly like he’s branding you. “My mark,” he murmurs.

Before the emptiness can settle, Hwimori gathers you into his arms like a child’s favorite toy, protective and warm. He cradles you against his chest, seating you between his legs on the bed, your back against his bare torso. He buries his face in your neck and sighs.

Seoha leans in to kiss your temple. “You’re glowing, sweetheart.”

Seungho presses a kiss to your wrist, eyes locked onto your fluttering pulse. “We’ll never let you go now.”

You hear the faucet running in the other room. “Haneul’s drawing you a bath,” Seoha whispers. “We want to take care of you, baby. You gave us everything.”

And just like that, you close your eyes. Wrapped in warm skin, whispers of obsession, and five pairs of eyes that would tear the world apart just to keep you here—where you belong.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: So... I hope you guys enjoyed this! For the ovulating girlies, next chapter will also have smut so each boy gets their fill. Also- pls don't come for me for the breeding stuff- (Wrap it up, folks!) but c'mon, Jinu waited 400 years for this ain't no way he'll use protection lol. Also their obsessive need to claim pours into this need so yeah, I didn't think it necessary. BUT IRL PLS WRAP IT UP IF U CAN SAFETY FIRST. 400 years this demon has been celibate so...

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this! Next chapter has smut but also intimate fluff and the plot rolls again as well.

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[grotesquevi]

fuck-fuck-fuck not being able to kiss your super hot drummer girlfriend properly ‘cause of that damn tongue piercing.

cw   #   18+, public sex, oral sex, bandmates!au, guitarist!reader, slight dumbification, vi’s hot as fuck i wont elaborate, 2.2k words of pure filth, pls take care of your fresh piercing and DONT eat your girl if its a tongue one thanks,,, art bellow by — robin-vb.

"you sure you don't want to try it out with the groupies out there?" it's a compromised position to even try to be a brat when her arm pushes you against the small space in between the piled transportation boxes behind the scenario, when her lips find yours and you cannot think of a response that's clever enough as her mouth trails an invisible path down to your jaw and you can feel the first traces of it, the metal that drags against your skin in a new, foreign sensation — "i mean, they are screaming your name, don’t you hear it?"

vi’s sure she can, but cannot bring herself to care when she lacks of decency like this. decency she should have as her hands got stuck beneath your shirt, stroking the skin that shivers beneath her touch like a chemical reaction. the concert has just ended, the fans keep screaming and demanding for more so there's no one around to make her think its a bad idea, not when you look so inviting in her arms, when your sweaty skin now feels warm in the drummer's own and it’s exactly what she needs to celebrate another successful night.

"you're not wearing a bra?" there's noise around, but vi remains unfocused, the rest comes to a second plane: of course you're not wearing a bra — "cheeky guitarist. why do you want a fan, huh? somebody else to watch? maybe she likes my piercing better than you do."

there's no real discussion at all, not when you miss her too much to even try to fight any witty comment she tosses at you when the drummer decided to get a tongue piercing out of nowhere a month ago, against your will at first cause she's unable to kiss you for the entire healing process, eat you out properly.

"fuck off, violet."

"nu-uh. nobody gets to see you this fucked but me," a problem. everything with her tends to be a problem when you first meet her years ago. "the view is reserved for my eyes only, sweetheart. let them get in line."

you knew it from before, when she knocked on your door months ago, claiming she had nowhere to go, soaking wet cause it's raining heavily and she cannot crash at the studio anymore when things get complicated with rent. treating your sofa like its heaven on earth, only an excuse to have you closer — push you against her half-asleep, wrap her arms around you in the minimal space of the squared cushions that work as an improvised mattress, you're the only one that's able to keep her alive in a cold night.

your rockstar girlfriend is an adrenaline junkie, cause she doesn't care about who could, or cannot see what she's doing behind the scenario with the promise it wont take more than ten minutes.

"what's the worst that can happen in ten minutes?"

so this whole secretive thing is getting out of hand when she's unbuckling your pants, when her saliva's visible in the flesh and vi only takes what she needs, even when it goes too far, even when her hands slide under the rough fabric of your jeans and her fingertips burn against your body. its like taking care of a thirst that she's been carrying all this time, not aware of the consequences cause she's too busy worried about your fun, your desires.

there's no way to point out she's undressing you in public, that it would take only one of the assistants to go and search for a storage box or just cross the scenario from one side to another behind the curtains to see what's happening; there's no use in hiding the need that drags you closer to her, that permission in the air when her finger circles around your clit tight and trapped in your jeans and you part your legs further apart to give her more space, more of you.

a lot can happen in ten minutes. you become aware of it now when she's all over you, unable to walk you to her dressing room when vi's too hungry to try to resist that magnetism that pulls you closer to her, insane and tangible. something explodes after all that playful games in front of the public, the damn band when you seated in her lap whispering how good she's hitting every note, how good she looks as her muscles do the effort to catch up every quick note, when her leg muscles hold enough force to make you jump each time she pushes the pedal on her right foot: hot, it’s fucking hot.

teasing her the entire concert — you really think she was going to be patient enough to wait for privacy? violet's bragging the entire day on how her appointment with her piercer went so good to the point she can now do all those things she once was forbidden with; did you really believe she wasn’t going to use it on you the first moment she gets you alone?

maybe that's why she's kneeling in front of you, why you moan as her tongue soaks down the fabric of your tee and the piercing slides against your hardened nipple making you thank on your choices of not wearing a bra, gasp cause it's much easier without underwear, safer if someone catches the filthy atrocities an impatient drummer rockstar cannot wait to do.

silver metal, you can feel it when she's placing kisses in your belly, marks that will last for the entire week when she takes their time with it — your girlfriend wants you to fall in love with it like she does, love the damn piercing like a treat she's patiently waiting to show you.

"be silent," it's a warning, but really, why for? is there a point when your moans blend with the screams outside? when the electricity is still palpable in the air and you can feel vi's mouth similar to the most delicious sin to ever exist? it's warm when her tongue traces the bones in your hips, as her lips suction the skin right over the waistband of your underwear to leave a mark she'll be able to look at every time she wants to, unbuckled pants already, you’re so pliant in her touch, reactive — "been fucking with me in the scenario all night but you can't shut up for a while? make a damn effort."

she's never mean. she's rough but she's always tender, holds you close to hear the sound of your heartbeat in her ear like a movie soundtrack, relishes on how your pulse flutters against her hand as she whispers the most filthy sentences against your ear, unspeakable lust, like the way your girlfriend looks on her knees.

it would be an utter embarrassment to fold this easily for you in any other circumstance, wear the redness on her knees like a new tattoo vi wants to get done the minute she walks away from the stadium. the grid on the floor pushes against her skin to leave new marks like the ones in your stomach, and the pain is deliciously good— she's been there before, tugging your pants down to your ankles and running her short nails against the skin of your thighs to leave a red path behind: she's been there before, enjoying you.

"vi-- someone will come in, we can go to my dressing room," the words come out choked of your throat and you understand at the same time that it's not the common adrenaline what turns you on in the first place, the subtle desire of being discovered, pry upon, but instead, the way your girlfriend whispers against your skin something about how you can take it, how you already let her go that far only to undress you this quickly hidden by some amplifiers.

you’re so good: let her keep going.

"cum on my tongue and all resentment is forgotten, i promise" what fucking resentment? what is she on? you chuckle, shit. will she bother to undress you properly? take off your already soaked panties or keep the insane behavior going? vi's smile widens at the sight of the slick underwear bare to her sight, something your girlfriend wants to hold in her memory as something dear: the darker hue that she can almost not discern in the dark but its there, filling the air in the backstage with your intoxicating scent — "be quick and no one will notice, do we have a deal?"

she could convince you to sign a contract with the devil itself, a demon sent to hold you accountable of every whispered promise you made swearing to higher forces of the universe without knowing she was listening. you're nodding, she got the most handsome cocky grin in history and you are greeted instead, by the most recent addition in her mouth.

cold, gentle and constant drag of the metal bar making their way against her your soaked underwear, and you don't even notice when she's using her hands to spread you further apart, the fabric clinging into your folds and leaving behind easy access to delve deeper, sink her face in between your legs until you're all she can breathe and taste is your fresh arousal leaking and sticking to the cotton.

"cat got your tongue?" funny. so fucking funny when her thumb find your clit already marked in your clingy underwear, stroking it with a practiced ease: she knows the rhythm you like, your own maddening course she has learned to the heart — "use that pretty mouth and answer me. you're good at that."

your rockstar girlfriend aims to please. that's why she got the tongue piercing done in the first place, cause she wants you to enjoy every second of it. a secret reward for vi herself, cause the love she feels on her stomach when your head falls backwards and she can hear the moans you're fighting to hold? should be damn studied, used as a reference for the increasing desire that manifest sticking to vi's underwear.

you understand now. the sounds outside become silent now when you distinguish the lewd, slurping sound she makes cause despite being in clear public, your girlfriend cant help but be a messy eater, dripping saliva against her chin, smearing against her face as your hips roll forward in almost an automatic proof of your need.

holding you in place, the sight of your knees shaking makes vi smile; damn right you cannot speak, damn right you move cause you're always so greedy, greedy little guitarist who's always asking for more.

swollen clit, it aches under her touch, the sensitive bundles of nerves responding to her — no need for fingers, no need to anything else more than a sinful tongue to get you there, your own hand covering your mouth to somehow stiff the moans as the other grips vi's cherry strands to hold her close to your cunt.

your bandmate satisfies your needs like no one else does, communicates with your body without having to talk with you first cause her hands now force you to move against her mouth, ground your hips against her mouth to get the perfect friction. the metal drags against your underwear, rubs between your folds and stimulates your already swollen g-point in a devastating bundle: there it fucking is.

vi can feel it too after a while, when your grip turns almost painful as you try to draw her closer: travels down your spine like a current of electricity waiting to strike. you're on the tantalizing edge of a delicious orgasm and vi's never felt more holy than in that very moment when you're biting your hand to hold in the moans of her name that threatens to be loud as hell, repeating like a prayer over and over again.

it's such an intoxicating feeling, to be wanted without an ounce of restraint.

your body convulses, and your girlfriend has to fight against the gravity to keep you standing, feasting on the white-ish discharge that now coats your underwear and she wishes to get on her tongue instead.

fucking greedy.

so how was it? everything's a problem with your bandmate/girlfriend. everything's a problem and it's so intense with her. the first make-out high on weed, the tattoo's she gave you at 3am after you both received the first paycheck, high on love, high on life, high on the devastating sound of the music.

"you think someone saw?"

"no," vi reassures you when you're using your thumb to clean the traces of you in the corners of her mouth — "what i'm really curious about, is what the tabloids will say about your flirting tonight."

"my flirting?" you question, fixing your outfit.

"do we think sitting in my lap and whisper filthy things to my ear will go unnoticed?" she chuckles likes its obvious, cause after all, it is obvious.. "i mean, even good guitarists have their limits, people can tell when you're looking at me with those eyes."

"what eyes?"

"you know what eyes. those fuck me eyes."

it's raw and unfiltered. when you kiss her vi's sweaty and it's clumsy and perfect, full of saliva, your own taste, metal and something that's uniquely your girlfriend.

ah. it was never fucking casual. you should have known from the start.

maybe it is time to tell the band, you can't really tell when vi's making you dumb on her kisses again: your girl's always playing dirty.

[iamasaddie]

LET ME CLIP YOUR LITTLE WINGS

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: when your date with Joel is on the verge of falling through, he makes sure you meet again. even if it means getting his hands dirty. warnings: darkfic, non-con [reader is asleep for a part of it], somnophilia, drugging, gaslighting, age gap [Joel is 61, don't read it and don't @ me about it if it's not your thing, just leave], switching POVs, various explicit sexual content [ironic use of the word 'grandpa' in a sexual situation]. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-30s. word count: 5,7k

a/n: thanks so much to my angel @arcane-fox for finding time and proofreading this for me <3 thank you for your interest and support towards this fic! for now it's the last installment that i planned out in the beginning, but the series is not over, i am just in creative search where i want to take it next <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 2 | part 4?

[Joel's POV]

An unobtrusive melody vibrated through the half-empty space of Joel Miller's living room. While his skillful fingers thoughtlessly plucked at the metal strings of his old guitar —mixing notes into one of the many Johnny Cash songs that clung to his mind— the man himself was deep in thoughts about the young girl who so quickly became the reason for his sly smiles and frequent boners.

Everything happened pretty fast this time, you succumbed to his charms and easely woven lies so easily, that for a moment Joel himself thought he had fallen into a trap. But no, there was just something in him that must have pushed those levers inside you that had been previously collecting dust, untouched.

Joel smiled to himself, he would gladly touch every inch of you, inside and out. He would explore the inviolable fields of your skin, become the most devoted and invasive species on the land that is your body and mind. You triggered something inside him, too, he noticed. Something that went beyond the darkest carnal desire to corrupt and taint. Something that felt like possession, the gnawing need to own and claim. To stay in you even when he's done with you, become a part of you that would never die, a stain you wouldn't be able to bleach or cut out with a knife.

His fingers caressed the wooden body of his guitar, mind wandering to the way he caressed you days ago. The supple flesh of your body, the gullible matter of your mind.

He ached to touch you again. An addiction so familiar to him. Something that drove Joel out of his bed where your panties were hidden under his pillow, and into the shower that morning. Made him shuck his striped boxers on the floor and take his rigid cock in his hand that felt too rough after the softness of your mouth.

The images you'd sent, the raspy little voice you’d teased him with, it was all ingrained in his brain, he didn't even need to unlock his phone to see it. He just closed his eyes and there you were, writhing, moaning as your fingers pushed deep inside your pussy that was crying for more. Slick glistened on your fingers and Joel spit on his own hand, imagining your arousal instead. He fisted his cock violently, the rigid thickness of him throbbing in his hand, and with every pump he thought of the tightness of your cunt when he breaks you in. The sweet little cries that would inevitably fall from your lips as he pushed all the way in. The way your breath would catch and you’d bite your lips bloody, maybe even bite him bloody and he would wear that scar with perverted honour.

The thought of you thrashing in orgasm he’d fuck out of you, your eyes rolled back, his name slipping past your lips with both fear and devotion. That was what made him paint his blue tile wall in ropes of pearly cum that morning.

"Fuck," he grumbled, getting up from the couch and putting the guitar aside. His old knees cracked pitifully, contradicting his blood filled cock, which reminded Joel of his college days. But Joel was in no hurry to unbutton his fly. 

It was for the best, he thought. He didn't want to screw up when he finally got the chance to stretch you on his dick. He wanted to prolong it as long as possible, maybe even fuck you a few times. The image of you crying on his cock, tired and overstimulated, almost made him bust in his pants. Yeah, he definitely should go easier with jerking off. 

He wanted to make sure he took his sweet time with you. There was nothing prettier than seeing a girl break under him. Watch her deny every instinct that might’ve told her to run. You’d make it look even better. Joel imagined the color of your eyes changing, growing darker as you accepted your fate of being his dumb little doll. A pretty young body he took for his perverted pleasure. 

Damn it, he loved a challenge, loved to see them struggle and shake off the warning thoughts that crept in their pretty heads. The harder they fight the sweeter they break.

The days went by painfully long for Joel, and his cock reminded him of itself more and more often since the moment he decided to cancel his jerking off session until your date. Even when he grabbed his length to pee, his cock started to harden, making the process less comfortable.

"Fucking shit," he swore, and took the frying pan with the burning potatoes off the stove. He succumbed to the devil's call again and started scrolling through the few photos you’d sent him. 

You haven't texted since then, but Joel wasn't worried, he let the anticipation build in both of you. After all, he already knew how easy you gave into him.

After hypnotizing the calendar for several days, Sunday finally arrived. His cock was no less pleased, so he was rocking a semi since six in the morning. It was now three. He was planning to text you around seven, so you didn't have time to back out — not that he thought you'd want to, but better safe than sorry. That's why when he heard a little ping of a new message, his heart did an unpleasant flip. 

He made sure to turn off the stove and placed the hot pan on the empty cutting board before pulling the phone out of his pocket. The message was from you. You quit texting him first after your first date, which meant that something wasn't going according to his plan.

 Joel’s right leg began to twitch, the nervous tic he had left in his anxiety-filled youth returned. He swiped on the screen and tried to enter the password, but his finger slid on the wrong button and the screen flashed a humiliating "wrong password" message, annoying the man.

"Fuck," he cursed and entered the password again, this time correctly.

The message from you was short, without greeting, and Joel squeezed the mobile phone in his hand so hard that he almost crushed the metal of the case.

[You]: Sorry, gotta cancel. A pipe busted in my bathroom and I can’t get ahold of the fuckin’ maintenance guy. Trying not to flood my neighbors on my own. xo

The blood was boiling under his skin, he couldn’t let you loose, not now. He knew that if he gave it a couple more days, you'd get off his hook. Your mind would overpower your body, and he hadn’t had his fill of it yet.

"Think, fucker, think," he muttered under his breath, his cock still hard in his pants. The corner of his lips twitched up and he exhaled, typing a reply.

[Joel M.]: I know it's not the most romantic idea for a date, but how about I save the damsel in distress and fix your pipe?

[You]: Just so we’re clear, it’s not an innuendo, is it?

Joel couldn’t help but laugh at the message. He shook his head and typed again.

[Joel M.]: No, sweetheart, I told you, I’m pretty good with my hands.

He sent another message immediately after.

[Joel M.]: This one is also not an innuendo.

[You]: I don't even know what to say, to be honest.

[Joel M.]: Tell me your address, and you can thank me later.

[You]: I will *wink*

The message with your address came a minute later. 

"I know you will," he muttered out loud and locked his phone. 

A bag of crushed "Ambien" pills burned through his pocket as he drove to your house. There was a bottle of wine he blindly grabbed from the kitchen cabinet secured on the passenger seat. Joel considered for a long time whether he should just spike his bottle before he took it to your place, but then he wasn't sure if you'd want it, and he didn't want to look weird insisting you drank it.

The white powder in a small zip-lock bag was safer. He knew just how much to pour to make you relax, make you droopy or make you pass out until tomorrow.

He was just planning to make you loosen up, though. It was going to be enough. He could do the rest himself.

From the very first date, you were in his web, and every day it enveloped your fluttering body more and more. It held your weak little wings against your back until they atrophied and could never carry you away from him again. It wouldn’t kill you, just hurt you a little; Joel would take a bite to satisfy his hunger, and then you could run if you wanted to.

[Your POV]

Everything was going wrong from the moment you got out of bed. 

As soon as your feet touched the floor, you yelped and felt your foot tip the glass of water that you had recklessly placed on the floor before going to sleep. You swore softly and threw an old T-shirt on the floor, collecting all the liquid that the soft fabric could absorb.

As if on pins and needles, you failed at your attempt to live your day without paying much attention to the date with Joel that was scheduled for the evening. 

All week you'd been able to ignore the thoughts of meeting him, pushing them far into the back of your mind, and opening that secret door only under cover of night. Memories of him made your heart flutter and your pussy get wet, yet a dark cloud of wariness hung tirelessly above his name.

On the day X, it turned out to be impossible to dismiss the thoughts of him, so you walked around the house in a slight state of distress. 

The coffee boiled out and you threw the cezve into the sink, watching as the brown liquid went down the drain. Maybe it was for the best, your heart was pounding relentlessly, the coffee would only make it worse.

You clenched and unclenched your fists several times, cracking your fingers. You poured warm water into a tall glass and drank it in small sips, trying to collect yourself. The plan formed itself in your head, and you imagined it as a long list, like those grocery lists written on crumpled pieces of paper in your mom's handwriting. She used to give you these when you were a kid before going to the supermarket. 

You were going to take a shower and get ready, then do your hair, put on makeup, choose a set of sexy underwear and chase all of the stupid thoughts out of your head.

And then Joel would come and you would feed him dinner and ask all of the questions that bothered you before finally letting him in your bed.

"You've got to be fucking kidding," you were on the verge of tears as you watched the stream of water flooding your bathroom floor. You just got out of the shower, a light green bath towel towel was wrapped tightly around your body. 

The plumber's phone, which you found in the list of necessary numbers on a piece of paper attached to your refrigerator with mismatched magnets, continued to laugh at your tragedy with long beeps of its voice.

Remembering everything your father once taught you, you decided to turn off the water, immediately stopping the flood. At least you'd had time to wash up. Apparently, you wouldn’t be able to do that for some time.

You pulled an old towel out of the laundry basket and tried to absorb as much water as you could from the floor and squeeze it into the sink. 

It took you a while, and after the plumber ignored you again, you typed a message to Joel with wet fingers, disappointment stuck deep in your stomach.

When he suggested to come over, for a moment you thought that you were in a cheap romcom. Seemed near impossible that a man who didn’t owe you anything or didn’t try to get anything out of you would just come to the rescue.

Of course, you knew that he was counting on a certain ending to the evening, but on the other hand, you were counting on the same thing, so it was a win for you either way.

A slight touch of anxiety overshadowed the joy of the news, you weren't sure if you were ready to let Joel into your space, however, when you heard the sad moan of a broken pipe, you quickly sent him your address.

When someone knocked on your door, you already smelled like your favorite perfume, and your favorite jeans paired with a cute blouse hugged your body comfortably.

The anxiety of meeting Joel faded away since this time it happened on your own territory. The aroma of pasta and shrimp tantalizingly filled the small space of your apartment, and you took one last appraising look around the place before opening the door. 

You didn’t even have time to say hello when a strong arm wrapped around your waist and hot lips covered yours. You cry out softly into the kiss, but quickly give in, your body melts in the confident grip of the man who stepped inside your apartment and blindly slammed the door behind him.

The taste of his lips was as addictive as the taste of his cum. You thought you'd be able to recognize him in a row of dozens now. His stubble prickled your chin and his thumb drew circles on your lower back.

He didn't try to deepen the kiss, gently nipping your lips and soothing the bites with his tongue. You felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, while your core blazed with a different kind of flame.

"Wow," you said breathlessly when he finally set your mouth free. Your eyes struggled to focus on Joel’s lips, swollen red and shiny with your combined saliva.

"Hello, sweetheart." He whispered back, his thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. 

"Hi," a silly smile pulled your lips apart and you almost forgot about the pasta until Joel complimented you.

"Something smells amazing," he still didn’t let you out of his arms and the heat of his body became almost unbearable, but you didn’t dare to take a step back. He finally allowed some distance between the two of you and held a bottle of wine in front of your face. "Hope this will go with it nicely?"

You inspected the label with curiosity, "white is better with shrimp, I have a bottle." 

And you give yourself a moment to study his face, but Joel just smiled and nodded.

"So, where should Noah build his arc?"

You didn’t distract Joel while he was tinkering in your bathroom. Only a couple of times you quietly glanced at him, and your gaze slid over his ass and thighs, hugged by black jeans. The fact that your staring went unnoticed made you shameless, and you played with a strand of your hair while you watched his muscles tense without shyness. 

When you peeked into the bathroom again, Joel was lying on his back and grumbling something, whispering obscenities at your sink, and for some unknown reason it almost made you laugh. But when he spread his legs apart, your laughter got stuck in your throat. 

Something about this man, fixing shit, saving the day with his hair in a beautiful grey mess sticking to his sweat soaked temples. Damn, you felt the familiar moisture gathering in the gusset of your panties, you could just sink your teeth in his thighs, press your face in the straining bulge of his cock right now. You could almost smell the sweat and musk of him, feel the wiry grey hair tickle the skin under your nose as he slips his cock deep into your…

"Fuck," you didn't notice yourself whispering out loud.

"You said something, sweetheart?" His head popped out from under the sink and embarrassment flooded your chest. He beamed at you with a soft smile, the dimple in his right cheek seduced you with its adorableness. Joel picked up the small towel you gave him beforehand and wiped his hands.

"I said dinner's ready."

"Perfect timing, I'm done here, too."

"Really?" Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, he was there for less than twenty minutes which seemed unfair compared to the amount of stress you’d gone through hours ago.

With a slight creak, he got up from the floor and dusted himself off, then came up to you and held your chin between his fingers, pressing a light kiss against your lips, as if he had done it a thousand times before. "Really."

It was almost unbelievable how easy it was to talk to Joel. The man asked the right questions and listened carefully to what you were saying. As you served pasta on the mismatched plates, he again praised your culinary skills, but you just shook your head.

"Try to lie in my face after you try it," you joked, and he pointedly put a forkful of pasta in his mouth, humming contentedly.

The bottle of wine that Joel had brought was standing alone on the kitchen counter, and you, in turn, opened a semi-dry white one and allowed the man to fill your glasses.

The conversation flowed casually, and the pasta turned out to be edible. Joel asked you about work, friends, and you kept talking, smiling when he genuinely laughed at your jokes.

Your hand was on the table palm up, waiting for Joel to take the hint.

As if reading your mind, the man reached out to you and knocked over a glass of wine, the light liquid instantly staining your blouse.

"Fuck, I’m so sorry, sweetheart," Joel jumped from his seat trying to catch the glass before it fell and broke. "There goes my attempt to be a romantic. How pathetic." 

He shook his head disappointingly, but you just laughed it off. 

"I'll go change and throw this to soak. Good thing my sink’s all fixed," you placed a chaste kiss on his stubbled cheek and he whispered another sorry that you waved off. 

When you came back clad in a simple pink dress that had an infinite row of buttons in the front, you saw that Joel had already cleaned up the mess he made. The wine glasses were back on the table, both of them full. Your eye snapped to the kitchen counter to see that the bottle he’d brought was still closed and you accepted the wine without a second thought.

After the dinner was over and your plates and glasses were in the kitchen sink, you took Joel's hand in both of yours and dragged him into the tiny living room, which contained a small sofa you bought at a flea market; a bookshelf, a third full of photo albums; and a bedside table with an old TV.

Joel’s attention was immediately drawn to the stack of albums.

