#if they did not like it why would they interact at all

[yuuuhiii]

dirty little secret ᡣ𐭩

sum : Satoru has always been popular. With his good-looking face and eccentric personality, it was no wonder. He's every girls dream guy, whether that be for a quick fuck or lover. However, amidst a game of seven minutes in heaven you find out his dirty little secret and use it against him.

includes : 5.8k words, SMUT! (minors go away.) , sub!satoru x dom!reader, reader is kinda mean…, enemies?? to lovers, situationship, loss of virginity, heavy miscommunication, maybe ooc Satoru?, college au, alcohol usage

Satoru was always the talk of your college's campus. They were always about the same thing.

"I heard he has a big dick and knows how to use it."

"I heard he has girls cumming in seconds."

It was honestly tiring to hear every single time you'd sit in your lecture. Did anyone ever have anything else to talk about.

You never liked him.

It's not like he ever did anything to you or said anything. You guys had never interacted actually. You just hated how popular he was and how everyone seemed to be obsessed with him.

Yea he was hot but so was his best friend so what made Satoru so special.

You were never popular, you'd say you were actually pretty irrelevant, but you never minded that. You liked your peaceful and somewhat lonely life.

You were never one for parties but one of your friends. More like your only friend, begged you to come. You had only agreed because when there's a party there's alcohol.

And who didn't love to drink a little and let loose.

The party was honestly less than disappointing. That could just be your opinion though, you loved to judge what could you say.

It was funnier the more you thought of it. Just a bunch of horny college kids in someone's house with wack ass lights and a stupid playlist. You never got the appeal but hey you were here so.

However never in a million years would you think literal adults would be playing seven minutes in heaven. The worst part was you were one of the adults in the circle. You had lost a game with your friend, so this was the outcome.

Now as you sit in the circle with a fat frown on your face, it deepens when you realize Satoru and his best friend are in the circle.

What were the odds you would land seven minutes in a stupid cramped closet with him. You'd say zero but—

shit.

Satoru locks eyes with you and blinks. No cheeky smile that he'd give every other girl, just a blank stare and flushed cheeks which you assumed was from the alcohol. The other girls in the circle whine and you roll your eyes, standing up and grabbing his wrist, dragging him in the closet.

"Don't have to much fun!" Suguru says as he locks the door.

It's quiet. Very quiet.

And dark.

You can barely see your clothes and even your hands. Ironically you can feel Satoru burning holes into your face.

"Stop staring." You grumble. He jumps and looks at his hands.

"Sorry." He mumbles.

Ok...weird? Why wasn't he making advances on you? Did he not find you attractive?

The thought of that has you rolling your eyes. It's not like you cared about what he thought but he surely wasn't living up to ‘his name’.

"You're not gonna do anything?" You break the silence, and he perks up.

"Hm?" He blinks and you shift on your feet.

"Nothing, it's just a little shocking. Thought you'd be trying to get in my pants by now." You laugh and he purses his lips.

"What do you mean?"

This guy.

"Oh, come on don't play stupid. You know what I mean." You cross your arms.

He blinks.

“You sleep with like every girl on campus!” You swing your hands and he messes with his hands. He awkwardly laughs and you are beyond confused right now.

“I-I’m a virgin.” He mumbles.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

You burst out laughing but quiet down as he just stands there.

“Wait. You’re serious?”

His silence has your jaw almost on the floor.

“Oh my god!” You laugh in amusement.

“It’s all a lie.” You laugh again and his brows pull together.

“N-No. I mean I make out with girls but I just don’t sleep with them.” He crosses his arms, tired of your humiliation.

“Yea but these girls think you’re like some sex god.” You smirk and he huffs.

“I wonder what everyone would say when they find out you’re a virgin.” You tap on your lips and he gasps.

“You wouldn’t.” He straightens up.

“Oh but I would.” You grin and he’s sweating bullets.

“I-I’ll do anything!” He pleads and your eyes widen in surprise.

You would be lying if you said having the most popular guy on campus like this wasn’t exciting for you.

“Anything?” You say slyly and he nods immediately.

Your mind is filled with lewd thoughts of him. Having this obnoxious confident boy begging at your feet had you riled up.

“So all of it’s an act huh?” You bite your lip, trying to hide your smile.

“This is gonna be fun.” You look at him and his heart skips a beat.

“Alright! Times up losers!” Suguru says as he opens the door.

He’s confused to see you both looking the same as when you entered. You push off the wall with a smirk but Satoru grabs your wrist.

“A-Are you gonna text me?” He looks so pathetic.

You look him up and down.

“I’ll see you soon.” You feign innocence and push past Suguru.

“Dude, what happened?” Suguru blinks between your retreating figure and Satoru.

“I think I missed up.” He runs a hand through his hair.

Satoru has been on edge this whole week. He’s so paranoid, you haven’t even texted him or anything.

Would you go back on your word?

You wouldn’t right?

Did you not wanna see him anymore?

He jumps when a buzz from his phone goes off. It’s a text from you saying to open the door and his eyes widen.

He flys out of his room and goes to open his door. It’s dead in the night and you’re standing there with a monotone look on your face.

“Uh, hi.” He mumbles and you look up at him, a smile rising to your face.

“Can I come in?” You blink and he opens the door, shuffling to the side.

He’s in grey sweatpants and a loose black shirt, his pale hair shooting everywhere.

“So, uh, why’re you here.” He’s messing with his hands, something you noticed he does when he’s nervous.

“I just finished studying and I couldn’t sleep so.” You drift off, looking around.

“Wanna have some fun?” You say with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Fun..?” He gulps and you step closer to him.

“Mhm.” You hum, gliding your finger up his arm. His breathing is uneven, you catch on and you bite your lip.

“Only if you wanna of course.” You look around and he nods.

“Words.” You snap your eyes back to him.

“Yea, that’s fine.” He nods, a blush forming on his face.

Your arms fly to wrap his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He freezes for a second but then he’s kissing you back. His hands joining at your waist.

He was a good kisser at least but this only made you more curious to know just how far he’s gone.

You swipe your tongue over his mouth and he gives you entry. Your tongue wastes no time in meddling with his. He groans when your tongue flattens against his, his hands tightening on your waist. You pull away with a smile and his eyes are cloudy.

“Wanna go to your room?” He nods dumbly, leading you to his room.

It’s a little messy but pretty minimalistic at that.

“Are you always this nervous?” You blink up at him and he shuffles.

“No? I’m usually drunk when I’m making out with girls so.” He nods and you hum.

He looks small as he sits on his bed, fidgeting with his hands again. You feel a little bad.

“We don’t have to do anything.” You say and his eyes snaps towards you.

“No! I-I want to.” He licks his lips and you grin.

“Ok!” You hum, standing up and sitting yourself on his lap.

His breath hitches but before he can collect himself your lips are on his. His eyes flutter closed as your tongue dominates his, his hands rub along the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

One of your hands drag down his chest, resting on his stomach. He stutters and you bite his lip making him moan. You pull away grinning at his now red puffy bottom lip.

“Wanna take these off?” You pull at his sweats and he gives you a meek nod. He wiggles them off and you palm him through his boxers. He hisses, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Have you ever been touched like this? Hm?” He shakes his head no and mindlessly squeeze your thighs together.

“How come?” You squeeze him and he lets out a whine, pre cum staining his boxers.

“I-I don’t know.” He breathes out and you kiss his tip through his underwear, his pupils are blown as he stares at you.

“That’s it? You don’t know?” You mumble as you pull down his boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach.

“How come someone knows your dick is big then.” You cock your head to the side, pumping him. He whimpers with his lip tugged between his teeth.

“Y—You—fuck—think I’m big?” His doe eyes boring into yours. You let him go and he whines.

“Answer my question.”

“S-Some girl groped me, I think.”

Your eyes darken.

“So you lied?” Your hand stops.

“N-No! I’m sorry don’t stop.” He moans, grabbing your hand and placing it on his cock.

“I told you I get drunk so I…don’t remember.” He sighs when your thumb glides along his slit.

“Hm.” You seem displeased and he gulps.

“Are you mad?” He breathes heavily and you shake your head. Your tongue gliding along the base of his cock.

“Oh fuck.” He moans. You finally take him in your mouth and he’s whining.

“So warm.” He rests on his elbows, not wanting to miss even a second of this.

You stare up at him and you feel his cock twitch, making your lips twitch upwards. You set a steady pace and jerk whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Yes—yes.” He chants, shaking as he lifts a hand to move hair out of your face. You remove your hand and take the rest of him, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

“I’m cumming!” He yells, his legs shaking as his load shoots down your throat.

He’s moaning and panting as his high rushes over. You pull off with a pop but your hand keeps jerking him.

“N-No, s’to much.” He whimpers, too weak to stop you.

“You don’t want anyone to know right?” He shakes his head, not fully understanding what you said.

“Then take it and shut up.” You say and he whines.

You’re sucking his tip and he’s only letting out whimpers at this point. His eyes water, his balls tightening again.

“I’m gonna fucking cum.” He sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your hand squeeze his balls and his mouth falls open but no noise comes out. You swallow all he gives you, even though it’s less this time. His white hair sticks to his forehead as he takes big gulps of air.

You pepper kisses on his thighs, making him jump when you suck a mark. You pull his boxers back up and he’s still in the same position. His mind fucked because of the mind blowing orgasm you just gave him. You wipe his lash line for any stray tears and he stares at you fondly.

“That was, amazing.” He huffs out and you laugh.

“Whatever I’ll see you later.” You peck his cheek and he flys up.

“You’re leaving?” He stares at you, you hate how he looks at you with doe eyes. Your stomach fluttering at the sight. He’s like a puppy.

“Um yea? It’s late.”

He looks down.

“Right. Will I see you again?” He peers up at you with hope pooling in his eyes. You narrow your eyes but smile.

“Maybe.” You say leaving his room, leaving him to dwell on what just happened.

For the rest of the week you don’t stop by but Satoru can’t keep you off his mind. He sees you around campus but all you do is send him a flirty look and smile as you walk away with your friends. He wants to talk to you but he’s not sure if you’d like that.

Would you be mad if he tried to go up and talk to you?

Did you only want things to be a secret?

What if you stopped seeing him?

Wait.

He was only doing this so you wouldn’t tell anyone his secret. At least that’s what he’d tell himself.

The next time you come over is a night when there’s supposed to be a party. He’s getting ready to leave but when he opens the door you’re there, Satoru and Suguru’s eyes widening.

“Y/n? What’re you doing here?” He blinks, his cheeks growing red.

Suguru looks amused and with a laugh he’s out the door.

“Hey, wait!” He goes to follow him but you catch his arm.

“You’re not going.” You say calmly and he’s confused.

“Huh? Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to?” You say and you pull him into his apartment.

“Why do you wanna go? So you can make out with some random bitch? Or what, get your dick sucked?” You raise a brow and he pouts.

“Well, I didn’t know you were coming…I thought you ghosted me!” He points a finger at you and you laugh.

“Ghost you?” You look amused.

“Well, yes. You don’t talk to me or anything so.” You tilt your head.

“I won’t taint your reputation? It won’t be weird if you’re seen talking to me?” You grin and he’s puzzled.

“No…? Why does that matter?” His words make you freeze but you don’t let them affect you that much.

Hopefully he didn’t catch what he said because that basically contradicts this whole situation.

“Whatever, come on.” You drag him to his room but he stops you.

“Wait!” You face him and he glances away shyly.

“What?” You look at him skeptically.

“I…wanna make you feel good.” He says.

“I obviously don’t know how but I wanna try.” He looks at you and you bite your lip.

“Yea? You wanna make me feel good?” You smirk, stepping closer to him. You grab his hand.

“Where? Here?” You place his hand on your clothed cunt and he gulps. His adams apple bobbing.

“Y-Yea, there.”

“Mk, show me what you got.” You smile and he does too, eager to please you. He’s a little to happy when you lay down on his bed.

“Someone’s excited.” He pauses, blinking.

You roll your eyes.

“It’s cute.” He blushes and doesn’t say anything letting his lips connect with yours.

He doesn’t spend much time on your lips and leads kisses down your neck, making your breath hitch. He’s giddy, wanting to pull more noises out of you. His hands slip under your shirt, slowly sliding them up and grabbing your breasts.

“Pervert.” You gasp and he smiles.

“Can I take it off?” You nod and he helps you, throwing it behind him.

He scatters pecks all over your breasts, pushing your bra down and you unclasp it. He licks his lips before he takes your nipple in his mouth sucking and licking at it aggressively. Your hands tangle in his hair and he groans against your nipple, moving to your other one.

After teasing them he’s moving down until he reaches your pants. He looks up waiting for your approval and you nod. He unbuttons them and lets you slide them off. He’s met with your white panties, a bow right in the middle. But he stops and looks at you again.

“What’s wrong?” You ask and he gulps.

“C-Can you sit on my face.” He bites his lip. You blush to but try to hide it with your smile.

“You’re a freak you know that?” But you tug him up on his bed. He stares up at you as you remove your panties. His arms wrap around your thighs and placing a kiss right on your slit.

Only then do you realize he’s mirroring your actions from when you gave him head and you smile. His eyes lock on to your pussy and you’re glistening and fuck he’s so hard. He lays his tongue flat against your cunt and you whine.

Then hell breaks loose.

He pulls you down and slurps you up like a mad man. His head moving side to side for more friction.

“Fuck, just like that ‘Toru.” You moan and he groans at the nickname.

He sucks on your clit and you tug at his hair, making him eat you faster. He inserts his tongue finger inside your gaping hole, loving the way it sucks him in. You gasp and he’s fucking you with his tongue.

“Oh my god.” You whine, pulling at his hair and grinding down on his face. He groans and the vibrations only stimulate you more.

“Gonna cum, keep going.” You pant, riding his face faster as he smothers his mouth with your pussy.

He pulls out his tongue and sucks your clit sending you off the edge. You whine loudly as you ride his face, holding his headboard for stability. Satoru slurps up everything you give him, kissing your thighs when you come down from your high.

You slide off of him, right on to his hard cock. He sits up, wiping his mouth.

“Did I do good?” He asks, massaging your thighs.

You hum, your head a little clouded as you rest your face on his shoulder. His stomach is doing back flips at your acknowledgment.

“You can sleep here if you want. You look tired.” He mumbles in your ear and you agree.

He places you on his bed gently as he gets up to find your panties. Once he gets them he stares at them.

“Uh, do you want boxers, they’re soaked.” You pout, as a blush rises to your cheeks.

“Depends, do they have skid marks.” His mouth drops in disgust.

“Ew!” He looks mortified and you laugh.

“I’ll take some you idiot.”

He grumbles as he goes and fetches some from his drawer. He slides them on you and plops down next to you. You both are laid on your back and he’s nervous. Tapping his fingers against his chest.

“Stop fidgeting.” You turn towards him and he stops.

He steals a glance at you but your eyes are closed, soft snores leaving you. He smiles softly, lights pushing hair behind your ear. He’s turns to you now, placing his chin on top of your head.

Your eyes blink open to a white fluff of hair, making you groan. You swipe it out of your face and look around you. Satoru’s arms are wrapped around you, hugging you close to him.

He’s sound asleep, his long white lashes resting on the apple of his cheeks. He really was handsome, ethereal even and that has you wondering on what the fuck you were doing.

You claimed to hate this man, but here you are in his arms and in his bed.

You never thought of yourself as a good person but not a bad one either, just mediocre. It didn’t really matter though, why should you care about his feelings. He only cares about his reputation plus he’s probably over the moon to have a girl he can fuck around with.

You’re using him and he’s using you too. You know after all this he’ll just show what he learned to whatever girl that falls at his feet. And actually, finally, live up to his stupid reputation.

You sigh and detach yourself from him. You slip out of his boxers and put your panties on along with your pants. You slip on your shoes and give him one last look before you’re tiptoeing to the front door.

“Had fun?” You freeze, you didn’t notice Suguru standing against the kitchen counter with a mug in his hands.

“There’s coffee if you want some.” He nods his head and you eye him, looking at the door again.

“I’m good.” You say reaching for the door knob.

“He likes you y’know, has for a while now.”

Your stomach churns.

What?

You turn to him but he’s already looking at you. He laughs at your face, shaking his head.

“That’s the only reason why he’s nervous, letting you do things with him, he doesn’t care for the reputation, he’s using it as an excuse to be with you.” Suguru looks you dead in the eye.

Well, that kinda makes sense for how he acted.

“So if you don’t like him let him down easy yea?” Suguru smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You nod and finally open the door and leave.

What the fuck were you gonna do now.

You avoided Satoru like a plague, you didn’t look at him like you used to and you didn’t show up anymore.

Did he do something wrong?

Was it too far to have you sleepover?

Were you finally tired of him?

Satoru was sad and it hurt Suguru to see him like this. He didn’t even wanna go to parties anymore so Suguru takes it in his own hands talk to you. So when you’re walking with your friend, he appears in front of you.

“We gotta talk.” He doesn’t even let you say no because he’s pulling you away.

“Let go!” You rip your hand away from him and he stares at you angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing avoiding Satoru.”

Shit.

“I told you how he felt so you wouldn’t hurt him and you’re hurting him.”

You scoff.

“Oh please. He’ll find someone else soon enough.”

“Fuck off, that’s a lie and you know that.” He spits back.

You are.

You were too guilty to face Satoru. What were you gonna say.

‘Hey I know you like me but I was just using you for my selfish desires!’

That was only partly true. Because despite the ‘sex’ you’d catch yourself staring longer than you should’ve been, admiring his stupid face and loving his flushed cheeks.

“How does he even like me! We never talked once!” You throw your hands up.

“How should I know? He just came back to the apartment one day and wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

Your brows furrow as you glance at the ground.

“I don’t think I’m good for him, my intentions weren’t good. So how do you expect me to face him.” You mumble.

“Then tell him that. Stop being a bitch and avoiding him, we’re not kids. You’re a fucking adult so communicate your feelings.” Your eyes snap up to him.

“That’s rich coming from you. He hasn’t even told me how he felt!”

Suguru sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

“Gosh you women are so fucking complicated. Just talk to him.”

Is the last thing he says before he leaves. You chew at your lip and sigh. He was right, you did need to talk to him.

The next day, you knock on his door. When he opens it his eyes widen.

“Y/n?” His eyes are full again, bright and shining.

“Can we talk.” You mutter and he nods, letting you in.

“Look I’m sorry if last time was to far, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He rambles and you sigh.

“Satoru, you didn’t do anything.” You say but he cuts you off.

“Toru.” He says.

“What?”

“You called me Toru last time. So it’s Toru.”

You sigh.

“Satoru—”

His eyes are pleading.

“Toru… I know you like me. And I feel like shit because, well I didn’t know and I was just doing stuff with you because it got me riled up. I guess. So I avoided you.” You glance at the floor and he’s quiet. You look up at him and he has a small smile.

“I got you riled up?”

Your dumbfounded.

“This is serious. I was just using you. I-I’m sorry.”

He takes a step closer to you.

“You don’t…feel anything for me? Like besides the sex? Or whatever we were doing.” He gazes down at you.

“I’m gonna be honest. I used to not like you. I thought you were just some selfish popular prick but turns out I was just the selfish prick.” You grumble.

“But what about now. What do you think of me now.” He pushes and you flush up.

“Well you’re stupidly pretty. And funny. I like how timid you are around me, it makes me feel good. But that’s just me being a selfish. You’re kind though. Despite me treating you like shit. You’re still patient.”

He smiles.

“I forgive you.” He says and you look up at him.

“W-What? No. You should hate me.” You shake your head and he pouts.

“Why?”

“Because I treated you bad Toru.”

“Well, I lied to you. I said I cared about my reputation but that wasn’t true.”

“That isn’t merely as bad as what I did.” You deadpan.

“But I still like you.”

“Why?” You couldn’t understand.

“Because you’re stupidly pretty. You’re funny to and I love your smile and laugh. I like when you praise me but that might just be because I have a big fat crush on you.” He laughs and you smile at him copying you.

“I-I like you a lot and as bad as it is. I was too much of a pussy to tell you how I felt so I let you use me.”

You pout.

“We’re stupid.” You laugh and he smiles.

“Yea. We are.”

It’s silent but in no way awkward.

“Y/n?”

You glance up at him.

“Yea?”

“Can you take my virginity.” His eyes are lidded and your jaw drops.

“W-What? Toru no. I don’t know if—”

He stops you with his hands resting on your waist.

“Please. I wanna lose it to you.” He pleads, moving some hair behind your ear.

You chew at your lip, glancing around his apartment.

“Are—you sure.” You gaze up at him and he rests his forehead on yours.

“I’m reallyyy sure.” He smiles and you smile too. He peck your lips and leads you to his room.

He doesn’t seem nervous like all the other times but happy. He’s smiley when he kisses you and playful with his hands.

It doesn’t take long for you both to be bare and he’s showering you with kisses. You’re on top of him at the moment but he flips you over, his arms resting beside your head.

“You’re gonna have to coach me through this.” He laughs and you smile.

“Well I thought I was gonna do the work.” You snort and he shakes his head.

“I wanna make you feel good. Making you feel good makes me feel good.” He smiles and you peck his cheek.

“Well I mean there’s not much to it. You just put it in and fuck me.” You shrug and he narrows his eyes.

“Hm. Okay then. There’s no tips and tricks?” He purses his lips and you grin.

“That’s for you to find out.” He laughs, pumping himself, his smile fades and his face morphs into worry.

“Do you have a condom?” You blink.

“Uh, no? I didn’t really think this was how my night was gonna go.” He bites his lip, rubbing your hips.

“Maybe Suguru has some.” He ponders.

“I’m on the pill.” You mutter and he gazes at you.

“So I can like, cum inside you?”

“Well I mean it’s safer if you don’t but considering you’re a virgin I don’t think your pull out game will be strong.”

“Is that a challenge?” He grins and you laugh at his stupidity.

“No, Toru it’s a fact.” He still takes it as a challenge though. So when he goes back to jerking himself a bit, he rubs his member along your slick. He’s already moaning.

“Feels good.” He stutters, his tip teasing your hole.

“Put it in Toru.” You whine and he licks his lips, pushing his length inside you.

“So impatient—Oh fuck.” He groans, his hands gripping your thighs harshly. You moan at his size and he’s breathless.

“So warm—ngh—and tight.” He whimpers. He was gonna blow his fucking load if he didn’t calm himself down. He pulls back and gives an experimental thrust.

The both of you moaning.

“Shit, pussy so good.” He whispers. You wrap your legs around his waist.

“Move, Toru.”

So he does. With his hands moving to your hips he gives you no time as he’s fucking into you hard and fast.

“Mm, you feel so fucking good.” He’s biting his lip so hard, it’s a wonder how it’s not bleeding.

He’s so long and veiny you feel him so deep with every thrust. His tip continuously kissing your cervix.

“Fuck! Slow down!” You yelp, his hips snapping against yours.

“Can’t! It’s to good, to good.” He moans so prettily.

He’s getting desperate and pussy drunk. Without missing a beat he leans down to press messy kisses on your neck. He sucks bruises on them and some on your breasts.

“Toru.” You whine and he’s man handling you at this point.

Using the mattress as leverage to fuck you faster. You don’t know how he’s moving so fast and rolling his hips so good but you’re gripping his sheets, dragging your nails on his back. He groans at this, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna cum.” He repeats. His mind is already lost, the only thing he can think of is how fucking tight and warm you are.

“Cum with me baby please.” He whines in your ear, moving a hand down to flick your clit at a rapid speed. Your moans ring out through his ears, the way you writhe under him drives him fucking crazy.

“Fuck, you’re getting tighter.” He gasps, his legs shaking. He feels your walls flutter around him, your guys orgasm crashing down on the both of you.

“Cumming!” He throws his head back, his eyes rolling as he fucks his seed deep in you. You’re both gasping as you try to calm down. But with a squeeze of your cunt, he’s rutting into you again.

“Fuck! S-Satoru wait!” You moan, trying to get his hips from abusing your poor cunny.

“M’sorry, s’good.” He’s slurring, he’s fucked out and addicted. Nothing but guttural moans leave his mouth. Breathless whines of your name as tears well up in his eyes.

“S’tight.” He babbles, his tears falling onto your cheeks.

You’re both moaning so loud as he pushes your knees to your chest. The new position has you screaming as the coil in your belly snaps again. Satoru lets out a sob, his cock reaching deeper inside you with this new angle.

He doesn’t say anything when he finishes inside you again. His orgasm rakes through his whole body as he hunches over you. Pathetic moans leave his mouth as he holds you close to him, emptying all of him inside you.

He hiccups as he falls on top of you. His forehead resting on your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

He leans up and kisses you. His tongue connecting with yours. He moans in your mouth, pulling out of you and letting both of your juices spill out of you.

A string of saliva connects both your mouths when he pulls away. He rolls off of you, the both of your guys minds still fuzzy.

“I’m gonna use the restroom.” You mumble, your mind not quite all there. He looks at you in a daze.

“Let me help you. I have to clean you don’t I?” He holds your hand and you smile.

“Yea, that would feel better.” You huff out a laugh and he slides off the bed. His legs a little shaky. He grabs a random shirt, cautiously wiping you down.

“Here.” He places a shirt on you, his scent engulfing you. He throws on his boxers and picks you up.

“H-Hey!” You yelp your arms shooting around his neck. He smiles down at you, opening his door.

When he’s on his way to the bathroom, Suguru walks in the through the front door. All of you freezing, caught like a deer in headlights. Suguru blinks and you shove your face in Satrou’s chest.

“I’m guessing you guys did more than talk?” Suguru laughs.

“Mhm!” Satoru nods his head and your cheeks warm.

“Toru.” You whisper and he perks up.

“Shit. Sorry.” He waddles to the bathroom. He places you down and quickly leaves to let you do your thing.

“Let me know if you need help.” He says and you shake your head with a laugh. Satoru turns around and narrows his eyes.

“You! Go in your room or something.” He shoos at Suguru and they both glare at each other.

“This is my apartment too!” He whisper yells back.

“I can hear you guys.” You say from behind the door and they both straighten up.

Suguru glares at Satoru again before he goes in his room. You open the door and Satoru smiles. He grabs your hand and walks you back into his room.

“I’d offer to shower with you but I think I’d probably fuck you again.” He laughs and you playfully roll your eyes.

He pulls back his sheets and opens his arms for you to join him. You slide under with him and he’s pulling you flush against him. Your hands tangle in his hair as he shoves his face in the crook of your neck.

“How’s it feel to not be a virgin anymore.” You grin and he bites your neck.

“Ow!” You pout and he smiles against your skin.

“Amazing. I’d say let’s go for another round.” You whine at his words.

“I think I’d pass out.” You both laugh.

“We did this completely backwards.” He mumbles against your skin.

“I wanted to take you out on a nice cute date and see you dressed up all pretty as we shared our first kiss.” You laugh at his words.

“You had it all planned out hm?” He smiles, nodding.

“Of course. But I’ll take you out tomorrow and still kiss you and then ask you to be mine.” He sighs.

“You’re cute.” You smile, pecking his head.

“Would you say yes?”

He asks and you let out a long hum. He pinches your waist and you laugh. His smile growing wider at the sound.

“Of course I would you dummy.” Your hand glides along his soft hair.

“Good because I’d probably get on my knees and beg.”

“Oh?” You say seductively and he laughs.

“And you say I’m the pervert.”

You guys talk for hours in each other’s arms. Turns out Satoru had two secrets. But none of it mattered now.

He wasn’t a virgin anymore. And he was finally dating the girl he had a big fat crush on.

© yuuuhiii 24 : don’t plagiarize, translate, or post my work on other platforms

[afterglowsainz]

don’t smile | franco colapinto

pairing: engineer!reader x franco colapinto

summary: after franco signs with williams to finish the 2024 season, your relationship takes a punch

fc: different girls from pinterest

a/n: as you can tell, i just love a good star-cross lovers trope

—

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey um, what if the Overblot boys told each other their backstories?

Mmm… Well firstly, I think it would take a lot of effort to arrive at a point where all of the OB boys would even feel comfortable being that emotionally intimate with the others. Many of the OB boys are highly guarded and resistant to putting themselves in compromising positions. For example, I can easily see Azul being paranoid that the others would use his background as blackmail; he would not risk having his own vulnerabilities becoming public knowledge. Would Leona really be okay with being sentimental in front of various people he dislikes, especially Malleus and Vil? Would Idia feel safe unpacking his trauma and grief in front of his peers? Etc, etc, etc.

Secondly, I think that even if the OB boys were hypothetically at the point where they were okay sharing their backstories with the others, it wouldn’t change much about their immediate circumstances?? The OB boys generally don’t strike me as particularly… empathetic? At least not automatically empathetic. It’s something they would need to put effort into and actively work on. I imagine that they’d otherwise just pull a Zuko-style “That’s rough, buddy” or potentially even say something tactless that rubs their peers the wrong way (for example, not fully understanding the situation or even downplaying one another’s trauma). Riddle (someone with very little to no experience with social media and entertainment mediums) might not get how being a celebrity influences Vil’s life, Leona might insult Malleus (someone whom he has a bone to pick with), everyone might still be upset with Malleus for what he did to them in book 7. etc. Each OB boy only has their own experiences as the lens through which they see and interact with the world, and it’s not that easy for just anyone to put themselves in the shoes of another person.

Hearing a (for lack of a better term) traumadump doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll connect with it or understand just how grueling it was for the person who experienced said trauma. It would usually take a significant amount of time and reflection (ideally facilitated by a licensed mediator or professional) to digest those stories in group therapy and to make sure that everyone actually understands one another. A surface-level story retelling alone in most cases isn’t (again, for lack of a better term) “enough”, especially with how self-centered, emotionally immature, and different many of the OB boys are.

Think of empathy like a skill or a muscle. It isn’t innate. You need to develop it and train it, and not putting it to use can lead to atrophy. And given how arrogant and independent your usual NRC student is… yeah, it’s definitely going to be something for them all to work on.

If you want to think of it another way, it’s like how different players will react differently to reading the OB boys’s backstories. Someone who experienced bullying similar to Azul could more easily empathize with him while also not fully “getting” the full scope of other stories they hear. Maybe they can’t understand why Riddle still cares about the mother who mistreated him. Maybe they don’t see why Jamil sacrifices so much for his family. It doesn’t make the player a bad person for not understanding all the stories, it simply means they have a limited perspective. The same is true of the TWST characters; they, too, have incomplete points of views.

Maybe knowing their backstories in advance would change some scenes in small ways (such as book 6, when they split up and then butt heads with each other). They’d know where the other boys were coming from, and how that informs how they act in present day. However, I maintain that I think not much would change from the original. In a stressful situation like book 6, they could easily slip up and say something insensitive/make assumptions about their behavior based on their background/overlook or not even consider their background in the first place since they’re so focused on the current task. For example, Azul, feeling insulted that Riddle is underestimating him, could make a snide remark that just because his mother was a control freak doesn’t mean Riddle also has to be. Jamil could still see Leona as a spoiled prince because, despite being treated like an outcast, he still grew up in immense privilege as royalty. They can so easily fixate on their own interpretations of events that it colors how they perceive others, rather than how they can relate to others no matter how similar or dissimilar their experiences were.

In other ways, I think the OB boys sharing their backstories with one another stifles potentially meaningful development. Character growth in TWST isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon, and we’re here for the long haul. What does depositing all the backstories in their laps achieve for the OB boys? It artificially puts them in a situation to “better know” their peers rather than let it happen organically or allowing them to grow closer through their own efforts. Let’s look at the Deuce-Epel beach scene from book 5. Do you think it would have been as impactful of a scene if Epel explained his life in the countryside and how he got his traditional views on gender norms to Deuce? Personally, I don’t think so. The scene we currently have has them bonding and connecting through a shared activity (shouting at the sea), then having a heart-to-heart without a heavy backstory exposition. It’s through that, not explicit backstory sharing, that the two form an attachment and become genuine friends.

Those are all my thoughts!! ^^

[domm1etae]

hybrid biology

f!reader x yunho x san x yunho

smut | mdni

4.6k

Y/N adopts three hybrids—Jongho (a bear), San (a cat), and Yunho (a dog). One night, they request to suck on her breasts to help them sleep, citing their hybrid biology. Though surprised, Y/N agrees, leading to an intense and intimate encounter that ends in smut with all three hybrids

nsfw tags under

f/m/m/m, 3some, hybrids, oral fixation, breast sucking, dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, vaginal sex, soft dom, handjob, oral sex, penetration, praise kink, dirty talk, aftercare, begging, deep throat, hair pulling and moooore

When you woke up that morning with the simple intention to adopt a hybrid, you had no idea you'd leave the shelter with three—Jongho, the brown bear, San, the black cat, and Yunho, the golden retriever. Initially, you had imagined adopting just one companion, someone to keep you company, but the moment you met these three, something just clicked.

Jongho had stood stoically by the shelter gate, his brown fur gleaming in the sunlight as his eyes scanned you with quiet curiosity. He hadn’t been overly affectionate or eager to please like the others, but something about his calm presence grounded you. The caretaker had warned you that bear hybrids were more independent and liked their space, but that didn’t dissuade you.

San, on the other hand, was immediately drawn to you. He had padded over with fluid grace, his tail swishing behind him as he flashed you a grin so full of warmth that it melted your heart instantly. His black ears twitched as he circled you, brushing his shoulder against your legs. "You seem nice," he had purred, glancing up at you with gleaming eyes. "I wouldn’t mind going home with you." That statement was sealed with a playful wink that left your cheeks burning.

And then there was Yunho. The shy, golden retriever hybrid had peeked at you from behind the caretaker's leg, his floppy ears nearly hiding his face as his tail wagged nervously. He barely spoke a word at first, and it took you kneeling down to his level and offering your hand for him to even come forward. When he finally did, though, the way his eyes lit up made it clear he was the one who needed you the most.

Against all logic, you couldn’t choose between them. Somehow, all three fit together, balancing each other’s energies in ways that left you intrigued. They complemented each other’s personalities so well, you figured, why not? So you left the shelter with not one, but three hybrids trailing behind you.

Life with them quickly became a whirlwind of discovery. Each day revealed new facets of their personalities. Jongho preferred to lounge around the house, occasionally grumbling when San’s playful antics got in the way of his naps. His deep, rumbling voice made it clear that he was the one to set the pace in the household. “You don’t always have to be so hyper, you know,” he would murmur from his spot on the couch, barely lifting his head to meet San’s mischievous grin.

San, of course, would simply roll his eyes. "You’re such a grump, Jongho! Loosen up a little. She likes it when we play with her." Then he would dart off, his black tail flicking behind him as he padded toward you, demanding cuddles.

Yunho was always the quiet observer, watching the interactions between his friends with wide, thoughtful eyes. He rarely initiated conversation, but you always felt his presence nearby. Whether you were cooking, cleaning, or simply sitting on the couch, you’d feel the soft brush of his golden fur or hear his gentle footsteps approaching. He never asked for anything, but his proximity said it all—he found comfort in being near you.

The day had been good, long but fulfilling. You had shown the boys to their new room, helping them settle in, and they seemed content with their new surroundings. The bond between the four of you was growing, but you hadn’t realized how much until later that night.

Fatigue began to weigh you down, and after a quick goodnight, you excused yourself to your room. "Alright, guys. I’m heading to bed. You can stay up, but don’t forget to turn off the TV when you’re done," you said, giving them a tired smile.

Jongho gave a slow nod from his spot on the floor, where he lay sprawled out comfortably, while San stretched lazily on the couch, tail flicking lazily. Yunho, as usual, hovered in the background, his ears twitching but saying nothing.

Sleep came easily once you curled up under your blanket. But sometime in the dead of night, a soft knock at your door pulled you from the depths of slumber. Groggily, you sat up, rubbing your eyes as your door creaked open. All three hybrids stood there, framed by the dim light from the hallway. Jongho, as usual, was unreadable, his face betraying nothing but his brown ears twitching slightly. San fidgeted, his tail wrapped around his leg as if he was debating whether or not to speak, while Yunho, poor shy Yunho, was hiding half his face behind his floppy ears.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.

Jongho said nothing, his eyes glancing away as if he wasn’t quite sure how to approach the topic. San was the first to break the awkward silence. “N-No! Not really, but…” He trailed off, shifting nervously on his feet, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“There’s something we need to tell you,” Yunho finally whispered, his voice barely audible as he stared at the floor.

Your brows furrowed in concern, a pit forming in your stomach. What was going on? Had you done something wrong? Were they unhappy? “What is it?” you asked again, your voice soft but firm, not wanting to pressure them but needing answers.

Silence followed, the weight of it pressing down on you as the boys exchanged awkward glances. Jongho, who normally radiated confidence, was uncharacteristically still. His tail, which usually swayed lazily behind him, had stopped entirely, and his eyes were glued to the ground. He looked like a statue except for his twitching ears. Yunho was practically cowering behind him, and you could see San’s tail swishing nervously.

“Oh my God, just say it,” San finally muttered under his breath, looking frustrated with the stalemate. He took a deep breath, his cheeks flushing slightly as he forced the words out. “We need your help… to fall asleep.”

Your brain stalled for a moment. That was it? You had been expecting something much worse, given how tense the air had felt. “That’s it?” You chuckled softly, relieved that it wasn’t something more serious. “Okay, how can I help?”

But your question seemed to make things worse. Jongho rolled his eyes, and Yunho looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. San, however, continued, his words fumbling awkwardly, “W-We need to…”

“S-Suck on y-your…” Jongho continued, still unable to meet your eyes.

“Your boobs,” San finished, sounding almost bored with the situation, though the flush of his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. His eyes darted away as he scratched behind one ear nervously.

“You what?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Your voice was a higher pitch than normal, and your eyes widened in shock. Surely, they were joking, right?

San’s shoulders slumped as your stunned reaction lingered. He mumbled, “Told you she’d freak out…”

Yunho, who had been silent for most of the interaction, shifted uncomfortably, pulling at his ears out of nervousness. “I knew it,” he muttered softly. “I told you she wouldn’t like it.”

“Wait.” You blinked, finally coming to your senses as they turned to leave the room. Curiosity now mixed with confusion. “Can you explain what you mean?”

The three hybrids exchanged surprised glances, clearly not expecting your willingness to listen. After a moment, Jongho sighed, taking the lead with a straightforward explanation. “Our biology is… different from humans. For some reason, we need to suck on…” he gestured vaguely toward your chest, avoiding eye contact again. “Tits. It helps us sleep. We don’t understand it either, so don’t ask. It’s just how we’re wired.”

The more you listened, the more bizarre it seemed, but part of you couldn’t ignore that it made a strange kind of sense. Jongho had tried to nap several times throughout the day but had seemed restless, tossing and turning. San had been unusually clingy, more than usual, while Yunho… well, he had always hovered, but it seemed more intense lately.

You would have to admit, they were all incredibly attractive, and the thought of being intimate with them sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if you were ready to be vulnerable with them like this, especially since you hadn’t known them for very long.

Yunho’s soft voice broke the silence again. “You don’t have to do anything. We’ll figure something else out.”

“Sorry to bother—” San started, but you interrupted him, surprising even yourself.

“I’ll do it.”

All three hybrids looked utterly flabbergasted, their eyes wide as they processed what you’d just said.

“Really?” San asked, voice filled with disbelief.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. You had made your decision. “Really.” With a small movement, you pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your bare chest to them.

For a moment, none of them moved, their eyes locked onto your exposed skin as if they couldn’t believe it. Then, with barely contained excitement, San and Yunho practically shoved each other, both eager to be the first to reach you. Jongho hung back, watching with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place.

San was the first to touch you, his warm hands cupping your breasts gently, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned in closer. His usually playful demeanor had softened, replaced by a kind of reverence that caught you off guard. "You're really okay with this?" he asked, his voice low, almost uncertain. His fingers brushed across your skin, sending a shiver through you.

You nodded, your breath hitching. "I am. Just… go slow."

San’s lips quirked into a small, relieved smile. “Of course.”

Yunho, who had been lingering in the background, hesitated before moving forward. His eyes were filled with nervousness, but there was something deeper—longing, maybe? He knelt beside you, his large golden ears twitching as he leaned closer. His hand trembled slightly as he touched your other breast, his touch featherlight, almost as if he was afraid to hurt you.

"Is this okay?" Yunho whispered, his eyes darting up to meet yours, wide and innocent.

You gave him a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Yunho. You're doing great."

Jongho, meanwhile, stood back, watching the scene unfold with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes flicked between San, Yunho, and you with a hint of something… possessive? You weren’t sure. Finally, with a sigh, he walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down, leaning in close. His presence, though not as immediate as the other two, was commanding. He didn’t rush to touch you, instead resting his hand on your thigh, waiting patiently.

“Don’t think we’re letting them have all the fun,” Jongho said quietly, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your skin, his eyes finally locking with yours.

You felt your pulse quicken at the intensity of his gaze, but before you could respond, San had begun trailing kisses along your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. “You taste as good as I imagined,” he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing your neck before moving lower.

At the same time, Yunho’s shy demeanor melted into focus as he mirrored San’s movements, his lips brushing your other breast. His breath was shaky as he parted his lips, finally taking your nipple into his mouth. The warmth of his mouth, combined with his soft, hesitant sucks, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you.

San was a little more confident, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he took it between his lips. His playful nature was still there, but it was tempered with care as he nipped gently, his eyes flicking up to watch your reactions. “Is this good?” he asked, voice husky as he sucked gently, his ears twitching in satisfaction when he heard you moan.

Your back arched slightly, pressing yourself into their mouths as soft moans escaped your lips. The sensation of their mouths on you, one gentle and unsure, the other teasing and confident, had you reeling. You were acutely aware of every touch, every flick of their tongues, and the tension building low in your belly.

Jongho watched, his expression hard to read, but there was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. He squeezed your thigh lightly, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “You’re doing good. Just relax.” His voice was a soothing contrast to the intensity building between you and the other two hybrids, and you found yourself sinking deeper into the moment.

San pulled away slightly, his lips glistening as he gave a playful tug on your nipple. “You’re so sensitive. I could do this all night,” he purred, nipping gently before sucking again, harder this time.

Yunho, still a little hesitant, began to follow his lead, his mouth moving more confidently now. He sucked gently, then licked, then sucked again, his ears flicking with every little sound you made. He wasn’t as bold as San, but his focus was intense, like he was determined to make you feel good.

Your moans grew louder, your body reacting to their ministrations as your thighs rubbed together, desperate for friction. The pleasure was building steadily, each flick of their tongues sending sparks of electricity through you. Your head tilted back, eyes closing as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Jongho’s hand slid from your thigh up to your waist, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate circles. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You want more, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and knowing.

You nodded, unable to form words as San’s lips pulled away, a smirk playing on his face as he watched your reaction. “Of course she does,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. He gave your nipple one last playful nip before sitting back, his eyes dark with desire.

Yunho, however, lingered a little longer, his mouth still latched to your breast, his soft golden ears pressed flat against his head as he sucked gently, his focus entirely on you. His hand, which had been resting on your waist, slid down to your stomach, hesitating just above your waistband.

Jongho finally stood, his presence looming as he moved closer, his hand still resting on your waist as he gently pulled Yunho back. “Let’s not overwhelm her all at once,” he said softly, though there was a clear command in his tone. His eyes met yours, dark and intense. “You ready for more?”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. The anticipation had your body trembling, and the way Jongho looked at you made your knees weak. “Yes,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind.

Jongho smiled—a slow, predatory grin—as he guided you to lie back fully on the bed. “Good.”

With careful precision, Jongho climbed onto the bed, his large hands easily lifting your legs over his shoulders as he positioned himself between them. His breath was hot against your thighs as he spread soft kisses along your skin, teasing you, while his fingers lightly traced your inner thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

San, now sitting beside you, chuckled as he watched. “Lucky Jongho. He always gets what he wants,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Yunho, still kneeling by the bed, watched with wide eyes, his expression torn between awe and nervousness. His hands fidgeted in his lap, but he didn’t say anything, his gaze locked onto the scene in front of him.

“Shut up, San,” Jongho grumbled, but his focus remained on you, his lips trailing up to your inner thigh. He pressed a kiss dangerously close to your center, his breath hot and teasing. “You’re already so wet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if the sight of you was affecting him as much as it was affecting you.