"That's quite a lot of memories for someone your age." He chuckled, running fingers over the backs of them. "Don't think I've got enough photos to fill up even one album."

"Oh, that’s... That's not. Umm, it’s like a hobby of mine. I've been taking pictures since my mom gave me an old Olympus for my fourteenth birthday."

You chose one at random and you and Joel sat down on the couch. Joel started asking you about different photos he saw there, and in response you either told him what you remembered or made up stories right on the spot. He quickly figured you out when the orange date at the bottom didn't match what you were telling him, but he just laughed it off.

"Your memory is as shit as mine, isn't it?" He studied the black and white photo of a smoking woman you took outside of a club one early morning. "That makes me feel a little bit better."

He flipped through the pages full of black-and-white pictures, and your body started to feel heavy. His questions sounded blurry, as if someone had slowed down an old tape, and you asked him to repeat the same thing several times.

Your head was spinning, the familiar feeling of disorientation was consuming your consciousness. You breathed through your nose and tried to get up from the couch, but your legs wouldn’t obey so you just stayed in place.

"You okay, sugar?" His voice was slow, honey-thick. Brown eyes found yours and he ran a rough fingertip over the delicate skin of your cheek. You shook your head, trying to get rid of the fog of fatigue that suddenly rolled over you in an all-consuming wave. 

"Did you… Did you spike my drink or somethin’?" You chuckled, but a familiar feeling of unease tickled the edges of your mind. 

Joel didn't find your joke funny, he furrowed his eyebrows and for the first time you noticed glimpses of gray in their thickness. Like a magpie, you were distracted by the gleam of his eyes.

"What? Why would you say that" He turned his body towards you, your old soft sofa did not allow you to fully straighten up.

"I’m just... not feeling that good."

Without taking your eyes off him, you tried to memorize his expression, to find a crack in the cement of his facade. Something that you could at least explain to yourself. Finding nothing but concern on his face, you waved your hand, pushing your stupid thought away for the hundredths time. Joel captured your face in his hot palms.

"What is it?" His thumbs drew symmetrical lines on your cheeks. You felt like someone had tied weights to your eyelids. "Do you need me to call a doctor?"

"No, I am just… I suddenly got so tired. It doesn’t happen usually." You leaned away from him and stifled a yawn, your limbs felt heavy and numb at the same time. Joel didn’t take his eyes off you, and you tried to pull yourself together, but your body refused to wake up. You reached a hand to the side of your thigh and pinched it, just to find out that you barely felt anything. It was like you hadn’t slept for days.

"You know," Joel gave you a crooked smirk, "they say that you feel sleepy when you're with a person you trust, because of hormones or some stuff."

Not giving it a second thought you replied. "Pretty sure they say that about the person you love." The heat was licking your neck and you struggled to keep your eyes open. Joel’s face didn’t give out any concern regarding the L word and you had a tiny, almost loose knot tying your insides as you saw him give you a content grin.

"Well, I didn’t wanna rush, it’s just been two dates." He laughed and you echoed him weakly. You didn’t mind as he scooted even closer to you, the expanse of him caging you in the corner of the sofa. He threw an arm over your shoulder and you calmed yourself, relaxing in his embrace as his scent lulled you in. "Why don’t you rest your eyes for a bit, you’ve had a stressful day, sweetheart."

"Yeah," you mumbled, and the light had already dimmed in your mind. "Just for a moment."

"Just for a moment," he whispered into the stillness of the room.

[Joel's POV]

It wasn’t difficult to drag you to your room, you almost did it yourself but with your eyes closed. If he were twenty years younger, he would have picked you up without any problems, but now he and his back were grateful that you sluggishly but still independently moved your legs on the way to your room. By the time he put you on the bed, you were snoring softly. Your dress hiked up, exposing the tempting skin of your thighs, and Joel's cock quickly made itself known, swelling under the thick fabric of his jeans. 

Joel switched on the bedside lamp —the burnt orange lampshade was sitting a little crooked, but he didn't fix it — and looked around the room. From the scratches of knowledge he had about you, your room was your perfect reflection: a partially contained chaos. A mess you tried to organize in shaky piles. On the floor, a tall stack of books mixed with magazines leaning against the wall. He couldn't see the titles from where he was standing. A heap of poorly folded laundry on a chair next to the window. On a table there was a small mountain of things you must've shaken out of your purse before going to bed one day: wired headphones, a couple of candies—their wrappers glinted in the low light, and some type of receipt. Everything was scooted towards the edge of the table, separating from the rest of the space as if to say ‘it wouldn't have been here if only I had time. I'm not messy, I was just in a rush.’

Your bed was small, it fit you on its blue sheets but it could barely fit Joel next to you. The mattress dipped pitifully under the weight of two bodies and you mewled something in your sleep. For a few short moments Joel watched your chest rise and fall. 

The light caressed the soft edges of your face and body, letting him enjoy this slow moment of permissiveness. 

The soft swell of your tits beneath your thin dress beckoned him, and he didn’t resist for long before deftly unbuttoning a row of small buttons and exposing your hard nipples pushing against the translucent lace of your burgundy bralette. 

"A little wolf in a sheep’s skin, aren’t you, darlin’?" He got bolder as his cock grew to full mast, still caged in his pants. Slowly, Joel's hand slid under the skirt of your dress. The meat of your thighs teased with its tenderness and he felt his mouth water. 

Joel didn't need to see to know that the lace of your panties matched your top, if anything the way you dressed you didn’t take lightly, and he boldly dove his fingers beneath the last barrier separating him from the heat of your pussy. 

He cursed softly when Joel felt the hot, slippery wetness already oozing out of your hole. Losing caution, he leaned his face towards your chest, inhaling the sweet lotion off your skin. His nose traveled a line from your neck down the valley of your breasts and his tongue peeked out between his lips, leaving a wet stripe on your skin.

He wanted to lick you whole, taste every inch of your body inside and out, but didn't have enough time. The fact that you passed out was a lucky coincidence, his hand tripped above your glass sending too much white powder to dissolve in wine. Even though a part of him knew he'd end his night between your legs either way. Giving in, his lips covered your nipples through the thin material of your bra, the lace pleasantly scratched his tongue, which left wet spots on it. 

Cautiously, his thick middle finger squeezed into the heat of your pussy and Joel moaned, his lips sent vibrations around your taut nipples. He couldn’t stop touching you, nibbling the soft flesh of your breasts with his teeth and immediately licking non-existent wounds with his tongue.

Your cunt hugged him, sucking him in like you begged him to give you more and once again, he obliged. The sound of his finger, and then the second one, relentlessly fucking into you became the filthy soundtrack of your evening. Unconscious, you were dripping with arousal for him, fat globs of your desire flowed down his fingers all the way to his knuckles. 

The gentle tension of your walls was the result of his relentless intrusion. Joel felt how close you were and made an exorbitant effort to pull away from your chest. His lips were covered with his own saliva, and his eyes were clouded with a veil of unspilled desire, but he wouldn’t allow himself to miss the moment of your break. 

His fingers curled inside you and pushed on that sweet spot that made your legs tremble even in your sleep, his thumb joined and began to circle your clit. 

Your dreamy moans accompanied Joel's heavy breathing the closer you got to your orgasm. Your brows knit together, lips parted to accommodate your lungs begging for more air. He took his eyes off your frowning face for a second and looked where your pussy greedily sucked his fingers in. The wet, slurping sounds were getting louder and louder and he almost started humping your bed when your pussy finally contracted around his digits. Before he had the opportunity to lick his fingers clean of your cum, he felt your fingers in his hair tugging his head up.

"Sweetheart, I…" His hand was still in your panties, fingers didn’t stop gently petting your pussy, making you twitch. There was no fear in your eyes, no disgust. You didn’t scream, you didn't even push him away. You didn’t do anything Joel would expect you to do.

"Fuck me," you moaned. With how droopy your eyes were, he knew that your head was still hazy.

"What?" It felt like he'd been taken by surprise for the first time in the sixty something years of his life. He waited for a punch, for a dam of fear to burst. For something logical. And yet again you showed him how special you were by gripping him by the hair and tugging him up. The sharp sting didn’t even register when you pressed your lips into his, the smell of wine still prominent on your breath. And just like that he was dumbfounded for the first time in his life.

"Fuck me, Joel. Please."

Joel didn’t question you anymore. His fingers flew to his zipper, slick digits slipped on the metal button as you pushed your dress higher and got rid of your panties. You sent them flying and Joel's peripheral vision noticed that the color indeed matched your bra.

He groaned loudly when he finally freed himself from the clutches of his jeans and boxers. When he fell between your open thighs and his hot cock came into contact with the wet slit of your swollen pussy, sparks flew from his eyes.

By the collar of his black T-shirt, you pulled him towards you, arching under the weight of his body, moving your hips so that your pussy began to grind against his already throbbing cock.

"Don't rush, sugar, or I’ll cum all over that pretty pussy and leave you needy and desperate again."

"Then stop teasing me and fuck me, grandpa." You reached up and bit his lower lip painfully, pulling it back. With his right hand, he grabbed you by the throat, not hard, but confidently squeezing the graceful column and pressing you into the pillow. With his left hand, he found his thick shaft, pumping it a few times before pressing it in your hole that greeted him with the warmest welcome.

The silence was broken as he entered you with his whole length, knocking the air out of two sets of lungs at once.

"G-god," you whined, speared on him. Your cunt felt tighter than a fist, choking him with post orgasmic spasms. 

"Tight little hole," he purred, letting his hips thrust, pushing his cock in and out of you and rendering you speechless. "Can't believe you’d beg me to ruin you." His hips kissed yours as he tried to keep a stable pace. Coarse hairs above his cock were scratching your swollen clit, and the painful sensation of his massive shaft squeezing inside you made your thighs shake. 

"I, I- -"

Tsk, "don't need to talk, baby. Ain't nothing you say makes a difference. Your perverted little cunt brought you here, crying on my cock." He growled into your neck, his voice like poison seeping through every bite he left on your skin. "I'm just glad you woke up for the main act, wanted you to know how pathetically desperate you are for an old fucker to pump you full of his cum."

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and Joel felt like he'd been on the edge too long to last any longer. The wet heat of your pussy, the honey of your arousal and the previous orgasm that flowed in fat drops down his cock and balls, your pathetic moans and pleas, all of it drove him crazy. 

He clenched his teeth, baring them in a pre-orgasmic growl. 

"Come on, baby, come for me. What’d ya call me? Grandpa?" You screamed, your pussy began to cry and clench around him in warning, "come for grandpa, then, you little depraved bitch."

His cock exploded in thick spurts of hot cum at the same time as you howled, cumming. Your scream was deafening, he hadn't heard anything sexier in all the years of his life. Without pulling out, he collapsed on your shaking body, exhausted.

For a few long moments filled only with your heavy breathing, he laid on top of you, heavy but you welcome it. Your hand found its way into his sweat-soaked hair, and you slowly thread fingers through it. It was the first time he was at a loss for words, ao he did the next best thing— pulled the lace of your bra down and placed lazy kisses on your freed tits, making you giggle. 

"Next time, try seducing me when I’m sober," you say matter of factly, yet he felt your heart pounding rapidly. He pressed one last kiss, close to your nipple, and it immediately pebbled. Joel raised his head to find your eyes in the dark. His voice was playful, contradictory to everything that had happened that night.

"You free tomorrow, sweetheart?"

LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3

[sky-is-the-limit]

CW: breast play, MDNI

Listen. You've gotta understand something about Luffy.

He's never been one to think much about.. parts. The female body is just that, a body. He's innocent like that. Too blunt to even realise what's appropriate, too curious not to stare.

So the first time he meets you and sees your chest bounce slightly when you laugh? He doesn't even hide it. Full eyes, locked in with no shame nor attempt to look away.

When you first scold him with a sharp 'Eyes up here,' you think that will fix it. It doesn't.

If anything, it makes him worse cause now he is thinking about it.

Why can't he stare? It's just a part of your body, right? That's when the questions start brewing in that one-track mind of his.

What do they feel like? Would they squish in his hands? What happens if he mouths over one? Do they taste like skin or something sweeter?

That's when fascination turns filthy. Quiet at first. Just glances. Curious ones.

And then you start hugging him.

Bad idea.

The first time your tits press into his chest, he gets hard. Just like that. Instant. After that? Every excuse becomes a reason to hug you.

Pretending he is cold, faking a nap just so he can curl up around you with a wide smile while he holds on longer than necessary, rubbing his cheek against your chest like a damn cat.

Then you start dating and it's over for him. Game done.

You think he's clueless, fumbling hands during makeouts, trailing up your waist and hovering near the undercup of your shirt like he doesn't know where to go.

Truth is, he knows exactly where to touch to get to where he wants. He is just testing boundaries.

Until one night, you push his hand away again, reminding him that he is rushing and in return he groans into your mouth.

"Please-" He whispers, desperate and full of honesty. "Just let me touch them.."

Almost instantly, you cave. How can you not when those big brown eyes are pleading for your warmth?

Slowly, fingers start to move, almost shy, tracing your shirt and mapping the shape, his pupils dilated as hell.

The first squeeze comes with direct eye contact and you gasp to the impact. His smirk says it all. He knows exactly what he's doing.

"I wanna feel your skin.." Luffy mutters, fake-innocent. So, you guide him under your shirt and he nearly passes out when his palms meet bare flesh.

You aren't wearing a bra. That's like flashing a red flag in front of a bull.

Warm palms cradle one and then the other reverently, then cupping the soft swell fully and thumbs sliding along the gentle curves, working the flesh with hypnotic pressure that makes every nerve sing.

With fingertips gliding lazy circles around your nipples, he teases the hardened buds with a feather-light touch before pressing just a little harder, enough to make you inhale sharply, the electric burn lighting you up in arousal.

The way he presses and rolls, moulding your breasts like precious fruit, leaves you craving more with his thumbs flicking over your sensitive peaks, tugging lightly before dragging down as he experiments with gentle pinches, the slight sting heightening the moans you try to stifle.

Luffy leans down, lips brushing over the skin just beneath your collarbone, leaving soft kisses that warm the flesh. Then his mouth finds your nipple and he sucks it into his mouth like it's the last meal he'll ever have.

He hollows his cheeks, swirling his tongue in slow, circular motions, tasting you with an addict's focus. Every lick, nip, and flick is greedy, pulling needy sighs from deep in your chest as he loses himself in the sensation.

That moment rewires his brain. After that? Unhinged.

The Captain corners you on the Sunny just to get his hands on you with every given moment.

Kisses grow messier, tongue deep and eager, saliva spilling as his palms roam your chest with frantic need.

He pinches your nipples, tugging them between thumb and forefinger, watching your face for every flicker of reaction and the way your breath hitches, how your eyes flutter shut as you try not to be heard by everyone on the goddamn ship.

Sometimes lips latch to the swell of your breasts, sucking until deep bruises and marks bloom whilst he keeps biting the flesh like he's starving to claim territory.

No matter who is nearby, the leader of the Straw Hats only cares about you.

No thought of discretion crosses his mind as he worships what he loves most, just roaming, squeezing, teasing and decorating you until you are dripping wet in your lace.

The first time you get fully naked in front of him? He doesn't even fuck you. Not right away.

He spends an hour just there, on top of you, mouth latched to your sensitive buds like they're the treasure he's been chasing. Sucking until his cheeks sore, switching sides every few minutes to give each breast equal attention.

Then alternates between long, slick licks across your skin, pulling your nipple deep and grazing it with gentle nibbles that make your whole body jolt.

You have to drag him away eventually, reminding him there is more to your body.

He complains, "Just a little longer.." before finally yielding and giving you the attentiveness you crave between your legs.

Every time he comes after that, he wants to finish there, watching his load drip and smear over your soft skin, painting you with his release.

A wide, sticky grin spreads across his face as fingers trace the glistening trails, spreading them until you're coated in his mess.

Oh and when you pull him down by his hair to lick it clean? He goes wild, tongue lapping every drop, eyes rolling back as he drinks himself in.

Luffy's stretchy nature means he can get creative too.

If your chest is on the fuller side, he sits on your lap, pressing his hard cock between your tits, eyes wide as he watches you squeeze and grind, rubbing them up and down his length.

The slick heat of your skin sliding over him makes his jaw drop and guttural curses spill from his lips, ones you never think are in his vocabulary.

If your breasts are smaller, he has you lie back while he kneels over you, trapping your body between his thighs. The head of his cock drags across your nipples, switching sides and tribbing the slit fast against them, too desperate to cover every inch with his touch.

This obsession isn't just about sex, though.

He finds real comfort in resting his face against your soft skin, the warmth and steady beat of your heart soothing him like a lullaby into deep sleep.

When the crew isn't around, he asks to hold one like a stress ball, promising "No funny business" even though both of you know that promise is about to be broken.

Eventually, after a few minutes, that innocent squeeze shifts and fingers start toying with your hard nipples while his mouth trails down your neck and his hips push insistently against your hip.

Honestly, if you were to ask Luffy "ass or tits" he wouldn't even hesitate. Tits all the way, no room for second thoughts. This Captain's got zero chill when it comes to those.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three Pointer 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: When you go down to see your brother at the basketball courts, you find yourself drawn into a game you don't quite understand.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: I meant this to be one part but it should only be 2 or 3 at most. My mind is a bit addled. Without having to go into the pain, I lost someone dear to me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Photo Sources: #1 #2

The bounce of rubber on pavement greets your approach. You come to the chain link fence and peer through, searching among the courts for one person in particular. Your brother is there with his usual crowd; three-on-three. 

Your anxiety twists in your gut. There’s always so many people down here. So many strangers. 

You enter through the gate, the hinges whining high, and you pass by the benches of those waiting for their go or watching. As you keep your head low, a whoosh blows past your nose. You step back and look up as the ball bounces off fence behind the benches. 

You glance over as a man catches it. You blanches show your palms. ‘Sorry’, you mouth, your voice trapped up inside your chest. 

He echoes you out loud. “You okay?” 

You stare at him. His dark aviators reflect the sunlight and his sleeves are rolled up over his sweaty shoulders. You finally find the sense to nod. You should pay attention.  

You slowly sidle past him. He backs up and watches you before slowly turning around. He tosses the ball to another man. He catches it and flips it into the net with no effort at all.  

You trip as you notice the other man’s arm. At first you think it’s tattoos but they shine like that. It’s metal. You can see a hint of the scarring where it meets his flesh, just beneath the black cotton of his tank top. 

You turn and put your head down again. It isn’t nice to stare. You know you don’t like when people do. 

Your brother, Carter, is in the next court. As you glance up, he’s squinting at you. You frown. What did you do now? 

You stop at the corner as Trevor calls his name. Carter sneers and turns to grab the ball out of the air. He aims and shoots. It bounces off the backboard and Hakeem catches it with a chirp, “Looking sharp.” 

“Whatever,” Carter puffs. “I need water.” 

He flicks his fingers in frustration and stomps toward you. He wipes his forehead with his arm. He ignores you as he grabs his worn-out gatorade bottle. 

“Chu doin’ here?” He growls before he squirts a stream into his mouth. 

“You said come get you around seven.” 

He swallows loudly, his eyes darting behind you. “Did I?” 

“I thought--” 

“Why were you bugging those guys?” He asks. 

You peek back. The man in the sunglasses makes a three-pointer. You shake your head as you face your brother. 

“I wasn’t--” 

“You needa go home. You don’t even like basketball,” he accuses. “No one needs you in the way. ‘Specially not them.” 

“You never ask me to play,” you shrug. 

“And who wants to play with you?” He rolls his eyes. 

You pout and nod. You wouldn’t be very good, would you? 

“Well, it’s seven. I just came to say so like you wanted.” 

“Sure. If Tonya shows, just send her here.” He spits. 

“Right.” 

You don’t like how he treats you like his time-keeper and his messenger. You don’t like Tonya either. Or many of his friends for that matter. They’re like him. You only live together because you got no choice. You can’t afford your own place. 

You spin and head back for the gate. Before you can reach it, the same man as before approaches you. He uses his shirt to wipe his face. Your eyes stray for just a moment, cheeks tinging at the sight of his muscled stomach. 

“Hey,” he tugs the hem down. “You wanna sub in? I needa sit.” 

“Huh?” You stop short and look at him. “Me?” 

“Sure. If you don’t mind? My buddy hates to wait on me,” he points over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Well I... I don’t play much. Just come down to watch my brother,” you explain. 

“Oh, well, my buddy isn’t very good either,” he chuckles. “Just for two minutes.” 

You look at him. His beard is damp with sweat and a trickle runs down his temple. You look at the other man dribbling, watching you. 

“Okay.” You don’t like to argue. Carter always wants to and you’re over it. 

“Steve, by the way,” he introduces himself as he grabs his water bottle and sits. 

You give your name before you crane to see across the court. You turn and near the other man, waving shyly. “Uh, hi.” 

“He’s sending in a ringer,” the other man bounces the ball then catches it. “What’s your name, doll?” 

You repeat it again. 

“Bucky,” he replies. You blink as something in your mind tweaks. That’s familiar. “You start.” 

He bounces the ball and you barely get your hands around it. He bends his knees and gets into a guard position. You stare at him. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

You dribble, clumsily, and try to angle around him. He moves easily with you. You try to divert but only get your foot under the ball. It veers off and hurtles into next court. 

Bucky chases it as you scrunch up your hand and press it to your chin. He scoops up the ball and Carter turns. He says something but you can’t make it up. Bucky barely acknowledges and turns, giving a somewhat flummoxed face. 

“I’m sorry,” you eke out. 

Your eyes linger beyond him. Carter watches you with a scowl. He gestures, somewhere between disbelief and agitation. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky says. “Gotta start somewhere. How about we go over the basics before you wipe the floor with me?” 

“I’m not very good,” you mumble. 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He looks you up and down. “Stand here.” 

He taps the ground with the toe of his sneaker. You shuffle around to stand at the peak of the curved line. He takes the ball and stands parallel to you.  

“Watch my hands,” he directs. 

You do. You try not to gape at his metal knuckles as the plates contract with his movements. 

“Hold like this, then flick your wrist.” He makes the shot easy and the ball pings back to him. “Look at that square above the hoop. That’ll help.” 

He hands over the ball. You hesitate but take it, fingers brushing his. You take a breath and focus on the box on the backboard. 

This is going to be so bad. You were never good in gym class but you liked trying for fun. With all these people around, watching, it’s not so fun. 

You try. That’s all you can do. It hits the backboard, then the hoop, then once more goes to the side. Bucky hurries to catch it. He bounces it as he turns to you again. 

“Close.” 

“I’m taking up your time,” you stand on your toes and teeter. 

“Nah, I don’t mind.” He holds out the ball. Once more, you accept it and resign yourself to failure. He steps back. “Take your time.” 

You do, take your time. You stare, contemplating space and time and all the odds against you. You should’ve just gone home like Carter said. 

You flick your wrist. You look down at the pavement before the ball can deflect. You hear it hit and the net swooshes. 

“Yeah,” Bucky claps. “Good one.” 

You flinch and lift your chin, “it went in?” 

“Sure did,” he grabs the ball. “You’re a natural.” 

“Good job,” Steve praises as he approaches. 

“Oh, um, he showed me how.” You sway. “Thanks uh... for letting me try, but... I’ll leave ya be.” 

“What? You’re just getting started. Come on, I’ll show you a layup,” Steve insists. 

“Well, I don’t know...” you say. 

You hear a snort. You peek over your shoulder. Carter is watching. Bucky twists around to see too. Your brother shies away and smiles at the man. He only gets a shake of the head in return. 

“That one your brother?” Steve nudges you gently. 

“Er, yeah, Carter,” you answer. 

“Why doesn’t he let you play with him?” Bucky asks. 

You chew your lip. “Like I said, I’m not very good.” 

“Not having practice doesn’t mean not good,” Steve says. “Besides, it’s not the NBA. It’s fun.” He takes the ball. “Now let’s work on your layup.” 

🏀

You dribble and stop. You can sense Steve and Bucky coming in from both sides. You hurl the ball up with only the intent to deter them. It spins high into the sky and arcs back down. To your surprise, is drops right through the net. 

“Ha,” Steve stops it between his hands, “got us again.” 

“You don’t have to let me win,” you say. 

“Let you? Nah, we wouldn’t do that.” Bucky says. 

“Even if we are, means we get to buy you celebratory drink, right?” 

“What?” You laugh, “no, you don’t have to--” 

“Hey, sis,” Carter interrupts. “Headed home. You coming?” 

You slowly turn. Really? 

“We can get her home,” Bucky rebuffs. “We’re just wrapping up.” 

“Oh, sure, Barnes,” your brother laughs nervously. “Just didn’t want her walking home alone.” 

Your cheek pinches. Since when was he so concerned? Something else needles in your brain... 

“We can get her home,” Steve intones. 

You glance at him, then Bucky. It dawns on you. You turn to your brother. 

“I’ll be home soon,” you say. 

His face falls, “oh, sure. Just... be safe, sis.” 

“Okay,” you utter. 

He lingers, waiting, and when no one stops him, he goes. You watch him until he’s gone then turn to Bucky. He looks back at you calmly. 

“I know who you are,” you say. “Both of you.” 

“Figured it was obvious,” Bucky laughs. 

“Maybe, but... unexpected.” 

“We’ve been coming to this court since it opened in 1936.” Steve says. 

“Uh, of course,” you cringe. “I only meant... I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Steve chides. “We’ve been away, we know all the best places around, so why don’t we take you for the best drink in the borrough?” 

“That’s... nice. I don’t drink though. Never tried it, to be honest.” 

“How about ice cream, then? Alcohol doesn’t do too much for us. Not with our biology.” Bucky suggests. 

“I... alright.” 

“I know, not much fun hanging out with old men,” Steve snickers. 

“No, I don’t mean...” 

“Kidding,” Steve says. “It’s just around the corner. I’m sure you know the place.” 