Your breath hitched as you felt his fingers slide down to your entrance, teasingly brushing against you. “Jongho—” you gasped, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets as the anticipation mounted.

Without another word, Jongho’s mouth descended onto you, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe over your slit before settling on your clit. The shock of pleasure that shot through you made you cry out, your back arching off the bed as his tongue worked circles over your sensitive flesh.

San smirked, his fingers reaching out to gently tug at one of your nipples, earning a whimper from you. “Looks like someone’s enjoying herself,” he teased, his voice low and husky. His eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was an unmistakable hunger in them.

Yunho, quiet as always, watched intently, his eyes wide with awe as he took in the sight of you writhing under Jongho’s ministrations. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time, you noticed the bulge straining against his pants. He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t say a word.

Jongho, meanwhile, had no intention of stopping. His tongue flicked expertly over your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you. His fingers slid inside you easily, curling in just the right way that had you gasping, your hands flying to his hair as you pulled him closer.

“I-I’m close,” you gasped, your body trembling as you felt the climax building inside you, threatening to snap at any moment.

But just as you reached the peak of your pleasure, Jongho pulled away, his mouth and fingers leaving you empty and aching. You let out a desperate whine, your body shaking with need. “No, please—” you begged, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the denial of release hit you like a freight train.

Jongho smirked, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he watched your desperate reaction. “Not yet,” he said simply, his voice thick with lust. “We’re not done with you.”

Behind him, San and Yunho were already moving. San had stripped off his shirt, revealing his lean, muscular torso, his cat ears twitching in excitement. “On your knees, sweetheart,” he purred, his voice dripping with seduction as he guided you up onto all fours. “Time to give you what you really want.” San’s hands were firm yet gentle as he guided you onto your hands and knees, his movements deliberate and slow. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he positioned himself in front of you, his eyes dark and filled with anticipation. His cock stood hard and ready, twitching slightly as he stroked himself a few times while watching you.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for us, aren’t you?” San purred, his voice smooth and teasing. His words sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core, your body reacting to his authoritative tone.

Behind you, Yunho’s presence was quieter, but just as intense. His hands trembled slightly as he moved into position, his soft golden retriever ears drooping as he knelt behind you. There was a noticeable tension in him—nervousness mixed with an overwhelming desire to please. His hand rested on your hip, his touch featherlight.

San gripped the back of your head gently, his thumb stroking your cheek as he positioned his cock near your mouth. “Open up, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice soft yet commanding.

You did as he asked, parting your lips and allowing San to slide his length into your mouth. He let out a groan as he pushed deeper, his hand threading through your hair to guide you at a steady pace. His cock filled your mouth, the weight of him heavy on your tongue as you sucked, your cheeks hollowing as you tried to take him deeper.

“Good girl,” San moaned, his hips starting to move in slow, shallow thrusts. He didn’t push too hard, letting you adjust to him at your own pace, but the satisfied growl that escaped him let you know he was enjoying every second.

Yunho, still behind you, hesitated for a moment longer. His large, warm hands slid from your hips down to your thighs, his touch shaky but reverent. “I-I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of San’s soft groans.

You moaned around San’s cock, your body trembling in anticipation of Yunho’s next move. His hand guided the tip of his length to your entrance, his breath shaky as he slowly, carefully pushed inside you. The stretch was delicious, and you couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling of being filled by him. He was gentle, almost too gentle, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he buried himself to the hilt.

Yunho let out a soft gasp, his forehead resting against your back for a moment as he adjusted to the sensation of being inside you. “You feel… so good,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief.

The combination of San’s cock in your mouth and Yunho’s inside you was overwhelming in the best way possible. You tried to focus on sucking San, your tongue swirling around his length as he moved in and out of your mouth, but the way Yunho was slowly thrusting into you made it hard to concentrate. Every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you, building steadily with each movement.

San’s grip on your hair tightened slightly as he thrust deeper, his pace picking up as he got more comfortable. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with arousal. “You look so good with your mouth full of me.”

Behind you, Yunho was picking up his pace too, his nervousness fading as he got lost in the pleasure of being inside you. His thrusts were slow but deep, each one hitting just the right spot, making you moan around San’s cock. Your body trembled, caught between the pleasure of being taken from both ends.

Jongho, who had been watching from the side with a hungry, possessive gaze, finally moved forward. His presence was commanding, his dark eyes locked on you as he stood beside the bed, stroking himself slowly. He hadn’t touched you yet, but the way his gaze roamed over your body made you shiver with anticipation.

“You’re taking them so well,” Jongho rumbled, his voice low and rough. His eyes flicked to San, then Yunho, before settling back on you. “But you’re not finished yet.”

San groaned, his hips thrusting faster as he neared his peak. His fingers dug into your hair, holding you in place as he fucked your mouth harder. “Shit, you’re amazing,” he gasped, his breath ragged as he felt himself getting closer to release.

Yunho’s thrusts grew more frantic behind you, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he lost himself in the feeling of being buried inside you. He was quiet, but the way his breath hitched and the soft gasps that escaped him let you know he was just as close to the edge.

You moaned around San’s cock, your body trembling as the pleasure built up inside you, threatening to overwhelm you. The sensation of Yunho thrusting into you, combined with San’s cock filling your mouth, had you teetering on the edge of release.

“I-I’m close,” Yunho whispered, his voice trembling with the effort to hold back.

San was right there with him, his hips stuttering as he thrust deep into your mouth one last time, groaning loudly as he came. His release spilled down your throat, and you swallowed it eagerly, moaning around him as your own orgasm built to its peak.

Yunho’s grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you one last time, a soft cry escaping his lips as he came, filling you with his warmth. The feeling of him releasing inside you, combined with San’s release in your mouth, was enough to push you over the edge. You moaned loudly, your body trembling as your orgasm crashed over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

San pulled out of your mouth with a satisfied groan, his thumb brushing over your lips as he smirked down at you. “You did so good, sweetheart.”

Yunho, still behind you, pulled out slowly, his hands shaking slightly as he sat back on his heels, his face flushed with both arousal and embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he mumbled, his golden ears drooping slightly.

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “No, Yunho… you were perfect.”

Jongho, who had been watching the entire time, finally moved forward, his expression dark and hungry as he climbed onto the bed. “Now it’s my turn,” he growled, his large hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself behind you.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Jongho thrust into you, his cock filling you completely in one swift motion. You cried out, your body jolting from the force of his thrust. He was rougher than Yunho, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he pounded into you with a relentless rhythm.

“God, you’re so tight,” Jongho groaned, his voice deep and guttural as he buried himself inside you again and again. His thrusts were hard and fast, each one pushing you closer to the edge once more. The sensation of being filled so completely by him was overwhelming, your body trembling with pleasure.

San and Yunho watched, their eyes dark with lust as they sat back, their chests heaving as they recovered from their own releases. San’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, while Yunho’s face was still flushed with embarrassment, though there was a hint of desire in his gaze as he watched Jongho take you.

Jongho’s thrusts grew more frantic, his breath ragged as he neared his release. His hands gripped your waist so tightly you were sure there would be bruises, but the pleasure he was giving you outweighed any pain. You could feel yourself nearing the edge again, your body shaking as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good,” Jongho growled, his voice rough with lust. His hips slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as he came, his release spilling inside you. The feeling of him filling you was enough to push you over the edge again, and you cried out, your body trembling as your second orgasm washed over you.

Jongho stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Finally, he pulled out slowly, his hands releasing their grip on your waist as he sat back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

You collapsed onto the bed, completely spent, your body trembling from the intensity of everything that had just happened. Your mind was hazy, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you struggled to stay conscious.

San chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Yunho, still flushed and shy, reached out to pull the covers over you, his hands gentle as he tucked you in. “You should rest now. We’ll take care of everything else.”

Jongho lay down beside you, his large body enveloping you as he pulled you into his arms. “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing now that the heat of the moment had passed.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Exhaustion overtook you, and before long, you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and content in the arms of your hybrids.

[nino-rox]

ADDICTED | BYEON WOO SEOK X MALE READER | M.A

Content Warning : Sexual themes, Top Wooseok and Bottom Male Reader, Angst, Mature, Use of Drugs (Marijuana), Trigger Warning - emotional /mental abuse, college AU.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

I woke up feeling cold and lonely in our bed.

When I opened my eyes and saw the empty side of the bed where Woo Seok was supposed to be sleeping I remembered last night and how he just left.

I turned to the side and stared at the empty space where his face would usually rest. It felt so lonely, I almost wanted to cry. I reached over to his side of the bed and touched his pillow, hugging it to my chest and trying to catch any last lingering scent of him.

The scent of him comforted me as I sat in silence for a while, hugging his pillow close.

After a while I got out of bed, I felt so drained, both mentally and physically.

I had hoped last night was just a dream. That maybe he was still here somewhere.

I walked into the kitchen, hoping he'd be there with breakfast and his charming smile. I hoped he would greet me with his arms wide open and tell me he was sorry and that everything was going to be okay. But there was no one in the kitchen. Just an empty table and a lonely chair.

It made me sad. I thought we were finally getting better. That maybe things were looking up for us. We had been fighting a lot lately and things between us had been really rocky. Last night was the last straw for me. I had decided when he get’s back….if…. He gets back…. I need a break.

We hadn't gone on a proper date in months. It seemed like all he wanted to do was stay home, sit on the couch and drink. I tried talking to him about it but he kept avoiding it. I tried bringing up the topic, but every time we would end up in another fight.

We were fighting over such small things lately, things that never used to be a problem, over a towel on the bed, over lights, food, sex, everything.

I couldn’t take it anymore, it felt like we were falling apart and no matter what I did he wouldn't talk to me, he was shutting me out and I was sick of it.

"Why are you making a big deal out of this? Why don't you go out with your stupid friends!" He yelled.

"Because I want to spend time with you!"

“ I can’t with you right now. I need a fucking break. I am so sick and tired of this! Just go, please! I need some fucking air. I am sick of being in this house, with you, all day long. I need to clear my mind. Please just leave me alone." He said and walked away.

"Wait, Wooseok." I ran after him, grabbing him by the arm and turning him around to face me.

"I don't want to be in this house alone right now, if you walk out right now, I WILL hold it against you…I mean it."

He looked at me and for a second I saw a glimpse of the old him. My sweet and kind Woo. He was there. Behind those dark eyes, I saw the same man that I fell in love with. The man that brought me coffee in the morning, and made me laugh so hard, I could barely breathe. Always hung out with me in every class break. The man that always asked how my day was and would bring me a single flower just because. He was there, I knew it.

But as soon as the glimmer came, it disappeared and all that was left was anger and darkness.

"Let go of me."

"NO, Woo Seok, I will NOT let go. Please, talk to me, what's wrong, what is bothering you?"

"You. You are bothering me." He said and snatched his arm from my grasp, walking out and slamming the door behind him.

I was snapped back to reality, realizing that the last words we had exchanged were hateful ones.

I looked down at my hands, the hands that were holding him, and realized I was still clutching his pillow.

I sighed, dropping the pillow to the floor, getting into the bathroom for a shower.

I had to stop thinking about it. It was all in the past, and right now I had a day off from school and no plans...not any more … at least.

I needed to distract myself, I quickly showered, putting on my favorite outfit, the one that I had picked for the date that wasn't going to happen and headed out the door. If he didn’t wanna go to the beach … FINE, I can go.

The sun was setting as I got to the beach, there were a lot of people…and couples… enjoying the weather and the ocean view. It was a beautiful place. The waves crashed onto the shore and the sound was like music to my ears. It calmed me, and made me feel free and happy and since this day is such a bust, I might as well try and enjoy this by getting high.

I walked around a little as the sky grew slightly darker, finding a good spot, laying my towel on the sand, putting my bag and stuff next to me, before lighting up. I was taking in the scenery, the sky was growing darker and the beach was almost empty, most people were leaving, and as the smoke was leaving my lungs, I was already feeling lighter and happier excited about the high to come which would make me forget about all the drama - it was also kinda cold, pretty cold.

As I took another large drag from the joint, I felt the high starting, I was more “aware” of myself and my surroundings, I felt at ease, and it felt like i had let out a breath i dint know i was holding in. Suddenly the stress of the situation began to reduce as my body felt lighter, more fluid and ‘fun’.

I was lost in the sensations of the high, I put on some music, took off my t-shirt and laid down, shut my eyes for a moment, getting comfy in my plush soft blanket.

Suddenly I heard a chuckle, a chuckle full of snark.

"Well, that's certainly a sight, I guess your dates are more fun without me"

I opened my eyes, and was met with his.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I mumbled closing my eyes immediately, not wanting to accept that this was happening.

"Nice way to greet your boyfriend" he replied, and snatched the joint from my hand, taking a long drag.

"You can't just show up here like that, we're supposed to be taking a break, remember? You didn't want me, you made that very clear. I don't have to put up with this, fuck off. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of"

"Aww Ouchie. That hurt." He said tauntingly, and then continued, "you look really good in those shorts, you know"

"Fuck off, Wooseok" I replied, sitting up and reaching for the joint, which he immediately raised above his head, out of reach from my height, as he chuckled.

His playful and casual mood was starting to throw me into a rage, why was he acting like nothing was wrong? After everything he said? Why was he now fucking with your high when you weren’t even dating anymore?

"You can't just leave and come back, whenever the fuck you feel like it."

"Watch me" He replied, taking another drag, and smiling.

"What's gotten into you? Are you drunk or something?"

"No" He laughed and handed the joint back to you - you didn’t accept it from him.

"Why are you acting like nothing's wrong, like you didn't walk out last night? Like you didn't tell me, and I quote "I am sick and tired of you"

"Oh come on, don't be a bitch!"

"Don't call me a bitch, Wooseok."

“You taking a hit or no?? It’s getting wasted over here. "

"Are you actually fucking with me right now???"

"Okay fine…Don't want it, you don't get it.." He said taking a massive drag and putting out the joint with his foot.

I stood up angrily and yelled, "Are you crazy?! That was a perfectly good joint, you just wasted it!!"

Suddenly Wooseok roughly grabbed my waist pulling me closer as he harshly held my face with one hand keeping my mouth open - he immediately pressed his lips onto mine, shotgunning his last massive drag into your mouth.

One was breathing out pushing the smoke, while the other was taking it all in.

His lips were on mine, his tongue was inside of me. It was intense. I hated that I loved it.

The kiss felt heavy and intoxicating, Wooseok slowly pushing his body’s weight onto you, both getting on our knees, lips still intact.

Wooseok slowly pulled away from me and looked at me, his gaze was hungry.

He was so beautiful, the sunset illuminating his face, and his eyes. I loved his eyes, and his smile, and the way he looked at me.

My eyes were fixed on his as I tried to catch my breath, my mind feeling shocked, angry and very much seduced at the same time.

“Tell me that wasn’t a better hit than the joint,” He whispered into my ear, his breath warm and seductive as he smirked, his gaze locked with mine, not breaking eye contact for a second. I had missed his voice, and the way his lips brushed against my skin as he spoke. I missed the way he was looking at me, and how his touch set my entire body on fire. I missed him.

I tried to say something but the words wouldn't come out.

Loosening his grip on my face he slowly moved his hand down to my hip, gripping it, and slowly pushing his leg between my thighs, as he pushed me onto my back.

He towered over me - "Now, where were we?" He whispered again, his lips grazing mine and his breath hitting my face.

His lips were so close, it was driving me crazy. I didn't know if I should push him away or pull him closer, but what about everything he said? Did I forgive him just like that? Was I really this easy?

He leaned down and kissed me, softly at first, but quickly grew more heated and passionate, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hands roaming all over my body, pulling my hips closer, pushing his knee against my crotch.

My brain was screaming at me to push him off, but my body was betraying me, wanting his touch, and craving more - addicted - addicted to him.

He slowly started kissing down my neck, his hands caressing my chest, his thumb brushing against my nipple, making me moan. He smiled and started kissing my neck, sucking hard, biting me, making me whimper and moan.

My head was spinning, it was all too much, and not enough at the same time. At some point I just had a silent stream of tears, running down my cheeks as the emotions hit me.

"I missed this so much" Wooseok whispered, kissing his way down my chest, and biting and licking my nipples.

"So much."

- I didn’t react

"Please, let's go home, okay? Come on."

- No response

"Y/N, come on. Let's go home."

"Look, I'm sorry okay? Can we please go home and talk about this?"

"No, Wooseok, you had your chance, you said it yourself, I bother you, remember? You don't need to pretend like everything is okay."

"Baby, please. Don't be like that. I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did."

"No, baby, please, it’s getting dark can we just talk inside.”

“ baby, I just wanna go home, and talk. It's so cold, and it's getting late."

- I turned around laying on my other side, my back facing him.

He sighed and then got up, packing our things, and putting everything back into my bag.

He walked over, and reached out his hand for me.

"Let's go, it's getting late.”

-I refused his hand and got up on my own, brushing off the sand.

"Come on, let's go" He said again, his voice impatient, as he grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me along.

"Stop it!" I protested, but he was still dragging me.

"LET GO OF ME!"

- I yelled, and pulled my arm away from him.

He turned to look at me, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He yelled.

"You're my problem. You keep hurting me and then acting like nothing's wrong!”

"It's not like you never hurt me!,” he shot back.

"When? When did I ever do that to you?"

"You didn’t even run behind me in the morning when I said we needed a Break, you didn’t even care! You couldn’t care less about fighting for this relationship!."

"OFCOURSE I CARE! Maybe I would've chased you if you didn't leave after yelling at me and telling me to leave you alone!, and as for FIGHTING for the relationship, ALL I HAVE DONE is fight for it! - Chase after you ??? For What ???? You and I NEVER make it fucking work, has anything we’ve had for so long even barely qualify as a relationship?,” I snapped back in rage, only realising what I had just said after his expression fell dark and cold. Before I could Tell him I would never mean that -

"JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Y/N” He shouted at me, his voice was harsh and his eyes were dark and cold, there was no trace of the Wooseok I had just been kissing.

I didn't respond, my heart was beating fast, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"WELL ?" He shouted again, stepping closer to me.

"W-what?"

"What do you want from me, hm? What can I possibly do to fix this? You are always complaining, about something, and nothing I ever do is good enough for you, it's never enough, and you're always mad at me, what the hell do you want from me?!

“ I JUST WANT YOU, OKAY !! I WANT YOUR LOVE AND ATTENTION AND PRESENCE I WANT YOU TO HOLD ME I WANT YOU TO BE THERE! “

I paused for a second and then continued, my voice cracking. - "And you weren't. You aren’t.

It was like I could see the person I love crumble, his expression changed and I saw his eyes start to water.

"Will you give me.." he hesitated for a moment, and then continued, his voice shaking.

"will you give me another chance?, Please."

- The last word came out almost like a whisper.

I didn't say anything. My eyes were filled with tears.

He stepped closer to me, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Please" He whispered.

"Just one more chance. Please."

-I still didn't say anything.

"Please, Baby."

-I nodded.

"Say it, say you'll give me another chance."

-He pleaded, his voice barely audible.

"I will"

-His expression changed.

-His eyes lit up as a smile spread across his face, tears still streaming.

"Thank you" He said, before wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly, my face pressed against his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Y/N" He said, his voice shaking.

"it's… okay"

"no it's not. I was such an asshole to you. I'm so sorry"

"It's okay.”

"No, It's not. You don't deserve that. You deserve so much better than me. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I've been such an asshole."

"You have"

-He looked up at me, his eyes watery, and his expression full of regret.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry" He repeated.

-He hugged me tightly, his arms wrapped around my waist strongly, almost as if they were desperate to be embraced.

"I'm sorry too"

"you don't have to apologise, none of this was your fault. It was all mine. I fucked up." - “Let me make it up to you at home?” he asked smirking and grinning like an idiot while crying, which was honestly kinda cute.

"Okay, you can try, and the “I’m sorry sex” better be Earth Shattering,” - I added on, pouting…. as our lips collided.

PART 1 COMPLETE {Please Request For PART 2}

Author’s Note: Hey Everyone, This story was based on an anonymous request. This is the first time I’ve written such an argument scene in an informal/ non-academic way, so I really hope you guys like it. Please leave any feedback !!! It is always greatly appreciated. P.S - STORY IS NOT PROOF READ.

[alixmarauders]

Ah hello~ :3 I heard you were looking for requests and uh I got an idea but its Remus x reader :"3 if that's alright?

So the idea is... Remus has this chocolate thing right? And he knows everyone's favorite chocolates... But no one knows his. Reader (who is a Ravenclaw) observes him and realizes what his favorite flavor is :3. So she first tries it by leaving a stash of it on his book in the library one day to which Remus LOVES. Then... Idk you do the rest 😅 I want them to interact in the end tho 🤧 like he discovers or like she gets caught dunno aha

Pomegranate chocolate | Remus Lupin x reader

LOVED this idea had to start writing as soon as I could, hope you enjoy this’

fluff

You had always had a crush on Remus. While everyone seemed to be lusting over Sirius’s bad boy vibe, or falling for James’s outgoing behaviour, you had always found Remus’s calmness endeavouring and kind of intimidating at the same time.

You never were the one to initiate things, could barely speak to people you didn’t know, but this time, you wished you could. You wished you could just tap Remus’s shoulder and introduce yourself like every other girl in Hogwarts did. You wished you could have his attention, even for just a few seconds, even if it meant being made fun of. But you couldn’t.

So, you kept on watching him like a stalker. You knew that it was creepy, and kind of out of character for you, but having a crush on the same person for three years straight makes you do crazy things. You knew his favourite book because he always seemed to read it in the library, at least once a month. You knew his favourite classes and his least favourite ones by noticing if he was there or if he was skipping them to go smoking in the astronomy tower. You knew his favourite chocolate, of course, and you noticed that it had been a while since he last bought it. Every time he went to Honeydukes, he came back with his friends’ favourite chocolates, never his, and it seemed quite sad.

That explained why you were now standing in front of the cashier, three stashes of pomegranate dark chocolate piled in your hands, sheepishly handing them over, your face the one of a thief who had just been caught.

You didn’t even know what to do with them, you didn’t know Remus, you couldn’t just come up to him with his favourite type of chocolate like a desperate schoolgirl, begging for attention. You just knew you wanted him to be happy, you wanted to see the scars above his lip crinkle, his eyes light up, and that cute little dimple showing, knowing it was you who made him that happy.

You walked back to the library, bag secured, and looked inside from shelving unit. It was then that you spotted Remus leaving, probably going to smoke, as he always did. You looked around: no one was there, it was Saturday night, after all. Slowly, you got up from your hiding spot, positioning the chocolate on his book; you didn’t stop at that, though: you picked up one of his pens and draw a little heart on a piece of paper, positioning it right above the sweet treat.

You weren’t  stupid, you knew he couldn’t know it was you who draw that heart, still you wanted to accompany the gift with some type of card. You decided to go back to your dorm, staying in your hiding spot would have been to risky.

What you didn’t see was Remus reaction to your little surprise. As soon as he saw the little heart, immediately knew it was you, his little obsession. He smiled down at the gift, finally you were showing him some interest. He had been making everything in his power to get you to like him back: looking at you in class just to see your cheeks becoming the sweetest shade of red, spotting you on the bleachers during practice only to use the hem of his jersey to wipe his face, showing his six pack. His heart swelled: he was going to make you his sooner than he expected. A plan slowly started to take form in his head.

After a week, you still had two other boxes to give to Remus. You decided to leave one of them in front of his locker during Quidditch practice, and the other one on his desk right before potions. Every time you gave him the sweet treat, you always draw an heart on the box, just so he knew that it was the same person who decided to gift him his favourite candy.

When he came back from his smoking break, you watched as he looked down at his desk, his face lighting up as he saw the chocolates, making your lips curl into a little grin. What you didn’t expect, though, was for him to be looking around, spotting you. In mere seconds you had become redder than the sweetest cherry, you looked down, praying he didn’t see your reddened cheeks from across the room, sprinting once the bell rang.

You decided to spend your day in your dorm room, too afraid of running into him. Sure, he couldn’t be knowing that you had a massive crush on him, right? You had been so careful, he couldn’t have seen you. You heard a knock on the door, and as you went to open it, right under your eyes were five boxes of white raspberry chocolate, your favourite.

No one had ever gifted you anything before, and no one knew your taste in chocolate, so that left you kind of surprised.

You gasped loudly, and then you saw Remus coming out from a corner, making you nearly faint.

“I know what you did” He was smirking down at you, the height difference making you feel even more powerless. You decided to play it off.

“And what did I do now, Lupin?” He chuckled, one of his hands coming to cup your cheek, making your false bravado fall as fast as it came.

“You gifted me chocolate. Three boxes, to be more specific. Always with those little cute hearts. My favourite type of chocolate, no one knows what my favourite type of chocolate is, but you do. My smart girl” He was staring into your eyes, his hand preventing you from looking away, even if you wanted to. “My question is, why?”

“Could ask you the same question, Lupin. No one knows my favourite type of chocolate, either.” He chuckled.

“I know why I did it. I really like you, Y/N, have been sporting a massive crush on you for a while. Are you insinuating that you feel the same about me?”

Your mouth opened, you widened your eyes. He was kidding you, this must have been a joke. “I- Is this some type of marauder prank? Because I’m not falling for it, Lupin, take your spiked chocolate away from me” 

“You’re so cute when you get mad” He caressed your cheek with his thumb, his face now dangerously close to yours. “I mean what I said, you know that?” He whispered, right above your lips.

“How did you know it was me, though?”

He smiled. “You always draw those little hearts on your books while you read them. Been observing you for a while now, I could swear there isn’t one of your books who has blank margins.”

Your heart swelled. The idea that he had been as obsessed with you as you were with him making you dizzy. You reached up for his collar, pulling him close to you, pecking his lips. He groaned loudly, his hands gripping your hips as he devoured your mouth, while you reciprocated the kiss with as much fervour.

After a while, you took a big breath, pulling away from the kiss. He licked his lips, making you blush once again. “So, Friday night at Hogsmade? How does that sound?”

“Good” You pulled him once again close to you, afraid he would vanish in thin air if you didn’t.

tag list: @sxmnc

[ipegchangbin]

— winner’s deal

sub!jeno x dom!reader x sub!mark | 7.9k words | READ ON AO3

One game, one house. A bet turns into something more when team leader Mark plans to make your boyfriend Jeno all jealous.

❥  fem!reader (she/her pronouns, afab). smut. porn with some plot. ❥ threesome. college/university!au, student!reader & athletes!markjen. member x reader, member x member. open relationship themes. unprotected sex, mouthplay, edging & overstimulation, one light cock slap, double penetration, they’re all messy

📝 happy birthday to the one and only @meivida!!! my fellow dreamzen, the jeno to my chenle, my bff 4life! also surprise i write for nct drm too now. otherwise, enjoy !!

18+ only. minors do not interact.

Somehow, Mark’s not that nervous as he faces Jeno after the game.

Having swept the floor earlier with an insane hockey match, hockey team leader Mark and varsity captain Jeno eye each other down in the locker rooms with nothing but fiery gazes, squinted eyes, and clenched teeth.

You were going to meet them after the game for some “unknown reason.” But, with the way they looked at each other, they just knew.

“Dumb play on the floor earlier, Jeno.” Mark snickered at his teammate, referring to a foul move he got called out for. It cost their team a single point, but Jeno didn’t care about that.

“You didn’t bother to block the guy, so how else was I supposed to pass the disk?”

Mark decides to stay silent. They both know that they aren’t actually frustrated at their game, no, they’re waiting for the minutes to tick down along with the sound of your footsteps by the locker room’s doors.

Jeno breaks the conversational floor worse than he did on the court. “Anyway, why are you meeting up with my girlfriend?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” The leader popped a water bottle open. “You’re her boyfriend.”

“Shouldn’t you know why if she’s asking you?” Jeno had a point, but Mark snickered.

“Beats me.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know any better.”

“Because I don’t!”

Refusing to explode any further, Jeno sighs loudly with a big huff off his chest. “Look, if this is about that one move, I’m sorry.”

Mark simply nods, eyes away from Jeno’s face.

“And I just want to know what my girlfriend has to do with you.”

Even though Mark knows the answer, and Jeno has a hunch, they both shut their lips and wordlessly look at each other.

The truth is, Mark had a bet with Jaemin — if he could somehow make Jeno jealous, then a sum of money would be on the line. It’s been a running joke around the team that Jeno gets sulky over simple things, even if he tries to hide it. It’s something small and endearing, but even Mark thought it would be a step too far if he made him really envious of his girlfriend; Jaemin didn’t care, he just wanted money. It frustrated Mark even to be playing these types of bets, but he couldn’t say no, even as the leader.

Jeno already had that sneaking suspicion that he was being played with, but never in his life would he believe that you — his girlfriend — would get involved like this. Rather than jealousy, he was frustrated at the thought that the boys were teasing him in this way. He tried not to let it get the best of him though, even if he was already getting fired up in the locker rooms.

They eye each other down and it’s the most they’ve stared in their lives.

The sound of sneakers walking into the room echoes through the rigid halls of the lockers. A voice can be heard saying “This is the boy’s room” before being cut off by an extra loud turn of the shoe.

Mark suddenly fidgets in his place, all signs of cockiness dissipating as your familiarly strict voice vibrates through the room.

“Where’s Mark?” You ask yourself. With a resting tone like that, you could pass off as the team manager if you weren’t so focused on your other endeavors.

You spot team leader Mark before your boyfriend, igniting a little spark of envy within Jeno.

“Mark! Why’d you make me rush here so suddenly?” It sounds like you were scolding him with your furrowed eyebrows but you’re not.

“Uh, just needed to ask a simple question.”

“And what would that be?”

Jeno looks back and forth between you and Mark with a cloud of confusion over his head.

First off, he can’t believe that you’re involved in this. Second, you look way too hot when you look mad even when you aren’t. It’s not that you’re annoyed at him, maybe you are, but not to the degree that your voice suggests. Somehow, Jeno finds that assertive side of you so sexy that it’d be inappropriate to think about it right then and there.

Thirdly and finally, you’re completely ignoring the love of your life. Standing awkwardly beside Mark, Jeno simply stares at you and hopes you will stare back.

You don’t. Why’s that so attractive of you?

"How about you join dinner with us at my place?" Mark replies, a smug grin on his face, “Y’know, for beating those Stray-bitches from earlier." 

You blink. Jeno blinks back. It’s only then that you acknowledge your boyfriend. He didn’t even know that they were getting a celebratory dinner for winning the day’s game.

That’s when Jeno’s ears start to turn red with envy. “What do you mean, your place?”

He doesn’t realize he’s thinking aloud until your eyes widen and Mark responds with a fake laugh and a smug smile. “I mean, dude, you played well earlier, and what’s wrong with not bringing your girlfriend over?”

Acting all buddy-buddy, as if he didn’t just diss his play on the floor. But that’s not what gets Jeno’s blood boiling.

“Can’t believe I had to be the one to invite her over first instead of you.”

You seem a little less affected, more so confused.

Only a few things make sense to you at the moment. They won, sure. But if Jeno knew about the dinner, why couldn’t he invite you over? Then again, he doesn’t seem to know either, and Mark looks unusually cool to you right now, your eyes are flipping between the two men until your eyelids flutter for a second to refocus.

“I’m available later,” you say with your back straightened. “I’m going if Jeno’s going.”

With that, Jeno can’t say no. He’s in a trickier spot than you are, severely tethering between being unaware and painfully aware of what’s going on.

Mark then slams his arm over Jeno’s shoulder. “Guess you’re going then?”

But he’s bad at masking the nervousness in his eyes. He gulps and sweat trickles down his forehead even after the game’s been over for a while. His plan to make Jeno jealous all for what could probably be lunch money is backing him into a corner — and he mentally hates wearing the dunce hat.

Jeno nods his head with a squint.

“Alright! I’ll see you guys later.”

He ruffles Jeno's hair and leaves with a turn of the heel. The squeak of his rubber shoes echoes through the locker rooms. You turn to your disheveled puppy of a boyfriend, fixing the messy hair.

“You sure you wanna go?” Your question is met with a nod from him. He compliantly keeps his head down for you to scratch it slightly, leaving the boy with a flushed face and redder ears.

“If we get dinner at Mark’s, can we get dessert at mine after?” Jeno suggests.

“Sure thing,” you giggle. “How could I say no to a polite boy like you?”

If Jeno had a tail, he’d be wagging it now. Reassured, he simply takes your hand in his as you lead each other out of the lockers. Should Mark or Jaemin be there, they would’ve thought that they lost from the sight of the both of you.

Time rolls around until it’s night. The lights are on while the sun is out, the moon barely illuminating your steps alongside Jeno’s on the way to Mark’s place.

The streets are usually busier but you don’t mind the quieter walk when your boyfriend intertwines his fingers with yours. The sidewalks are skinnier but he uses that as an excuse to walk closer to you. He’s the unusual one now, becoming slightly clingier than he normally would.

You figure if it has anything to do with Mark’s antics.

“You still wanna go to his place? We can grab something else,” you suggest.

That’s where you’re wrong, though.

“No, let’s go,” Jeno says with a smile and a contrasting squeeze of your hand.

He wants to prove himself against Mark.

You’d think that he’s unintentionally losing, giving in to the envy and jealousy building up in his core — but that’s not what this is. He wants to show him that you’re his, and he’s yours. Given the attitude that the both of them were giving each other, he wanted to one-up his own leader. He can’t quite explain it himself.

You both make it to Mark's place though, but you don't recognize any of the cars around his apartment. Actually, there are no vehicles around Mark's spot at all. Not even Chenle's car is there, the signature pickup that took their friend group everywhere. It seems like both of you came early.

So, you ring on his doorbell. Jeno tests himself by letting your hand go.

No response. Ding-dong; no response again.

You do hear hurried footsteps though, but it takes long before anything happens. Antsy, Jeno fidgets as he stops himself from the instinct of holding your hand again. Minutes go by before the door finally answers: Mark looks disheveled and hurriedly dressed.

You’d be damned if you say he’s cute, so you digress, focusing on your boyfriend instead.

The two men high-five with a side hug — despite lingering hard feelings — and you enter the seemingly lifeless house.

“…Where’s the party?” You squeak.

Mark leans against the door frame with crossed arms. “You’re the first in here.”

On the table sits nothing but Mark's takeout and a couple of other snacks. The only fresh thing seems to be the chicken he ordered just an hour ago. Jeno raises an eyebrow at Mark.

“Oh, Y/N, can I tell you something before the others arrive?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“But Jeno can’t hear about it.”

What is it this time?

Mark isn't even sure of what he should say to you. Maybe he should flat-out admit that he's in a bet to make Jeno jealous.

Maybe he should admit a little secret he’s been keeping to himself for years — he finds you kind of cute.

It’s not something he holds as he would a crush, that would be wrong of him. He just always considered his best friend lucky for bagging someone as great as you. You’re someone he likes to look at and converse with — it’s nothing about that kind of attraction, at least he thinks. Mark isn’t here to homewreck, but he can’t help his brain when you’re in the picture.

He shouldn’t talk about that, though. Not when Jeno’s there, not when he’s supposed to be faking a party, not when he’s practically using you to win a bet against his friend.

He feels like a shitty person, but before the college-boy-antics-guilt settles in, you follow Mark behind the door of his kitchen.

“What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

Mark’s pupils dart around, trying to find anything but your face to focus on. “Well, uhm, actually…”

Meanwhile, Jeno has a hunch that the party’s not real when Renjun sends a picture to him. He’s with Jaemin and Chenle, all three looking at the camera with mischievous eyes.

All of his suspicions confirm themselves with question marks and indefinite periods while waiting for you with heated cheeks.

It’s not that he’s clingy — he doesn’t want to admit so — and it’s not that he’s jealous — he can’t admit that either. In all fairness, he just wants you to be safe; he trusts you enough to be in Mark’s presence, but alone with a secret he can’t know about? Why would you be hiding behind a door in Mark’s apartment?

The anxiety creeps under his skin, sending off various signals in his brain to check in on you and his friend.

He walks in on you urging the other to speak. “Come on, Mark, what is it that you wanted to say—”

“If you have anything to say to her, say it to my face too,” Jeno butts in.

Mark blinks. He’s sweating.

He doesn’t know what to do. That is, he didn’t, not until he blurts something out.

"Fine, y'all can do whatever you want in here!" Mark apologizes. "I'm sorry, I don't want to waste your time. You guys can hang around, get more food, sleepover — hell, y'all can fuck and that's fine, I'm just really sorry."

It’s your turn to blink along with Jeno.

“Y-You weren’t gonna say anything?”

Mark’s cheeks turn red as he stumbles over his words. “Okay—where do I start? I was in a bet with Jaemin, and he bet that I could make Jeno jealous.” He uses his hands to communicate after pausing. “Like—okay, I didn’t think it would go this far, I’m sorry.”

But something clicks in his head as soon as he sees Jeno’s beet-red face.

“Though I feel like I won anyway,” he giggles awkwardly. “I think I actually made you jealous for a minute there.”

You turn to your poor boyfriend and find him fully flushed, hands balled into fists, forehead glistening with beads of sweat. Jeno’s eyebrows sit furiously on his tall nose, but his mouth is unsure — that’s when he realizes his envy getting the best of him for at least that moment.

You think it's cute, though. Perhaps you're the worst person for being amused to see your friend play games with your boyfriend.

“So, how much was the bet?” You break the ice, and Jeno turns to you with a shocked face.

“Twenty bucks…” Mark scratches his head, “…I guess it’s worth it?”

You laugh at him, lightly punching his shoulder. At that moment, Jeno's feelings start to blur as he experiences light deja vu before his eyes. With the way you were interacting with Mark before him, he was feeling that creeping jealousy come back. He tries to suppress it as best as he can, but this time it fails — the frustration shows in his face as you laugh and act as if he isn't there.

He’s the boyfriend. He should be the one you’re defending and paying attention to, but for some reason, you don’t mind either you or him getting played with for twenty stupid bucks.

Also, you’re hot as fuck when you’re smiling at someone else, and it frustrates him even more.

“We can do anything here, yeah?” Jeno speaks up.

Mark smiles. “Yeah. I don’t mind at all, it’s my little peace offering.”

Without another word, Jeno grabs your hand as he drags you out of the room. He runs to Mark’s bedroom, holding you firmly, closing the door only slightly shut with the other.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss. “You can’t just dart out like that! And my hand hurts a bit.”

At that, Jeno wordlessly inspects your wrist, thinking he hurt you in the midst of his envy — he’s also avoiding your queries.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, but there’s no reason to be.” The reassurance doesn’t work as his eyes fixate on your hand. “It’s just a bet between them, and at the end of the day, I still love you.”

Your words fall on semi-deaf ears, the only visual effect being his cheeks getting a shade deeper. He fidgets with your fingers.

Mildly frustrated yourself, you reach out with both hands to cup his face and refocus on yours. “Jeno.”

The look he gives you sends a signal off in your head.

What seems to be hearts form in his eyes. He looks like he wants to be possessive, but he wants you to own him. Make him yours. It’s a look you’ve seen many times on his face but you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why it still gets you every time.

Like a pleading puppy, his cheeks sink into your palms as he stares back into you.

“I just…” Jeno clears his throat, “I don’t want you to be played with like that. And I-I want to be just yours.”

Your shock softens as you rub your thumbs across his cheekbones. “Oh lovely, there’s nothing to worry about. I really love you.”

He unexpectedly lunges his head forward, trapping your lips in a loving kiss. It takes a full ten seconds, eyes closed and heads tilted to find each other’s connection between the mouths, and you pull away with a huff.

“Jeno, we shouldn’t.”

You know that this usually escalates to something more than just stolen kisses. You try to stop it before anything, and your boyfriend knows this, but he doesn’t stop at all.

“Mark said we can do anything.”

You push his chest gently. “That’s not a go signal!”

“Yeah, but if anything, Mark should be the shameful one.”

Before you could question it, Jeno nods his head towards the creaked open door, revealing Mark standing behind it.

He was caught listening in.

“Hey, d-don’t take this wrong,” Mark stutters, “Was just gonna ask why you ran out on me!”

For some reason, you aren’t mad about it.

Jeno’s weirded out, that’s for sure — but neither of you can stay too mad. He had his reasons to look for you but not to ogle for that long, but maybe it’s the heat post-kiss that drives your head to a place where it shouldn’t be; especially not in team leader Mark’s house.

But it’s going there.

“I guess we’re all forgetting our manners,” you suggest with high eyebrows. Your voice, however, takes on a deeper tone with a timbre that Mark hasn’t heard — but your boyfriend knows too well.

Mark observes as your boyfriend shivers. He looks at you surprised as if he didn’t just kiss you in his best friend’s house; he knows you could make it worse.

“If you hadn’t been so nosy, I would’ve invited you, you know.”

That’s more than enough of a signal to get Mark and Jeno’s heads spiraling.

Jeno isn’t too sure what you mean. He does, but he doesn’t know why you’re acting so coy — like you were never caught off-guard. As your boyfriend, he knows your antics, but as a separate person, he isn’t too sure how to think of your thinking.

Inviting Mark to step into the same room, you reach your fingers out and curl them towards you.

“Jeno was gonna be mine for the night. It wouldn’t hurt if I could just have another toy to play with though, yeah?”

You only lay your eyes on your boyfriend at the last word. It isn’t a look of confirmation, but rather assertion — you stated it like a fact and he isn’t ready to react before you glare at him. There’s only one answer to you, and Jeno nods, making you smirk proudly.

Mark simply watches speechlessly until you smile at him.

"I mean, as you said, we could do anything. It's still your house though, so feel free to call it off..." The wind that blows as your words slow down seems to add to the heat growing in Mark's cheeks. The warmth under his skin only boils as he notices Jeno's lack of protest — worse, he sees compliance and anticipation.

He gulps as he realizes that he doesn’t want to call it off.

“So what? Care to join?”

The three have you have waited long enough for a response but his house slippers are glued to the floor. His mouth hangs open for a response but nothing leaves him.

A chuckle leaves your mouth as you take the step to inch closer to him while holding your boyfriend's hand at the back.

“Don’t be shy,” your free hand snakes up to Mark’s shoulder, “I don’t bite.”

It's a lie as per Jeno's eyes. You'll bite if presented with the consent.

Just as soon as Mark musters up a response, he finds your lips on his cheek as you pull him closer to your boyfriend. The proximity and sudden actions kill him bit by bit from the inside out. A tent forms in his pants but he thinks nothing of it when you kiss him on the lips right after.

Jeno watches with no hint of jealousy, but a watering mouth follows.

Mark savors the taste of your lips for a second, then another — before it’s all gone as you pull away with a mischievous smile.

Grabbing his chin with one hand, your thumb swipes past his wetted plump lower lip. You tilt his head slightly towards Jeno, letting your boyfriend watch as you slip your thumb inside his mouth. Mark's eyes light up, watching your face as you fixate on his mouth.

He instinctively attempts to suck your thumb, but you pry his mouth open with your other hand’s fingers, hooking his head up by his front teeth. It’s fully exposed now, Mark’s tongue out with saliva flowing from the roof of his mouth, down onto strong teeth, all the way to your index and middle fingers. Jeno speechlessly savors the sight of you leaning down to kiss his best friend’s tongue.

Desire fills him as you press your lips firmly against his tongue, smiling, then pulling back to admire the flustered mess you’ve made of the boy. Your boyfriend enjoys the view, inching close to the both of you to kiss your lips right after. Your hands never leave Mark’s open mouth.

“Kiss him.” Your index finger tugs on the corner of Mark’s lips to feign a smile. “See? He’s waiting for it.”

Jeno eyes his teammate with lust. He closes his eyes and mirrors your antics, kissing not just Mark’s tongue but his teeth too, his lips, and any inch of flesh he can get. He licks the spit in his mouth and gulps after each kiss.

As Jeno pulls away, you leave Mark’s mouth alone, making the boy cough at the sudden absence of you both — but he smiles right after.

“Fuck,” he simply whispers.

Proud of what you’ve done, you turn to make out with Jeno while your wet hands travel down to tug at a belt hoop on Mark’s pants. The signal hits him late, causing him to hurriedly unbutton his pants. You laugh into Jeno’s kiss.

“Look at this boy, he doesn’t know what to do.”