Steve keeps the ball and grabs his water bottle from the bench. Bucky takes his bottle too and they walk on either side of you across the courts. As you come out to the street, the evening begins to set in. 

You head north then just around the corner. You’ve been to the ice cream bar before. It’s a bit too expensive for you so you usually get one scoop in a cup, no toppings. 

Steve holds the door. You enter ahead of both of them. You stop and browse the menu. You should try something new. 

“Know what you want?” Bucky asks. “This guy always gets vanilla.” 

“Can’t go wrong with a classic.” Steve says. 

“Nah, just gets boring,” Bucky snorts. “I’m thinking caramel brittle. Sounds interesting.” 

You nod and think. It goes silent as the shop employee awkwardly pretends to stack cups behind the counter. You shift and clear your throat. 

“Strawberries and cream?” You say as you reach into your pocket. 

“Our treat,” Steve insists. “Sprinkles? Waffle cone?” 

“Just a cup is good,” you assure him. 

“Got it. Buck, find a seat.” Steve hands over his water bottle. 

“Come on, doll.” Bucky gestures you away. 

You go back out to the patio area and find a table. Bucky sits across from you and put the bottles on the table. You hook one foot behind the other and lean your elbows on the wood. 

“You live around here?” Bucky asks. You nod and rein in your wandering eyes. “Used to,” he says as he combs back his dark hair. The patch of grey in his beard catches the receding sunlight. “It’s rougher than it was.” 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. You just double check the locks and get home before dark. 

“Things are different for pretty girls. Can never be too careful.” 

Your brows pop up. He means you? 

“Oh, thanks, but... I’m fine, you know?” 

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” he grins. 

The door chimes as someone comes out. Steve sits beside you and doles out the ice creams. He got yours in a waffle bowl. That’s the most expensive. 

“Good game,” Steve says. 

“Yeah, fun,” you agree as you poke the ice cream with a spoon. “Thanks for letting me play.” 

“We should do it again. You know, this guy, he’s a bit dull. It’s nice having a buffer.” 

“Me?” Steve exclaims. “Whatever.” 

They both laugh as you can only offer a smile. You like them. Even if you feel like an outsider, it’s not because of them. You just always feel that way. 

🏀

Bucky and Steve walk you home. Another pang of guilt pulls at your chest but you’re happy they came with you. It’s dark. Things are both quiet and too noisy. You swear you can hear other footsteps. 

You stop just at the edge of the overgrown lawn. Carter was supposed to mow it but you’ll probably end up doing it again. You don’t need another notice from the landlord. 

At least it’s dark. They can’t see how cruddy the house really is. You sway. 

“Um, good night, then.” 

“We’ll walk you to the door. It’s only right.” Steve says. 

“We’re old-fashioned like that.” Bucky adds. 

“Oh, alright.” 

You wait a moment then head up the walk. They follow. The front stairs groan under your weight, then theirs. You get to the top and turn around. 

“Thanks again.” You say. “I had a good night.” 

“We did too,” Bucky assures. 

“Sure di--” 

The door behind you opens. Yellow light pores out and casts Carter’s shadow over you. You cringe. 

“About time, sis. You left dishes in the sink—oh, you’re here.” He nearly chokes as he notices the men on the porch with you. 

“You’re not very nice, are you?” Bucky hisses. 

“What? No. I was reminding her. It’s her turn.” He pushes the screen door out and you move out of the way. “You guys wanna come in. I got beer.” 

“You could do the dishes,” Steve growls. 

“Huh? She said--” 

“Please,” you pipe up. “Really, it’s not a big deal. You two should head home. It’s late. Carter, I’ll do the dishes.” 

“They your dishes or his?” Bucky challenges. 

You blanch and shake your head. 

“Um, well, just dishes,” you answer. 

“No way to treat family.” Bucky mutters. 

“No, it’s not,” Steve agrees. 

“I’ll do em,” Carter’s voice squeaks. “It’s no big deal. Come on, sis. You’re right, it’s late--” 

“No. No. She’s not going inside.” Bucky says. 

“What? Really, it’s... fine.” You argue. 

“She’s coming with us. Shouldn’t be living in a place like this,” Steve exhales. 

“It’s--” 

“Not with him.” Bucky snarls. 

“But--” You begin. 

“Doll, you just settle down. This is what we do. We save people.” Bucky drawls. 

“And we know what it looks like when someone needs saving,” Steve puts in. “You come with us.” 

“And you,” Bucky jabs a finger at your brother. “Better not see you again.” 

“Me? She’s my sister--” 

“Nah,” Bucky grabs your arm. “She’s not yours anymore.” 

[tojisteddy]

Toji who likes getting his dick wet in your pussy after a long week of work.

He’s been constant (for once) with keeping his blue collar job.

He used to drop it when it annoyed him, or switch between the blue collar jobs and… let’s call it freelancing. But that wasn’t an option anymore. Not since you had Megumi. He didn’t need any excuses not to keep the two of you safe and if that meant dropping the thing he had been good at since he was 18, so be it.

But it was tough, there were bills to be paid, essentials to be bought. You going back to work? Wasn’t a fucking option. Not now atleast, when you’d been trying for a baby for ages. You wanted to be there atleast till the kid was 3 and Toji swore on his life he’d make it happen. So he worked his way up, got a better job, longer hours, extra shifts— and he was exhausted at the end of the week.

But he knows when he gets home by 6 on Friday evenings, Megumi is already down for the night, the bath is hot for him and there’s two hot and ready meals waiting for him to gobble up.

And that’s exactly what Toji does.

Eats at your pussy right on the living room floor, legs spread wide open, your own hand covering your mouth as he devours you whole. You fingers run through his jet black hair, tugging him further into your soaked pussy lips, making him groan. One hand coming down to smack your swollen clit, and he doesn’t stop, aching for you to squirt. Make a mess all over his face because he’s been dying for it. Watching you in the early mornings with hungry eyes.

“Come on baby, give it to me.” He grunts, sinking his tongue in and out your awaiting hole. Your hips buck on his face, inner walls pulsing as you cum, mewling his name, drenching his face ever so beautifully.

He can’t help the smirk that forms on his lips, he just knows you’ll be embarrassed when you come to. You’ll make the cutest shy face that Toji wants to tattoo on his side.

But your brown eyes are glazed over, lips pursed, you let out a whine while reaching for his almost painful pulsing cock, its hangs with every moment, wide and veiny. You whimper, “Toji, please.”

Toji curses, running his cock through the folds of your soaked pussy, clicking his tongue, “Don’t think with your fuckin cunt, mama, Christ.”

But it’s enough to give you what you want— what you’ve both been needing after a long and tiring week.

Toji sinks into you with a string of curses, inch by inch, deep. His tip beautifully touching your cervix, it makes you feel like you could choke by how wide he stretches you. And you wrap around Toji so warmly. It sends a shiver down his spine, he could almost cum just from being inside your tight walls.

“Fuck me, that’s the shit I’m talkin about.”

He could almost applaud you, praise you in how you have the best pussy known to man, so he does just that. Giving you the most delicious sledgehammering thrusts he can, rolling his hips into yours.

“Fu- oh my Goood!” You keen, head hitting the carpet. So much for trying to hide your moans. Pray your child doesn’t wake up.

“Heh, You should be calling out to me pretty girl, you know better.”

The bastard, doesn’t let up though. slamming into you velvety walls with every smack of your thighs, pussy clinging on his length for dear life. You scratch at his back, making him groan, pulling you closer into his arms so that your chest to chest. Toji nibbles and sucks at the flesh of your neck, hes more than unthinking at this point, Erratically fucking into you, his red tip bruising your cervix.

“Damn, hah- fuck me baby.” He moans, spurts of cum reaching deep into you. Making sure you’re more than coated with him on your pussy walls. But he bucks his hips, slaps your ass a few times till your unravel around him. Soaking him to his balls.

It’s the perfect way to end off the week.

a/n: yeah toji, omg I need him really bad.

[r0-boat]

Fuck fuck fuck No one has done any NSFW alphabet for date everything and I'm sick of this

Mac NSFW Alphabet

Human!Mac x Gn!reader

Cw: cyber stalking, obsessive behavior, hacking into your electronics, voyeurism, panty sniffing, going to be as vague as possible with Mac's genitalia Go fucking wild y'all,

Disclaimer: I am an able-bodied person writing for an ambulatory wheelchair user. If I was disrespectful or unknowledgeable in any way, please let me know. The amount of research can never compare to someone who has actually experienced it. Thank you for your patience.

All right now finally to the sex!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Mac always gets into this haze of, ' Wow... This is really mine...' And it really shows when Mac babbles about how good you look right now. When you notice them, try to get up out of bed to get you some water, your body shoots up, but Mac just puts a hand on your shoulder, talking in a soft voice, giving you those eyes that make you melt. "No, no, it's okay Baby... I got it. Just stay there. I want to take care of you. "

You watch them wheel out of the bedroom. Before coming back with a glass of water.

"Your body needs water. This is hardly an adequate amount... Especially after the... Heh heh~ workout I put you through... But it's better than nothing. Honestly, I would want nothing more than just to hold you. " Their words are smooth, a little bit of a growl at the end as they get up from their wheelchair and move to the bed, handing you the glass of water before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close...

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

"I don't understand why humans make such a big deal about the flesh on another's body"

Mac says while ravaging your body with their eyes. Forgetting that they are now human. God damn it They thought you were sexy before but now they can physically feel everything. Every part of you drives them mad to no end. Is this what the phrase "hormonal teenager" truly means?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Yes yes yes yes yes gods yes. In your mouth in their mouth inside you....

Oh God let them come inside you...

But there is nothing and I mean nothing that would drive Mac as crazy as seeing any of your clothing drenched or stained with cum or your juices. The moment they slide your underwear down and see what you are, they shudder, licking their lips. Their mouth salivating for a taste.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Usually, Mac shares everything openly with you, because you have shared everything with them as they used to be your desktop computer and all...

Well except for one thing...

Mac used to know everything about you. Now that they're human, it's hard to adjust to the fact that they can't know everything you're doing like they used to. You used to spend half or more of your day just with them.

They have bugged all devices to continue watching you, and I mean a lot, whether it be accessing your camera, watching your screen, or tracking your location.

It's not that they don't trust you or they think you might be cheating, no, no, no. They could never even dream of thinking about you in that way.

It's a desperate need to know and watch you do everything, especially on specific sites.

Actually, it's Mac's favorite thing to do: watch you from your phone or computer camera, whimper, gasp, and touch yourself.

And they'll touch themselves, yeah, sure, they could just call you or initiate sex. But there's something about watching you when you don't know you're being watched that is insanely hot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Well yes. They have. But that was before they became human And they'll never do it again. Because now they know all they want is you.

Yes, Mac knows that they won't be absolutely perfect in bed. But they assure you that they are a very quick learner.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

During sex Mac prefers to be in control; more on the dominant side whether it top or bottom.

However, if you're a service top, they will just melt like butter on a hot knife in your hands. If you're any other top they will just be a brat and try to take control.

Anywhere where they can see your face is preferred. Watching your face twist in the reactions they drive out of you. Of course how could they say no to a good cowgirl.

Mac loves loves doggy style They don't do it often, since after a while it becomes painful, But oh boy that's the pleasure and your cute little screams are worth it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

They don't mind being goofy, and they of course don't mind when you're goofy. But they're just more serious. More focused on wanting you just scream their name. More focused on how ragingly horny they are for you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Mac usually shaves everything and then lets it grow over time rinses, repeat. Probably once or twice a month, depending on how busy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Oh, Mac cannot keep their hands and lips off you. Kissing every part of your body, their hands roaming, feeling every inch. They've known you for so long and so well, now they get to know you in other ways, and they're not letting this opportunity pass up. Mac will explain in detail what part of you is and why it's so attractive. Mac will put it into words explaining the times you've made them so hard and when they wanted to bend you over and fuck you. If you're shy when it comes to sexy or not going to survive a night with them.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Mac for the first half a year of being a human They have never touched themselves... They never needed to in the past I mean it's really hard to pleasure yourself when you're a computer. But now that they're a human the thought of touching themselves slip their mind because... they have you now.

And now (around the same time they bugged your electronics), Mac opened their tablet to check up on you as you're on a work trip. They turned on an app, and their eyes widened. You're cute little moans and your hands between your legs, and that's a sweet, sweet sound that Mac knows very well. Their breath shook. They watched for a while until the tightness in their core became too great, their hand slid into their pants, and the rest was history.

They don't touch themselves until they somehow cannot get to you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Marking (biting, hickies)

Voyeurism

Watching porn together IDK

Praise

Rough sex

Mutual masturbation

Lingerie

Body worship

Bratting

Overstimulation

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

They much rather do it at home. You can get away with initiating private places in public. But Mac really much rather do it at home.

But at home however... Every piece of furniture ❤️

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If you want Mac to fuck you till two of You need a second wheelchair. Lingerie. Lingerie or any piece of clothing that hugs your body just right.

Thigh high stockings? Fuck yes!

Chokers or collars? So hot!

Pretty lace wrapped around your body? Take it off before They ripped that shit off.

A nice outfit You are about to wear for their date? their eyes will be on you all night thinking about what they're going to do to you.

Nothing except in apron? Mac will not keep their hands off you to let you cook.

If you wear their oversized t-shirt it would do some things to them...

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Mac fooled around with some people and safe to say you are the only one they want. That being said. Mac is a little territorial about the time you spend with them. They've had your attention And they are used to having that attention for hours on end. Mac will not do a threesome...

Mac will not do anything dangerous.

Mac will not also do anything illegal... (Except for the stalking but shh) fucking in public is a maybe... Very big maybe. I'm sure if you tease them enough they will fuck you good.

Mac will never not a million years do anything unhygienic

Not necessarily a turn off but it's something they can't do... And that's degrade. They cannot degrade you for the life of them they're just terrible at it. They can only and only ever say nice things to you!

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Yes, yes, yes, Mac gives like they are starving. They have a huge oral fixation, a thirst they cannot quench. No matter how many hours they spend between your legs.

And of course that goes receiving but not surprising They will run their fingers through your hair and pat your head while you put your mouth around them licking and sucking and they will talk you through at the whole time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Hahaha Mac kept some of that restless stamina they had as a computer. They start off slow and sensual but slowly they devolve into fast and hard occasionally switching between the two. They just can't control themselves around you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Mac loves quickies in theory, but every time they do one, they just want more. And then suddenly, something that was supposed to be quick sex before the grocery store ended up being. Go to the grocery store tomorrow because they're too busy being deep inside you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Mac is still trying to get a risky side to them. Before they kind of couldn't afford to be risky since they had your most important data and personal stuff.

However experimentation? Yes, yes, yes, Mac is researching all sorts of stuff to make your sex life more exciting. So many positions to try with you... So many toys to test. So many kinks to explore.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

One thing that Mac kept when becoming realized Is there ungodly stamina. Mac can fuck you for hours with multiple rounds and still Have enough energy to take a stroll with you around town. Despite your limping body.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I hope you prepared to be a little test subject for sex toys You will always be the first to test out a toy before they do it themselves. And they will watch and enjoy, every second.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Since becoming a human Mac has been obsessed with the anatomy of a human. But instead of looking at diagrams of books They rather just lay on the bed and play in poke and prod between your legs. Fingering and stroking their eyes starting back up to see how you react.

With a mischievous smirk on their face they will lick and suck. Watching you is their favorite activity.

And in turn Mac Will happily endure and enjoy any teasing you give them back. Then you'll come to find out that Mac is far more vocal being teased.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Mac is on the quieter side, with grunts moans and whimpers. Though they do have a tendency to talk you through it.

"come on baby You're so close I can feel you squeezing me come on I know you can do it... You're so cute when you cum, come on give it to me... "

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Mac is a notorious panty thief. If the two of you fuck in public I'm 99% sure they are pocketing your panties and you're going to have to go command over the rest of the day.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Dick: circumcised, large and veiny, bigger than average (and is very proud of that)

Vagina: small closed outer lip! With a clit bigger than most AFAB people. And that glit it's extremely sensitive. Double click it and see how much they squirm ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGH! HIGH! THROUGH THE ROOF.

They need your body so bad.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Nope, after care and cuddles first. They ensure you have everything you need, and you sleep before they sleep. Sometimes they even want more, but wait to see if you feel the same way.

[doll2sick]

(requests open! check my guidelines for rules!)

cw- porn w/o plot, fingering, simon coming untouched, a lil bit of mean!simon, choking

you suck in a breath as simon adjusts your position. simon’s got you nestled in between his legs as he’s sat up against the headboard- he’s fully clothed and his mask is pushed up onto the bridge of his nose, allowing his grunts and vulgar whispers to be unmuffled. “uh uh- spread em’, luvie.” he murmurs, his large hand pushing your knees apart. “wanna make you feel good, gonna let me?” he murmurs into your ear.

your face and chest is flushed- completely naked as you lean against his chest- his fingers caressing your sensitive flesh. “actin’ all shy now like you weren’t beggin’ like a fuckin’ whore ten minutes ago.” he tuts, shaking his head as his fingers glides in between your folds- your arousal collecting onto his digits. “fuckin’ hell.” he groans, and you let out a soft mewl.

you can feel his hard cock straining against his pants on your back- every now and then he ruts it into your back like a desperate mutt. “cunnie’s sopping, this all for me?” he saying into your ear, nipping at the skin on your neck- eliciting a whine form you. “shh- i’ll give you what you need, pretty. god, look at ya- my perfect girl, yeah?”he coos, letting his middle and ring finger sink into your cunt as deep as they can go- nestled in my gummy walls that pulsed around him.

“ah- si-simon!” you squeal, your thighs clamping closed around his hand- your hips twitching as his fingers curl up against your g spot. he tuts again- pushing your knees apart and placing a light slap to your inner thigh. “tha fuck i say, birdie? keep em’ open.” he orders, his thumb swiping up and down on your clit- making your eyes roll back behind your half open lids.

“fuck!” you cry out, your hands scrambling to grasp his wrist. he lets out a deep chuckle as he fingers your weeping cunt- eyes glued to your pussy sucking in his fingers as he bites down on his bottom lip and ruts against your back.

he feels your pretty pussy flutter around his fingers, he knows it’s coming. the vulgar squelching sound your cunt is making is beginning to get more intense- as does his pace. “fuckin’ cunnie suckin’ me in, love. like she knows ‘er owner, yeah?” he comments as his free hand reaches up, grasping your throat with gentle pressure to the sides of your airway.

you moan pathetically- the cut off to your breathing creating a delicious dizzy sensation as you feel your orgasm approaching. “mhm- there we go, i know that look.” he grunts, his thrusts against your back getting harder and more desperate. “gonna cum, hm? gonna cum on my fingers? fuckin’ pathetic- my pathetic lil girl.” he rambles in your ear, his breath becoming more erratic as his fingers abuse your puffy cunt.

you writhe and cry out, your head tilting back against simon’s shoulder. your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape before you shudder and let out a guttural moan- cumming all over his palm. “atta girl- fuck…” he praises- his grip on your throat tightening as his cock pulses- cumming at the sight of you.

“god- fuck- my fuckin’ girl.” he mumbles, tilting his head back as his fingers continue to ride you through your high.

you go limp in his arms- head hazy and body still twitching. simon’s fingers pull out gently, a soft whine falling from your lips from the sensation. he kisses your temple and then your jaw.

DOLL2SICK— est. 2025 © do not copy or publish my work to any other platform!

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[migosis]

morning dew. (Erik killmonger x OC) AU

summary: Ryka ( pronounced rye-kuh) is shook out of her sleep by a steamy dream, only for Erik to make her dream come true in real life.

warnings: it's smut baby, light D/s, spit play, anal, AAVE, and xxx twitter link included.

authors note: I know everyone is writing for Sinners right now, but for some reason, those characters & story are too close to my heart right now to begin to shift their story. however I was still inspired to write, so you filthy heathens get killmonger. enjoy but be gentle. 🥰

masterlist

Ryka’s tired eyes snapped open, her vision hazy as she adjusted to reality. Her skin stuck to the sheets, damp with perspiration. The thumping in her chest and rapid pulse made her want to crawl out of her own skin. She sat up in bed, slowly so that she wouldn’t wake the gentle giant sleeping next to her. She sighed in frustration as she began to recall the scenes that played in her mind just before she awakened. The throbbing between her legs had her attention immediately. 

On the nightstand she double tapped her screen to check the time. It was 5:16am, hours earlier than the typical time she’d wake on a Saturday morning. Too damn early. She laid back down and rolled over into a cool spot in the sheets. She tossed when she couldn't escape the salacious thoughts that invaded her mind as she tried to go back to sleep. The throbbing was just as intense as it had been moments before. Her mind wanted to sleep so deeply, but her own body worked against her, compelling her to satisfy the flesh. The sticky heat that collected between her thighs at this point could not just be chalked up to perspiration. As much as she tried to ignore the need, all she could do was lay there and surrender her body to sleep, hoping maybe, just maybe her dream could pick up right where it left off.

Shivers radiated down her spine at the snapshots in her head. She could practically feel Erik’s breath on her skin and his distant voice in her head whispering devious innuendos. To her dismay, he was still fast asleep. After twenty minutes of attempting counting sheep she stifled a deep groan. She laid there, inadvertently piecing together the missing plot of her dream. In one flash there was a head full of locs between her legs. The thought of Erik slurping and sucking on her caused jolts of energy to course through her body. She could feel her nipples getting firm underneath the oversized t-shirt she wore. Her imagination recreated the happenings in her dream so elaborately that she could nearly feel him doing all of these things to her that she envisioned. She was disappointed when her mind's eye fell short. Trying to imagine his tongue on her felt like using a touchscreen with gloves on. 

Although it was difficult to see in the shadows of dawn, she knew Erik was asleep because of his deep, slow breaths. She decided against waking him. He needed his sleep, because he was an absolute terror to deal with if not. Feeling his warmth and his subtle pheromones around her wasn’t making this any easier so she left the bed, flinching a bit when the cool air hit her body. She sulked into the bathroom, the misery of unfulfilled desire heavily clouding her. 

After brushing her teeth and washing her face she decided to lay on the couch so as not to disturb Erik in the bedroom. Even as she laid in the darkness, her mind conjured him, making the same sensations arise as earlier only this time, more intense. Between her legs she saw his tongue swimming in her sea of wetness and then drowning in more forbidden places. The sight made her squirm. She could feel his caress on her skin, where nothing but the fabric of her shirt touched her. She thought she could distract herself with a scroll down her timeline, a podcast, music, something. But impulsively she put in an airpod, and changed the orientation on her phone to horizontal before navigating to her favorite adult videos. She believed that watching them would relieve her. That her itch would be scratched, like listening to a song that's stuck in your head. But the suggestive sounds and passion filled faces the actors made only amplified the fluttering she felt in her clit. She envied the woman on her screen. A muscular man pounded the plus sized stallion from the back while she throated the thick, heavy dick of a tattooed light skinned man in front of her. Ryka marveled at how both disappeared inside of her with ease. Ryka began to get lost in the sensation of what it felt like to be sandwiched between two bodies and filled to the brim. The woman hummed when one of the men slid in her pussy from under her and cried out in ecstasy once the other man behind her massaged her ass before she begged him to push inside of her second hole. Her moan’s made Ryka’s pussy clench involuntarily. She rolled her nipples between her fingers as she watched. Her wet folds drew her finger tips to her clit like a magnet. Just as her hand encroached upon her waistband, the sound of Erik’s raspy voice broke her out of the moment. 

"Ry? Come back to bed." She froze but realized he was already turning on his heels headed back down the hallway before he finished his sentence. He hadn't looked at her too close nor did he see the screen. She closed the incognito window on her phone and laid the throw blanket to the side. In the room again, she faced him laying on her side. He laid on his back, eyes closed, hands folded and resting on his torso.

"You been to sleep yet baby girl?” She was a night owl, while he was always the first to fall asleep. 

"Yeah, I had something like a night sweat a little bit ago. Then I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Bad dream?"

"Not really." He turned his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You feelin’ aight? Does something hurt?" Since the pandemic, any time she so much as sneezed a few times in a row, Erik suggested she was sick and went into caregiver mode. 

He held his hand on her forehead, and then nestled his hand under her chin so he could “see if you runnin’ a fever.”

She smiled at his concern, but let him know she wasn't sick. Not in that fashion anyway, although there was something she was fiendin’ for. Her eyes wandered over his bare chest and abdomen, then back up to his lips just as he licked them. Silence hung between them while she played in his beard, fantasizing about her juices dripping from it, like in her dream. She thought about telling him what was on her mind, but telling him about her devious thoughts made her want to hide under a rock. She’d never been good at initiating. She shrank internally at the thought of recalling all of the details. Guilt swelled inside of her, because somewhere in her psychology her needs felt like entitlement. Revealing herself required her to be too brave at the moment. A battle occurred inside her, each part fighting selfishly to stake their claim. The woman who wished to be desired and the woman that shrieked at being seen. She just wanted him to know she needed him. 

"Give me your hand again?" He laid his hand in hers without any hesitation, they felt softer than they looked. Even in the dim morning light, he could see that her gaze never left his as she guided his hand under the cover. She pulled her shirt up while his hand rested on her tummy. She placed quick pecks on his lips and before she knew it, his hand was already gripping her soft skin. The heat generated between them made her heart beat quicken. She grabbed his wrist and placed his hand between her legs.

"I'm hurting here." For a split second, he considered that Ryka was experiencing genuine pain, but her smoldering gaze told him otherwise. He pushed her leg aside further to give himself more room to work. She smiled nervously, but Erik’s face was unchanged, sensing a challenge rather than a playful game. He was serious about her pleasure, treating it like a puzzle he was dedicated to solving.

"Right here?" He pressed his fingers against her so firmly that she could feel her clit pulsing against her public bone. She tensed and nodded.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“So you can act like a damn grinch all day? Hell nah.” She chuckled to herself. 