“Always like that,” Jeno comments. “He’s the cutest when he’s panicked.”

Mark’s head shoots up at Jeno. Cute? Since when was he cute to him?

It takes long the boy a minute — he zones out for a few seconds as you and Jeno start kissing up his sides, from the neck down to his hips. He can't believe anything that's happening. Whatever this was, the sudden thing he'd gotten himself into while in his own home, he couldn't seem to pull himself away from it. A magnetic force is locking him in as you suck on his neck.

Mark moans, deliciously caught by Jeno’s mouth as he makes out with him briefly while holding him firmly by the waist. Mark can feel Jeno’s hard length, straining painfully against Mark’s back. His own cock hangs against his boxers, the crotch exposed as you pull his unbuttoned pants down.

His vision blurs. His mouth salivates but feels dry. He begins to get dizzy — he can't black out though, and even if none of this is quite right, he isn't mad at all. He loves it.

The desire in him burns as you push your own body onto the bed, admiring the two boys before you.

Your hand cups your boyfriend’s ass, digging your palm inside his back pocket. “Jeno, get your pants off now.”

“Want you to help me too.” He responds with a pout.

“How about you ask your friend over here to assist you?”

Jeno obediently turns to Mark with an expression akin to that of an excited puppy. It’s another sight that only you have seen, and Mark thinks it’s an honor to see it himself; his brain lags at the adorable blink Jeno gives, before pawing at his crotch.

“You’re so hard.”

“I know. Please help me.”

It doesn’t take Mark too long this time to fully respond to this request. He eagerly reaches for the button on Jeno’s pants and frees the strained crotch, leaving him in his boxers.

Something gets the best of him. Maybe it's because this is all wrong, or maybe it's a pent-up expression of all the times he's seen his best friend in boxers — it drives him more insane than it should, seeing his length while they change in the locker rooms — but whatever it is, it drives him to pull at the hem of his boxers, taking a peek at his cock.

And fuck, is he packing a lot.

Jeno's cock is veiny and it pulses as Mark ogles at it. It's long and thick enough — it might be a bit longer than Mark's, he thinks. It's veiny, the tip red and shapely. His balls hang not too far from his cock, barely seen from the size that greeted him for a second's worth. The shaft has a curve that greets Mark with a twitch.

The boy turns to you as if to ask permission, to which he does: “May I please play with him?”

“Not yet,” you tilt your head. “A bit too eager now, aren’t we?”

“But he—we—” he loses the words in his throat. His finger leaves the hem of Jeno’s boxers, but the boy cups his hip in desperation.

"I only allowed you to help him pull it down." At that, Mark's face sours. He salivates at the picture of Jeno's cock. He had never thought of his friend that way, never really considered the invitation that was always there — for the sake of "being bros." But now that it's here, you delay him the opportunity; so close yet so far.

Mark’s fingers only leave Jeno’s boxers when the man looks at him with an obedient eye.

“Let him play with you first.” Your voice almost echoes through the room. Jeno nods as if he received a secret command, only understood by you and him. Was it the curl in your tone that caused him to act?

Either way, it shocks Mark slightly when Jeno's strong arms pull him by his shoulders. His hands then crawl both behind his head and then down to his hips, bringing the two bodies impossibly closer — Jeno seems unfazed as he pulls Mark's shirt off next. He's used to the sight of his toned body, but seeing his chest flush in both embarrassment and lust is a new sight that budges Jeno's mouth into a soft smile.

“Mark, I want you to relax and enjoy. Jeno’s really good and I want him to be good to you.”

His hands graze lightly down Mark's body. The boy's skin raises into bumps of a once-pale, now-flushed frenzy, his body hairs rising as the other's delicate fingertips trail down his exposed arms and sides. Mark's chest is heaving, unable to catch a break or a breath.

It's all worse when Jeno kisses him once more, taking advantage of his open mouth. His hands stay on Mark's chest, fingers looking for his nipples — he finds them quickly and prods at them with pressure so good that it makes Mark moan. You laugh as if you're right; your boyfriend's really good, and the boy you've been eyeing is taking it well.

However, you’re getting impatient, having this go for too long for you to be satisfied.

You take good use of both of your hands and pull down their boxers, each hand being careful yet swift as you fist the fabric out of their skin, watching their beautiful cocks bounce. This interrupts the kissing — they gasp in unison and it’s music to your ears.

Unfortunately, you don’t follow up with any more words, leaving them to look at you with wide eyes. All you do is giggle to yourself, pat the tips of their oversensitive and deliciously hard lengths, and silently command them to do something.

Jeno acts first: eyes darting down to Mark's impressive length, he slides his thick cock beside the other. Their shafts rub, making Mark bite his lip, but his mouth opens anyway as their reddish-pink tips kiss each other.

Their size differences are more apparent this way; Jeno's cock seems thicker, and Mark's is longer. Deep in hyper-analysis, you urge them once again to rub their cocks together with simultaneous handjobs.

The sudden reintroduction of their hands leaves Mark squirming next to Jeno. He instinctively holds onto his shoulders for support, an adorable sight that neither of you has ever seen nor expected from "the dependable Mark."

You're slow with it first. Your hand makes its way from the tips, thumbs prodding playfully at the tiny holes sitting atop, only for your fingers to form rings, wrapping each individual digit around gradually as your palms slide down their lengths. Once you've wrapped the pinky around, you're at the base of their cocks, teasing to cup their balls — but before they could even moan for more, you're sliding up again. After a few more strokes, the pace picking up with each full slide up and down, they hump your hands with your pace until you pull away.

“I can’t be doing all the work.”

Your words are intimidating. The two boys take it with confusion as they lock eyes for a moment, cocks twitching centimeters away from each other.

Out of pure desperation, Mark thrusts his hips upward, rubbing his cock well up against Jeno's. The friction leaves him breathless, sharp bursts of pleasure combing through his nerves. With their closeness, Jeno could only mirror his movement in response. He holds Mark by his face with one hand, reaching his other down to connect their tips in his palm. The gesture shocks them both, the distance closing into zero inches, crotches and groomed bush hair pressed together.

You catch wind of Jeno’s heavy breaths. “You’re panting, baby.”

He looks up at you through hooded eyes, head thrown slightly back in pleasure. “I’m excited.”

“Such a puppy.”

Mark looks back and forth between the both of you as you exchange hot words. The buildup of heat in his stomach goes further down to his crotch until Jeno could feel the warmth on his cock's leaking tip. Embarrassed, he wordlessly attempts to turn his head away, but your hands—slimy as they are—hold his chin in place. He seems excited too, Jeno thinks to himself.

You move your hand with Mark’s chin on it close to your boyfriend’s face, coercing Jeno to kiss him again. Their mouths quickly open, jutting their tongues out to greet each other as they practically hump each other with their cocks pressed close. Jeno breaks away from the kiss to breathe, resting his forehead on Mark’s — the eye contact that they share after doesn’t break, though.

It’s an intense stare that holds no hard feelings, only incredibly hard cocks rubbing together as they near their highs. Mark seems to chase it first, but before anything could happen, you cock your head to the side.

You slap Mark’s bulging cock with a fierce spank.

It hurts only lightly, only since you slapped it with less of a force and more of a flick of your hand, but it still stings. Mark almost falls over, only caught by Jeno’s strong and muscular arms.

“What was that for?” Tears well up in his eyes but he doesn’t sound upset at all. He just genuinely wants to ask why he was denied the high and you can hear nothing but desperation in his voice.

All you do, though, is laugh in response. Jeno looks at him with fond eyes too, except he knows he’s in trouble next: his cock also started leaking precum. You run the pad of your thumb atop his leaking hole, blocking the flow ever so slightly. You then guide your boyfriend’s cock back to Mark’s, but you hold their shafts together in place with your one stretched hand, precum mixing and all.

“We’ve barely even started and you’re both acting like this?” Your voice is sultry yet stern.

The two merely whimper and shy their faces away. Mark looks down at the scene and amusement hits him all at once. The sight of his body and Jeno’s, naked and sweaty and held together by a singular hand on their cocks, makes him shiver and bite his lip.

“Sorry,” Jeno utters first, “I-It just felt too good.”

A breeze bellows through the room and it leaves all three of you with your hair raised, but you don’t budge a single bit. You turn to Mark.

“I…” Mark starts to speak yet nothing of substance comes out.

“Excuses are nothing, I know you’re both desperate.” Your hand leaves their slimy cocks. You don’t hesitate as you bring a finger to your mouth, tasting their sins as they writhe before you in slight embarrassment.

“How about you both show me how much you want me?”

It’s not supposed to be as shocking as it is, but the realization hits them both incredibly late that you’re still fully clothed, mostly untouched, left to be their eye candy as they fondled each other earlier. Jeno and Mark’s gazes fall through your entire body in all directions as they plot how they could start pleasing you.

Even if they both clearly wanted you, they restrained themselves and took out their desires on each other. That’s very obedient and patient of them, you think, and you don’t think it’s wrong to enjoy the sight.

Jeno's grasp on Mark loosens and leaves as he inches towards you, sweat dripping and everything, closing his face in on yours to kiss your lips deeply. You two always do this, accustomed to each other's rushes of warmth and intimacy every single time you kiss, and so it feels natural as Jeno latches his mouth on your neck next. His hands, trembling slightly yet not at all unsure, make their way to trace up the outline of your sides until they find your breasts.

He breaks away from working on a neck hickey as he examines your chest, restrained by layers of clothing that he wants off. Instead of impatiently reaching over the fabric, he takes his time to lift it from under and urge you to move it over your head. Mark watches intently, almost studying the movements while he refrains from reaching down for his pulsating cock.

Dare he even touch himself to the sight as he may be punished by not just you, but also Jeno.

“Not gonna do anything?” Jeno faces Mark with a smirk.

Mark stammers as he finds his words to ask permission. “Dude—uhm, can I?”

You laugh at how his hands hesitate to touch you, eager to even get ahold of your bra but still too scared.

“Please?”

All you do is smile with a nod. Jeno gives him way, pointing at the hook of the bra.

He first grabs ahold of your breasts by holding the bra cups, only to slide his hands to the sides of the undergarment, tracing your upper body until he's made his way backward; his fingertips find the hooks, unclasping them with only a bit of struggle — he knows what he's doing, he just gets nervous as your boobs flow out of the loosened bra.

It takes him a moment to even acknowledge that the beautiful view of your boobs inches away from his chest is all his doing. Jeno lets out a light snort, swinging his arm over Mark's red shoulders. He's blushing all over, flustered to high heavens.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Damn right,” Mark agrees. “You’re fucking lucky, dude.”

Jeno pecks Mark’s heated cheek. “So don’t bring her in the next bets, yeah?”

The things that they say ring through your ears loudly. You’re living for Jeno’s protectiveness, Mark’s shocked expression, and the fact that they both proceed to work their way on your lower half.

They urge you out of your pants, the two men helping your legs out, kissing your skin as they expose themselves. You can't help but chuckle, moan a little bit, and even grab onto their skilled yet calloused hands. The two are unexpectedly gentle, working surprisingly in tandem to even just get you out of your clothes, all until you're naked.

All until they’re yours.

Jeno ends up kneeling down in front of you like a patient dog. Mark stands by your side, waiting.

As adorable as they are, you’re growing desperate for some more action, so you grab ahold of Mark’s cock and whisper in his ear.

“Be a dear and tell my baby to kiss me there.”

Mark gulps, tongue caught in a twist as he musters the courage to relay it to Jeno.

“Uhh, sh-she said…lick—no, kiss her.”

Jeno looks up at you in confirmation. You pet his head with your other hand. There are hearts in his eyes.

Without another word, Jeno doesn’t waste a second as he dives his head down.

Fiddling between your legs, he holds you by the backs of your inner thighs and does as he’s told. He nudges his nose around the area to get himself closer and closer to your heat. He kisses you, puckering his lips and smacking your clit ever so sweetly. He gets a light taste of your sweetness dripping wild from watching the two men act desperately earlier. You hum in content, stroking Mark's cock—still in your hand—ever so slightly.

Mark dips his head onto your neck. He attempts to kiss you in the same way Jeno does, warm and loving. Jeno himself digs his head further between your thighs, licking wide stripes with his tongue tapering up to the tip as he gets back on your clit. You shiver with a lustful smile.

Jeno continues to swirl his tongue from your clit back down to your entrance, allowing your slick to mix in with his drool. Mark refuses to even look you in the eye from all of the sinful sounds he’s hearing — you remedy that by pecking a kiss on his cheek mole.

“If you weren’t so cute, you’d be dead by now.”

Mark’s cock stiffens at that. It throbs, a long vein pulsing against your palm from your words alone. A part of him hates to admit that he’s glad he took up the bet if it led him here.

You grab a fistful of your boyfriend’s hair out of nowhere, pulling slightly at his scalp to signal him up. He misreads this at first, instead nodding his head back into your cunt, but you let out a light grunt and a hiss.

“Mmph—Sorry,” Jeno says, hands wobbling awkwardly at the backs of your thighs for support. “Needed me, baby?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I wanted you to only kiss me there, but…”

Jeno dips his head to apologize. He mutters on and on about how good you tasted, how sweet it felt, how lovely and velvety the skin around your clit was while he licked it. Mark’s face heats up impossibly more at the descriptions and subtle praises that Jeno has for your pussy.

“Oh, look who’s the jealous one now.”

Mark’s sweating bullets. “I-I’m not!”

“You can have a turn at it if you’d like.” The suggestion runs off your lips casually. So casual that it leaves him slightly puzzled, cock still aching in your hand.

“How about only ten seconds in my cunt?”

He blinks three times. You’re all down to absurd means of getting each other off and you’re about to fully abandon the circumstances that got you here. That got the both of them here.

He whips his head towards your boyfriend for approval, and Jeno only nods his head in your direction. "Her orders, man."

You laugh and kiss Mark, urging him down on the bed behind him. You push him by his shoulders and the look on his face, wide eyes and all, has you smirking.

“Ten seconds. Just to try it.”

You align your slit to match his red, slimy tip, sliding your cunt from your clit down to your wet entrance. You don’t let him in just yet, instead teasing him with a few slides, letting him feel the velvety friction of your pussy lips before he gets a taste of everything else.

“That feels good,” he breathes out.

“It’s not even in yet.”

“I’m just feeling as much as I can,” Mark smiles nervously. “I only got ten seconds after this—”

Before he could even get cocky, you fully sit down on his cock, slamming your cunt until he’s all the way inside.

He shivers, hitting his head back on the bed in pure pleasure. The wetness of your walls envelops him with a warmth he hasn’t felt anywhere else. Slowly yet surely, he begins to lose his mind to delirium as his cock throbs, almost vibrating inside you.

“Ten,” Jeno counts for you, watching the part where you both connect as he sits politely next to you both.

He refuses to touch himself even as he watches you lift your lower half away from Mark, the slick of your essence and leftover drool from Jeno slipping down the cock.

“Nine,” he continues, breath hitching as you wiggle your hips.

At this point, only Mark's tip is inside you, but before he can even do anything, you slam your hips back down. The smack of your ass on his thighs makes him groan loudly, the sweetness of his voice echoing in your ears.

“Eight.” You repeat your motions, swirling your hips slightly and letting the wetness drip ever so gracefully down your thighs onto his. “Seven.”

Mark rolls his eyes back. His balls hurt at this point. He’s strained and frustrated.

He turns his head. “Holy shit, Jeno, I’ll cum—”

“Hold it, easy now.” Unimpressed, Jeno instead leans forward to talk him down.

“Five,” he whispers, “four…”

All Mark can do is whimper through a bitten lip. Your hands roam around his chest for support, the unforgiving sensations haunting his skin as you touch his most sensitive areas.

“Three…”

Mark hisses. “Won’t you count any fucking slower?”

“Oh, you want me to cut it out?” You say with a stop.

Regret immediately washes over his wide eyes as you lift yourself off his dick.

“So close yet so far. What a pity,” you laugh, turning to your sweet boyfriend and feeling him up instead.

You maneuver your hips and align yourself over Jeno’s cock, teasing him the same way you did with Mark. You don’t enter yet and keep your wetness dripping on him before giving the neglected boy a wink.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t try my ass.”

A shock instantly rushes through his veins, coloring his skin flushed once more. He's been sweating, and it worsened once you suggested it. He tries to say anything about it but falls short of words when you urge him closer with the call of your fingers. Jeno watches in awe, lightly frustrated that his cock is so close to your cunt.

You grab Mark from the back, guiding his hips close to yours. He’s kneeling, holding onto your waist and hips for stability, ready to position his cock by your second entrance. He licks his hand, a generous amount of spit and drool wetting it, just more than enough for him to lube up your hole to take him.

Jeno’s cock throbs cutely from under, so you coo and kiss his tip with the warmth of your clit. He bites back a whimper.

It isn’t long before you invite Mark to enter you, lining up and guiding his cock inside, slowly stretching your tightest hole until the tip is in. Mark’s breathing heavily, sweating buckets as he feels how tight it is, hugging just the tip so hard that he could explode at any given moment.

You push your lower half back, adjusting to his girth and length, taking him inch by inch. You’re panting too, strained little moans escaping your throat as you struggle and succeed to take him all the way to the middle.

Once you’re nearly bottoming him out, you both still in place, allowing yourselves time to adjust.

Jeno still looks pitiful with his cock pushed against nothing but your clit. It only gives you an idea.

“Mark. Be a dear and fuck me hard when we’re good, yeah?”

Confused, he agrees with a nod. You both signal each other when it feels best to move, and with that, Mark fully pulls back before slamming his entire length back into your fit little ass.

The force from his thrust pushes you forward, sinking Jeno’s cock deep into your pussy.

The sudden action leaves Jeno groaning and Mark grunting. Both of their cocks fill you up with no room to breathe, the sensation of the two pulsating and hard lengths making you shake. You feel yourself close but you hold back for their sake.

Another thrust from Mark sends your cunt further down on Jeno’s cock. Your boyfriend even begins moving his hips, emptying your pussy only to fill it back up again. The other doesn’t stop, almost losing himself as he goes faster and faster, bit by bit, ecstasy hitting him soon.

“Mark, baby, you’re doing so good.”

Eyes lighting up, it takes five seconds—and a few moans in between—for Mark to realize that he’s the baby that you’re referring to.

Jeno also catches it late, but instead of the jealousy seeping back into his veins, the opposite manifests. He smiles, somehow proud of Mark for sharing a name that they both earned from you.

“Baby, come on, make me cum.”

You lean back, an arm thrown over to hold onto Mark for support. He keeps going, pushing his cock against your limit with each thrust, all the while Jeno leans forward to reach your clit and tease it.

Being filled and fucked all at once like this has all three of you on edge, but Mark can’t take it — he slips out of your ass and cums all over your back.

You don’t mind, instead falling forward to bounce on Jeno’s cock while he cums inside you next. That doesn’t stop him from flicking your clit with his experienced fingers, and you squirt all over him.

All three of you collapse on the bed, trying to overcome your highs.

“…That was fucking insane, man.”

Mark is the first to sit up, eyeing the both of you fucked out on his own bed. He has to clean up a lot, so much that it’s lightly embarrassing, but none of you seem to mind at all at that moment.

“Yo Jeno.”

Too tired to move his body, he simply raises an eyebrow while looking back at Mark. “What’s up?”

"I swear on my dick I'm not playing with you and Y/N, aight?" He scratches the back of his head, suddenly getting shy. "And, uh, I'm still sorry for the bet."

“Nah, it’s good. Just say you won, get the money, and run.”

Mark realizes that it could’ve just been that easy, that he didn’t have to do any of that. It’s way too late now, but at least he won and got laid.

“...And you can treat us to dinner with that cash,” Jeno adds with a wink.

The boy simply rubs his flushed face in his hands and sighs. Dinner with his newfound fuckmates isn’t so bad after all.

“Well, you’re free to shower, clean up, sleep, do whatever—”

You grab ahold of Mark’s arm and pull him back on the bed. He falls right between you and Jeno’s warm bodies.

Jeno shushes him with a side hug, and you giggle softly. Somehow none of this feels as disgusting as it should be while all three of you are in each other’s arms.

[smews]

Re: The Veilguard worldstate and prior choices.

I know that we don't all have to have opinions about every little thing, nor do we have to share them but I just wanted to add one more voice in case others feel the same.

We haven't played the game. We don't know what the story is, not really. All of the marketing and communication from devs so far seem intent on stressing that the game will be about found family and your companions. I can see a case being made for characters being very focused on the task at hand. Harding might have opinions and stories all about every event in Inquisition, but will the events of The Veilguard present her with a situation where she would want to mention the Chargers? Would the narrative be served by it?

How much will we be interacting with Morrigan? Is she in a position where she would feel comfortable or want to mention having or not having a son when the gods are unleashing chaos? Will we get to really know her as Rook or will we interact once and then the rest of the time she shows up is just us observing her?

Will Rook even get to interact directly with the Inquisitor? Or will we only see them in Solas's memories?

What story are they really aiming to tell here? People who have gotten to play it say that it has more impactful choices and branching situations based on those choices than any other Dragon Age game. Did this branching mean that they couldn't incorporate prior decisions, or did they find that the story they wanted to tell didn't require input of previous decisions?

I'm disappointed, yes. But I'm not angry and I can think of potential reasons why they would go this route. My prior choices still matter to me and to my experience and personal narrative when playing the previous games.

My long-winded point is that we don't know. Play the game, don't play the game. Like it, don't like it. It is okay to be upset and to feel let down. I'm sure I will have some criticisms, but I can't criticize what I haven't played yet.

And for those who feel greatly affected by this, please remember that this is not a direct attack on you. The writers are telling the story that they want to tell, we get to consume it. Maybe we'll send it back to the kitchen, maybe we'll get some mods and add some salt and pepper if it's not to your taste, but please don't threaten or attack the chefs. This is not a waffle house.

[todoriin]

adore me, hold me and explore me | moze x afab!reader

18+ NSFW, MDNI or i will delete your account, vanilla ass sex, no established relationship, obsessive themes from moze, cunnilingus, p in v, porn no plot

Being Feixiao’s closest advisor means you get to experience various interesting interactions.

Since joining her ranks, you feel as though you’ve lived through countless lifetimes, consulting and strategising with her and Jiaoqiu against formidable foes and expansive armies. You’ve seen the Merlin’s Claw swing her blade and slash countless enemies in half, learnt medicinal techniques from Jiaoqiu that may cure simple illnesses, like the common cold. 

However, the most interesting soul, without a double, is a certain Shadow Guard of the Xianzhou Yaoqing, one you have the pleasure of working with most intimately. Figuratively and… literally.

There’s a creak coming from the windows of your bedroom, the hinges wincing softly as they’re pushed open gently but too wide to be an action of the wind. At this stage, you’re no longer surprised by the stealthiness of the intruder, after all, you had purposefully left the windows open, waiting for the moment an intruder who could coat himself with invisibility would show up. 

Besides, it’s nearing dusk, he promised he’d visit then. 

“Good evening, Moze,” you greet, back turned to him as you look in the mirror, swiping balm over your lips before puckering them. 

A breath of satisfaction leaves you when he finally materialises before you, purple haze clouding out around his silhouette, revealing the usual, skin-tight attire he opts for daily. It’s a shade you’ve grown to love now, seeing it everyday (and taking it off for him a few times a week).

“You look nice,” he comments, words curt but sweet. 

You omit to tell him that you didn’t doll up because you doubt he’ll live longer with that information. “Thank you,” is all you say, smiling up at his reflection. Then, a cold hand comes up to your neck, fingers resting over your pulse as he traces your skin, eventually snaking back to fix your hair.

“The lipstick you wore today also looked nice,” he mumbles, meeting your gaze with his piercing one. 

You turn around in your vanity stool, swinging your legs over to the other side of the seat as you look up at him. His hands move up slightly to cup your jaw, indiscernible eyes gently admiring your features as you look up at him. Here, in your home, he can unwind, a skilled assassin let in to a haven too safe for him and the blood on his hands.

That’s why you’re perfect for him, because you know how to slice a man’s neck and leave him begging for more.

“Did you like it, Moze?”

He’s silent as ever, opting to just play with the strands of your hair. There are moments when Moze is silent because he does not wish to speak, but there are always thoughts circulating in that head of his, you realised that a year into the job when he started providing a sarcastic retort whenever he could. This time he’s silent because he doesn’t know how to respond, rendered speechless as you blink up at him. 

It’s an honour to render a man like him speechless, but you still want to have your fun.

“So quiet, I’ll take it as a no?” You ask, rising from your chair and walking past him. An arm snakes itself around your waist before you could get too far, tugging you right back against the chest of the Shadow Guard. “Use your words, Moze.”

“There are no words worthy enough to describe your beauty.”

Your mouth drops slightly as a sudden shyness creeps up your expression, an uncontrollable smile that you can’t hide behind your hands tugging on your lips. “Smooth talker,” you retort, pushing his chest lightly, but he hardly budges. 

You’re used to being the one to initiate all the conversations, as well as ending them.

“The day must have been treacherous. I’ll make some refreshments for you.”

Just as you turn to go downstairs, he’s once again tugging you back against him. This time, he leads you to the edge of the bed where he sits down with you standing between his legs, now a head shorter than you. Your positions have switched, now it is you running your fingers along the hood he keeps on his head, looking down into his multi-coloured eyes.

“No need for any of those,” he denies, “I am well.”

“Are you sure? No tea, snacks?”

“I have no desire for any of those, only you.”

You look away from him, bashful from his flirtatious words that he says in that serious tone of his. Seriously, how can he say that with a straight face?

“Okay, fine. You can have me,” you mutter and a phantom of a smile appears on his expression, eyes glimmering when you finally give him the indication he’s been waiting for. The thin strap of your top is being dragged down your shoulder and you shudder when he hovers a ghost of a kiss over your pulse point, getting flustered when you then feel him smile against your skin. “Please don’t tease.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” in an instant, your chest is bared to him and his hands creep up to explore the expanse of your body, touch gentle but purposeful, as if he was sculpting your curves himself, careful not to ruin you with any rogue or unwelcome grazes. “I’ll reap what’s mine.”

Then, he yanks your shorts off and cups the back of your thighs. A yelp leaves your lips when he suddenly switches you around so that you are now sat on the edge of the bed, and he, awaiting on his knees before you with hungry eyes.

There’s no time to think because all of a sudden, his mouth is on you, infiltrating your most sensitive part and the whimper that leaves you cannot be held back. You don’t know when your leg got on his shoulder, but it grants him more access as his tongue licks up a slow, torturous swipe up your entrance. 

“Moze!” You exclaim, legs twitching as if trying to kick him away, but he immediately holds you down you, an arm wrapping around your thigh to keep you there. 

You’re his target after all, he won’t stop until he’s through with you.

“Be good and take it,” he says against you, pressing a kiss to your clit before sucking and you gulp at the sensation as filthy sounds fill the atmosphere. No matter how many close nights you’ve experienced together, you’ll never get sick of him, grip inhumanely tight to keep you still as you beg for mercy, but the feeling of his mouth is too sweet to push away. The apex of his tongue circles the nub as his spare hand crawls up, collecting the slick from your entrance before two fingers intrude, breaching your walls. 

When he curls them, you know you’re done for, falling against the mattress to try and deal with the onslaught of pleasure that Moze knows how to inflict. It keeps coming in waves and waves, and neither his fingers or tongue lets up. You didn’t even realise you were crying until you felt tears drop down your face and onto the sheets. 

He’s pumping into you, briefly curling and scissoring his fingers, and his ministrations on your clit go from suckling to tracing shapes with the bud; a cruel torture that eventually results in a buildup of tension in your lower abdomen. 

You warn him about your incoming orgasm with a shrill cry of his name and a babble of words that loosely resembles a sentence, and the only thing he says in response is:

“Let go, pretty.”

So you do, mind becoming cloudy, hazed with nothing but the feeling of pleasure. Moze has now swapped his mouth and fingers, tongue lapping up everything you give him, licking you clean whilst his thumb rubs your clit in circles, trying to prod more out of you; a routine choreographed for your demise.

“Perfect,” he murmurs against your core, letting you come down from the high as he presses a few kisses up your stomach. 

His hawkish eyes watches as your expression untwists itself, no longer contorted by overwhelming pleasure. He can’t help the way his gaze then drifts to your chest, how it rises and falls hurriedly, still trying to regain your breath after he stole it. 

Your reverie is interrupted when you feel his tongue licking your entrance once again, folds pulled back by his fingers to bare more of you, and your nerves flinch at the sensation of pleasure enhanced to the maximum. “Moze! Stop!”

He obeys, pulling away immediately, serious expression unchanged save for the little glimmer of disappointment in his eyes.

“Next time,” he gruffly promises. 

Wrapping both of your thighs around his waist, you’re maneuvred further up your mattress by the assassin, completely helpless in his grip as he moves you however he wants. You would not have wanted him to stop anyways. 

Nimble hands shed his clothes and you unabashedly admire the sight between your legs, eyes so brave to wander across a scarred body that none others will get to lay their eyes upon. You trace the curve of his defined torso, how the shadows and light dance along the crevices, enhancing his already-impressive muscles. You leisurely run your gaze further down, following his abs to his cock.

Red and leaking with precum. 

It was intimidating when you first came face-to-face with it, and whilst you’re still impressed by his size, he’s taken care of you through the process every time, walking you through the pain and adaptations whilst being completely patient with you.

You want to prepare and take care of him like he had with you, so without thinking, you reach out and begin stroking him exactly how he likes it and a grunt passes by his lips, composure faltering ever so slightly.

There is no other Moze would bare himself like this to and, as a sign of his own twisted desires, he wants you to think the same of him. He wants you in ways he cannot justify, especially the part of himself that drips with violent and obsessive tendencies.

Should he get too close, he fears he will devour you when neither of you are expecting it.

Although, recently it seems that Moze allows himself to indulge in pleasures that he hadn’t permitted before, and as his hand wraps around your wrist to stop your ministrations, he can’t help but smile at the small pout that graces your lips. Rubbing his erection along your cunt, your slick coats his underside whilst his hand leisurely travels around your torso. Your supple skin hasn’t seen the severities of the battlefield, hasn’t fought and handled the brutality of men and blades like he has; the distinction between the two of you almost makes him seem like a monster.

A monster who wants to hide you from the darkness in which he lives in. 

“What are you grinning at?” You ask from under him.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, lowering his face to yours to press delicate kisses on your skin and you shift impatiently, eyelashes fluttering and hands clenching into fists. 

He notices the subtle action, takes it as sign of desperation that he wants to devour and dissolve into his veins, as if keeping a part of you with him forever. Aligning his cockhead with your entrance, your moan is unrestrained when he finally breaches your walls.

Slowly, Moze bottoms out, hands holding your hips to press you flush against him as you squirm. He doesn’t mind the way you wriggle around trying to adjust to his thickness and length, he’ll patiently hover above you, pressing soothing kisses along your face whilst staying as still as a shadow.

Even as your walls twitch and clench, he doesn’t budge, refusing to move until you are ready for him to. In a way, being connected with you like this makes him feel closer to you, and it brings a sense of peace that he cannot find elsewhere.

You are the source of it, the centrepiece of all his desires and he cannot swallow you down anymore. 

“I’m okay now,” you whimper.

He reels his hips back, almost pulling out before slamming right back into you and you cry loudly. “You sure?”

“More, Moze, please don’t be cruel to me.”

Cruel? He wouldn’t dream of it.

Setting a bearable pace, the room is filled with a cacophony of moans and continuous ‘plap, plap, plap’s of skin meeting skin. You are still the centre of his vision, eyes hardly straying away from your expression and body, keenly watching every microreaction of yours. He notices the way you shut your eyes tighter when he angles a particular way, cock breaching the most sensitive but pleasurable parts of you. 

It’s insatiable, his appetite for you. The only thing he wants to do is bring you to endless highs, over, and over, and over again.

Gradually, his pace speeds up over time, violating your insides with the neverending push-and-pull. Every time his hips snap back to meet yours, cock buried to the hilt, you feel the strands of your sanity slipping away. All you can do is babble his name and whimpers of how good he feels, hands reaching blindly for any part of him that you can hold.

He dives right into your open touch, torso leaning down to now hover directly over yours and the added heat of his body temperature makes you feel even more lucid. His shoulders are so broad, the planes of his chest defined, and stomach so toned that it drives you insane with desire; added with his precise strokes and thick cock, you don’t ever want him to leave. You don’t ever want him to stop. 

“Moze-” his lips are pressed against yours, swallowing the moan of his name and every other small noise you make as his member relentlessly spears you. 

He kisses you again and again, never straying too far, but parting often to let you catch your breath. 

“Moze, I’m-” you cry out in between kisses, “I’m gonna-!”

“Me too,” he gruffly responds, “relax for me, you’re clenching too hard.”

His words have the opposite effect because next thing you know, you’re cumming again, spasming around his cock as his strokes try to lure more out of you, draining you for all you’re worth. When you’re done, all of your nerves are fried, limbs weak and unable to hold themselves up for long without any support, but Moze hasn’t come yet, so all you can do is take his desperate and hurried strokes as he catches up to the last bit of pleasure.

Then, he comes to a halt whilst hot ropes gush into your cunt as he twitches inside you. Suddenly, his teeth latch on to the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. 

You catch your breath in unison, waiting for him to finish completely before moving again, and when the final load is emptied, he’s capturing your lips in a kiss again. It’s hot, and your muscles feel like jelly, but he’s still desperate for more of you despite being as humanly close as possible. 

So, only moments after both of you have descended from the peak, he begins moving again, gently shushing any of your protests with a light kiss that breaks down your already weak defences. 

The squelches and plaps this time are obscene as he slowly eases in and out of you, grinding weakly whenever your walls twitch around him, but none of it is enough to quell his desire.

And he won’t stop until he has his fill. 

© todoriin 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site

[rabioa]

First Cut

Alastor x Nurse!Reader - Fluff - Gender Neutral

Alastor has never cared much for the residents of the hotel, but with you, he couldn't help but grow curious. You were so attentive to everyone's health so would you care about him as much? He knows you're scared of him just like everyone else, but maybe your generosity outweighs your logic? Oh, that would be so delightful. You had a bleeding heart so aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly

TW: Alastor gets a cut on purpose for your attention, any Hazbin Hotel warnings

My first short fanfic about Alastor!! I love him so much omg :3 i intend to make a part 2 where Alastor returns the favor. I hope you enjoy this and as always, any feedback would be super appreciated!!! Remember to hydrate and remember that you are loved!!!! <333

Imagine you were a nurse while you were alive, and for whatever reason you ended up in Hell. Despite your sins, you still wanted to help others. It's that desire to heal others that led you to the Hazbin Hotel. You had been staying there for a few weeks now, getting used to the new dynamics of everything.

Alastor definitely took notice of you; you weren't quite an employee, yet you somehow became the resident nurse. You fretted over everyone: constantly providing hangover cures for Husk, painkillers for Angel Dust after a filming session, band aids for Niffty, and other medical attention as needed for everyone.

Although you were initially shy around Lucifer, you eventually got comfortable enough to take care of him too. You ensured he got food in his system and some fresh air, even after he locked himself in his room all day.

Much to Alastor's amusement, you wormed yourself into everybody's heart besides his. He noticed how formal and stiff you were around him, growing meek in his presence. You were intimidated by him. It didn't stop you from being polite and sweet though, you just tried your best to slip out of the room whenever he appeared. He was trouble, and you knew that.

Imagine one day though, you're both in the kitchen. He was cooking something for the hotel, a luxury he blessed the hotel with often. You were restocking some ice packs (because a certain spider demon wouldn't return them to their place after each use!). You kept your distance, quiet as a mouse as you placed the melted packs into the freezer. 

Alastor observed you, the way you nervously worked. Your hands would fumble in their rush to be done. He had to give you credit though, you looked composed compared to most other demons.

He continued to chop some vegetables. He was skilled with a knife, moving with lethal efficiency. It was something you noted with apprehension. Still, you focused on your task, not wanting to interact with the terrifying Radio Demon.

Unfortunately for you, he found you amusing. You were bold enough to demand the king of Hell himself eat three square meals a day, yet you were a shivering mouse under his gaze. He briefly wondered though, despite your fear, does your kindness extend to him? 

He decided on an experiment. He was no coward to pain; he had been cut by a blade many times in his life. To become both a skilled chef and killer took trial and error with knives. That was why when he sliced his hand, he didn't even flinch. It was a meager gash on the back of his hand. He let the knife clatter against the counter loud enough to draw your attention. 

“Hmmm,” he let out a disapproving hum at the injury, not so subtly forcing you to see his wound. A performance of sorts. 

“You're injured!” you noted with surprise. Your first reflex was to step closer to him, the ice packs now forgotten. Then you looked at his face staring intently at yours. Oh, this was Alastor. Did you really want to risk angering him by fretting over him? But then again, he was hurt, and you were never one to turn a blind eye to someone in pain. 

Alastor's grin widened when he watched your eyes bouncing back and forth between his hand and his face. He could almost hear the gears in your head turning, trying to figure out if your fear would overcome your morals. He knew human nature well; you might put on a brave front, but just like all the others, you're a meek little ant in the face of his power. 

“It appears so, dear. Would you care to do something about it?” He prompted you, glee in his voice. 

The joy in his voice was undoubtedly a red flag in your book, but you gave in. You let out a huff, a sound you often made when dealing with troublesome patients, before finding the kitchen medical kit. You moved with familiarity, placing the kit on the counter and gently guiding his hand towards you.

Although he expected the kit, he didn't expect you to gently grab his hand and bring it towards you. On instinct, his hand twitched closed around yours for a moment, his claws warning you of how easily he could tear you apart. Your breath had hitched, but your plan remained.

“We need to disinfect the wound first. That knife could've been contaminated,” you muttered. It was mainly to fill up the silence lingering in the air like an insistent plague. His hand relaxed, appeased by your explanation. 

You grabbed an alcoholic wipe and carefully cleaned the wound, the wipe turning red. Your face was still, focused. 

Alastor watched in small surprise, not expecting you to be so attentive towards him. He was so used to other demons being too scared to think straight, yet here you were, touching him so casually. Your touch didn't even feel too incredibly invasive. Instead, it felt professional, but not cold.

You were glad the sting didn't make him react too much, disinfecting the wound going well. You then pulled out a strip of bandage. “The cut isn't too big, so it just needs to be covered as it heals, but I know you wear gloves, so it needs to be extra secured so the glove doesn't mess with it,” you explained. You carefully wrapped it up, and finally finished with your work. You looked up at him, gauging his reaction. 

He tested the treatment, clenching his hand a few times. That seemed to satisfy him. He looked at you and you couldn't help but fidget, averting your eyes. He was still unnerving as fuck, but at least he didn't try to eat you alive?

You began to put your supplies away, but his voice demanded your attention once more. You shifted your gaze over to him when he began to speak.

“Well, aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly,” he mused. He picked up the knife with his good hand. You stumbled back a little, bumping into the counter. He twirled the knife as you watched with wide eyes, oh God, maybe he was going to kill you now? Or torture you? You really were bold, oh God. 

He twirled the knife in his hands, the metal glinting menacingly at you. Then he angled it away from the both of you as if holding up a finger. “I'll make you some Gumbo!” He grinned merrily at you. Your paled expression during his teasing had him absolutely delighted. He couldn't help but poke some fun at you, scaring you to your wit's end. 

“O-Oh, thank you… sir,” you let out the breath you were holding, relief flooding your system. 

“Now why don't you go rest up and I'll call you when supper is ready?” He ordered you, waving you off with his bandaged hand.

“Ah, sure, after I finish my-” you trailed off as you looked towards the freezer. Black inky tentacles glowing green were doing your job, placing the ice packs in neatly. “Thank you,” you muttered in surprise. That was one job finished.

“You are quite the diligent little mouse! You should take a break and take care of yourself,” he hummed, leaning against the counter as he watched you. 

Shivers went up your spine, the hairs on your neck prickling. You sighed, forcing the tension in your body to disperse. “Thanks. I suppose I do need to take a break,” you agreed. You didn't have the best sleep schedule, and you could go for a nap after staying up a bit late tending to Husk and then getting the scare of your death. You shuffled out of the kitchen.

Now that Alastor was alone, he began to reflect. You weren't boring, that was for sure. He would definitely have to tease you more. You looked so adorable when focused, why he could just eat you up! He looked back down at his hand, looking at the carefully bound bandages. You remembered he wore gloves. You even took it into consideration. How awfully kind of you. Well, he took it upon himself to reward your kindness with relentless teasing from him.

After all, you were like a shiny new toy for him to bat around. He would see how long it would take to get you around his finger. He clenched his fist, ignoring the pain erupting from the cut. He readied his knife and grabbed his half-cut vegetable to continue his work.

He was getting ahead of himself, getting so excited over his future plans. First, he needed to make some Gumbo.

[quixotical-lymbo]

Pairing: D-16/Megatron x gn!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: After witnessing your conjunx endura descend into madness, you're left alone with your thoughts as the city of Iacon slowly begins to rebuild anew. However, your lover visits you the night he was banished from the city.  Warnings/Tags: Bittersweet, slight angst, cybertronian reader, pre-established relationship, possible corruption, ambiguous ending, and spoilers for the Transformers One movie.  Word Count: 1200+ words 

Something was wrong. 

You knew something was wrong when you felt something burst within your spark chambers. Your digits brushed against the space where your T-cog would be and…

You winced as the pain shot through the bond again. You could describe it as the feeling of sharp pieces of Energon flowing through your circuits. Hot and angry, then as somber as ice. 

Working in the Energon mines meant that danger could be lurking around the corner at any given moment. 

You understood this fact well, especially when working in the same crew as your sparkmate and his best friend. 

The rambunctious duo always had something going wrong for them as the cycles passed. Sometimes you ended up with the short end of the stick when you joined in on the 'fun.' On the other, you were watching from the sidelines as the two would get punished for their (mostly Orion's) schemes. The emotions shared through the bond were as warm as joy, slight pinches coming from D's annoyance, and the gentle touch of the love you two shared discreetly. 

 

So, why were you only sensing pain? 

What was happening to your lover? Was he safe? Did someone hurt him? Where was Pax while your conjunx endura's chaotic turmoil nearly made your optics teary? 

Where was he? 

Where was D-16? 

 

—--

Orion was shorter….the last time you interacted with him. 

Now? He easily towered over the crowd like a sore digit. You were beside yourself as your strained audials to listen to his words. 

Betrayal, Sentinel, Change. 

They were empowering, not quite heavy but it certainly stirred hope among the miners as they cheered. 

But, what of D-16? 

For a moment, Orion's optics met yours and confirmed your fears.

Something had happened to D-16. 

Here in the open for all of the citizens of Iacon to see was the fall of Sentinel Prime. His end? An impostor sharing the face of your mate who claimed the title of 'Megatron.' 

Who was this stranger with the face of your lover and why couldn't you feel him through the bond anymore? 

You remembered trying to tug at the bond, pulling and twisting to get something to react in response to your desperation. Your optics never strayed from the figure who stood above all of you. 

Yet, nothing came. Wait…

You could have sworn you saw 'Megatron's' optics scanning the crowd before they found their way to yours. 

Time slowed for the first time and you tried to search for anything, something in that stranger's optic for any presence of D-16. 

For a moment, the fiery glow of those optics dimmed. 

Then….

He turned away and never looked back in the direction where you stood again. 

Not even after Orion Pax, now Optimus Prime, banished him from Iacon. 

Your spark broke that day. 

Darkness covered the desolate area where most miners spend their nights in recharge. You stood before your conjunx endura berth, digits caressing the chipper stickers he had collected over time of his idol. The lights shining from your optics misted and you leaned closer to rest your forehelm on the space that once belonged to D-16. 

"____." A voice spoke from behind you.

You spun around and threw a punch, but the massive servo enveloping your servo stunned you. 

"D…?" You murmured in disbelief. 

'D-16' narrowed his optics and didn't respond when you pulled your servo out of his. 

"It's...Megatron now." 

"Right, right, sorry…I'm a little late on the new…this," You threw your hand up to gesture to his shiny, new frame. 

'Megatron' didn't appear amused at your sass and even drew closer to you. His steps felt daunting with each step he took as if the ground of the miners quarters would buckle beneath his weight. 