“Hmm.”

She felt him shift on his side and his breath near her ear made her shiver. “Grinches do this?” He finally crept inside of her underwear. She let out several jagged breaths that turned to whines when his fingers began to play at her entrance. He teased her, nearly penetrating but instead he just collected her juices on his fingers and rubbed all over her folds.

“She so fat and juicy.” 

“Mmmm.” She licked her lips, and rolled her hips toward him, begging for his fingers to explore deeper. “That feels so good.” Her thighs began to close as she got closer and closer to release, but he was steadfast with his mission even as she writhed under him and tried to push him away. The feeling snuck up on her, that friction that made her body tense and her head floaty. She yearned for his fingers inside of her, but he was already on her way to making her pussy cream just by working her clit. She pushed against his chest weakly, but when he didn’t lay off she gladly accepted her fate. His tongue parted her lips just as she came off of her high. The hand that was damp with her juices was now wrapped snugly around her neck. He kissed her intently and she followed his lead, savoring each other's lips as her breathing slowed to its normal pace.

He rolled the oversized t-shirt up her body, exposing her breasts and collarbone that was always adorned with a few gold chains. Her breasts weren't ample, but he always worshiped the bit of flesh she had there. He stared up at her while placing gentle kisses on them, that turned to hungry suckling of her nipples. The groans that vibrated from his throat sent tingles straight down her spine to her clit. She looked down at him, longing in her eyes, only to find his low, intense gaze staring right back at her. When she looked away, he sucked her nipple between his teeth in protest.

“Look at me while I eat this pussy out.” She nodded and lifted her hips so Erik could pull her panties down her thighs. Without thinking, she opened her mouth when his fingers came near, first sucking then swirling her tongue around them. When they were wet to her satisfaction, she placed his hand at her center letting him know what she wanted.

“Again, please.” She so deeply wanted another release.

His fingers plunged into her with ease. He stared at her body, and saw how her stomach caved and her breath caught in her throat when he hit her spot. 

“Breathe baby.” When she tried to, a series of small moans escaped her lips. 

“Good girl, let all that out. I love hearing you.” For the most part she was a quiet lover, but when her head rolled back and her eyes crossed Erik knew that was her spot. He circled her cavern with his fingers, making room to slip a third one in. 

“Eriiiik?” She kept her eyes on him as he requested. Her clit was suctioned between his lips, his eyes pierced hers, the same way they had in her dream and just with that one look from him her body flooded with pleasure. All of the sexual frustration and anticipation began to erupt. 

“You feel me stretching that pussy?”

“Yes!” She was in heaven. It was better than what she dreamed of.

“You gonna cum for me that quick?” He felt the ridges inside of her tighten and as if on command her body tensed and then shook as he continued his movements pressing against that spot. Her vision became blurry, but she could hear the sloshing noise his fingers made moving within her tightness. Her mouth hung ajar, but she came silently. Erik noticed her bottom lip catching between her teeth like she was trying to get something out but couldn’t.

He moved up her body, snake like. “You can do it.” His voice rumbled in her ear. “Listen to me baby, just say it.” His warm breath on her neck paired with his fingers stroking her walls through an orgasm overwhelmed her. He was everywhere all at once. She tried to push his hand away, but his strength overcame hers. “I’m not gonna stop ‘til I hear you.” A few moments passed as she continued to quake and when she was ready she cried out. “Fuuuck. Oh, fuck. Fuuuck! Fuck, Erik.”

He pulled out of her, allowing her to immediately sample his fingers. He lifted her chin to face him, each of their lips instantly finding their own messy rhythm. Every movement was deliberate. His firm grip on her chin, how expertly his tongue moved around hers. The way his other hand gripped her thigh, demanding her stillness. His touch tormented her. She was both relieved and disappointed when he disconnected from her and lifted from the bed. While he went to the bathroom, she laid there basking in bliss. Her fingers delicately brushed across her nipples and eventually she found relief in gently circling her aching pussy. She hoped Erik came back, dick swinging and ready to christen her mouth with his precum, but instead Erik returned with a warm cloth to wipe her down. As he walked towards her, all of her neediness on display, she became shy. The sun had just risen, so he could now see her moisture wicked brown skin against the rumpled sheets in the bed. It didn’t look like she’d just woken up an hour ago. She looked bright and alert, like his tongue on her pussy was the only cup of sunshine she needed.

“Good morning.” She spoke coyly. 

“Good morning to you.” He spoke amorously. 

Goofily, they smiled at one another, basking in the moment of intimacy they’d shared. She sat against the headboard, propped up by pillows. Even though she knew he was about to clean her up, she still needed a gentle tap on the ankle to persuade her to open her legs again. 

“I know you not tryna hide from me, after all that?” She opened her legs in response, folds soaking and clit swollen. She looked away from him, feeling exposed.

“That tickles.” The cloth brushed against her sensitive crevices. 

He places small kisses on her inner thigh. “That tickle too?” She covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughter.

“How about this?” His tongue flicked against her clit before he caught it between his lips and suctioned it passionately. He thought the two of them were through, but the sight of her body in the light of day, and her playing with that creamy, glistening pussy made him salivate. He wanted to reward her for just being her. He couldn't just have a taste, he required the whole meal plus dessert. “No, I think I like that.” He chuckled as she adjusted the pillows to lay back further.

He laid his tongue flat, and moved his head side to side creating the heat that made her so needy for him. Erik pulled her waist towards him roughly, causing her to yelp when he pushed her knees back towards her ears. She held them there, open and willing to receive all delight he bestowed upon her. At his mercy, his mouth made her feel like she would do anything he’d ask her to. When his tongue darted in and out of her, she could feel moisture trickling down her ass. When he pulled away, she saw droplets in his beard. He marveled at the mess the two of them made. Her pussy clenched and pulsated, drawing his attention to her puckered ass that was already slick with evidence of their appetite for one another. Since she was watching him feast on her, she noticed a glint of curiosity in his eyes which immediately made her want to relinquish everything to him. He could have her any way he wanted; this she knew, but there were not words to express it. His lips attached her clit again, his hand gripped her ass cheek before landing a hearty slap on it. It was guaranteed to make Ryka scream and he reveled in anything that broke the illusion of her meekness.

She placed a hand on the back of his neck, urging him deeper into her folds. He ravished her pussy, but she felt a need for him everywhere. Her hand guided him lower to her ass. She was immediately gratified when Erik acted like he knew exactly what to do. He began performing like he wrote the damn script. He looked up to find her eyes on him, steady and focused. When he let out a slight groan, she for sure knew his freak ass enjoyed stepping into this new territory just as much as she did. He gripped her ass with both hands this time, spreading her apart to make room. He slapped her again, then rubbed the same spot, but this time she felt his thumb creep closer to her asshole. When he massaged her there, Ryka’s head rolled back, her eyes closing as she adapted to the new sensation. He withdrew his mouth and watched her grind against his thumb. 

"You want more?"

"Mhmm." She whined and nodded, biting her bottom lip. Erik pressed and heard an audible gasp once he slipped past her opening. 

"Damn baby, you opened right up for me." He inched in until his thumb disappeared, massaging her insides. She couldn’t help but to touch herself. Everything felt so good, it was becoming difficult to contain herself. When he pulled out of her, she was left feeling more needy than she ever had so she placed her hand on the back of his neck and urged him towards her ass again. 

"Eat it some more, Daddy."

When she chose to use her words, she didn’t mince them. He took a deep breath, tempering his unfettered desire. His chest fluttered, the endearment tugged at his heart and his dick. She gently spread her flesh to give him access. He kneaded the outside of her thighs while he worked. The noises she made when his tongue swirled around her fueled Erik. She relaxed against him, letting the circular motions of his tongue lull her. He bit and smacked her ass because he admittedly loved to see her agonize. He loved to see her toil in conflicted arousal, unable to decide whether to pull away or keep him close.

She squirmed when his lubed index finger inched its way inside of her. "Who knew playing with your ass could make your pussy so much wetter?" 

Ryka was almost embarrassed, but she couldn’t help her pussy leaking cream down the crevice of her ass, and all over his mouth. His index finger was knuckle deep and coated in juices. His rebellious hands were touching forbidden parts of her and her clit was engorged, needing to release yet again. Both holes pulsated, inviting him deeper into her depths. She didn't know what had come over her, only that she wanted more. Erik knew it too, by the way she began to pant. She gasped and held her breath when another finger eased its way in. He slid in and out of her, eyes flickering between his fingers and her face to see how she reacted to him stretching her out.

“Oh my God, mhmm. You're in my ass baby.” She whined, in complete awe of her reality.

Her body began to jerk, and moans began to flow with ease from between her lips. She couldn’t remember a time where her clit had been so stiff and swollen. While one hand played in her mess and rubbed her clit, the other moved to her mouth to keep the sounds at bay.

"Move your damn hand, didn't I say I want to hear you?" His tone had been the perfect combination of gentle and strict. Enough to make her comply and just shy of belittling. While he hung on every sound that came from her, she was embarrassed by her needy gibberish. 

"Don't be shy, dig in that pussy."

Erik could watch her fuck herself all damn day. Something about her chasing her own pleasure made his mouth water. She rocked her hips to her own rhythm, knew exactly what needed to be stroked and how much pressure to apply. He loved watching her immerse herself in her own sensations, all while crying out for him. 

He fingered her tight ass, but kept his eyes on her face, watching it twist. Her mouth fell open, but she held her breath, releasing only when she moaned lowly. She strained against the mattress, her head rolling back elongating her neck exposing a single pronounced vein.

She couldn’t even tell where the burst came from that had her spasming as it rocked her core. Each sensation just played off of each other so well. It was everything, everywhere, all at once.

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah right there. Erik, please baby." She cried. He stared down at her, pulling her strings like a puppet master. Like he knew exactly what he was doing when his fingers curled and surveyed a spot that made her go cross-eyed.

"Erik, I'm cumming." Was all she spoke before her body began to seize in place, the only part of her body it seemed like she was in control of was the hand that was still pumping her pussy. 

"Get that nut."

She fucked herself desperately, hoping the waves of pleasure never end. Against her walls, she felt Eriks fingers moving along hers.

"Ouuuh, shit.” She hummed.

If she was cumming as hard as it looked, this was the hardest he’d ever seen her cum and he was with it. He pulls his fingers out of her, and slaps her ass in gratitude as he watches it jiggle as she continues to spasm. She only stopped when her pussy gripped her fingers so right, it prevented her movements. Erik was already thinking of how pretty her backside would be with a jeweled plug filling her up. He could only imagine how her sloppy pussy would grip him then.

He moved up her body, hovering above her. His face was close to hers, and his gaze made her want to hide because he looked as if he could devour her. He wanted her lips, but he could see she was hesitant because of where his mouth had been moments ago. She was so bashful looking at him, filled with conflict between her will to give into the passion of the moment or her self consciousness. That conflict had no place there, between them. He decidedly would be breaking that shit down, inch by inch. 

“Show me your tongue, princess.” She did as requested, and when his spit dripped into her tongue all of her inhibitions went out of the window. All she needed was someone to lead her to the water, the well of desire and she’d drink. His care and protection was the reason why he could give her forbidden fruit and she'd eat it alongside him.

He took the back of her neck in his hand, pulling her lips to his. His tongue plunged in, within moments she was returning his fervor. She sucked his bottom lip when he pulled away from her and stuck her tongue out in anticipation of him. Erik hissed when she slightly dug her nails into his back. She liked getting a reaction out of him just as much as he did with her. With that in mind, her hand slipped in his shorts. He was already rock solid. She purposely avoided the tip of his dick and let her delicate fingers wander further to cup his sack in her hands. His gaze softened and his eyelids lowered. 

"You so fucking sexy." He said in his drunkenness. 

The corner of her lip raised slightly, masking her inability to think clearly or form a sentence. He raised her chin and tasted her again, this time licking the dribbles of saliva from her chin, and depositing it back in her wet mouth where it belonged. She couldn’t help but swoon when he did shit like that. Being subject to his carnal ways satiated the deepest parts of her. She hadn't yet harnessed these lewd proclivities that played in her dreams because she was afraid they’d consume her. Afraid she’d become insatiable. Erik saw her though, and made the repressed come alive. If this is what insatiable felt like, she wanted it.

“I love it when you get nasty for me, you hear me?” Again he had to tilt her chin up so she’d look at him, but this time her eyes were alluring. Her bottom lip between her teeth seductively, she nodded. No shame lived in her at this moment.

"I got something for you, turn over."

Just as quickly as she could get on all fours, her mind filled with all of the possibilities of what would happen next. He moved her knees further under her and pushed the small of her back down gently, so they aligned perfectly and both of her pretty holes were on display.

"Let me see that arch." She leaned down on her elbows and relaxed her upper body into the bed. She wiggled her ass from side to side in anticipation. She yearned for him to touch her anywhere. She flipped her hair and tried to sneak glances behind her. He eyed her while he applied lube onto his stiff flesh, stroking it. She made her pussy wink at him. Cool lubricant was being squirted onto her puckered hole. He  kneaded her lower back and her fleshy backside, allowing her muscles to loosen into the mattress. He leaned over her, placing her arms out to the side, gently massaging them.

Goosebumps prickled her skin when she sensed his warmth only centimeters away. 

"You feel my dick baby girl?" He spoke into her ear tenderly. He was sliding his length up and down her slick folds, transferring the wetness along her backside.

"Yes, put it in." She hissed in desperation. 

"Here?" He sank into her pussy deep, which made her eyelids flutter. She’d felt that in her stomach. "Uhn uhn." He pulled out when she whined.

"Or here?" He let his heavy dick rest right on her asshole.

"Mhmm." She nodded. He kissed along her spine, still caressing her back. “Tell me where you want it. Tell me you want this dick in your ass.” His tone was gruff and hypnotizing. 

“I want it, I want it in my ass.”

"Are you sure?" She was certain although she spoke in a hushed tone.

She nodded eagerly. She braced her upper body on the bed while she lightly gripped the bedding in anticipation.

“You have to relax. Push out, it’ll make it easier.”

“What if I-”

“I'll handle it. Relax.”

She nodded rapidly, and took in a deep breath. He focused on her breathing and pressed into her firmly on the next exhale. Her ass was so perfectly tight that he had to use his thumb just to push the head of his dick in.

“Fuck!" Erik groaned, his head tilted back in ecstasy. He was frozen in time, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer to why she felt so heavenly was written there. At the same time, her breath hitched, eyes widened, and her body stiffened underneath him. Her silence was loud.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Ima go slow, okay?" Again, she nodded.

He applied more pressure ever so slightly, giving her time to adjust.

"It wont go in all the way."

"You can take it baby, I know you can take it.” He soothed, sensing her confidence fading. She just needed reassurance, and he’d be the one to shower her in it. “You not scared, are you?”

She shook her head no.

"Good. You doing perfect already."

"This your dick?"

“Yes daddy.”

"Then you gotta breathe so I can give it to you."

"Okay. Keep talking to me, please."

“Remember you in control. Daddy just giving you what you wanted, right?” He took his sweet time, moving in and out of her repeatedly teasing the head of his dick. 

“You tell me to stop, I will.”

His slow rhythm and his hands massaging her lower back kept her grounded in the moment instead of getting lost in her head.

She melted into a comfort that could only be found in his hands, in his bed. She found herself breathing in sync with his strokes. He'd been right. The more she trusted herself to relax, the further he slipped into her depths.

“Mmmmm.” She hummed in 

“But you not gonna need to tell me to stop, are you?” Her body hadn't felt tense under him anymore. She moved with him, not against him. Her body was waking up, in more ways than one.

“Uh uh.”

Erik groaned, which was the encouragement she needed. When he was half way in, he told her, "Goddamn, you feel so good." He wasn’t trying to hurt her, but he stretched her out in the best way and she was eager to take more. Cautiously, she began to roll her waist towards him. His hands on her waist was incentive to fuck him back. When he finally bottomed out inside of her, she dared to look back at him with sultry eyes, her mouth wide open allowing a moan to escape.

His abdomen tightened each time he stroked her and the raised marks on his chest glistened with sweat. The longer he was inside her, his thrusts became uninhibited. Their bodies became fluent in this new movement. Each time his hips snapped against her, her clit ached for stimulation. In between her legs was like a slow gushing spring and when Erik's balls smacked her pussy it drove her crazy. 

"You okay, princess?"

"Yes babe, don't stop."

"Good. Fucking. Girl.” He enunciated with each roll of his hips, thrusting into her. “Is this how you needed to get fucked?"

“Yeah, just like that.”

“This tight ass yankin’ me baby, I knew you could take it.”

Erik leaned further over her, so he could fuck her deeper while he circled her clit. She was so full, she felt like she could burst. The build up was agonizing, with each pump the pressure only increased. She was a whimpering mess, the side of her face pressed into the mattress. She had to remind herself to breathe because the only thing her body needed more than air was to cum. The pressure, his grunts as he slid in and out of her, and his fingers rubbing her clit was all she could focus on. Underneath him, her body stiffened and her flesh began to shake. Her orgasm silently overtook her body. He knew he had her exactly where he wanted by the blissfully distressed look painted on her face, and her pulsating ass squeezing around him. He slid out of her, filling the room with curses while silently thanking the gods she came when she did because he was about to bust.

She was weak and spaced out so he lifted her towards him, her back curving to his chest. His hand wrapped around her neck. 

“You almost had me, baby. Daddy was about to cum so deep in your ass.”

“Noooo, I-I mean, not yet.” She begged, her appetite for pleasure was fierce and hadn't been satiated yet. Her whining left him with a prideful smirk on his face. If only she could've seen him.

“When did you get so greedy? Huh?” He teased, “Was it when you came in my mouth or when my thumb was in your ass?” His hands pinched her nipples, making her back arch. Her arm rested atop of his forearm that hugged her waist for support. He teased her hole with the head of his dick. 

“C’mon baby, let Daddy in.” She relaxed into him and shivered when he found home in her again. He moved slowly and meticulously this time. She aimed to please and wanted to take him harder, faster, deeper, but he knew better and didn’t want to take her to heights she might regret later on her first time.

"I've wanted this for so long." The salacious admission caught him by surprise, making his strokes stutter. Ryka didn’t want this to end, but at the same time she needed him to know how she was feeling before she lost courage. He placed his arm on top of hers now, clutching her fingers between his and pulling her closer at the waist. He kissed her shoulder in gratitude, and for once he was the one that couldn’t find the right words. 

“I’m sorry baby, it took me too damn long to notice didn’t it?” He wrapped his hand around the front of her body, grazing her clit ever so slightly. “It took too damn long for me to see that you got such a pretty, tight ass to match this pretty pink pussy.”

Her hand roamed her body, not leaving any place untouched. She groped her nipples, rested her hand on top of Eriks between her legs, and ran her hands over hair because she didn’t know what to do with them. He was unraveling her. 

“This dick is so g-good. I don't know who I am right now.” She’d began meeting his thrusts, but again he stuttered when she spoke. 

"I know who you are, baby. You're my filthy princess and you don't have to hide it okay?" She nodded. "I'm going to give you what you need every single time."

“Thank you baby, fuck me. Please don't stop fucking me.” 

“Don’t move.” He ordered. She knew how he got when she begged. Every swivel of his hips was deliberate. He groaned into her ear, and bit into her shoulder to buffer when they became moans. He lazily kissed the space his teeth pierced. His dick spasmed against her walls as he delivered deep strokes that made her face twist up in pleasure. 

“Touch yourself. And come when I tell you.” 

“I can't.” She stated before thinking. Erik felt it funny how she'd tell him what was impossible, but proved her wrong every time. 

“You will.” 

She couldn't compute how her pussy was so wet. She played in it, rubbing her clit in circles. Her mouth hung open when Erik begin pumping as deep into her as possible. If it wasn't for his grip around her waist, she'd surely have collapsed into the mattress. 

“Oh, shit! Erik!” 

“What is it? It's too much?”

“No I love it, I love feeling that dick deep inside me.” She was saying outlandish things that at one time she felt were just reserved for the girls in porn, but her and Erik reached a level of slutting each other out that allowed her to be completely unfiltered.

Her admission made him weak. He needed to cum ten minutes ago, but it was his utmost priority to give her his all before he drained himself. 

He filled her to the very hilt, and spoke calmly. “You want me to cum right here?”

“Yes!”

“Cum, pretty girl.” His words triggered an immediate rush of commotion her body couldn't contain. Her moans were a continuous tide that echoed with each wave of arousal. Even as her legs shook, her voice echoed in his head. Please don't stop fucking me. She could feel him pulsing inside of her. He growled, ignoring his own sensory overload just so he could keep burying his cum inside her. She tightened around him, siphoning cum from his dick until he was moaning into her back. She collapsed forward onto the bed, and even then he couldn’t let her leave his grip. It wasn't until moments later when the swelling and sensitivity subsided that he slowly resigned. 

He gently positioned her on her knees with her ass up. She could tell Erik was amused by the sight, by the way he held her still, watching her leak.

“Push it out baby.”

She arched her back and kept her legs apart so he could admire what she knew had to have been a glorious sight: her ass slightly gaping and oozing his seed. 

“I wanna see too.” He was proud of her speaking her desires aloud, it was something he could get used to. He grabbed her phone from the night stand to take a video for later.

He brushed curls from her face as they laid there breathlessly. Ryka rolled over, only able to stare at him in awe of what they just experienced together. 

Later that morning. 

Erik was already on his second cup of coffee as he cooked breakfast for himself and Ryka. Erik showered immediately after their session, but Ryka was damn near asleep when he cleaned her off. She rested for a while before taking her own shower. As she was getting dressed she could smell the coffee and breakfast meat in the air. Despite her mouth watering, she really took her time oiling herself, choosing her jewelry, and her outfit. She kept checking herself in the mirror before she finally realized she was stalling. She couldn't understand why she felt nervous walking into her own kitchen. 

Erik was just placing the meat on a tray to drain the grease as she rounded the corner.

“Hey.” She spoke to his back, hoping she didn't scare him. But it was Erik for goodness sake, he didn't scare easily. 

“Morning. I'm making waffles. You look rested.” His eyes trailed her body. She was dressed in a tube stop and jeans. Her skin looked supple, her blunt cut silk press was pulled into a half up half down style with wispy baby hair. Necklaces accentuated her collar bone. 

“Yeah, I am.” Ryka moves around the kitchen, somewhat avoiding Eriks vicinity. He notices that she's more quiet than usual as she waits for her tea and steeps it.  

He tries to make eye contact, but she seems to be very focused on her tea bag. He clears his throat, making her attention snap towards him. 

“Foods ready.” He nodded his head towards the table where he carried their plates. Finally face to face, each of them go to speak at the same time, accidentally talking over one another. 

“You first.” 

She placed her fork down, but she still glanced down at her plate. “Well first I wanna say, um, last night.. Well this morning technically… was great.” 

Erik nodded and smiled while he chewed the turkey bacon. “Fasho’. Unexpected.”

“Yeah, exactly. I think that I-, um maybe that-”

“Ry?”

“Hmm?”

“We don't have to do this thing we're doing right now.” He motioned between them.

“What thing?”

“This… awkward conversation. We did it, we liked it. We're good, right?”

“Yeah. Okay.” She nodded. She picked up her fork again, striking the scrambled eggs on her plate. The moment of relief she felt disseminated just as quickly as it came. Things she didn't know she needed to say just came pouring out. 

She took a deep breath. “I've never done that before. And couldn't imagine it being anyone else… but you. It was transcendent and I'd love to do it again sometime.”

She immediately covered her face. 

“Oh God, that was so awkward.” She said aloud, but to herself. All Erik could really do was laugh.

He moved her hands from her face, only revealing a truly distressed look. “C’mon now, it's alright. I'm not laughing at you, I swear.” He chuckles again.

She smacks her teeth and swats his hands away from her playfully.

“Look, that was my first time too…”

She looked at him in sincere disbelief. “Really? You were so… it seemed like you knew what you were doing.”

He shook his head. “Nah, it's just- I know you. Remember what I told you last night? Ima give you what you need, I meant that shit.” She caught a chill at how his words came out so casually, but held so much weight.

“You really sat the bar high this morning though. I'll have to hold you to it.”

“You do that.” He spoke, sure of himself. “Eat your food before it's cold.”  

“Okay, but wait. I told you how I'm feelin’. I wanna know how you feelin’ too.”

He tugged on his beard while he was in thought. Ryka chewed, swallowed and took a sip from her mug while she waited for his insight. It had to be good since he was taking his sweet time. 

“I wanna fuck you again too Ry.”

“Erik!” She smacked her teeth, briefly irritated.

“What?” He asked with a completely unamused look on his face. He took a sip of coffee. “You want me to be more poetic? Come here.” 

When she didn't move, he pulled her plate away from her demanding her full attention.

“Come on.” He backed his chair away from the table making space for her to sit on his lap. She listened to him this time. He uncrossed her arms and placed them around his neck. 

“I want every time to feel like that. We were free, you were free. I like you free.”

She nodded, “Me too.” She glanced down at her feet dangling a few inches from the ground.

He lifted her chin up. “You know you mine now?”

“I wasn't already?”

“Yeah, but you said it yourself. Last night only could've happened between me and you, right?”

She nodded, looking at both of his eyes, his lips and back up again. The possessiveness in his eyes and broad shoulders intimidated her. She sensed an intoxicating mix of danger and safety. His hand had a subtle grasp around her throat. Part of her wanted to run, but finding refuge in her fear would mean abandoning him, abandoning the freedom she found in their love.

“I can only have you, Ry, you understand?” Her uneasy feeling melted away when his words sank in. He spoke tenderly, eyes softening. She felt his thumb rubbing circles on her skin. 

“I understand, baby. Thank you for telling me.” Erik could be very stoic and difficult to read at times. She appreciated this moment of clarity in which she didn't have to guess what he was feeling or make any assumptions. She leaned in to kiss him, and each time she was finished he pulled her closer again.

“You stay making a nigga communicate, damn.” He gripped her thigh.

“Now that goes both ways. You was making me say all types of freaky things.”

“I didn't have to try that hard.” One shared glance and they started cracking up. 

“I'll clear the table.” She lifted from his lap. He followed her into the kitchen, tidying up behind his mess from cooking. Unlike earlier, the rest of the conversation flowed with ease. 

In the following weeks, Ryka and Erik felt more connected with one another than they ever had. Living, laughing, and fucking. He envisioned them evolving together throughout the ups and downs of life. In certitude, Erik purchased an engagement ring that he would share with her in due time as his spirit guides continued to enlighten him.

---

Pls reblog! I haven't posted in a while and would love for this to circulate.

comment to be added to taglist.

taglist: @hearteyes-for-killmonger @loveeeeandaffection @iamrheaspeaks @adasosweet @goddessofthundathighs @thiccdaddy-mbaku@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @eye-raq @madamslayyy @sweeter-thejuice @wawakanda-btch @theunsweetenedtruth @wokeblock @smutty-smut-smuty @wakandamaybe @stainontheground @killmongerkink @soufcakmistress @mysticbear21 @nickidub718 @blackpinup22 @killmonger-fics @goddessofthundathighs

[noctiva]

What would saying a line like “ do your worst baby” or “ gimme all you got” channel out of Toby before freaky time🫦

yea. you’re probably gonna be wheelchair bound.

i think it would be very similar to the situation that happened in the fic ‘flesh and blood’ that i wrote. i think, that despite Toby’s erratic nature he’d really put all of his effort into trying to be gentle on you. as gentle as he can be. he doesn’t want to scare you off, doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you too much and have you looking at him differently

so, though every minute in bed with you is an absolute blessing, he’s always holding himself back. fingers always twitching with the need to dig in deeper.

so if you told him to do his worst??? yeooooo.

his eyes would be going wide immediately, his body stilling above yours as he searches your face to try and determine if you’re being legitimate.

“A-Are you sure?” He’s murmuring to you, but the excitement dancing in his eyes isnt something he can hide. “I… I don’t th-think you know what you’re asking f-for.”

but, you’ll insist, reassure him, tell him that you want this - and he’s just not strong enough of a man to try and keep holding himself back. he just barely gets out a breathless ‘t-tell me if it’s too m-much’ before he’s reaching down and yanking your hips to his.

he’d be on you like a freight train. months and months of unspent desires all coming to the surface like a flood wave. gripping you so tight that his fingernails claw thin layers of skin off. teeth sinking into your neck, shoulder, chest, drool smearing against your skin as he pants against you.

when he finally sinks in, there’s no prep, no gently stretching you open like he always does. he’s downright ripping your panties off, then bottoming out in a move so quick it steals all the air out of your lungs. because he lives for the reactions, the way your eyes blow wide and your face contorts - the way you scramble and dig your nails into his biceps. the way you cry because you’re just so overwhelmed. it’s what he’s been wanting to see for ages now.

he’s fucking you into a thoughtless mess. snapping his hips into yours until you’re gushing around him - then he’s pulling out, grabbing your hips and flipping you over harshly. one hand shoving your face into the pillow with the other one gripping your hip before he’s slamming right back in. the headboard of the bed knocking against the wall, your ass near bruised from the force of his hips meeting yours, his gaze downright feral as he watches you crumble to pieces before him

and dude has stamina. so. like. good luck. he probably won’t be satisfied until you lose track of how many times you came. overstimulation galore, he’s ruthless with it. making you cum for the nth time, then he’s reaching down to harshly rub at your clit in attempts to pull another one out back to back. holding you down when you try to squirm away from the all too intense sensations, sinking his teeth into your skin again as tears roll down your cheeks.

it’s brutal, messy, raw. it’s all too much all at once. it feels more like a claim than anything else.

I don’t think he’d be satisfied until you’re half conscious, barely able to speak, and covered in spit, blood, and bite marks.

buttt don’t worry though, he’ll still be there to put you back together afterwards <3

[c4tluver02]

pink ౨ৎ

wc: 2.1k

summary: Steve finds himself at a new cafe, it's where he meets you. The personification of the color pink tied together with bows and lace.

cw: none!! cutie cute meet up moment!

a/n: hey team i’m on vacation so sorry im not updating here’s a draft i’ll be home soon and post so much and do requests i promise !!!!!! <33

After everything that happened with Venca Steve was focused on himself. Needing a moment of recovery, not just in a physical capacity, but mentally and emotionally. The feeling of being broken with no way to be fixed almost consumed him. 

You’d think that the repetition of fighting monsters and bandaging himself back up would have him feeling back to normal in no time. But the scars aren't fading as easily this time around, everything is taking longer to feel like they once did. 

He was stuck in a house all alone and when he closed his eyes, even to blink, he saw what tore at his flesh in the upside down. How the vines of Vecna had the tightest grip on him or the bats that choked him so hard the bruises are still there like it happened just yesterday. 

With all this weighing on him, the last thing Steve even thought about was dating. No part of him missed the stress of asking a girl out and changing himself around to fit her needs. If anything the monsters he fought just reminded him that tomorrow isn't promised and to do whatever you can. 

He tried to look at things that way, a glass half full mindset. It felt fake and silly in the beginning but the harder he pushed the more he believed it. Why spend days working around people when nothing is guaranteed? Living a life that is nothing but meaningless sex was no way he wanted to live. Just wanting to do the things that made him happy or feel better. 

It’s what brought him to this cafe a few minutes outside of his hometown. A place he normally would be too lazy or mindless to drive to but now he felt like he had to get out. The extra 20 minute drive would be healing to the part of him that still felt scared the goblin and ghouls could come back at any second. 

When he walked in he was instantly hit with the best smell, coffee mixed with the sweetness from pastries. It was a cute little cafe that Nancy had told him about, long ago when he still called her his girlfriend. The walls were lined with a cute plaid wallpaper, similar to Steves but better is every way. The line wasn't even long, he came at the perfect time almost like he was supposed to be there. 

In front of him was a girl who was fitted in head to toe pink, Steve liked the color blue but he’d never wear so much of it. 

The light pink dress you wore matched the ballet flats on your feet. Along with the bag you had over your shoulder and nails on your long fingers. The ribbon that you tied into a bow laid perfectly in your hair. As Steve observed you more he began to like the amount of pink you wore. The frills and lace gave a delicate look about you. One Steve found himself wanting to see more of. 

It wasn't an obnoxious color, the perfect amount of white added to the bubblegum color making it manageable. It was balanced and angelic all at once. A little bit of silver jewelry broke up your look, amongst some black and white here and there on your bag and dress. 

While he was taking everything about you in, you were finishing up your order. It took no longer than a minute that he got to look at you, sizing you up in a mindful manner but still enough that the sound of your laugh bounced around in his brain. A sound he would be thinking about long after he left this cafe. 

And even more so as you walked towards the left to wait for your drink. This is when Steve got to look at the front of you. Now he can see the small earrings that dangle from your ears, with the soft pink on your cheeks and lips. It was a different shade from your outfit but working with your all together look. Now that he got a taste of the sweetness of you he felt as though he just couldn't let go. That by walking away from you he would be creating an injustice. 

To Steve you were stunning. By just standing there waiting for whatever it was that you ordered, he thought you were illuminating the cafe. The second you left it would become bland and any time beyond that would be incomparable from the time your floral perfume haunted that space in front of him. 

The guy taking his order let out a sound, seemingly clearing his throat but it was enough to knock Steve out of his gaze– one he probably shouldn't have let linger for as long as it did anyways. 

Steve's order was straightforward and easy. If he wasn't so enthralled by you he would have asked for a fun and fancy cappuccino. But you were leaving soon it seemed, which gave him a time limit. 

And the second he finished paying he stood next to you. Nowhere close enough to make you move away though, a healthy distance. After all Steve was rebuilding, in a stage of coming back into one's shell. A safe and consistent space that doesn't involve life or death scenarios that makes him lose his friends. 

He still has that part of him that hates being the first to talk and start a conversation that has a high chance of going nowhere. It was a skill he was losing as the days went on, not as effortlessly charming as he used to be. Nowadays it takes some convincing, a little voice in his head telling him that it would be a nice thing to talk to other people who aren't involved with the trauma of the upside down. Again, looking at things from that glass half full. 

But if you looked over to your right a little bit you’d see him. Steve thinks about what you would do if the two of you made eye contact. You could give him a smile if it looked like he was deserving of one, which he hopes he does, or maybe you’d look right past him. Not thinking that anything special would come out of even meeting his eyes. 

He noticed the way you looked around the cafe, possibly trying to scout out a free table, but the frown on your face tells him every table is full. A name being called tore you from your search as you walked up to the counter grabbing your drink. The plus is Steve now knows your name, the loud shout of the barista was clear in his ear. The downside is you now have your drink, leaving you with no need to stand in this cafe for a second longer. 

Luckily Steve's name was called a second later than yours. As you went to get sugar and a straw he was grabbing his black coffee. Who comes to a fancy cafe to get a black coffee Steve doesn't know, it’s why he walks over to the same area you’re in to get some creamer. 

A small ‘sorry’ comes out of you when you feel Steve's presence behind you, patiently waiting for you to get out of the way.  It’s said with a smile. You smiled at him, you didn't ignore him or walk away. In return he gives you a calm ‘it’s no problem’ with possibly an even bigger smile than yours, somewhat defeating his placid words. 

You walk away after that, he sees you open the large glass door and leave to whatever it is that filled the rest of your day. 

–

The next time Steve comes back to the cafe is just a few days later. Wanting to revisit to get what he originally went for the first time, a nice cup of coffee. And thankfully this time there were no girls to sidetrack him, not that you haven't been absolutely plaguing his mind. He even had a dream about you. Perhaps he’s being weird about all of this and it was just happening because he hasn't dated in a while but the feelings he had when looking at you was something he’s never felt before. You were beautiful and the only girls Steve sees are his exes and a girl he tried to flirt with so badly that she came out to him. A track record that didn't really make him feel too hopeful about anything, but that was before he saw you. 

It’s not as busy today as it was when he was here the other day. It was a Saturday when he went so that explain things. The weekdays only allow certain people here, ones who have nothing better to do with their time than sit in a shop to eat and drink. He found a small table with ease, it was one close to the window that was half of the wall allowing people to look outward and inward. Anyone outside could see Steve sitting there with a coffee that had foam on the top in the design of a flower. Or when he took a sip the foam stayed dormant on the top of his lip. So light and airy he didn't even feel it. 

And when the door opened he didnt hear it because he was under a speaker that was playing jazz music. He could actually get behind the playlist in this place, it wasn't blaring and loud but soothing with a hint of energy. That's all to say it isn't giving him a headache yet. 

But the sound of your voice was just loud enough to cover up the saxophone that was being played. His head turned before he could think about how crazy he looked. 

There you were, still in that light pink. This time a little more casual with a tank top that had lace and a bow on the hem of it, pairing with black sweats and light pink tennis shoes. Your hair was braided with a bow at the end of it. This time anyone who sees you would think you got pink shoes and just wore pink to get use out of them. But not Steve, he knew you were the girl who wore the color like it was a neutral. And if he was being honest it was becoming one for him as well. It was so light in hue that it felt natural and could be worn daily. A thing no one even thinks about. 

Steve wasn't quick enough to turn his head, and you caught him looking at you when you began walking to the left of the shop, waiting for your drink at the counter. His cheeks flushed to your favorite color and it suited him just as perfectly as it did you. If there was a way to get that exact cheek flush color in clothes you’d have a wardrobe full of it. You didn't think you could possibly love the color anymore than you already did. 

If someone was watching you they would see that for just a few seconds you and Steve are entranced with each other. Both of you looking at one another a few seconds too long. You’re the one who breaks it, giving him a small wave– with your infectious smile of course. 

To say Steve was beginning to be infatuated with you was not even the start of it. It’s probably what moved his hand up and motioned a ‘come here’ wave. Because Steve would swear up and down that he didn't know he was doing that. For some reason you listen to him, the stranger you've only seen once and now fully walking towards. 

Not only did you walk up to him, you sat down across from him. Fully inviting yourself to his table. Steve didn't care about that of course, if you asked to sit on his lap he'd agree maybe even thanking you. 

Your hand shot out to shake him as you introduced yourself, as if Steve had not known your name already. He could laugh at how you think he hasn't noticed a single thing about you, but in reality he's already thought about the way you’d look in his bed or in the passenger seat of his car. 

For the first time Steve didn't have to be the first to talk to a girl, or even introduce himself. You took the reins in a daring and satisfying way. He’d never complain about it, if anything he would wish every girl would do that. Although he has a feeling there will be no other girls after you. 

He didn't even need to fake the things he liked to meet you halfway, trying to find things that pair you two together. The way the conversation bounced from one topic to another felt as easy as breathing. You found yourself not needing to add blush, seeing that Steve’s compliments did it for you. The perfect pink color coming to your face. 

Steve fell in love with the color pink right then and there. 

[dottowos]

dottore nsfw alphabet.

synopsis: Dottore NSFW alphabet. That’s it.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: Includes my very specific and biased view of Dottore. Established relationship, segments are mentioned, aftercare, teasing, rough/soft sex, oral, cockwarming, medical doctor/patient roleplay, somnophilia, mirror sex, bondage, glove kink, leashing, aphrodisiac, boot grinding, toys, he’s freaky but soft for you, I want to kiss him tenderly, but I’m also thirsty for him. Minors DNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You would think that Dottore is not all that great at aftercare, and you’d be right if you were talking about him from a few hundred years ago. But his current self has grown as a lover, and he now has vast knowledge of the human body, meaning you can expect to be probed and questioned to make sure you’re okay.

Dottore almost seems detached from it, examining your body, paying attention to your soft whines, the way your face wrinkles when you’re sore, staring at you with sharp eyes. He asks precise questions without skipping anything in a serious tone. But if you look closely, the way Dottore handles you is still laced with silent gentleness. The scientist always seems to procure the thing you need afterward. Water and some syrup for your throat (if he went a bit too hard). A soothing salve and rub for your sore body. A chocolate or two for you to snack on while he runs the bath. So yes, he’ll take care of you physically.

Dottore staying after sex is rarer. He is a busy man. He spends the time taking care of you before leaving to do what he always does. Naturally, it is saddening for your lover to leave you after such an intimate moment, but there’s not much you can do. But the occasions where he stays and cuddles you are always the sweetest, though. He needs them more than you, to be honest.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

If Dottore had to choose, he’d suppose he’d be most fond of his hands. But that’s also because you like them a lot despite all of the sins he’s committed with them. However, in a way, he is proud of how many things he’s accomplished with these very hands. They are really good for getting you worked up, too. Considering his work, his hands are very precise and great for reaching your most sensitive spots. He also has a habit of needing to keep his hands occupied and busy, so you’re often his target.

On you, he likes your thighs. Dottore loves nuzzling into them and gliding his dangerously sharp teeth along your skin, finding it amusing when you tense up and scold him. It’s easy to squish and bite at the soft flesh there, lapping and kissing at the area afterward. After he’s had his fun there, he can immediately dive between your legs and pleasure you. When you come, he can return to nipping at your thighs. And then the process starts again…

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Seeing as Dottore can go a while without sex, he ends up getting pent-up and coming a lot when you two finally go at it. He likes to come inside you the best, marking you as his and observing how it oozes out of you. He wants to experiment on how much cum your poor hole can hold too. It’s as if everything he’s been holding back comes to the front when he finally releases into you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

In the Akademiya, Dottore didn’t know how to initiate sex but got hard because of you and resorted to using your clothes to get off whenever it was his turn to do laundry in the dorm. You found out eventually, but it was still a secret that made him feel guilty, though he couldn’t help himself.

Sometimes he thinks about calmly chasing you down in the lab and then fucking you when he finds you. 

He thinks about you pretending to be dumb and oblivious to his advances, and he so kindly has to teach you with a hands-on lesson. He’s actually a very good mentor, you know. Very good at talking you through it and explaining what you’re doing wrong and how you can make it better (for his pleasure.)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows what he’s doing, now at least. In reality, you had to teach him quite a few things back at the Akademiya, but he doesn’t like admitting his lack of experience. But that was then, this is now, and now is what matters. But what makes Dottore good is not just his centuries-long experience, but his extensive knowledge of you. This guy literally knows you inside out. He knows exactly what makes you tick. He has whole notebooks dedicated to these facts about you. Applying his body to the equation is really simple once he’s studied you this thoroughly. So you can always expect to be well-taken care of.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Dottore likes any position where he can see your face. He finds the way your expressions twist lewdly when he fucks you pleasurable. He has a habit of studying them to understand what makes you feel best, and since he finds it easy to read you, he can also see how much you’re enjoying yourself. It is also a form of reassurance to him that he’s doing well. 

A lot of times you come and bother him while he’s working, so you’ll find yourself on his lap and your back pressed against his desk as he bounces you on his cock. Even if he’s taking you from behind, he pulls your head back so he can gaze at your face. On a bed, he likes to cage you underneath him, making him the only thing you can see and feel. Regardless, he likes being in control and making sure you’re completely enveloped in him - he thinks it’s fair because you do the same thing to him as he’s wrapped around your finger.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is serious, as he usually is. But you’ll hear him laugh sometimes, mostly due to you begging and whining for release or his touch or just something, anything. He thinks it’s amusing to deny you for a bit and relishes what you do next in an attempt to change his mind.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t pay much attention to his hair down there, especially if you don’t care. It’s really the least of his worries. But as much as the hair makes you drool, it sometimes makes you laugh, because well… seeing blue hair as vibrant as that threw you off in the beginning.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Really depends on the kind of sex that is happening. When he’s being rough and focusing on slamming into you, you won’t see much outward romance. Though you could consider him quietly checking your reaction and movements to ensure you’re okay, romantic. In a way, you could also consider him even having sex with you romantic, seeing as he is only attached to you and only lets you touch him, and doesn’t like… most other people, really.

When Dottore is attempting to be gentle during sex, it’s awkward, but the romance is there. Holding your hand and squeezing it back whenever you do. Placing kisses down your neck to your chest. Murmuring praises about how well you’re doing. Taking off his mask to show you the vulnerability that lies in his eyes. It seems pretty bare minimum, but he really is trying. The romance isn’t really in the action, but just the raw emotion he bares to you, meaning he’s comfortable enough to reveal that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t do it often since he can just go right to you if he wants sex. If he doesn’t have you, sometimes he just ignores his desires and focuses on something else until it goes away. He’s pretty capable of ignoring his emotions, and it doesn’t feel as good without you anyway. When he does get himself off, though, he usually has an article of your clothing with him. It still has your scent and feels similar to your softness, which makes him feel better, but he always tries to come quickly so he can get back to what he was doing. No need to stretch it out when you’re not around.

If anything, the segments are more likely to be jerking off for a while. You belong to Prime, they’re still trying to woo you and even kiss you, much less get in your pants, so they’re going to be coming by their lonesome selves, sadly. But once you give them the okay to fuck you, that habit quickly disappears. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Cockwarming is obvious since he really is so busy. There’s nothing like being able to remain snug inside you after a session, and work while Dottore slowly recharges with your warmth around him. He finds that he likes being able to remain close to you very much.

The moment you decide to wear his harness is the day Dottore’s mind just expands with so many thoughts. The first is that you always manage to look prettier than you already are. The second is that he needs to fuck you. The third is that he likes being in control and seeing you go from fighty to compliant. So he needs to hook a leash to the collar and pull you around for fun, and hold you down if you try to run away. He likes it when you wear his clothes in general, really. He has a thing for that. You’re not sure if it's a possessive thing or if he likes scents more than he lets on.

Secretly has a medical doctor and patient roleplay kink. It stems a bit from the fact that it is already a real thing - he is your doctor and takes care of you, therefore making you his patient - but naturally it’s not in the sexy way. It’s more like ‘Dottore I’m dying please give me medicine and some warm soup and cuddles before I collapse.’ Regardless, he wants to examine you with clinical detachment. Feeling you up as if you were an object, and he is just using you for an experiment despite your concerned pleas. But you can’t question a doctor’s methods. He’ll slip you an aphrodisiac to keep you aching for him if you start resisting. He also likes the idea of you being his assistant and having to fulfill any kind of request he gives to you, but again, that’s already more of a reality, so there’s no need to pretend.

Dottore loves seeing your face and pretty expressions, and he thinks that you deserve to see it too, therefore he likes fucking you in front of mirrors. This actually provides a better reaction than he could imagine since you get especially teary-eyed seeing his cock drive in and out of you so easily.

Somnophilia was always one of those things that made Dottore curious. How does the human body react to sex while sleeping? Would it reach your dreams? Would your body respond to him automatically? So many questions, but now that he has a willing participant, he can finally find out. (He also just likes it for the fact that sometimes he’s really needy for you, but your schedules don’t match up, so he gets to fulfill both of your urges like this.)

You being so needy and desperate that you resort to the low of grinding against his shoe. You manage to surprise him for once when you start humping it, making him pause and speechless at the blatant act. He quickly regains his composure and presses the front harder onto you. You can bet he’s going to incorporate it from time to time when he wants to degrade you a bit. (This isn’t even necessarily his kink, but I’ve wanted to talk about it somewhere. You can all banish me now. But can you blame me?? Have you seen those things?? Why is he wearing sexy shoes???)

Just in general, just being able to manhandle you whenever he needs something to take his stress out on. Making you take everything he has to give, even if he has to help you. Likes bondage as well since it puts you into an unfamiliar situation and makes you act differently, Dottore wants to observe that. He’s less keen on blindfolds since they restrict your facial expression, but he still uses them when he wants to strip more of your senses.

Accidentally gives you a glove kink by keeping them on for so long to the point you have to beg and remind him to let you feel his actual hands. Since then, he has started doing it on purpose and keeping them on to tease you, even pushing his gloved fingers in your mouth to suck on.

Not really a kink, I guess, but just calling him by his real name. The same name that used to frighten people and got him called a heretic and outcast. Hearing you say ‘Zandik’ so softly and full of love, as if it’s the only thing that matters, gets to him during gentler moments. It’s also why he secretly has a thing for just being taken care of by you (meaning you doing the work while he just lies back lazily, his ears and eyes filled with declarations of your love. It’s hard to get him to relinquish everything to you, but he needs it sometimes.)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Dottore’s way of being possessive is keeping you to himself, away from prying eyes. He thinks only he should see you like this, meaning that he mostly wants to fuck you in private places. He opts for his room, your room, his office, or his lab. Here, the two of you won’t be disturbed, and you can let out all your pretty noises without having to muffle them. But if someone happens to knock, it’s pretty funny seeing him go from smiling to immediately annoyed.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Well… you. All of you. You’re the most beautiful person to him. You could just be existing all perfectly and pretty, and he’d admire you and then want to be inside you. His logical mind can’t justify his irrationality, but you say it comes with being in love.

To be more specific, though, he secretly gets worked up by your intelligence. When you say something smart, when you come up with something that helps him in his research and makes a breakthrough, when you give advice to his agents, which ends up helping them with their own work. Or even when you challenge his own intelligence with your own argument, it first excites his brain and then goes to his cock. He tends to his lower regions much later, though, because he loves a good discussion (which may or may not get heated and you two transfer that energy into something more physical.)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

A bit difficult since he’s open to a lot of harder and unorthodox stuff, so long as you propose it and set up the necessary safeguards. But Dottore worries about going too far and genuinely hurting you. Of course, “too far” is a loose term, but it lingers in the back of his mind sometimes. His strength is great, and he could slip into being a monster. That is the last thing he’d ever want to subject you to. And anything to do with flames and fire (if that’s a thing) - he still doesn’t like the sight of them since it reminds him of his hometown.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dottore enjoys both equally. Fewer sights are prettier to him than seeing you on your knees, trying to take his cock all the way in your mouth. He’s mean and loves to tease, so he’ll give you a few seconds of thinking he’ll let you adjust to the weight on your tongue, before roughly facefucking you and making you accommodate him. What can he say, he knows your body well enough to know you can do it!

But Dottore would never decline an opportunity to pleasure you either. You taste delicious and make the cutest noises, it’s another form of stress relief for him, but you also deserve it. You can say it’s a reward for everything that you do for him. The scholar looks so pretty when he’s on his knees for you, worshipping you like a God and glancing up at you every so often to make sure you’re enjoying it (and approving of him.) (He probably came in his pants the first time he gave you oral. You still bring that up every once in a while.)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Starts off slow, pushing his cock into you to test the waters and see how you’ll take him, before quickly speeding up and fucking you roughly. Dottore usually likes to go as fast as what gets the best reaction out of you. His pace is almost unfair with how fast he can snap his hips and steal words from your lips. He sees it as a sign he’s doing well.