Backing up against the berth put into perspective how smaller you were compared to the mech. Megatron stepped closer and closed the distance between the two of you. He raised a servo near your faceplate, a low growl left his intake as you turned defiantly. 

 

"Did you not see why I had to do this? Why I had to become-" 

"-Ha!" You snorted and snapped your helm to look at him. "You mean when I tried 'seeing' you earlier? I'm pretty sure I wasn't the one who cut off their sparkmate from the bond  for no reason." 

"And another thing." You pushed against the edges of the berth and stepped forward with your chassis bumping against his. The larger mech could easily shove you back, but retreated as you approached. The silver mech mesmerized by the way your optics flickered into a darker shade only to snap out of it when you questioned him with, "Why did you return to me? Why now? I was certain you'd abandon me-" 

"-do you think so lowly of me as well?!" Megatron pushed back. His servo stretched to catch you when you stumbled, but dropped it when you flinched from his approaching touch. 

His servo was clenched as he drew it back to his side. Digits rubbed together to replace the lack of heat that usually came from your frame held under his grasp.

With a tilt of your helm, you asked, "I don't know anymore…one moment I'm happy spending the rest of my days with my sparkmate, but he disappears, and then returns as a power-hungry tyrant…what else am I supposed to think of you, D…no…Megatron?" 

Megatron did not speak, not that he knew how to. 

Silence fell upon the lovers, neither willing to break the tension. Not until now. 

"I came here…to see you," D-16 yielded. His soft voice easing the suspicion gnawing at you ever since he arrived, finally your frame went lax as his face became familiar. This was your conjunx endura, the one you bonded with and not whoever was there previously. 

"To ask if you'll join me, my love." 

"What?" You hissed. 

"Come with me," Megatron urged. "I have risked everything coming back here for you and I will not ask again." 

You brought a servo to your helm and felt a pit grow in your tanks. 

"Join me because I promise you…" Megatron leaned down to hold your gaze, "...the next time we see each other will be the end of us." 

"I…" You glanced at his servo that reached for you, most likely for the last time. Your optical ridges furrowed and Megatron's optics shimmered with delight as your servo fell over his. The larger servo enveloped the smaller one and pressed the palm of your servo against his spark chamber. Right over the area where Sentinel's previous cog was ripped out of him. 

The memory struck a chord in you. Becoming the thing to make you sober from the high of what this relationship could have been. Should have been. 

It could still happen, only if you said yes…but what fate would fall on Iacon if you joined the one bot desiring the destruction of the new era? 

Megatron watched the conflict swimming on your face, his thumb caressing the back of your servo as the other came up to settle on your waist. 

 

After a while, you gave him your answer. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. cybercore/punk banner(s) by @kodaswrld !!

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" MY MEAN DADDY, MY BAD BABY, DON'T YOU WANT ME? " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS: age difference (although it's not really central and no age is mentioned), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel is still a sad old man, joel being mean again, smut, references to harassment (not from joel), literal sex, breathplay, oral (f receiving), although joel may get some head in the future if he's lucky, you're more important than him, two uses of daddy, just because joel is disgusting and i wanna test the waters before i fully commit to my depraved fantasies of calling a grown man daddy, joel no aftercare miller because he's lowk a little asshole who's afraid of women, pussy pronouns because i feel like that's joel's brand atp

WORD COUNT: 14.6k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER TWO—PRETTY BABY

Joel had cowered in his trailer for two weeks, acting like the recluse he was at heart, avoiding interactions with others, communicating with grunts and murmurs and looks that made sure anyone who dared speak to him in any way that could’ve been perceived as “cheery” would be off his back and turn the other way. 

He hadn’t been rattled by the conversation he’d had with you, nor had he been left feeling some ridiculous guilt just because he’d got in your face and made those pretty features contort in fear. No, he had purely been pissed off with you. You thought you’d hit the nail on the head with your analysis, that you knew anything about him at all. And when you’d asked him if he was okay…well, after that, most of his restraint had been lost. 

Storming off like a petulant child was better than hurting you so badly he’d never get a taste of your sweet cunt just once. After thinking about it, it was better that he’d walked away when he did, simply because it gave him the ability to get his head straight again, shake off some of the rage, and channel the rest into fucking you until you cried. 

Before, he would’ve never been so volatile with you, would’ve never even thought about fucking you at all. He’d fix what you wanted fixed, he’d smile at you and call you “Ma’am,” like a sociable, pleasant old man. Not the sad sack of shit he’d turned into it. So angry all the time for reasons he refused to unpack. If he acknowledged it, he’d have to acknowledge that she would’ve hated what he turned out to be. 

You were younger than what she would be if she were alive today. Would it have made her feel sick? Would it have made her run away from him, unable to recognise the man she’d called dad? 

In part, it was the reason why he’d banished you. Not in the moment. No, in the moment he’d wanted to choke you. But some subconscious part of him, some ghost of compassion had possessed him and he’d thought about her eyes, how scared she’d looked as he’d held her and how similar you had looked when he’d raised his voice, when he’d kept it quiet, all menace and intimidation, when he’d touched you, gripping onto your thigh—when he’d looked desperately into your eyes and hoped that you’d crack a smile. That you’d stop looking at him like he was the fucking devil. 

You really were something else, something so ridiculously dissimilar to himself, better than himself in every conceivable way, and yet simultaneously aggravating because you wouldn’t stay away from him. Every single time, you kept crawling back like you had no other choice. Like Rick across the way wasn’t a better plumber than Joel was and would’ve fixed your stupid tap permanently for free. 

He wasn’t blind or oblivious to your efforts. He’d called your bluff a long time ago, when you’d come skipping along and bat your eyelashes at him, acting like the most innocent little thing in the state of Texas, not knowing that Joel had seen you tripping over your feet at night with a cigarette in your hand, circling the park again and again and again, worrying at your bottom lip. Or when you’d kicked over your bike in frustration because the chain kept falling off or when you’d got in Linda’s face at the Fourth of July barbecue because she’d been whispering amongst the trailer park's entire female population that you were a whore. 

Joel had laughed to himself when the rumour had found him—had laughed even harder when you’d defended yourself, thrown your coke all over the fucking gossip and stormed off, only to knock on his door later that day to give him his mail that had made its way into your letterbox, a pretty little smile on your face and a sweetness to your voice that hadn’t found its way into your tone the day before. 

There was a fierceness to you, a deep-cut vision like a B-side from a beautifully crafted album, the scraps just as brilliant as the first choice. Under all those pretty smiles, was anger, a knack for getting what you wanted with a few shouts and a quick tongue. He’d seen it when you’d misread him, called him a pervert with puffed-out cheeks and left Joel with a suspicion that you would start stomping your feet and smoke would pour from your ears. However, unlike your confrontation with Linda, you’d cowered when he’d fought back. Part of him had hoped you’d keep going, that even when he’d scared you, you’d push through fear and slap him across the face. 

Maybe it’d bring back his sense. 

Maybe he’d slap you instead, make you give him some fire. Anything that he can use against you to reign you in. 

Joel had no interest in hurting you though. Simultaneously, he had no interest in keeping you safe from what he knew he truly was. If that led to hurt, it was unintentional. You weren’t a schoolboy crush, nor was the situation love at first sight, but you were interesting to Joel; he wanted to get to know you. There was something there, something repressed that you kept locked away, that only came out to pounce on you when you were alone in the middle of the night. 

The only issue was that if he had to get to know you, that meant you’d have to get to know him too. Joel’s history was something he wasn’t prepared to let go of, an incomplete manuscript that couldn’t be edited, that was full of flaws and bad decisions. He wouldn’t let you open it, wouldn’t let you peer at the front cover or skim the spine with your finger: it was guarded by tendrils of barbed wire, pushing through the clouds and up past the stratosphere. It would be difficult to damage it, damn near impossible to break the fortification entirely. 

So, naturally, Joel left you alone. He didn’t look at you in the mornings, didn’t peer through the windows at night and in turn, you left him alone too. Though nowadays there was a sag in your shoulders, a frown constantly tugging at your lips and he felt a certain sense of pride that he was the reason for it. He didn’t need to ask you, he knew. Could tell by the way you avoided eye contact when he’d driven back from the store (he’d been low on Camel’s) and saw you sat on your steps, puffing away and gnawing on your bottom lip. 

It was petty, the way you’d turned away immediately upon hearing the sound of his engine, stubbed out the cigarette and stormed back inside. 

Joel didn’t mind all too much. You were bratty and he liked it—enjoyed when you spoke back like he wouldn’t be able to knock you out with one weak punch. 

It had been a surprise when you’d turned up on his doorstep on a Friday night, all dressed up, makeup you’d clearly worked hard on, ruined by your streaming tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you’d blubbered, shaking like a leaf on his porch and he wasn’t sure if it was the chill of the night air or fear. “I know you don’t want me here.” 

Then why show up? It’s what he wanted to say but he bit his tongue to save you from collapsing from dehydration. All those tears you were coughing up like there was a free supply of them behind those pretty eyes—eyes now red raw and bloodshot. 

“What’s the issue?” he asked, less soft than you perhaps would’ve liked. He couldn’t give too much attention to it, though: the concern he felt buried underneath layers upon layers of tough exterior; even your flood of tears couldn’t wash away the rubble to find it. 

“I-I was out, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, t-this- this guy he…” 

Right there, Joel’s blood burned bright fucking red. He’d felt it with Dale when he’d seen the old man drooling after you like a rabid dog, eating away at your ankles—just begging for a taste. He’d scared the man shitless when he’d grabbed him by the collar once he was out of your eyeline, yanked him along to the outskirts of the park and spat in his face. The only reason he didn’t beat him bloody was because it would’ve been unnecessary and Joel had been sober that night so had been thinking at least a little rationally. 

But this guy…whoever the fuck he was, hadn’t just made you uncomfortable, but had made you come to Joel Miller for comfort. Had forced your hand, had caused you to swim into the shark's mouth. Perhaps, worst of all, he’d made you cry—big, hot, glistening tears that travelled sporadically in all directions across the expanse of your face, dripping from your jaw and settling in your clavicle. 

“What’d he do?” Joel was intimidatingly calm, voice even and eyes sharp. 

You sniffled, lip quivering and your mouth opened to speak, then closed as if the words had gotten stuck—that the force of your pain overpowered your ability to be coherent. 

“Baby…” Joel murmured, unable to stifle the smile that twitched and fell when you snapped your eyes to his—hopeful with the promise of the nickname. “Tell me.” 

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed away the thickness in your throat, tried to stop the shaking by playing with your fingers, lips downturned and looking like such a scared little lamb. Despite being a wolf, Joel managed to set aside his natural tendencies, tucking them away safely for whoever the fucker you were crying over was, and instinctually, wanting to keep you safe. 

“I was all by myself, I shouldn’t have gone by myself,” you looked away from him like Joel would judge you—like he would think it was your fault. He wanted to say something but waited patiently for you to continue, wondering when would be the best time to invite you in. If he even should invite you in given the implications of the statement and what he had done the last time you’d stepped through the boundary separating the inside of his trailer from the outside. “He wouldn’t stop touching me, I tried to get him off but he wouldn’t leave me alone and I- I got out of there when he wasn’t watching but he fucking followed me home-” 

“Where is he?” It was instant, the way Joel snapped into action, fists clenching—prepared to fall right onto his face and break his fucking nose. 

“I- I don’t know,” you muttered. “I just came to you.” 

Unsure of how to react to the information, he scanned the area behind you, taking a singular look at your trailer and deciding that he could not, in good conscience leave you alone. Having a good conscience in the first place had been a foreign thing to Joel for such a long time that the feeling of wanting to do something right, the knowledge that he was not inviting you in because he wanted to touch you but because he wanted to protect you, was a troubling thing to realise. He couldn’t afford to go soft, to let people in, to hold them close until he inevitably told them everything and they realised how much of a bad person he was. But with you…it hardly mattered. 

“Okay, babygirl.” His hands twitched towards your face, both palms landing on either cheek—so natural that it should’ve scared him. “Come on, let’s get you warm.” 

Stray tears fell at his affection and he couldn’t bear to look at you crying anymore so guided you inside, letting you occupy his space, and took one last look outside before closing the door behind him—locking you both away.

It was when he’d called you babygirl, that you knew you’d fallen deep. The entire purpose of going out that night had been to forget about him, find someone else who maybe had that same smouldering look in his eyes, that same mystery that rendered every single movement an enigma. It’d been useless of course and you’d been harshly reminded of why you never went out in the first place, certainly not by yourself and certainly not to hook up with a stranger. The ache was just so very large, all-encompassing and you struggled immensely with the silent treatment he’d inflicted upon you. 

You’d be lying if you said it was much different from before. Lack of conversation between Joel and yourself was in fact extremely common but the context in which the communication had haltered, the undeniable tension that permeated every accidental look and every longing stare at that white door in the middle of the night, was a pain you would never admit to him. 

You didn’t want him to think you were weak, that you needed him in any capacity, so you’d got out. You’d ran away from him and in a cruel twist of fate, you’d crawled right back—crying on the doorstep and looking more pathetic than you think he’d ever seen you. 

However, he’d held your face in his hands, gazed at you with something akin to pity and you wouldn’t have left him even if he’d asked you to.

You’d shuffled into his home, rubbing at your bare arms and staring at Joel’s back as he reached into the cupboards for a glass. You wanted to bury your face into him, wrap your arms around his waist and drag him close. The cold sting on your cheeks from where he’d touched you, the echo of his words in your ears wasn’t enough. You wanted him near, wanted to bury your head between his chest and beg him to tell you that you were safe. 

“Drink.” His words snapped you back, eyes stinging as they flitted to his face and then to the glass he was holding. 

“Thanks,” you muttered softly as you reached for the water, fingers brushing against his a sensation you attempted to ignore. After a moment standing, eyes fixated on his shoes and mulling over the situation, you apologised again. The “Sorry” falling from your mouth, the feeling of stupidity as the tears finally began to subside, and Joel’s gentle touch as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger: delicate and affectionate. From the outside looking in, it would seem like a man simply comforting his girl with firm words and soft fingers. 

“Don’t apologise. It ain’t your fault.” His gaze was set, those gorgeous eyes still hard and stony, fixated on you—hoping to bury the words beneath your skull. 

“I just don’t wanna bother you-” 

“I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.” There was a hint of a smile at his lips but it didn’t reach his eyes, corners of his mouth twitching, looking like the action itself was painful—like the words he uttered echoed in his ears and bashed at his eardrum. Maybe he should have something better to do than sit around and look after you.

You furrowed your brow at his expression, looking just as pained as he did and sipped your water—throat finally feeling some reprieve from the scratches that littered the flesh. His hand fell from your chin, resting at his side and you couldn’t shake the burning in your stomach as he refused to cease the eye contact so you did it for him, eyes firmly on the linoleum and teeth sinking into your bottom lip. 

He probably didn’t want you here—surely he didn’t. He’d spent the past two weeks ignoring you, refusing to acknowledge the conversation you’d had the other night, when you’d felt everything brew up inside you and finally boil over. When you’d thrust a finger in his face and pointed out every flaw and every observation. Everything that Joel Miller was. 

That solemn, brooding solace you found being close to a personality that reminded you of days long past. The intimidation that he used like a shield, strengthening his defences after people tried to get inside his walls; he’d shot them down with arrows, leaving the bullets in his palm for himself. You though…he’d let you in. He’d shot at your shoulder then let you past the gates to dress the wound. 

“Might wanna wash your face,” he said grimly, brushing past you to go sit on his leather throne. 

You gazed at your reflection in the window above the sink, light from the ceiling flooding you in a spotlight and illuminating the streaming makeup, the blotchy face and the red eyes. Suddenly conscious, you snapped your head back to him, his back turned to you, working at the TV with a steady hand. 

Sensing your eyes, the stare that burned through him—full of pity and understanding—he muttered, “Bathrooms first door on the right.” Trying to get rid of you. 

Wanting to ensure he was comfortable in his own home, you placed your glass on the counter, turned on your heel and began down the hallway—stopping at the first and only door on the right-hand side and slipped inside. You wanted to shower but knew it was a step too far, that that would be taking his hospitality for granted, so you settled for the sink. 

Makeup was crusting along your skin, forcing its way into your pores and mingling with the sweat and dirt from the long walk you took from the centre of town. Hastily, you turned on the tap, cupping your hands under the stream and splashing it over your face. You sat with it for a moment, with the cool droplets running down your face and soothing the stinging of your eyes before scrubbing—wanting it all off. It felt wrong along your skin, the crusted tears near your eyes painful as you washed them away. It was effort, with just the water, but when you rose from the sink basin with a fresh face, you felt better. 

You were safe with Joel, that much you were sure.

You took a deep breath before retreating from the solidarity of the bathroom, door handle cool under your palm as you inhaled, held, and exhaled. With the dispelling of that cool air, you pushed, stepping out into the hallway and hearing the faint sound of late-night television coming from down the way. 

Joel was still sat where you’d left him, putting his cigarette out and discarding it inside an empty beer bottle, eyes fixated on the TV and although it looked like he hadn’t heard you, you knew he had. That subtle tensing of his shoulders, shuffling in his seat as he cracked his neck distractedly. You stood there, looking at the back of his head for far too long, lingering in the shadowed hallway and hoping he’d turn around and look at you—grant you that deep gaze that held so much. So many words said with just one glance. 

But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where he was, nestled in his corner of the world. 

You went to him on shaky legs, entering his living space with short breaths, playing with your fingers as you stopped just in front of where he sat. 

“Thanks for-” you began, stopping yourself when you heard the crack in your voice—how hard it was to speak with the heaviness of your eyes and the hoarseness of your throat. Managing to swallow away some of it, some of that pent-up misery you felt clawing its way up the passages of your insides, you uttered quietly,” Just…thank you.” 

“Yeah,” he said back, voice just as pensive as yours; you didn’t know if he wasn’t looking at you purposefully or if he truly was just as nervous about the interaction as you were. The notion that Joel Miller would be nervous at all was laughable but you knew there was something there—something greater than he let everyone think. Curiosity was a big driver in your interactions with the man, a desire to see what he felt, hear every thought that burrowed itself in his head, but right there, your insecurity prevailed and you decided it’d be best if you left him alone. 

“I think I’m gonna go home now,” you said reluctantly, knowing that all you truly wanted to do was crawl into his lap and bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m tired.” 

“Okay,” he nodded and as he turned to look at you there was a glint in his eyes—almost begging—that said ‘Don’t go.’ You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever, limbs entangled in feverish desire. But you couldn’t stay. You could barely move in his presence and it wasn’t worth it to be engaged in something that would cripple you forever. 

So you repeated his word, purse hanging loose from your fingertips as you turned your back on him and headed for the front door. 

He halted you before you could get there. 

“If you see him again, even if you hear a noise out there, you come back to me.” There was a care in his voice, a forceful attentiveness that left you reeling. He was letting you go but inviting you back too. He was professing something, expressing words unspoken, with actions and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled in your chest, your throat constricting as a sob attempted to choke its way into your mouth.

You just nodded, sure that if you spoke you’d end up crying again. 

With no more words left, you opened the front door, stomach twisting as you looked around to check that you were alone, and scurried down his porch steps, not knowing that once Joel had heard your door close, he’d stepped out into the night and placed himself on his shitty white chair—watching the surrounding area until dawn came, ready to deter the danger if it came for you. 

Sunlight shot through the half-open window, the heat stiflingly stagnant, sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you lay, immobile on your bedroom floor—hoping that the dewy grass underneath the trailer would somehow rise up through the ground and relieve you of the suffering that was prevalent whether you were indoors or out. Your shitty fan was rattling in the corner, doing little to alleviate the pain, and in the midst of a Wednesday afternoon, work already completed, you had no other choice than to think about the man next door and his actions. 

There was a gentle acknowledgement, a careful unspoken communication that something, whatever it was, had switched in you and Joel. After that night, that pathetic night when you’d cried on his doorstep, he had not thrust you away as you had expected him to. He had barely even been rude to you, that awful scowl that was perpetual in every sense, stripped from his face. The careful commands, the casual way in which he took care of you. 

The only thing you wished, was that he’d let you stay the night—that even if you had been the one to suggest the departure, he would ignore your wishes and make the decision for you, grab you by the hips and pull you down on top of him. Kiss you on the lips with all the ardour he had stored somewhere deep in the pits of his being. Damn your age, damn the consequences, damn anything that would occur in retaliation. You wanted him. If not for selfish reasons, for an interesting sympathy that you held for him every time he looked in your eyes, every time someone speculated on why he had turned out the way he had. 

The whispering, the wondering, the stories that seemed so elaborate and profound that you couldn’t bring yourself to believe them. The contractor who’d told you of a man named Joel Miller. His fate. What befell him that September when he’d lost everything meaningful to him. 

You didn’t know, however. You didn’t know what was the truth and what was all facade, if Joel had shot down the rumours himself by telling a fabrication of reality to all of those who dared make false assumptions. 

So, you settled with the equivocations, the image of him in your mind expanding until all that remained was a pity that ran through each of your bones, vibrating your insides; the pleasure of his touch was the only sedation. 

Laying there, on the carpeted floors that you wished were wood, you thought of him. You thought of him deeply, throwing your mind back to that first interaction with him when he’d stood in the light of the rising sun, eyes running all over you. Observation. It was something he was good at, being able to discern the very fabrics of the human soul by glancing over at your movements, your mannerisms, taking note of the way you spoke to certain people. You were sure he knew you were smitten from the moment you opened your mouth. 

In truth, you had been completely enamoured by him. Despite those initial reactions to his leering gaze, that sleazy look in his eyes that rendered you disgusted by his very presence, you had mulled over it on those particularly boring shifts, those mundane Sundays when you gazed at the empty white chair on his porch and thought about how handsome he looked sat there: legs spread wide, thumb and finger playing at his furrowed brow, cigarette burning between those pretty fingers and the portable radio next to him expelling a country tune or the occasional Texas Rangers game. 

You fantasised about sitting there with him, fingers curled around his as you lounged in the chair adjacent—always looking like it was waiting for someone to sit in it. For you to sit in it. 

But you weren’t brave enough. You weren’t brave anyway. 