But if you two are having an especially intimate and gentle session, maybe one where you just want to be held and loved, or maybe he’s feeling vulnerable and longing for your touch, you can expect him to be slow and tender. Yes, soft sex with Dottore is real and true and canon. Beneath all of his titles and masks, casting aside his identity as a Harbinger - Dottore, The Doctor - as a scholar, a researcher, a monster, just leaves behind Zandik to be loved by you. To temporarily wash away his sins by being swept up in your arms. He is exposed and almost uncomfortable at the feeling, but he lets it swallow him up anyway, thrusting inside you deeply and counting the seconds that pass between each of your moans. He’s not a gentle lover… but you can make him feel like one.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not completely opposed to it, but he’s a man who doesn’t like to do things half-assed. He takes his time with it, no matter how long that may be, and that extends to you. Plus, he’s very patient and rarely sees the need to rush things, running the risk of leaving both of you unsatisfied, so he can easily wait. But if your neediness is running really high, he doesn’t mind using his mouth or fingers to get you off. You’ll have to wait just like him if you want his cock though.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dottore is pretty much open to everything. It’s really just in his nature. What kind of scientist would he be to deny both of you the chance to discover something new? He takes risks in his research, and this would be no different. If you end up not liking it, at least you know and won’t be thinking about it. If you end up liking it, then that’s even better. There’s no terrible outcome for trying something. And of course, he is not one to judge what you propose. It’s almost embarrassing how calmly he brings up and discusses whatever you want to try next.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He is the Second Fatui Harbinger and has the strength of the Gods. He can definitely hang on for a long time. He can last for as long as you want, but you’ll probably be tired yourself before long. I don’t think sex is even really tiring for Dottore in general, but it’s an outlet to release all the stress from the things that actually do make him tired. If he’s especially frustrated, you’ll truly see how long he can keep himself busy stuffed inside you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

When Dottore was younger, he used to dislike them since they stole your attention away from him. He wanted to be the only one making you come. But now he’s grown to enjoy watching you fall apart on his toys, partly because he’s much more mature now, but also he’s a little freak that decides to put his high intelligence into making sex toys of all things and so in a way you’re coming because of him… he’s so odd… 

He mostly has dildos that he uses to train your holes. Dottore likes observing how far he can stretch you out with them, how much you can take without him kindly helping you to fit, if the human body can even fit more than one. (And to be honest. Considering that segments fucking you at once happens every so often you might need this).

Of course, the toys are meant to be used on you. But you would be a fool not to put your own genius to work and make your own to fuck him with. Please peg the scholar and make him ride a dildo or something, anything.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It’s Dottore. He finds amusement in teasing you in and out of the bedroom. There is no surprise there. Sometimes he teases you (non-sexually) without even realizing it. Even simple things like rolling up his sleeves or showing off his teeth can be oddly attractive. He always picks it up afterward and then starts doing it on purpose. He loves riling you up and teasing before any actual sex. It makes the whole thing better seeing you all huffy and annoyed, saying he’s gone too far, and then letting him proceed to mercilessly tease you even more. The Doctor has an abundance of patience, so he literally does not ever get bored, even if you beg. At the very least, you’ll end up getting what you want even if he’s a meanie about it. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Nowadays, he doesn’t mind letting you hear his noises. Back when he was a student, his hand would nearly be permanently clamped on his mouth, or he’d bite his lips so hard they’d bleed, in an effort to stop you from hearing him. You always teased him horribly, after all. 

But now, Dottore uses them as a way to fluster you. He tends to let out contented sighs, little mhmms and hums, and stretches out his words when he talks (as he has a tendency to talk during sex). They’re drawn out, as if purposely holding nothing back to see your reaction. He sees how your breath catches in your throat when he shamelessly lets out a pleasured sigh as he uses you, when he moans as he finally sinks into you. They’re genuine noises and he’s very much consciously making them, but also carefully controlled to make you stutter and embarrassed. 

… But within reason, of course. Those are the noises he makes when in control. When he is not in control, he goes back to trying to hold them back. (Note to peg the scholar when you get the chance.)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Were it not for you, Dottore wouldn’t really care about sex. He loves experimenting on things he isn’t familiar with, but sex would not be one of them if he didn’t have a dedicated partner. The idea of exposing himself and getting that close to some random person would not be something he’s willing to partake in. He does not like being touched by other people in general, and whenever he touches others, it is in a clinical and disconnected way (mostly test subjects.)

Introducing him to non-sexual touch was one thing, but sexual advancements were a whole other thing for his younger student self. Now, being as old as he is, he hardly bats an eye, but it was something that he had to get used to. It’s also due to this reason that you will have to be the one to bring up kinks in bed. It’s not that Dottore doesn’t have kinks; he does, but he’s already more than satisfied with the way things are. Sex isn’t a need for him, and he already enjoys his encounters with you very much, so he doesn’t care about doing anything else for himself. But of course, once you properly discuss with him your own desires, he’ll indulge you and even begin incorporating his own kinks.

Sometimes he wonders what happens when you have sex with his segments. It’s not something you two really talk about, it just… kinda happens. But he wonders how much you enjoy it and how they treat you. Honestly, the segments are really lucky you love them so much, otherwise he’d have something more to say about it.

Likes using pet names like “darling” and “beloved”. When he’s teasing and roughing you up, he loves to drag the words out as if chastising you. When he’s being soft with you, he whispers them like a prayer to a God.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s on the average side, but thicker. He’s never really cared or paid attention to it until you. But what matters to him is knowing how to use it, and he very much does.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Honestly, Dottore can go quite a while without sex. He is used to being by himself and ignoring all urges and needs that come with a human body, burying himself entirely into his experiments, to the point where not much else crosses his mind. He’s so busy that he delegated his work to his other segments. Putting aside that, even when he’s been apart from you for a while, his mind doesn’t instantly jump to it. Sex is something he really does enjoy indulging in with you. But sometimes, a part of him gravitates to the low-effort, but deeply sincere part of love, where you two do nothing at all but at the same time bare your hearts to each other.

… However, just because Dottore can go without it, doesn’t mean he will. This man will pounce on you out of nowhere and want to fuck you unprompted. It usually happens once he reaches a block in his research and brilliant mind, chewing on his pen while his mind wanders to you. Decides that, okay fine, he can take a rare break and get his spark back. He will stroll up to you, caressing you while engaging in idle conversation with you, before increasingly getting handsy and watching you for signs to continue. Things escalate from there. This happens every so often, but not just from him, but from all his segments. So as long as you’re okay with it, you can expect to be doing one thing and then being pounded the next. Dottore likes to think it’s a good way to keep you on your toes.

And then, of course, there are the times when you initiate sex yourself. Oftentimes, he clicks his tongue and tries to ignore you, but you can tell if he’s just acting or actually not in the mood. A lot of the time, he won’t say no. Just because he doesn’t always seek it out, doesn’t mean he’ll decline. Perhaps a part of him even craves the intimacy, but just represses it.

You two also have your fair share of scheduled sex. Picking out a day or two in advance where you two can finally have each other’s undivided attention, making up for all the time lost. It’s during times like these that you can really feel how pent-up Dottore can get. (Getting off topic but phew I have so much to say about the silly).

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Rarely ever does Dottore fall asleep after sex, or well… after anything in general. Even if he’s tired, he just checks up on you, and then goes straight to leaving the bed and back to his own world, leaving you out of it.

You know that he doesn’t need as much sleep as a normal person due to his body modifications, but you still wish he could just let go and nap with you more often. Only occasionally do you get your wish granted and manage to make the scholar fall asleep with post-sex cuddles. Dottore still takes a while to fall asleep, usually going after you do, since in his head he’s debating whether to stay or not. Admittedly, it is the best sleep he has ever had, but he refuses to overindulge in it.

[springismss]

hey love 🫶🏽 I have an idea for a request, but feel free to say nope and fuck you, if it makes you uncomfortable. but how about a story where you help Dabi changing his staples? I can’t get this idea outta my head and I’d write it myself, but rather want to read from someone as talented as you.

ᱬ⛧ sew myself shut ~ dabi

pairing: dabi x g/n! reader

content: generally sfw - fluff, mention of blood, stapling skin together, but nothing too harsh.

word count: 1.1k

links: request masterlist | bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

a/n: thank you so much for the request my love! i'm honoured you trust me to write something like this. not something i'd usually write but i'm all for challenging myself. also, soft(ish) dabi. as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights sounded as you clicked your bedroom door shut. Another day, another mission for you and the rest of the league. Surprisingly enough, this one was more successful than the previous two had been.

Kicking off your boots to one side, you dropped your bag on the floor and peeled your jacket off, flopping down on your bed. The cool sheets and soft mattress a welcome feeling to your tired body as a sigh of relief escaped your lips.

You didn't know how long you'd been lying there, and you didn't care. You were away from the chaos and enjoying some peace. That was until banging sounded at your door before it flung open. "Dabi!". Picking up a pillow, you threw it in the direction of your comrade, who moved aside, letting it drop to the floor. "What if I was getting changed you fucker".

Clicking his tongue, he rolled his eyes and kicked the door shut, boots thudding on the floor as he walked towards you. "Isn't anything I've not seen before, sweetheart". Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Still, can't barge in like that". Manoeuvring to sit yourself up, you rested your head on your hand. "What do you want anyway?".

Gesturing at his hand, Dabi hummed as you glanced down and smiled at the worn-out bag he held. "Come on, get on the bed and I'll get everything sorted".

Laying everything you needed on a piece of fabric at his side, you grabbed some gloves and moved onto the bed, straddling his waist. "You ready, big guy?". A click of his tongue was your response.

Grabbing hold of the pliers, you placed them onto a staple on his chest that was barely hanging on and pulled, freeing the bit of metal far too easily. Setting it to one side, you continued to work your way along the scarred skin on his chest, pulling each staple free with little effort.

Watching closing as his pale skin separated from the scarred skin, blood starting to trickle from the space. Knowing all too well what was going to happen, you grabbed some gauze and placed it across the area you were working on. Looking up, you hummed softly as Dabi placed a hand on top of the material, keeping it in place for you.

Leaning forward, you placed a kiss on his cheek before pulling back, grabbing hold of the custom-made stapler. Opening it up, you saw it already loaded with the staples that would keep his skin together until the next time they needed changing.

Sucking in a breath you moved some of the gauze aside, lining up the pieces you pressed the stapler against the joint and pulled the trigger. The clicking of the staple embedding in his flesh echoed around you, as you repeated your actions until the skin was held in place. "Now, let's get the ones on your face sorted".

Repeating your actions, you took your time, your touches gentle as you helped your boyfriend. He might have been a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, but he still struggled with changing his staples.

While most people believed the most intimate act a person could engage in was sex, for Dabi and you, it was this. Lights flickered above the pair of you as you straddled his waist, replacing the staples that kept him together.

Sure, the pair of you had been intimate, showing everything you had to the other, but this was on a different level. Despite how he looked, Dabi was self-conscious of his scars and the staples that kept the pieces of skin together.

You still remember the first time you walked in on him changing them. He froze, eyes widening in terror as he shouted at you to get out. Neither of you spoke for a while after that until he came to you, opening up about his struggles, how you seeing him like that made him feel the most vulnerable he'd ever been.

Wrapping your arms around him, you hugged him closely as you offered words of reassurance. Words that you'd always love him regardless, and you'd give him the safe space he needed to do what he had to do.

After that, Dabi warmed to the idea of having you around as he changed the pieces of metal. Having you sit in the same room as him until he eventually let you change on - he was just as scared as you, but with soft touches and words of encouragement, you came through it together.

From that day on, he decided that you'd be the one to help him change his staples when needed. From that day on, you were the only one allowed to see him in that vulnerable state.

"And that's the last one". With one final click, you set the stapler to one side and smiled. "Now, let's get you cleaned up". Picking up a cloth, you grabbed the bottle that you'd set aside and sprayed the contents onto Dabi's skin, the liquid mixing with the dried blood to slowly run down his torso and neck.

Bringing the cloth up, you slowly dragged it to remove the crimson body fluid. Eyes following your hand's route as you took care not to knock any of the fresh staples.

The way turquoise eyes watched every movement you made had a small smile tug at the corner of their owner's lips. It had taken a lot for them to let you in like this, now they weren't going to let you go any time soon.

"And done". With a soft smile, you set everything to one side and pulled the gloves off your hands, chucking them onto the pile of stuff that needed to be discarded. "They should last longer than the others since I pulled the pieces closer".

Stretching your hands above your shoulder, you groaned at the popping you felt before dropping your arms down, lifting them again to cup Dabi's face.

There, the pair of you looked at each other, comfortable in the silence that had surrounded you both. After a moment, you leant forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips, thumb stroking the smooth skin of his cheek. "I know I say it every time, but thank you for letting me do that. I know it's something you still struggle to let me do most days".

"And like I say back every fucking time, you're the only person I'll ever let see me in that state. I trust you more than life itself and I love you so fucking much for accepting all of me".

Bringing his hand up, he cupped your face, thumb rubbing your cheek. "The world may be against us, but I'll trust you with every part of me".

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[maudie-duan]

PART ONE

Summary: "Tomorrow, you would have to step onto that stage and become someone else entirely, move through your role with abandon, and evolve into someone brave enough to love without reservation, to speak truth in a world of lies, to choose destruction over silence when all else fails."

Word Count: 10k

A/N: Based on this request<- with my own little twist. My sweet ANON that requested this bear with me. I think you'll like this twist. If you don't let me know, and I'll give it another go. Something more classic, but this is what my brain came up with. I hope you like it!! PART TWO coming 7/09/2025

Warning: None... just ANGST/FLUFF // Heavy nspo drawn from Ophelia's story you may want to read up on it if you're not familiar.

You knew from the beginning that it would be a fine line, dating the director’s assistant. You knew you were taking a leap of faith when you tried out for the lead role and were cast as the understudy, what that would mean. It wasn’t like you got in the way—you just had to show up, linger in the background, which you were best at, and know your lines, in case by some miracle you needed to step in.

And now, as you lie there questioning everything in the quiet of the morning. You can’t help but try and push it away, especially when Harry’s arm is slung heavy over your waist, and the tranquil sound of his breathing, slow and even against your back, says to do the opposite of think.

But here you are, your mind already racing. 

You wanted to be the supportive girlfriend. This was his time to shine—Harry, the golden boy of the drama department, the one everyone listened to, the one who could command a room with a single smirk... And you? You were good at being invisible. 

You knew when you got your role what it would entail. This was Harry’s passion, his first major role in the theatre, everything he’s been working his ass off for. This, by any means, was nowhere near close to your passion; it was a hobby, something you wanted to try, something you knew you were good at, but never made it a goal. 

You could be both, part of the cast and the girlfriend.

How hard could it be? It wasn’t like you hadn’t had weeks to get used to the idea, but it had become a growing concern, seeping into the background of every thought lately, especially as the show crept closer and tension grew higher.

And all you could be was supportive.

This was the best thing you could do, you thought, considering the circumstances, as a soft hum vibrated against your shoulder. Harry began to stir, and you exhaled as his fingers flexed against the skin on your hip before sliding up to trace idle patterns along the flesh of your ribs. 

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, and then his lips were brushing the curve of your neck, warm and lazy. “Last night was brilliant, love. You always know how to work out my tension…” 

And you smiled despite that gnawing feeling at the back of your mind. He always said things like this, always whispered little praises, or gestured his fondness with a soft touch, like he was determined to build you up brick by brick. In which he had, because you never would have auditioned if he hadn’t convinced you how amazing you were. 

“I didn’t even do anything,” you pointed out, rolling onto your back to face him. 

Harry propped himself up on his elbow, his long hair a mess of curls, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Exactly. You were perfect, like always… that’s why I love you.” 

You scoffed, but he caught your waist before you could turn away, pulling you into his naked body, something he knew you couldn’t resist. 

“I mean it,” he breathed against your lips, voice low. “All you have to do is look at me, and my whole world is perfect.” And as he gazed into your eyes, you knew he meant every word, and as he pressed his lips to yours, you wondered how you would juggle both worlds when the dread of rehearsal was already pushing your mind ahead. 

Evening rehearsals were hell.

You had heard the whispered rumors that Harry had a way of commanding the room, but it wasn’t until you entered his world that you saw it in action, or witnessed his sharp, demandingly, ruthless presence that appeared, when he wanted something done right, and you watched from the sidelines as the crew moved like clockwork around him, every actor hanging onto his every word—you still hadn’t gotten used to it. He almost came off as an asshole.

And that was strange in your mind.

“Again,” he called, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold for the fifth time. “Derek, you’re supposed to be in love with her, not like you’re reading off a grocery list.” 

Your eyes swept to Derek—tall, blond, all smiles and easy charm—and he rolled his shoulders back. “Maybe if she gave me something to work with.” 

Then all eyes flicked to the female lead, Bailey, who stood there face flushed but didn’t argue as your eyes moved back to Harry, jaw tightening, like he was on his last straw. 

“Just try it like I said.” He tells them with a frustrated huff. 

They ran the scene again. And again. And then again, as you sat observing. You could tell Harry’s patience was wearing thinner with each take, and even though you could feel the tension building in the air, you weren’t sure if you could take the lash you knew Harry was about to give.

But the truth was, they sucked, there was no chemistry at all, nothing to pull you into the scene, nothing that made a single line they said believable, and by the sixth take, Harry exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair… Then suddenly his gaze flicked to you. 

“You. Step in.” 

And for a silent breath, you sat there stunned, thinking he couldn’t be talking to you. 

You blinked. “Me?” 

“Yeah, you.” And for the slightest hint of a second, his voice softened just a fraction—just enough for you to hear it. “Show them how it’s done.” 

And as your heart raced, you swallowed hard but stood to your feet, taking Bailey’s place beside Derek. 

The script was familiar in your hands, pages worn like an old book you had read over and over. You knew every line, every beat, every breath. You didn’t even have to look at the papers in your hands to know what Harry was looking for. 

Derek smirked as you stepped closer. “This should be fun.” He muttered under his breath, but you ignored him, sinking into the scene. 

And of course, you nailed it. 

You could sense the high soaring through you. Saw it in Derek’s face as you smiled back, and the thing was, you knew you would be great. For weeks, you had felt the role humming deep in your bones. Because the thing you were learning about being the understudy was that it wasn’t just learning the words on a page, there was something more. 

While everyone around you practiced saying the lines out loud, you got to sit in the shadows, evoking the character from the pages in your mind. You had the chance to bring her to life with a simple thought; you got the opportunity to ask the questions of why. Had the pressureless chance to imagine her thoughts, and the safety of silence to sink into her feelings as you watched her come to life before your eyes.

This part was meant for you.

But as the room went quiet around you. You felt yourself retreating inward, like who you were a second ago wasn’t who you were now, like blinking back into yourself after an out-of-body experience you weren’t expecting, and your eyes flashed to Harry’s.

His lips quirked, like he was trying to fight a smile. “That’s what I’m looking for.” He spoke up, with a pleased look stealing his features, and you nodded, readying to pull away from Derek’s touch, but then you felt his grip tighten, not enough for others to notice, but you felt it, his grasp lingering a beat too long. 

And as you respectfully stepped away, both of you not wanting to draw any more attention, he says. “Guess you’re full of surprises.” And you shrugged off his words with a tight smile, trying to play it cool, and when you turned away, your eyes met Harry’s, his expression unreadable. 

Had he noticed, seen the look in your eyes? 

After rehearsals, while you were trying to make your escape, Derek cornered you near the prop table. “You’re really good,” he said, leaning in just a little too close. “We should run lines sometime… Just us.” 

His words made you tense; it was something about his energy that made you feel uneasy, and you gave him a polite smile before taking a step back. “I know the lines, I’m good, thanks for the offer though. It’s Bailey’s part anyway… I’m just the understudy.” 

“Come on.” His fingers brushed your arm. “I could teach you a few things. This is your first time, right? First productions can be hard to navigate…”

You stiffened but didn’t pull away, even though everything in you was screaming creep, run away, don’t let him touch you, but fuck, old habits die hard. 

As you peered around, looking for an out, you heard Harry’s voice across the room, cutting through the chatter as he directed the crew, and as his eyes met yours, they slowly flitted to Derek’s hand on your arm, and you thought, yes, this is it, this was your out when your gaze flicked back to Derek, who was getting closer. 

Because you swore, for a second, that Harry would stride over and save the day, but he didn’t. He just turned away nonchalantly, leaving you shocked as the air left your lungs in a slow, quiet exhale, confusion already taking hold. 

Derek’s fingers were still on your arm, his smirk still in place, but suddenly, all you could focus on was the sharp line of Harry’s shoulders as he walked off, like he hadn’t seen. Like maybe he didn’t care? 

Your stomach twisted. 

You knew better. Harry ALWAYS cared. Too much. But right now, he was choosing not to. 

And that—that seemed worse. 

Derek leaned in, oblivious. “So? Is that a yes or a no?”

Pissed, you subtly jerked your arm back, finally finding your voice. “I guess I wasn’t clear. The answer is no.”

Yet, his grin didn’t falter. “You’ll change your mind. They always do…”

But you didn’t answer, you just grabbed your bag and walked away, your pulse thrumming under your skin, as a mix of emotions stirred in the pit of your stomach, and you stormed off to the dressing room. Thankfully, it was empty, and when you slipped inside, the door clicked shut behind you as you sagged against it, pressing your palms to your eyes. 

“Breathe. Just breathe.” You kept telling yourself, as tears burned in your eyes.

But then you heard it—

The faint whispers.

“She’s already dating the DA. Is she going to hook up with Derek, too?” Bailey’s voice was sharp and bitter. She was definitely mad about the role swap, and your fingers stilled as you listened.

Then another girl—Mia, her castmate bestie, one of the ensemble—snorted. “Please… It’s hard to see what Harry even sees in her. Sometimes I forget she’s even there.” 

“Oh my god, I know…he’s so hot, and she’s sooo…” 

Mia finishes her sentence, “Not fuckable…” 

And you hear Bailey laugh, “Exactly, I bet she sucks in bed, just lays there.”

“Ew…I don’t even want to picture that. All I have to say is… watch out. Fucking the DA is what’s going to take your spot girl. She’s definitely trying to steal it.” 

“You’re right… What a bitch…” Bailey adds.

Their words hit like an avalanche of every thought you had been feeling this whole time, but you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, didn’t dare say a word. Because what could you say? 

They weren’t wrong. 

Because it was true you were quiet, and you guessed at times you could come off as unremarkable, which could probably make you the kind of person people forgot about the second they looked away. 

And Harry? 

God, Harry was everything.

Then the door creaked open, stealing you from the spiral about to take over, and before you could react, you stood paralyzed, face to face with Bailey, who froze mid-step, her eyes widening when she saw you, and for a second, no one spoke. 

Then Mia cleared her throat, brushing past you like you weren’t even there, but Bailey hesitated, just long enough to meet your gaze, but there was no genuine surprise, no apology in it. 

Just challenge. 

And you held it until she looked away. 

Then she pushes past you, rolling her eyes, and you watched as the door closed you in with them, their voices now filling the silence as your hands shook, and you curl them into fists.

It took everything in you not to react; you wanted to say something, but instead, you let it pass. You didn’t want to stir the drama any further, give her a reason to truly hate you. It was understandable. You figured she was just feeling insecure about the callout. You would too.

In that moment, you had to react the same way Harry reacted, brush it off, because none of this truly mattered, right? You were just here doing your part. This was just a play, and later you would be the one tangled in the sheets with Harry. 

So you pushed the door open and left without saying a word. Tomorrow’s a new day. There were only three days before opening night. You could make it. 

Everything would be okay, at least that’s what you told yourself.

As much as you hated it lately, the darkness of your bedroom had become your closest companion over these past few months—your safe haven, a place you could finally stop pretending, stop smiling, stop being “fine.” The one place you could replay every moment of the day without an audience, dissecting each interaction until your mind spun itself into exhaustion.

Tonight was no different. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

You had been lying there for hours, staring up at the ceiling while Bailey’s words sounded on repeat like a broken record. Every word. Each syllable carving deeper into your skin, confirming every fear you had about being with someone like Harry. Someone who commanded attention just by existing. Someone who could have anyone.

And somehow, you existed in his realm. 

And if Bailey’s words weren’t enough to turn your stomach, the phantom pressure of Derek’s fingers on your arm still hadn’t faded either. You could still feel them there, the fucking condescending possessive air of his entitlement. You could still see Harry turning away, brushing it off, as if another guy’s hands on you was something that happened every day. Was that really not enough to break that stupid professional facade he had to keep up?

Of course, you understood that part, you really did. This was his career, his passion, his entire world wrapped up in this production. But understanding didn’t mean it hurt any less. Didn’t erase the sick feeling deep in your gut when Derek had leaned in close enough that you were suffocating on his shitty cologne —and Harry had just... walked away.

The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed in your tiny apartment—2:03 AM, your phone screen glared back at you when you tilted your head to check. Harry had texted earlier about dinner with the director, something about last-minute changes before opening night. You thought he would crash at his own place, maybe send a goodnight text if the drinks didn’t hit too hard.

But apparently you had guessed wrong—the door squeaked open, and with it the familiar noise of Harry trying and failing spectacularly to be quiet. The thud of his shoe hitting the wall echoed around the room along with a muffled whisper of a string of curses, that had you fighting back a smile, and as he tossed his jacket somewhere you knew it didn’t belong, you thought, even drunk, even exhausted, he had come to you.

The bed dipped as he crawled in, bringing with him the fraternizing scent of whiskey, and you couldn’t fight the excitement, something warm expanding in your chest as the smell of him filled the empty space next to you, a small comfort that made your chest tighten. His arm found your waist instantly, tugging you back against his chest with a casual familiarity that lately had only been reserved for the privacy of your spaces.

“Love?” He cooed, voice loose and happy—achingly different from the sharp-edged tone he had been using for weeks. His nose pressed against your neck, breath warm against your skin. “You awake?”

“Mm,” you hummed, not trusting your voice yet, and you turned in his arms, grateful for the darkness that hid whatever emotions you knew were playing across your face. Even in the shadows, you could make out the soft curve of his smile, the way his glazed eyes crinkled at the corners as if the air in the room was lighter somehow.

God, you had missed this version of him, this carefree version—the one who wasn’t carrying the weight of an entire production on his shoulders.

“How was dinner?” you asked as your hand found his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. You could feel the rhythm beating steadily beneath your palm, maybe even a little faster than normal. From the alcohol, probably. Or maybe—

“Brilliant.” And the word came out slightly slurred, while his fingers found your bare hip, tracing a lazy circle that sent a shudder down your spine. “Actually, got some exciting news.”

And his words made your stomach clench, knowing that changes this close to opening night were never good. What if they were cutting roles? What if—

“We’re making a change,” Harry continued, oblivious to your wandering thoughts. His thumb stroked the strip of skin where your sleep shirt had ridden up, padding back and forth in a way that was distractingly soothing, yet maddening because his presence alone was already driving your mind wild—

“We’re moving you to lead.” He blurted, cutting through your thoughts, and holy fuck, the words cut sharp as you blinked once, twice, certain you had misheard, because there’s no way in hell he just said that, it had to be the whiskey that had warped his words into something outlandish. “What?”

“I know it’s rare to switch this late,” he said, and even drunk, you could hear the satisfaction in his voice, now somehow a blade as the vindication, he so clearly felt filled the space with a new energy. 

“But I’ve been saying from the beginning—the role should’ve been yours. Told them that at auditions, but they went with fucking Bailey. More experience, they said… blah, blah, blah.” He grumbled softly, his breath grazing over your ear. “Load of shit, if you ask me. You were brilliant today. Fucking Amazing. Even the director couldn’t deny it after seeing you up there. It’s like you became Ophelia, darling. I had chills.”

Every word he just spoke had your mind reeling, the Lead? They wanted you to play the fucking lead? The role Bailey had been trying to perfect for almost two months now. The role that would put you front and center instead of safely tucked away in the shadows where you belonged. Where you were comfortable. Derek’s attention had already been too much. You could only take him in doses, and Bailey… her resentment was already apparent, and you had only been following instructions.

“Fucking the Directors Assistant is what’s going to take your spot.”

“Harry—” And you tried to sit up, but his arm tightened around you, keeping you close.

“I can just picture the look on Derek’s face now when we tell him…” Then Harry laughs, almost pleased. “Like someone just yanked his favorite toy away. Serves him right, the prick. Maybe now he’ll actually put some effort into his performance instead of coasting on his looks. It’s like your talent actually challenged him to put in effort. You guys were flawless together, really love, amazing, really…”

Fucking Derek. Who had already been invasive, was already trying to push boundaries. Who would have every reason now to be worse, to prove something, to take what he clearly thought he was entitled to… The idea of him made your skin crawl at the thought of more rehearsals, more scenes, more opportunities for his hands to linger where they shouldn’t.

You wanted to tell Harry, and as the words gathered in your throat like hot stones, you held your breath, letting them play through your mind:

“Derek cornered me today. He touched me. He wouldn’t let go. Bailey hates me. They all think I’m sleeping my way to the top. This is going to make everything so much worse.”

But then Harry was talking again, words tumbling over each other in his excitement. “Baby, this is the first time I’ve felt excited about the show since it started. Really excited. Not just going through the motions, not just us trying to salvage something mediocre. I knew it should have been you...”

You watched as he shifted onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, relief relaxing every line on his face, and the sight stole your breath. And then his fingers laced through yours in the darkness as the stillness of his mind burrowed through you, because this is what you had wanted all day, the softened edges you knew were meant for you and you alone.

“We announce tomorrow, by the way,” he added, as if it were an afterthought. Like he wasn’t about to alter the delicate balance you had been trying to maintain this whole production. “Morning meeting, before rehearsal. Give everyone time to adjust.”

Tomorrow… You had less than twelve hours to prepare yourself for the fallout. For Bailey’s inevitable reaction, because you know she’s going to react, for the bullshit whispers you knew were sure to follow you through the theater, for Derek’s—god, you didn’t even want to think about Derek’s response, you already knew, you had saw it in his eyes earlier.

Harry’s thumb stroked over your knuckles, and you could feel the tension that had been wound through his body for weeks finally loosen. This was what he had wanted from the beginning. You remembered the way he had pushed you to audition, how he had spent hours running lines with you, building your confidence word by word:

“You’re extraordinary… and one day, everyone else is going to see it too.”

He really had believed in you, even when you couldn’t believe in yourself, had seen something in you that you still couldn’t quite grasp, a depth you chose to hide, yet he felt it was worth fighting for. And now, finally, he had gotten others to see it too.

How could you take that away from him? How could you dim that light in his eyes with your fears and insecurities? This was Harry in his element, Harry doing what he did best—recognizing talent and fighting for it, even when it meant challenging the director’s frame of view, and today he took that risk on you.

So when he turned his head to look at you, that boyish grin spreading across his face—dimples and all—something in your chest split open. This was the Harry you had fallen in love with, not the asshole director’s assistant who instructed rooms full of people with little effort and made actors cower. This was your Harry, all the soft and unguarded plains, and dammit, he was so fucking happy that it made your eyes burn with tears you were fighting every emotion to hold back.

“You’re quiet,” he muttered, reaching his palm to your cheek, and when his thumb brushed over your cheekbone, you leaned into the touch without thinking. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

Could you say everything? Because that’s what you wanted to say. Could you tell him how terrified you were? How you weren’t ready. How you needed more time. That everyone already hated you, and this was only going to make it worse… that maybe you didn’t think you were strong enough for this.

But instead, you turned your head to press a kiss to his palm. “Just processing. It’s a lot to take in…”

“I know it’s a lot, love, I’m sorry,” he says softly, somehow the alcohol was making him more open than he had been lately, more vulnerable. “But love, you were born for this role. The way you transformed up there today... You were Ophelia with every line… every breath. Christ, I swear to you I’m not lying, I got chills. Actual chills… I wish you could have seen everyone’s faces… Baby, I’ve seen that scene performed a hundred times, but that…”

And then you were back on that stage, the way her character had flowed through you like liquid, like for a second she was the air you were breathing, like saying her words out loud changed something for you, and for those few minutes, you hadn’t been the quiet girl who faded into the background. You had been someone else entirely —someone bold and confident. Suddenly alive with a new purpose and that was fucking intoxicating…

Maybe that’s what scared you most. Not that you couldn’t do it, but that you could. That maybe somewhere deep inside you wanted to.

“Darling, as much as I hate to say it… the chemistry between you and Derek was insane,” Harry resumed, and your entire body tensed, but he didn’t notice, he was too caught up in his own enthusiasm. “Way better than anything he’s managed with Bailey. It’s like you brought something out in him… I was so taken by the acting that I forgot it was the two of you even kissing… isn’t that crazy?”

Kissing and chemistry. Not two words you want associated with Derek. Is that what they were calling Derek’s lingering touches now? Chemistry? The whispers that were too close for comfort? The way he had gripped your arm like he owned you?

“Hey.” Harry breathed, drawing you back in. He was frowning now, studying your face in the darkness. “Where’d you go, love?”

“I’m here,” you whispered. “Just tired.”

“Come here,” he offered, but you were already moving, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle him. You needed to stop thinking, needed to stop the spiral before it consumed you entirely, before it stole your moment, and you knew there was only one way in which your words never failed you.

His hands were on your waist without a moment’s thought, fingers spreading wide across your skin, and you watched the sharp intake of breath. “Love—”

You leaned down slowly, grasping his face between your palms, ready to take control, and the thought was almost grounding, holding you in the moment, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath you, already losing yourself in that knowing gaze, that was only for you. Even in the darkness, you saw it, pupils blown wide with want, a lingering smirk that was open to invitation.

And when you kissed him, you tried to pour everything into it, tried to pour the love that threatened to overpower you, the gratitude for his relentless faith in you, the promise that you would swallow down every doubt and fear if it meant keeping that light in his eyes. For every word you couldn’t say out loud: 

“I love you so much that it terrifies me. Enough to ignore the voice in my head screaming that this is a mistake. Enough to face whatever comes tomorrow if it means you keep looking at me like I hung the fucking moon in your sky.”

His breath hitched against your mouth, hands tightening on your hips hard, a gesture of the self-control he was trying to keep. “I love you,” he rasped against your lips. “So fucking much. You know that, right?”

And you kissed him again instead of answering, deeper this time, letting your body say what your voice couldn’t. Your hand tugged at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up to feel the warm flesh beneath as your hand began to move over the familiar surface of his chest, tracing lines you had mapped with your fingers countless times before as you slowly rocked over the hard mound in his jeans.

“You’re going to be brilliant,” he whispered between kisses, hands roaming up your back, pulling you closer. “My brilliant girl. Going to show them all.”

And in the darkness of your bedroom, with Harry’s hands on your skin and his faith in you burning bright enough to chase away the shadows, you almost believed him.

The theater felt different that morning. 

Maybe it was the way everyone had gathered in a semicircle on stage instead of dispersing to their usual pre-rehearsal positions, or maybe it was the hushed whispers that died the moment you walked in, every eye tracking your movement as you moved to your usual spot in the shadows. 

Or maybe it was the fact that you held knowledge only a few knew, and now it was sitting in your stomach, like lead, threatening to pull you under already, and that in only minutes, everything would change.

You tried to make yourself smaller as you stood at the edge of the group, your shoulders hunched, your arms wrapped around your middle, as if for a sense of protection. But you knew there was no hiding today, that there was no chance of blending into the background as the air pulsed with a hidden anticipation, with the kind of energy that preceded either triumph or disaster.

Harry stood beside the director, the sight of him already twisting in your chest. Gone was the soft, whiskey-warm man who had whispered sweet nothings into your skin just hours ago. This was Director’s Assistant Harry—spine straight, expression neutral, clipboard in hand like a shield. He hadn’t looked at you once since you had walked in, his attention fixed on something apparently more fascinating on his papers, marking your separation like a line in the sand.

When the director cleared her throat, the last murmurs died away. She was the kind of woman who captured attention without trying, silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, wearing her authority like her expensive eyewear collection, which she changed on a daily basis depending on her mood. You never knew who you would get. Today, her oversized, bold, black frames said it all, and as she began to speak, you all listened:

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’ve gathered you here this morning,” And her voice carried through the space with ease. “As you know, opening night is in two days...”

You could feel sweat gathering at the base of your spine despite the theater’s perpetual chill as your heart hammered against your ribs. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to make some excuse and flee before—

“After careful consideration and yesterday’s rehearsal, we’ve decided to make a casting change.”

Like a sword about to fall, her words hung in the air, plotting their attack. You saw Bailey straighten from where she had been leaning against Derek, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his arm, and Mia, like the monster she was becoming in your head, stood beside them, already scowling like she knew what was coming.

“The role of Ophelia will now be played by—”

“How is that fair?” Bailey lashed out immediately, her voice cut through the director’s words like the crack of a whip. 

She stepped forward, cheeks already flushed, eyes blazing with the kind of righteous fury that made you want to disappear into the floor. “Opening night is in two days. I’ve already told my family. They’ve already bought tickets, arranged to travel—”

“Your family can still come,” the director said coolly. “You’ll be offered the understudy position, should you choose to accept it.”

“Understudy?” Bailey laughs, rolling off her tongue sharp and bitter. “After I’ve spent weeks studying this role? After I’ve—” And then her eyes found you, venomous as you took a step back. “This is about her, isn’t it? Little Miss Wallflower, who suddenly decided she wants to act?”

“This is about what’s best for the production,” the director answered, but Bailey was on a roll now, words spilling out like poison.

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like favoritism. She can barely string two words together off-stage, but somehow she’s lead material? Make that make sense.” Her voice was starting to rise with each word. “We all saw her, throwing herself at Derek yesterday—”

And it was almost something out of a movie scene, the way Derek chuckled, low and arrogant, making you cringe inward. Your eyes shifted from Derek’s smirking face to Harry, who was still staring at his clipboard like it held some sort of secret you weren’t in on. But you saw the tension in his jaw, the white-knuckled grip on his pen. He saw. He heard. He just wasn’t going to do anything about it.

Wasn’t going to react.

“—and I’m sure it helps to be sleeping with the director’s assistant.”

That was the gutting blow, the one that hit home, a haunting accusation she felt with every fiber of her being, and it was like the entire circle seemed to be holding its breath, waiting, and you had to stand there just taking it, face burning with humiliation. For one horrible moment, you thought you might actually throw up right there on stage, because this was exactly what you had feared, exactly what you had tried to warn Harry about last night before he had distracted you with his happiness, with his hands, with his fucking mouth—

And like a fool, you looked at Harry, desperate for something, anything. A defense. A look. An acknowledgment that you existed. But he just... averted his eyes. Turned his head slightly, like Bailey’s words had made him ashamed. Or embarrassed. Or—god, you couldn’t even tell anymore. All you knew was that he was leaving you to drown up here, alone in front of everyone.

“That’s enough.” The director shouted, voice cold enough to freeze the fire in hell. “If you must know, Miss Kennedy, your consistent tardiness over the past two weeks was definitely factored into our decision. As did your apparent lack of enthusiasm for the role. Your performance yesterday compared to hers was... well, there’s no kind way to put it. You don’t know your lines, you have no chemistry with your scene partner, and frankly, it doesn’t seem like you want it.”

Your gaze flicks to Bailey’s face, which has gone from flushed to pale to a blotchy combination of both as her hands shake at her sides, and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for her…

Almost.

“Well then,” she said, trembling with rage. “I quit.”

Then she turned and rushed off stage, and the silence of her exit reverberated through the theater with a finality that left you sitting with all the guilt, as your eyes peered around the room. Mia rolled her eyes and shot you a look of pure hatred, and when your eyes met Derek’s, that smirk had become a permanent fixture.

“Harry,” the director said calmly, as if she had dealt with dramatic exits every day, which maybe wasn’t far off, considering this was the drama department after all. “Please go after Miss Kennedy and extend the understudy offer. We can’t afford to lose any more cast members this close to opening.”

Harry went without hesitation, without even a glance in your direction, and you watched his retreating back and felt something inside you burst. This was supposed to be your moment—his gift to you, the role he had supposedly fought for you to have. So then why did you feel so alone? Standing in a circle of people who were all staring at you like you were either a curiosity or a threat.

“Right then,” the director says briskly. “Let’s not waste any more time. Positions for Act One, Scene Three. And Mia—” She announced, fixing the remaining ensemble with a pointed look. “While that expression of contempt is a look I search for in your character as Gertrude… however, right now, it’s not the look we’re aiming for in this scene. Perhaps you could try for something less... lethal… save that one for the later acts.”

And even though a few nervous chuckles rippled through the cast, the tension remained thick enough to choke on, and you moved to your position on autopilot, hands trembling as you clutched your script. You knew you didn’t need it—knew it with your eyes closed. But holding it gave you something to do with your hands, something to focus on besides the weighted pull of everyone’s attention.

The first few scenes passed without flaw. The cast moving through each one, easier than they had in weeks. You kept glancing toward the wings, looking for Harry, wondering what was taking so long. Was he really going to try to convince Bailey to stay? After that shitty call out. Was he comforting her? Would he do that? Did his job call for it? And as you ran your lines, your mind spiraled with each prospect, each one worse than the last, until—

“Positions for Act Two, Scene Five,” the director called.

The kissing scene.

Your stomach lurched when your eyes met Derek’s, who was already in place, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips as he watched you approach. Somehow, you had managed to avoid most of the direct interaction that dealt with his hands so far, but there was no escaping this.

“Remember,” the director said, “this is the moment where everything changes between your characters. It needs to be passionate, overwhelming. The audience needs to believe that this kiss is worth everything that comes after.”

And of course, you nodded obediently, because not saying no when they offered you the role meant you committed, so you pushed down the revulsion. Stepped closer to Derek as something strange happened, because as you looked into his eyes, you let yourself sink into the character, then all at once the theater fell away, and you were unexpectedly no longer yourself anymore—you were Ophelia, and this wasn’t Derek, it was Hamlet, and the longing in Ophelia’s heart was real and desperate and all too consuming.

A feeling that you were beginning to understand, the longer you stood on this stage. That was when the words started to flow like honey, each line building the tension until the air between you sparked with it. When Derek—no, Hamlet—cupped your face, you leaned into it because that’s what Ophelia would do, and when he spoke his final line before the kiss, voice rough with the sentiment they were meant to give, you felt your character’s heart race in response.

And then he was kissing you, and it was... good. Really good. Not because it was Derek, but because you were so deep in character that it didn’t matter who he was. All that mattered was the story, the emotion, the way Ophelia’s entire world narrowed to this moment, this choice, this precipice she was about to throw herself off.

When you finally broke apart, chest heaving, eyes still locked with his, the silence was different than before. Charged. Even Derek looked slightly stunned, like he hadn’t expected that level of intensity.

It took you a moment to come back to yourself, to remember where you were, who you were, and when you did, the spell shattered, like a broken mirror cracking into a million pieces. Derek’s expression shifted from stunned to smug, that pretentious contentment spreading across his features like he had just won some kind of unspoken competition. Like you had proven something he had always suspected.

And you stepped back awkwardly, suddenly feeling like you needed a shower as your skin tingled with disgust—at him, at yourself, at the way you had let the role eradicate you so completely that you had forgotten to be repulsed by his touch.

And that’s when you saw him.

Your eyes met Harry’s, who was standing in the wings, finally returned from his mission with Bailey. How long had he been there? Had he seen—of course he had seen. Everyone had seen. That was the point, wasn’t it? To make them see?

To make them believe.

And as your gaze swept over his features, silently begging for something. A smile. A nod. That soft, proud look he had given you yesterday when you had first shown them what you could do, searching for anything to tell you that this was okay, that you had done well, that he understood the difference between you and your character, but there was nothing, just the hard mask he rarely took off in this setting.

His eyes shifted away, now staring resolutely at the director as she gave notes for the next scene, his jaw tight, expression unreadable, like a stranger you hadn’t given yourself to just hours before, in the safety of the dark. Was this how it would be? Because no matter how hard you tried to get his attention, even when you knew he could feel your gaze, or when you willed him with every ounce of the energy you shared to just “look” at you, he didn’t; he just kept his attention set elsewhere.

And that crack inside you widened into a chasm you swore would swallow you whole.

In that moment, Ophelia had never been more relatable, more present, and you held her like a sacred secret, ready to step into her world at any given moment.

“Excellent work,” the director shouted above the noise. “That’s exactly the energy we need. Now, let’s move on to Scene Six. I want to see that same intensity carried through to the confrontation with your father...”

And as her words faded into background noise. All you could focus on was Harry’s unwavering avoidance, the way he gripped his clipboard like a fucking lifeline, the painstaking distance he was trying to uphold from your side of the stage.

You had gotten what he wanted you to have. The lead role. The chance to shine.

So why did it feel like you were losing everything?

The campus clock tower was already chiming as you sprinted across the quad, your bag thudding against your hip with each step—3:07 PM. you were late again—Professor Harris was going to have your head—this was the fourth time in two weeks you had stumbled into her Advanced Literature seminar after she had already started, even if you had the excused tardy from the play, you still hated disrespecting her time.

But excuse or not, how could you explain that you had been frozen in the theater parking lot, waiting for Harry to text, to call, to do anything other than pretend you didn’t exist? That what had just happened in that theater wasn’t something that you could just brush off as “professional.” That you had sat there like an idiot, refreshing your messages, sure that at any moment he would take the few seconds it would take to reach out, and give some kind of explanation for his behavior during rehearsal?

But there was nothing—just radio silence.

And your lingering guilt.

By the time you slipped into the lecture hall, trying to make yourself invisible, Professor Harris merely raised an eyebrow and continued with her discussion of tragic heroines in classical literature, and you sank into an empty seat in the back, pulling out your laptop more for show than anything else, because how could you focus on Antigone’s choices when your own life felt like it was spiraling out of control?

Was this irony? Of course it was… it had to be. Here you were, studying the women who defied life’s expectations and paid the consequences, while you couldn’t even bring yourself to text your boyfriend first. Because that’s what this was about, wasn’t it? He was the one making it weird. He was the one who had stood there like a stranger while Bailey gutted you in front of everyone. He was the one who had avoided your eyes, as if your presence was a shameful reminder looming over the whole room.

You were just doing what he had wanted. Playing the role. Being brilliant, or whatever, it all felt like a joke now as your phone vibrated in your pocket, and your heart leaped, hoping it was Harry—but it was just Danny, the wardrobe assistant.

Danny: “Hey hon, any chance you can swing by the theater after class? Need to do final adjustments on the costumes. Promise it won’t take long!

Everything in you wanted to say no, wanted to go home and crawl under your blankets. The thought of going back to that theater, of possibly running into Harry, made your stomach churn, with a strange fear he had never made you feel, but you knew you couldn’t ditch Danny. He had always been kind to you, one of the few crew members who had bothered to learn your name before today’s drama, and, plus, you needed the costumes to fit perfectly for tomorrow’s final dress rehearsal.

Because, oh yeah…opening night was in two days, and the thought sent a fresh wave of panic through you.

You: Sure.

You: Class ends at 5.

As the rest of the lecture slipped by with notes you didn’t really take and thoughts that circled like pesky vultures. The question you kept going back to was: Should you text Harry? No, definitely not. The ball was in his court. He owed you an explanation, an apology for leaving you to fend for yourself this morning. You had done nothing wrong except be good at something for once in your life. 

There was no reason to punish yourself.

When you made it back to the theater just after five, the parking lot was nearly empty. Most of the cast and crew had probably gone home to rest before tomorrow’s chaos, and for the desperate count of a held breath, you had half-expected—no, almost hoped?—to see Harry’s car, but of course it wasn’t there. He was probably holed up in his apartment, going over his beloved clipboard notes, making sure everything was perfect for his career-making show.

Stop it, you told yourself. That’s not fair.

But what about today had been fair?

“There’s my leading lady!” he exclaimed, jumping up from his sewing machine to air-kiss your cheeks. “Come on, let’s get you into these gowns before I have a nervous breakdown. I’ve been adjusting Bailey’s measurements all week, and I swear to God, if these don’t fit you, I’m going to throw myself into the orchestra pit.”

“Please don’t,” you said, composing a small smile. “I hear it’s a long drop.”

“Oh, honey, after the day I’ve had, a long drop sounds like a vacation.” He answered, already pulling garment bags from the rack. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll have you strip down to your undergarments real fast. There ain’t much time for modesty in theater.”

You did as instructed, trying not to think about how different this felt from yesterday’s fitting when you had been safely anonymous. The first dress—Ophelia’s introduction gown—slipped over your head like flowing water, the silk now pulling cool to your skin, and you watched as Danny circled you like a sculptor examining his work, tugging here, smoothing there.

“Now turn,” he instructed, and you spun slowly. The dress moved with you, perfect in a way that Bailey’s constant adjustments had never quite executed. ��Oh my God. Oh my GOD.” Danny pressed a hand to his mouth to cover his unmistakable excitement. “It’s like it was made for you. Like the theater gods themselves designed this dress with your body in mind.”

You looked at yourself in the full-length mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back, because he was right, the dress itself seemed to recast you, made you look like someone who was meant to be on stage, someone who was meant to be looked at, and it was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time, as you got lost in the image staring back at you.

“This is a sign,” Danny sighed, already reaching for the next garment bag.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though part of you already knew.

“This role, sweetie. It’s meant for you.” And as he helped you out of the first dress and into the second, this one lighter, more innocent, but it fit just as flawlessly. “To be honest, I’ve been watching these rehearsals, and I was truly thinking this show was going to turn into a complete shit show… I swear Bailey’s been phoning it in for weeks, and Derek’s been about as romantic as a wooden plank.”

This made you laugh. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Oh, honey, I’m just getting started.” Then Danny clutches at his chest, fainting tragedy. “But then I saw you yesterday, and I was like, thank GOD. Finally, someone who understands that acting involves actual emotion. You should have seen the director’s face during your scene. I thought she was going to cry actual tears of joy.”

And that’s when you felt it, that hot prickle behind your eyes, the tightness in your throat. All day you had been holding it together, pushing down the hurt and confusion, all the fear, but something about Danny’s genuine enthusiasm seemed to break right through the fortress you were trying to uphold.

“Oh, sweetie, no,” Danny says softly, already noticing the tears starting to fall. “What’s wrong? Is it the dress? Because I can adjust—”

“It’s not the dress,” you forced, slumping down onto the costume department’s dusty velvet couch. “The dress is perfect. Everything’s perfect. That’s the problem.”

Danny sat beside you, close enough not to invade the space you needed to breathe. “Talk to me, sweetie. What’s really going on?”

And suddenly it all came rushing out, each word staggering over each other like they had been waiting all day for someone to actually care enough to listen.

“Well, to start… Everyone thinks I’m sleeping my way to the top,” you confessed, through tears. “Bailey said it right in front of everyone this morning, and Harry just... stood there. He didn’t even defend me, didn’t even look at me, which is weird because he’s always had my back… And fucking Derek keeps touching me. All these little touches that make my skin crawl, but I can’t say anything because what if people think I’m being difficult all of the sudden? And god… what if they’re right and I only got this role because I’m dating Harry?”

“First of all,” Danny spoke up with no hesitance, “that’s complete bullshit, and you know it. I’ve watched every rehearsal, and honey, you got this role because you’re talented. End of story.”

“But what about the whispers—”

“Girl, the thing about theater… is people gossip about everything. Last week, everyone was convinced that the prop guy was hooking up with the lighting tech because they carpooled…twice.” Danny rolled his eyes. “Turns out they’re cousins.”

You let out a wet laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I heard Bailey and her friend in the dressing room yesterday. They said... and I know it sounds stupid, but they said I’m not fuckable. That Harry must be desperate or blind or—”

“Okay—I’m going to stop you right there.” And Danny’s expression turns fierce. “Bailey Kennedy wouldn’t know talent if it bit her on her perfectly sculpted ass. She’s bitter because she knows she’s been coasting on her looks and her resume, and then you came in and showed everyone what actual acting looks like.”

“But Harry—”

“Is probably… and I’m only guessing… not to make an excuse… is probably trying to maintain a professional boundary. Rumor has it that there will be scouts,” Danny said gently. “Which, granted, he’s doing with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop, but still. I know that had to be hard.”

“He hasn’t texted me all day,” you finally admitted. “We never go this long without talking. Even when he’s busy, he always... but today, nothing. Like suddenly, I don’t exist outside of the show.”

Silence slipped in as you and Danny quietly stood to continue with the fitting, and he helped you into the third dress, another perfect fit, and you almost lost hope, thinking you were overreacting when nothing else was said.

“You know,” he said eventually, “the best thing about being the wardrobe assistant is that you hear everything. People tend to forget you’re there when you’re adjusting their hems or fixing their cuffs.”

And you chanced a glance at him in the mirror, tears drying on your cheek. “What did you hear?” you asked almost reluctantly.

“I heard Harry and the director talking after Bailey’s dramatic exit. They were in the wings, probably thought they were alone, but I was fixing Derek’s coat buttons—which, by the way, that man needs to stop flexing so much or he’s going to pop every button we have.”

And in spite of everything, you smiled. “What were they saying?”

“Well, of course, the director was going on about how she knew from the first audition that you were special, but for some reason, she let herself be swayed by Bailey’s experience. And Harry...” Danny met your eyes in the mirror. “Girl, the smile that boy had on his face when he talked about you. I’m talking full dimples, heart eyes, the whole works. Said he knew from the start you’d prove everyone wrong, that you just needed the chance to shine…”

“Then why—”

“Because he’s an idiot who thinks being professional means pretending you’re strangers in public… also, he’s very much a boy and we have a tendency to be foolish… like all the time. Just speaking from experience… even though I would like to think I’m the exception.” Danny answered. “We men are stupid, honey. Even the pretty ones… Especially the pretty ones.”

Here he was pulling another laugh from you. “He is pretty, isn’t he?”

“Honey, I have a boyfriend whom I love very much, but if that long-haired British boy was ever single...” Danny fanned himself as his eyes rolled back. “You all better watch out.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, feeling oddly protective. “You’ll have to kill me to loosen my hold on that man. There isn’t another out there like him, I can guarantee it.”

Danny laughed, a cheerful sound that filled the costume room. “Oh baby, I’m sure he’s got the whole damn package.” His eyebrows rose suggestively as his eyes traveled down your body, stopping pointedly at hip level.

And it took you a moment to catch his meaning, and when you did, you covered your face with your hands. “Danny!”

“What? Those skinny jeans aren’t hiding anything, girl. Trust me. I’ve been in this business long enough to know what a man’s working with—”

“Stop!” You were laughing now, face burning. “I’m not discussing... that with you.”

“Mhmm, zip those lips all you want. Your face says everything I need to know.” Then Danny winked as he helped you out of the final dress. “No wonder you’re fighting to keep him. I get it now.”

You shook your head, still smiling as you got back into your normal clothes. But as the laughter faded, a thought crept in: Why did it take someone you had barely spoken to before today to make you feel excited about this role? Why was Danny the one cheering you on when your boyfriend—the person who had pushed you to audition in the first place—was nowhere to be found?

Out of nowhere, your phone hummed on the sewing table as Harry’s name lit up the screen, and without fail, your heart skipped a beat, always did, even when you were mad at him.

H: Hey, love. Sorry, today’s been insane. Want to meet up for dinner? I’d love to see you. I miss you.

You stared at the message for a long moment. Part of you wanted to say yes, to run to him and pretend today hadn’t happened. To let him hold you and whisper all the right words until you believed them again.

But a bigger part—the part that was tired of making herself small, of swallowing her hurt to keep everyone else comfortable—couldn’t do it, not today, not anymore.

You: I’m swamped with homework tonight.

And as you typed back, the lie came easily:

You: Professor Harris assigned a massive paper on tragic heroines, and I don’t want to fall behind any more than I have.

Which was technically not a lie, and his response came quickly:

H: Can I stay at yours tonight? Just to sleep, I promise. I’ll even keep my clothes on. 

Any other day, that would have made you smile. Would have had you texting back something flirty about how clothing was definitely optional. But tonight...

You: Honestly, I know tomorrow is going to be crazy. Maybe we should just stay at our own places. Get some rest. We haven’t really been sleeping much. 

You watched as three dots appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again. You could practically see him typing and deleting, trying to find the right words, and you wondered what he was really thinking, if he would come out and say it:

H: Well, if it’s sleep you’re after, I promise I can keep my hands to myself, darling. I swear. We can go right to bed.

And fuck, you had a feeling he would make it hard, your chest already aching with the disappointment of it all. Even through text, you could hear the slight desperation in his words, the need to fix whatever had splintered between you without actually acknowledging that anything was wrong.

You: Babe, I believe you. But I just need this night... is that okay?

H: Of course, love. I’m not trying to be pushy. I just miss you, that’s all.

There was a pause, then another message:

H: I talked with the director today. We both agreed that we made the right decision. You were perfect. The first time any of us actually felt anything. Opening night will be a hit without a doubt, love. Can’t wait.

And there it was. The validation you had been craving all day, delivered via text message like an afterthought. His usual loving affirmations hitting right at all the sore spots you had been nursing since this morning, when he stood silent as Bailey tore you apart.

You: Thanks. Love you. See you tomorrow.

H: Love you too. And if you change your mind about wanting company, I’ll be up for a while.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t text back.

And as you gathered your things to leave, Danny pulled you into a quick hug. “You’re going to be amazing,” he told you with certainty. “And if anyone gives you trouble, you send them to me. I have very sharp scissors and no patience for bullshit.”

You hugged him back, grateful for this unexpected ally. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Anytime, honey. Now go home and get some rest. You’ve got a show to steal in two days.”

The drive home was quiet, just you and your thoughts, and the growing certainty that something buried, something fundamental, had shifted in you today, not just between you and Harry, but definitely within yourself. Today, you had tasted what it felt like to truly inhabit a role, to let it consume you wholeheartedly, and maybe that’s what you needed to do now.

What better way to understand Ophelia’s tragedy than to create your own?

Tomorrow, you would have to step onto that stage and become someone else entirely, move through your role with abandon, and evolve into someone brave enough to love without reservation, to speak truth in a world of lies, to choose destruction over silence when all else fails.

Tonight, you had to practice the art of being alone.

After all, every tragic heroine needed to know how to break her own heart.

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K-Pop Demon Hunters X Reader 2

Didn't expect people to like a barely thrown together story from scrap ideas stored in my messy head, but sure uhh here you go? I made this one two hours after the last post when I got bored watching a movie and the thoughts came running.

Warning: like the last post, this is also made on the whim.

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

It took three days, but you’re all set. Calling in favors from old connections, meeting them in person with an explanation of how you are the daughter of their friend- the former personal guard of the Sunlight Sisters. All gave their condolences saying how your ‘mother’ was a great person. Smoothly with several years of experience under your belt, you negotiated and build your reputation from the ground up.

Now you’re just waiting to be picked on becoming the personal guard of Huntrix…

....while devouring several servings of every food in an all-you-can-eat barbecue buffet, that you can now afford as your visits came fruitful when some offered you varying gifts from food to money.

“Human food has never tasted so good..” You mumbled under your breath in delight after tearing slices of cooked beef apart with your teeth.

While you are indeed a demon, you’re only a quarter human. Every abilities are limited and requires a source to pull from instead of your dwindling soul, so you stock up on thousands of calories- even though it barely fills you, it helps to protect your human side.

“Ooh, this is tender. Here, try some.” Cutting off a small piece of the cooked beef into a tiny saucer, you slid it on the table in front of your shark friend. It just sits there with its derpy eyes staring at the plate and the ceiling at the same time. (I kinda wanna draw this little guy and the little guy needs a name)

People stared– discreetly or not, they looked as if you’re crazy for eating at the buffet alone and talking to a shark toy that’s on the table. You’re sat in a corner since you enjoy privacy, no customer came to take the table anywhere near you. You paid no mind since you’re just here to fill your greedy void of a stomach so you can get back to work being the hunters’ shield once again.

The crack and crunch of lobster and other crustaceans on your plate was satisfying to your ears, slurping up the tender and creamy meats from crab limbs, lobster tail and claws, and prawns. You were like a starved carnivore tearing each flesh on your plate and grill, of course you give tiny pieces to the little before you gobble up the food, it’s rude to not share with your best friend.

“Okay- *crunch* *crunch* let’s plan ahead.” You spoke as you ate, wiping your greasy hands on a damp towel before pulling out your notebook, cursing slightly when a photo fell off the table. You snatch it back up, delicately wiping it with gentle touches of a tissue before putting it back in between the pages.

“We got our papers, our story, our needed connections, and enough money for us to survive for like three months if we don’t splurge.” You write it down, gulping down your free iced tea then putting more meats on the grill to cook while you’re writing.

“The story needs to be more in-depth though, people ask questions… what do you think?” Pointing the pen at the shark who says nothing but stare at the food and ceiling.

“…”

“We can’t go with the adoption route since our old connections already know our face as our old identity’s daughter.”

“…”

“Right… humans need another human to create a new one. Can we go with the deadbeat dad story?”

“…”

“I mean, I already live in spite of Gwi-Ma. Technically he’s like my dad in a way I guess? I did stole a bit of his fruity-ass colored flames.” You give the shark a wry smile.

“…”

“Okay- it was more than a bit.” The shark kept staring. Despite it not really moving, it felt like it was judging you.

“…”

“Alright, I stole like- a burning log and ran away with it.” You grumbled, arms crossed as if you were called out by the shark.

“But seriously, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to go with the story of my ‘mother’ falling for a man, who got greedy and left her to raise me on my own, living somewhere remote before she got ill and passed- in which I moved out and lived on my own for years, did physically laborious work to earn money to survive which became a routine then a lifestyle- until it became my life up until I started applying for security jobs which landed me on bodyguard duties that now has me!! as the most recommended person when someone is in need of protection from the public chaos or threats in general!” You panted after rapidly spewing your idea to your shark, grin on your face as you waited for approval.

The shark stared before it plopped on its side on to a plate of lettuce, your grin dropped to a pout. “That’s just rude. Falling asleep when I just pitched in the greatest idea I had yet?” A scoff escapes your lips before you wrote down what you practically rapped at your shark friend.

“Think it would’ve worked if I played as an actress?” Your eyes peeked up from your notebook and just watched the shark lay sideways on the plate of lettuce. “…I wish I was you right now, just ‘no thoughts, head empty’ and sleep when I can.” A sigh of envy came from your lips before you grabbed the tongs and flipped the meats you put on the grill.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

*BURRRRRP!*

“Whoo, okay-“ with a satisfied sigh, you picked your teeth with a toothpick as you left the buffet- perhaps with the owner crying in their storage room from the loss of so much expensive food eaten by one person.

“Let’s book a hotel.” You tell your shark friend who’s hitching a ride on your front shirt pocket as always. “We can enjoy our life a bit until the call.”

You look down at the shark and wiped its face with a tissue, “you’re a slobber when you eat.” The shark just looked at you with its derpy eye.

Passing through a dark alleyway, five strays all snarled and crept closer from the shadows with hunger in their eyes. You just stared bored at the minimal threat before smiling eerily at the mutts, fangs out with eyes slitted as a warning that made the five dogs scamper away in fear with yelps and whimpers.

“…”

“…”

You sucked in a breath and scratched your head, “Aaaaiiisshh… I’m not an animal person but it would’ve been nice to have someone or something respond to me when I talk.”

“…”

“I still like you, bud. But still, is it bad for me to get like a cat or a bird? Ooooh, what about a crow?”

You yapped about having animal companions on the way to a hotel to stay in for the week, bantering and fighting with the inanimate shark like it was taunting you.

“What about a turtle? I can just dress it up in spiky armor and throw it at bad guys— woah there!” You chuckle with a snarl, hand out and gripping the throat of a demon that tried assassinating you in the alleyway.

“Gwi-Ma already throwing a tantrum and sending his leeches after me? How romantic~ Be a good messenger will you?"

You toss the demon up and pointed your fingers at it with a—

“…Bang.”

The demon explodes and it dispersed into demonic glitters back under the Honmoon.

You stared blankly as the particles disappear, turning to the rift before smirking when a purple hue peeked through. Raising a hand and wiggling your fingers in a mocking goodbye, the tear closed with a swipe of your hand in a quick zipping motion, though you frown when you notice the severity of the Honmoon’s seams. Even with your efforts stitching up every holes poked by Gwi-Ma, it’s not holding on for long.

“It’s gonna fall apart…” a shaky breath came with trembling hands, you shook it off and steel yourself back up. Patting your chest and squishing your shark friend to help ground yourself. “Look’s like we’re not getting any rest on a bed, buddy…”

You look up and followed the magenta pulse of the Honmoon towards another demon tear.

“The hunters are busy, we can help clean up. Those girls don’t need this kind of heavy pressure on their shoulders yet.” You stated firmly to the shark, smiling weakly at it. “Keep me human, yeah?” After a secure and affectionate pat on its head, you scaled the wall of an apartment complex and stood on the roof.

Skin as dark as the night with lingering glow of purple hues, you dispersed into your demon self and pounced forth on roofs to let loose protecting people from stray demons. Claws and fangs tearing each one apart, silent as a ghost before anyone or anything could even notice. You’re a ghost, a guardian, a shield when the hunters are out of reach, you’re a phantom, the echo, the silence.

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

I still have nothing concrete set for this story, but thanks for being invested either way. I'm still hung up on if it will be romantic or platonic with the Huntrix group.

(Only platonic relationship towards Saja Boys, sorry to disappoint those who want Saja Boys X Reader— but I feel like I have to dive deep for fics revolving around the girls and not the demon boys lol. So I'm contributing a random fic to the girl kissers lurking around to be delulu like me fr.)

I have yet to give this a title, but any constructive criticism/feedbacks/advices are welcome as always. Let me know if I should flesh out the parts/whole story better.

Just a heads up, this might turn into slow-burn depending on how it goes and if I held back my yapping.

[christofairy1003]

How he kisses you// Chris Bang

ㅤꨄ︎ pairing: Female reader x Chris

ㅤꨄ︎ English isn't my first language so l apologize for any mistakes or typos <3

ㅤꨄ︎ suggestive: mentions of sex but nothing detailed

This is kind of a pt. 2 of how he'd use his mouth on you But less ✨spoicy✨

- alright, I hope I’m not gonna repeat anything I’ve written already in the first part, but if I do, forgive me pls hehe

- first of all, we can all agree that this man’s lips DEFINITELY KNOW how to make a human lose their mind, yeah? Even without us knowing what it tastes like, it’s DELICIOUS and it shows.

- first kiss with him? Would be ENGRAVED forever in your mind cause he’s soooooooooooooo soft with it.

- I mean, not only the kiss itself but the way he “prepared” you for it? Makes you just wanna swallow him whole cause he’s so precious about it.

- doesn’t rush anything, as always, and always respects your boundaries ofc

- so if he notices the slightest hesitation or uncertainty in your behavior/eyes? He’s gonna be so angelic abt it

- like, “I’m not gonna push you to do it, I just wanna know if you feel the same” and then there’s that part where you probably pull him in and kiss the life out of him.

- no but like it really depends on you and your experience with kisses/partners before and your confidence too

- cuz he’s gonna be the incredible mf he is (sorry abt that. i love his mom) and gonna calm you down if it’s your first time kissing a guy

- his hands would be all over you, in the softest ways, just to relax your nerves.

- he either intertwines your fingers together and cups your face with the other hand, or just holds your neck in a feather-like touch(??) like not too harsh, just gently having his palm on your pulse and his fingertips gently grazing the back of your neck, slowly moving into your hair…

- AHHHHHHHHHH! *internally screaming* sorry for that

- anyways that shit sends shivers down your spine cuz he’s so gentleeeeee have you seen him

- (he can be rough too😏 but not here not now!)

- would absofuckinglutely have that charming grin plastered on his face before your lips touch for the first time. Like in that peppero game? Yeah that shit blows my mind every time. F him.

- once he closes the gap between the two of you and your lips are touching? He is already going insane, and he has very bold intentions to do the same to you. And he very much fucking does without even trying.

- his head is tilted in the opposite direction of yours, lips brushing against yours and then finally taking them on a thrill adventure ;)

- so torturously slowwwwwwwww you’re losing every bit of self respect when he hums into your mouth, slowly moving his head as his hand that’s on your neck pulling you closer and deepening the kiss.

- if his other hand is leaving yours it’s only because he’s gonna slide it under your shirt, just a little bit only to hold your waist. He needs to feel your skin and he’s not as gentle as he was before anymore.

- his fingers gripping your skin slightly, just enough to engrave the feeling of your flesh into his memory and he pulls you even closer until there’s no space left between the two of you.

- his thumb is definitely being the last gentle touch he gives you as it caresses your flesh sooooo tenderlyyyyyyyy

- and then he pulls away, slowly. He opens his eyes as you do the same. Both of you are breathing messily, processing the last few moments.

- he presses his forehead against yours and wishes you’re gonna ignore the terrible blushing mess he’s become

- he can’t help but smile at you, the tips of your noses are touching and he’s going insane cuz he just claimed you with his lips. And it’s amazing. And he wants more. No, he NEEDS more.

- “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you.” He’d say before crashing his lips on yours again, kissing you a bit hungrier now, yet it’s still as pure as the last one. And baby, he’s gonna make you moan into his mouth cause if he doesn’t? His ego might crash.

- so when you do moan in between kisses, gripping his shirt or whatever you like (in case he’s wearing anything at all) he pulls away just to tell you, “do that again, wanna fucking hear you.” And if you aren’t soaking at this point, you are the problem (sorry for that too).

- and of courseeeeeeee he doesn’t waste time and attacks with you them lips that are craving yours so badly, again.

- he lovesssss lovessss lovessssss making you breathless, panting and gasping for air

- it’s all about sweet torture basically.

- sometimes when he’s too overworked, too exhausted, in need of comfort, he doesn’t even bother saying anything after he barges into your place (/shared apt or whatever) and just looks for your lips. No words. No explanation. Just the taste of you.

- you wouldn’t even be able to ask “how was your day?” and he’s already devouring you like you’re a comforting Ben&Jerry’s can of ice cream after a breakup (minus the breakup, we’re all into a very healthy relationship here)

- he is a man of words but when he’s tired all he wants to do is love you with his lips and tongue; not necessarily sexually, just letting you know how much he wants and needs you close to him

- nibbles and gently bites on your bottom lip and then licks it and pulls away to ask if it’s okay and he isn’t hurting you

- fuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkk

- sorry, he’s so caring that my own thought of him are driving me crazy

- but he’s a little tease (🤬) too so don’t expect him to keep doing things you tell him you like for long

- “oh you like that, huh?” And then he stops and stares at you

- he’s gonna dodge your kisses now and tease the fuck outta you

- “nah-uh. You know what to do.”

- yeah, we all know.

- and he’s gonna go all the way in when you finally say “please”, but not before he’s praising you with something mind fucking like “good girl…” with a devilish smile and before you know it he’s kissing you again

- and you always end up on the couch cause he’s too exhausted to take it to the bedroom

- andddd if it leads to spoicy time, it’s always lazy and slow and loving cause he had a long day and just needs to relieve some stress (but he never gives you the feeling he’s only using you for stress relief tho)

- but honestly it depends on his day, if he’s angry then you can prepare yourself for body wrecking, rough, unforgettable session that’ll make you scream :)

- and the third possibility, which is just falling asleep flush against each other when his lips are attached to your forehead. Or neck if there’s enough space on the couch and you’re laying comfortably.

- in general, he always finds his lips on some part of you.

- like when you cook and he comes back from work or just takes a break from working on music. He comes to you and wraps his arms around you, and it’s always soooooo warm in his embrace that you’re struggling with hiding your blushing cheeks

- then his hands move to your waist or your hips while his face buries itself in your neck, taking in your scent, he’s addicted to you

- “Missed you…” even if he’s only been busy on his laptop for a few hours now, even if he was gone just for a little while. And you LOVE his clinginess, cause it’s him loving you in the gentlest way possible.

- and he softly groans as his nose grazing against your jaw, his lips finding a spot behind your ear and kissing it, leaving a sound when he removes them from your skin just for a second and then he finds another spot, lower, over your pulse.

- and that spot right there? Is his favorite. Why? Cause he fucking loves to hear how your pulse changes whenever he does that shit.

- his lips linger on your vessels, pressed against it and then his wraps them around a small spot and sucks on it, not enough to leave a bruise tho. Cause soon enough it turns to an almost a make out session with your neck and you have to turn the stove off…

- you let out soft moans, even though cooking is long forgotten now, neither of your moves nor turn around to face each other. His front still presses against your back, his hands holding you by the waist, pulling you in so you feel him growing hard, his mouth leaving a trail over sweet, ethereal kisses along your neck.

- without you even noticing, cause you’re too busy losing your damn mind over the feeling of his lips against your skin, he’s slowly sliding down the straps of your tank top (very specific but let’s say you always wear those at home), just to kiss all the way down to you shoulders

- And gosh he loves kissing your shoulders and watch you shivering

- like at first he just tests out one small kiss on the crook of your neck where it connects with your shoulder and when your head falls backwards, he knows it’s a sign for him to give you more of those…

- plus the feeling of his fingertips slowly taking off the other strap while he’s busy kissing the opposite shoulder is ahgaskshebejemskneneisns ok????

- “fuck, im addicted to those moans… feels good yeah?”

- “let me hear you…”

- “mmm… your skin is so addictive, baby.” While groaning against your skin. Maddening.

- girl, he is WHIPPED. And does it so slow and delicately.

- loves it when you do your makeup but girl, he’s gonna pout and manipulate you in a very sweet way if you put on a lipgloss or non kiss-proof lipstick.

- gonna shower you with compliments and there’s always gonna be a ‘but’ if you do that

- like, “You look so fucking good, babe…” while drooling over you and pulling you closer by your hips and then noticing the shimmer on your lips. “Did you put on a gloss again?!” In a frustrated voice… “how am I supposed to kiss you now?” It’s as if he can’t live without your lips on his.

- but is he gonna tell you to take it off? Absolutely not. Cause what does he have lips for if not to wipe it off of you and teach you a lesson so you won’t do it again cuz your man is starving??

- “I’m gonna buy you every shade of liquid lipstick.” is gonna be his apology for ruining your current lipstick.

- KISSING AT STOP SIGNS (TRAFFIC/RED LIGHTS whatever you call it)

- like soooo randomly he just grabs your chin and pecks your lips or if you two are waiting at the drive through he just does that jahahsoeheueks thing guys do and wraps his hand around your neck and kisses you.

- read that again and imagine that.

- let it sink in. Yep.

- doesn’t kiss you that much in public like where it’s crowded UNLESS he has to claim you.

- like the classic example of going out with friends or to an event and someone flirts with you but you’re acting too nice and the other person doesn’t get it that you’re unavailable

- Chris would just be so pissed inside but he’s confident enough to just walk behind you and place a quick kiss on your neck in front of that person

- or maybe like wrap his arm around your waist as he pulls you closer to him and says something like “Babe, let grab a drink”. Emphasis on BABE.

- and again, claims that he isn’t possessive (mars in Sagittarius) but Venus in Scorpio says otherwise. you’re his and he’s not sharing. And you have to be loyal cuz he definitely is. And if he chose you, you’re a damn lucky one.

- THO…

- if you decide to tease him and flirt with that person in return just to get Chris jealous…

- you’re in trouble my dear.

- either sleeping alone and talking to the walls in your bedroom tonight

- or he’s gonna tease you until you swear to never do it again.

- he’d pull you into some private space and press his forehead against yours.

- “the fuck you think you’re doing, hm?” His voice is low, almost intimidating but nowhere near violent or toxic…

- “thought you could just flirt with that asshole and get away with it? Huh?” He’d pin you against the wall, taking your breath away with how arousing he is. You know he’s just teasing, but he’s not playing when it’s his own heart you’re using just to get a reaction.

- and both of you know that you’re not using it in a bad way, you just really like seeing how much he cares. But still, don’t test his patience.

- his thumb softly caressing your neck as the rest of his fingers pressing against the nape of your neck.

- “hm? Not so giggly now, are you? You like testing me, little one?” And then his lips find yours, just for a second. Barely a second. And you crave more of him.

- he’ll look down at you, intimidating, dangerous almost. Still having his hot breath against yours. His crotch pressed against you. It’s so hard to breathe cause all you want is his pink plump lips on yours again but he’s gonna push you away.

- you only manage to tug at his shirt and stare at his lips, and back to his eyes. Repeating that over and over again.

- “Please…” your voice is desperate, even if you’re not that type. Even if you can be feisty and tough, all that attitude is gone once he gets you like this.

- “Look at you, so fucking needy.” He’s bullying you in return, he’s gonna tease and teach you this so you’ll never do that again.

- “Please I just like it when you…”

- “Jealous? Hm, is that what you like?” His lips are so close to yours. The slightest touch is being made by him, the sweetness of his lips is almost felt but he pulls away again.

- “I won’t do it again, baby please.” You’d say, just to break this. But no. He knows you will do it again unless he’ll take it as far as you can take it.

- “Needy little thing…” he’d say with a grin, devilish, evil, teasing.

- “Please, Chris…” something in him would snap once your mouth pronounces his name. No matter how many great songs and sounds he makes, his name coming out from your lips is his favorite music.

- “please what, babygirl?” He knows what you want, and he’s doing that again. This time he’s taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out until it’s released with a slight bubble sound.

- and you can try all the different things that drive him crazy. Like bring your hand to his crotch and palm his through his trousers or pull him even closer to you by the hooks of his belt.

- he’d try his best not to turn you around and take you right then and there but his lips will always find their way back on yours.

- he’d kiss you so passionately, as if saying “I hate how much I love you” but you’d be the kind of couple that would arouse each other even at moments like this. Especially in moments like this.

- these are the only moments he’d use some of his power over you, not too rough to hurt you but to show you that his heart isn’t your toy. He both loves and hates when you try to make him jealous. He’d rather just make sweet, deep, emotional love to you than grip your hair, what he’d do now and pull your head back to explore your mouth better.

- he’d involve his tongue rather quickly, licking past your lips to get permission to invade your mouth and when you open it and moan into the kiss, he finds your tongue and they collide together in a lustful, claiming pace.

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< @velvetmoonlght @bangchansnipples >