You weren’t brave enough to speak up when you felt like you were caving in on yourself, boulders falling from the tip of your head and landing at your feet—breaking each toe until you couldn’t move, suspended by the sensation of skin melting from your face, your brain losing all rational thought. You weren’t brave enough to do something bigger with your life, to approach every memory that haunted you like an evil phantom, intent on breaking you down into nothing until you sat as dilapidated as the abandoned moonshine still that rested its weary legs just opposite the bypass. 

You weren’t brave enough to tell Joel that you wished to have him completely. That you wished to help him build himself back up; if what was said about him was true, you were willing to ignore all of your demons, to repress them like you had many times over, and place all your energy into making him smile. 

Instead of actively hoping to remedy the situation on your lonesome, to be active with your desires and do everything possible to make them come true, you instead wait for someone else to fulfil them for you. If Joel wasn’t willing to tell you, to confess every depraved fantasy, you’d continue to lay on your bedroom floor and hope for things to be different.

In the sweat of that Wednesday afternoon, in the midst of summer despair, you thought of him. In your bedroom you had not decorated, staring at the ceiling fan that did not work, you thought of him. Through the fog of everything that made up your regrets and your achievements, he remained the central thing that kept you alive. 

A knock on the door brought you back, three raps that came down hard and assured. With a thick head, you peeled yourself off the floor, brushing down flyaway hair that had ran away from your scalp and cracked your back as you stood. 

Just that simple movement had sweat pooling at your lower back, the sun at its highest peak, menacingly bright and dangerously hot. Sniggering as it watched you stumble down the hallway, lethargic with the soupy air and trying your hardest to put a smile on your face as you pulled at the doorknob—a wall of heat separating you from the outside. 

That half-hearted grimace that had replaced your frowning, quickly transformed into an expression littered with confusion as you stared at the man before you. Had you begun thinking about him so much that you’d started to hallucinate him? Had you thought about him so loud that he’d taken the time to knock on your door and tell you to shut up? 

You said nothing as you stared at him, the delirium of the day causing your brain to momentarily stop working—greetings and manners that you’d been taught since you could walk something you gave no attention to. Only able to focus on his broadness hogging the space, the way he stared down at you with a clenched jaw, the perpetual tense of his shoulders and the hardness of his eyes. Just seeing him was enough to send you falling headfirst into a sensation you had no desire to express to him. 

“You okay?” he asked, softer than expected and your heart sank as you looked down at his hands to see the two envelopes nestled between his fingers. He’d come to give you your mail. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled out, lingering too long on the paper before flicking your eyes back to his and gathering yourself, scolding the fact that you couldn’t focus around him. You nodded briefly to what had caused that pit in your stomach to open up again. “That my mail?” 

He nodded in response, handing it out to you with the manner of someone who wished to be away from the situation they were involved in. 

“They keep getting us mixed up,” you said, forcing a smile and trying to make it all as comfortable as possible. “I still think they do it on purpose.” It was a poor attempt at a joke, coercing a conversation so that maybe he’d stay a little longer than intended. You yearned for a little courage, hoping that your mouth would expel the words you wished to speak: invite him in, ask him if he wanted a drink or a cigarette or both, tell him how much you’d been thinking about him. 

“I’ll have a word if I see them.” 

Why was it awkward? It was unusual, the way he wasn’t leering at you, how he wasn’t purposefully overpowering you. It seemed that he was more intimidated by you in that moment than he ever had before in his life. What a strange feeling it was: to have Joel Miller cowering. It gave you some much-needed bravery as you placed the mail on the side table next to your door, near the bowl that held your keys and discarded receipts you hadn’t bothered to throw away. 

When the words came tumbling out of your mouth, you struggled to believe they were real. 

“You wanna come in?” The shaking in your hands as he raised his eyebrows, the doubts hurtling at your chest with all the force of a high-speed collision. “I haven’t got anything else to do all afternoon.” You decided adding a little context would be better—maybe sway him a little more. 

You couldn’t tell if the slight smile toying at those pretty lips was genuine or a courtesy, nor did you know if when he’d accepted your invitation he was doing it just to be polite or because he actually wanted to. 

In your delusions, you told yourself that it was all because he did want you around, that he’d just been playing hard to get all this time because, like you, the thought of letting anyone in was so incredibly daunting. No matter how much you wanted Joel, just the thought of kissing him made you nauseous—the anxiety of what may occur after, the consequences to everything, what he would think when he realised that you weren’t all sweet. That you were awkward and mean at the best of times; the way you’d presented yourself to him was not your true character. 

You feared that after everything, he would decide he didn’t like you. That you weren’t worth his time. From the things you’d heard about him, you weren’t even sure he’d let you stick around long enough to figure out what you were truly like. 

As he walked into your home though, nothing in his hands to suggest that he was only here to do some light maintenance and be on his way, you couldn’t think about that. You were no longer on your bedroom floor, begging God for things to be different. Things were becoming different, and when you offered him a drink, assuring him that he could smoke inside despite never doing it yourself without hanging halfway out your window, you found yourself becoming comfortable. Too comfortable honestly. 

He settled himself on your couch, hips rising as he reached into his pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a scratched-to-shit silver zippo and shook his head at your offer of coffee. You nestled yourself a respectable distance from him—tucking your legs underneath you and watched as he brought the light to the dangling stick and lit it. A cloud of smoke muffled his face, the scent of tobacco tickling your nose and bringing comfort sliding down your spine. 

It was silent, in the most blissful way, the heat blushing his cheeks, the loving caress of the setting sun as it promised to fall beneath the horizon as soon as it could—that its day of evil heat was slowly falling away. The light breeze that trickled through your open window, taking the smoke away with it, guiding it up towards the sun and stars. Cicadas chirping, birds coming to and from their nests, searching for some good food to bring home to their babies, and snakes burrowed in the shade to escape the searing heat. All of nature's beauty peeking its head past the haze of despondency just to enlighten you and Joel—to help you feel greater than you had just five minutes ago. 

It helped clear your thick head, helped escape the thin veil of your body's disparagement to get to a point where you could focus on Joel and only Joel. Watch him take a drag and exhale, chest rising and falling. 

When his head rolled backwards, resting on the edge of your couch and revealing each tendon in his neck, you finally decided to open your mouth. 

“Thank you for the other night.” The words fell quietly, whispered to him as if not to disrupt his moment of relaxation. “It was late and you…” 

How he looked at you…you couldn’t quite describe. Those eyes wide and glinting, the unadulterated sympathy that lingered in those pits—something else dancing with it that you were unsure of. Hoping to God that he would tell you outwardly instead of hoping you’d understand that one meaningful look. 

“Couldn’t leave you cryin’ on my doorstep,” he uttered, holding that stare, refusing to look away. 

“I’m sure lots of people would’ve,” you rebutted. 

“No one can say no to that face,” he finalised. 

Your heart fluttered in the confines of your chest, eyes wide as he looked at you—those perpetually tired eyes, those tense shoulders and clenched jaw, desperate to stroke your fingers over each eyelid and lull him to sleep. See if he would drift away with a smile and wake up with the same expression permanently etched into his face. Hoping he’d look at you like that for the rest of your life. 

“I wanna thank you properly, Joel.” There was a brief pause, a flicker as he scanned his way across your face, and then the heat of his stare was gone and you were left dowsed in ice water—waiting for his words. 

The hasty way he brought the cigarette to his lips, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gazing at the grey as he exhaled, huffing with the force of a dragon trying to dispel the danger. The harsh way in which he shook his head, the utter rejection that brewed up inside you once you’d realised that you’d gone too far. The bravery you’d been gifted for speaking up had betrayed you; you’d crossed the line. 

“You really wanna go there?” 

You paused, eyes flickering softly over his form. He’d caught your double meaning with the grace of a fly falling directly into a death trap, flown right through your words, and came out the other end with a defiance you had expected but had not wanted. The man who looked at you like he wanted to lock you away, display you on a shelf so he could poke at you for eternity, had rejected you. It was more insecurity-inducing than you had thought. 

Feigning ignorance to heal the aching in your heart, you continued the game through a hoarse throat—wishing for the man who’d drooled over you that very first time you’d set eyes on him. 

“Go where?” 

“Don’t play stupid, we both know you ain’t.” 

He glared at you, the brightness of his eyes disappearing—a strange uncomfortable glint dancing in the shadows of them; you couldn’t stop looking at him and thinking that he looked goddamn exhausted. All the time. You were unsure if he ever slept, if he ever allowed himself to have a moment of peace, a short second to himself where he screamed into a pillow and rolled over to the other side of the bed—ready to drift off. You’d hold him until the frown on his face disappeared if he’d let you. 

From the way he stared at you, however, you were sure he didn’t want you there at all. 

“I just wanna thank you,” you said softly, gazing at him earnestly. “Seriously, Joel, you do a lot for me-” 

“I fix your tap and give you your mail, you don’t owe me shit.” It was almost self-deprecating, the way he refused you—as if he didn’t think he was worthy of you. 

“Will you just let me do this one thing?” 

“Now, let's get this straight,” he interrupted, accent growing as thick as his aggravation. “We ain’t friends.”

“I never said we-”

“I need you to listen to me.” The fatherly tone startled you, a far cry from those leering looks and sleazy stares—silencing you with the harshness of his tone. “You’re a goddamn kid. Whatever you think…whatever I’ve-” he cut himself off with a shake of his head, bringing the cigarette clasped between his fingers to his lips, inhaling sharply; all the smoke went into his lungs and none came out as he spoke again. “It ain’t right.” 

Silence encapsulated the space, your heart sinking as those words entered your ear and left through the other side, the rejection everything you had not expected. What had you expected really? For him to profess his undying love and hold you forever? For him to put you on his lap and tell you that he was proud of you? That he would be there for you forever and always? 

You’d hoped a little bit too much and consequently, been disappointed by your own expectations. 

“Who says?” you tried to level your voice, to rid of the fear and anxiety that had clouded your entire being since you’d learnt about your mortality—when you’d sat on a rocking chair at the ripe age of thirteen and rocked it so far you’d fallen flat on your face and hadn’t gotten up years later. 

“I say.” It came with so much conviction, that signature stare still plastered onto his face, set scowl all intimidation and no love—nothing behind those eyes except persistent irritation and self-hatred. 

Suddenly, you found some gall, blood bubbling as you mirrored his frown. “So it was okay when you looked through my bedroom window whilst I was changing? It was okay when you said I’d get cockdrunk real easy and laugh about me being dumb with your buddies? I thought I wasn’t stupid, Joel.” 

“You ain’t-”

“Then you should know that I know exactly what I want and what I want is to thank you!” A deep breath, gulping away the saliva that had accumulated in your mouth and observing every twitch of his jaw—the shake in his hands. “In a way that I know you want because I’m not stupid. You might think that you’re subtle but I promise you, you aren’t.” 

“What do you want from me, huh?” he asked abruptly, venom in his glare, all of it directed at you and poisoning your blood indelicately. 

It was a good question—one that stumped you if you were being completely honest. What did you want from him? A good fuck, someone to hold, someone to tell you that you were worth it? Or maybe, you just wanted him to make you feel desired. To make you feel like you were wanted by something, even if that something would hide you away, isolate you from your friends, and keep you trapped in a palace of deceit and fresh blood—cutting away at your flesh to keep the supply of crimson flowing. 

Joel urged you on with the power of his stare, waiting for an answer with false patience. 

“I just…” struggling to form a proper sentence, stringing together words in your mind that didn’t make sense. “I just need to know how you feel.” 

The answer didn’t seem like enough, his eyes trained on you for a few seconds more before he broke the contact, leaving you shivering as a breeze suddenly pushed through the open window—drapes dancing with the force of it. 

His attention was captured by the cigarette in hand, the thing almost smoked down to the filter, grey billowing from its end as he sniffed, shook his head, and stood. 

“You got an ashtray round here?” 

It startled you: the way he changed the subject so quickly, so determined to make you forget. To make himself forget. Standing there, hogging the space with his bulk, you could sense the turmoil—his hesitation to do what he wished to do and his distaste with himself for doing what he didn’t want to do: walk away. 

You were granting him an opportunity, a chance to put all that time spent watching porn into practice—to take whatever he wanted from you without guilt. 

However, it was better to acquiesce to his cowardice. Arguing would only push him to the point of no return. Truthfully, you were afraid of Joel and his temper. Sometimes, it felt dangerous to rile him or to talk to him out of turn. What he was capable of, you weren’t sure, but from the story that Spencer Dressure had told you about that one time his brother had taken off with Joel’s pills, the manhunt that followed it and the fact he had not pressed charges despite having to be hospitalised, left little room for you to think it was a good idea to be on Joel’s bad side. 

Calling him a pervert until he fucked you seemed to be a surefire way to get you on his list of foes. 

“It’s in my room,” you stood carefully, brushing past him to get to the small kitchenette, trying to subdue the result of smelling the remnants of cologne and tobacco that lingered on his skin. “Just put it out in this.” 

You handed him a dirty mug from the pile of dishes you had yet to tackle, cheeks heating as you became all too aware of your untidy home, before stepping a respectable distance away and waiting for his next move. 

What followed, you had not expected. The undeniable whiplash, the pain that ravaged your stomach as it flipped continuously, looping round and round like the coaster at Coney Island you used to fantasise about as a kid. 

“C’mere,” he murmured, a softness to the edge that melted you, pathetically accepting his advance as you stepped forward once, twice, thrice, only three steps and you were closer to him than you had been when you’d been situated on the couch moments before. 

The simple movement of him holding up the burning cigarette that was begging for death, the shortest ring of white decorating the cylinder, had you shuddering in anticipation. The brush of your fingers as you reached up to take it and the warmth in your belly as he shook his head and thrust the thing closer to your mouth. You caught his intentions too late for you not to feel embarrassed, gazing at him with a determination you knew was false, something he was bound to pick up on too if the shaking in your legs was as bad as it felt. 

Leaning forward, you parted your lips, clamping down on the cigarette with bravery you were surprised you could muster, and inhaled softly—taking every last thing it could give you and savouring the taste of his fingers on your lips as they brushed ever so slightly against his skin. 

“Listen,” he murmured as he watched you, eyes trained on your pursed lips as you pulled away and expelled the smoke from your throat, chin tilting slightly to direct the trail away from his face. “You’re a pretty girl.” 

You stayed rooted to the spot as you listened intently, eyes carefully observing his movements, the flex of his forearms as he dropped the dead cigarette into the mug and the sound of it sizzling as it reached the remnants of your morning coffee that nestled at the bottom. The way he looked at you and made you feel like he was your single priority—like nothing mattered in that moment except you and making sure you were holding onto his every word. 

“And I don’t hate you,” he continued, tilting his head to gaze at your face. “But you gotta understand, that you ain’t gonna be a long-term thing.” 

You could’ve laughed in his face if you weren’t so intimidated by the proximity to him, the warmth that emanated from his body and the goddamn smell of him that had your body reacting in ways you hadn’t ever expected it to. That telltale ache and warmth that pooled in your shorts, the way your skin burned—hair rising from your arms and breath catching in your throat as you were overcome with the need to start hyperventilating. 

“I don’t care either way,” you managed to huff out, shuffling slightly closer, teasing those boundaries you hadn’t known were there in the first place. 

He looked far from convinced, eyes narrowing slightly, chest heaving with a single, deep breath, and hands balled into fists at his sides as he tried as hard as he could to get inside your head. 

“I don’t know if I believe you.” 

Joel stayed leaning against your counter, casual in his stance but all-encompassing dominance in his demeanour. His menace plagued the trailer park, red “X’s” on every door that the man had targeted—a reminder to passers-by of his impact; what could happen if he was crossed: damnation, ostracisation, and wet pants from where they’d all pissed themselves under the strength of his harassment. A figure that the Preacher warned of as the making of the devil, the bottom of America’s proverbial melting pot. A figure that you now stood toe-to-toe with—staring evil right in the fucking face. 

If Hell burnt, he was surely a child of the underworld, scorching the earth beneath and ravaging the heat blazing in your pants. 

“What is there to believe?” you asked breathlessly. “If you wanna leave after, you can leave.” You failed to mention how desperate you were to lay skin-to-skin with him, to feel the heat of him everywhere as he wrapped himself around you: glossolalia in your ears as he lulled you to sleep.

“Babygirl, I ain’t afraid about wanting to leave.” 

It took a second, a moment of analysing his words before the sincerity of them reached your chest and broke all your ribs. Your lips parted, chest unashamedly heaving as the impact left you winded, and a shake in your legs that you tried to ignore in fear you’d fall flat on your face. 

Noting your body language, observing every inch of you—even the smallest of reactions—he took your sporadic breaths as an indicator to continue, standing to his full height as he stepped closer; towering with the grace of the land of Idumaea above you. 

A hand cupped your cheek, a tenderness to the touch that was destroyed by his next words. 

“You ain’t stickin’ around,” he said plainly. “I need you to know that.” 

“I know,” you said defiantly, growing increasingly annoyed with the tone he was taking with you—like you were some disobedient kid who needed reprimanding. It seemed he didn’t much appreciate how you spoke either as his soft touch quickly transformed, fingers gripping your chin and squeezing.

“I don’t wanna be the one to say I told you so,” he murmured. “I don’t want you whinin’ after this or talkin’ about me with Lillian otherwise the whole goddamn place is gonna know that I fucked you. Then, they gon’ be askin’ about you and I don’t like sharin’.” He tugged on your chin, tilting your face so he could lean in. His lips against your ear made you shiver, hot breath against your skin causing every hair to stand to attention and a sweat to form on the back of your neck. “Understand?” 

He pulled away, eyes back on yours—that tiredness replaced with a lust so profound that you were sure he could’ve made you spontaneously cum just by looking at you. 

Attempting to ignore the ache between your thighs, you nodded. When you replied with an “I understand,” there was the overwhelming feeling that you had just signed away your life to an evil force, a ghost with bad intentions that had asked permission to haunt you for the rest of your days. You could move houses and he would be there, you could move states and he would be there, you could move out of the entire country and he would be waiting for you with a hard stare and a clenched jaw. There wasn’t a single scenario in which you could get away from him. 

A stain between your legs: forever. 

“Alright,” he drawled, breathing coming just as heavy as yours, eyes flicking to your lips—subconsciously licking his own. “Alright…” 

It was slow, the entwining of lips, the gentle way that you both leaned into each other—picking at each petal on a daisy until all that remained was the yellow disk in the centre; lips meeting in the middle of the earth and connecting each continent until you both brought back the great mass of Pangea. His hand cupping your cheek, opening his mouth to let you in, tugging at your waist to pull you flush against him and breathing heavily through his nose when the shock that froze you washed away and you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

You leaned up, chin tilting as his hand engulfed one side of your face, fingers tickling your hair, teasing the short wisps before threading his fingers into the length and tugging at it: hard. 

A soft whimper left your throat, vibrations running through your body as he trailed his hand under your shirt—desperate to feel the dip of your waist, the soft skin just beneath your ribcage that he ran a gentle thumb over. 

Tongues entwined in heavenly matrimony, the taste of him tingling on your flesh, the heat of him burning your insides until all that remained was a bubbling pit in your stomach that spit lava and breathed fire. 

You truly lost your head when he snaked his hand further under your shirt, taking advantage of your lack of bra as he skimmed his fingers under your breast and smirked against your lips at the sound you emitted—a shuddering, high-pitched thing that shot right from the back of your throat and sent heat streaming in waves down your legs.  

Desperately, you tugged at the hair that tickled his neck, pressing your weight against him, allowing him to brush every so slightly over your nipple and relish in the reaction he caused as your knees fell weak and your kisses grew harder. 

“Joel,” you murmured between the kiss, finally feeling the heat of him against you, the hard plains of his body that kept you grounded—locked in a transcendental dance, swaying in the lamplight as he hummed into your mouth: his response to your call. 

The words you had nestled on disappeared from your head, your questions and answers, statements and expressions all leaving on a cloud that settled out of your reach with God on high. His hands left you empty, his lips causing your stomach to flip and your cunt to ache in the crudest, most hedonistic sensation humankind had been granted. The deep, gruelling feeling between your legs that flashed so hot, so wet, that you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against his—catching the groan that dispelled from his lips and the grip on your hips that grew hard enough to bruise. 

When he pulled away to press an array of kisses to your jaw, trailing down to your neck and sucking on the junction, your knees grew weak and the fire inside you raged so large that you would’ve begged at his feet to put it out. You were choking on the smoke, flames licking at your calves and travelling higher, and with another call of his name, he commanded Noah to grant you a flood. 

He trailed his fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling it tight and tugging it upwards. You didn’t want to part from him to get it over your head, clinging to him like he was life itself, ignited by his palms pressing over your bare breasts as he hiked the fabric up towards your chin. You obeyed his quiet command, pulling away just far enough for him to peel it off and then brought him right back towards you as his head fell to your chest and his lips clasped around your nipple. 

“Fuck,” you whispered between laboured breaths, his tongue laving over your skin, lapping at every sweet flash of flesh.

His lips moved against you as he uttered a muffled, “Filthy mouth,” kissing back up to your lips in haste. “Always got somethin’ nasty to say.” The deep, rasp of his voice fell into your ears; the heat of his breath against your mouth as he stared at you with an intensity that flashed right through the very core of your soul. 

Bare-chested in his presence, the rough fabric of his shirt rubbing against you, you couldn’t quite come up with a reply. Words failed you, wit and intelligence just out of reach and the feeling that you were drunk on him without even having a cock inside you. Joel had been right. You think he might’ve been right about everything and you were prepared, in your shitty kitchen, with your shirt laying in a heap on the floor, to do whatever he wanted you to. 

“Joel.” It was the only constant word running through your head, the only name you could muster as he pecked you on the lips and splayed his hands along every bare bit of skin he could reach. 

“Not gonna fuck you in the kitchen, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. 

You wouldn’t have minded if he had, the adrenaline of his touches leaving little room for you to feel picky, but with the slow merging of lips as he placed gentle kisses to your mouth, coaxing you to speak, you managed to shudder out a sentence. 

Nodding, you removed your hands from his hair, reaching for his palm that rested on your waist and entwined your fingers with his. You couldn’t bear not feeling his warmth, his weight, over you, your feet hurried as you turned away from him and tugged him down the hallway—intent on shouldering through the open door that led to your room.

With the sun setting in the west, shards of golden light shot through your bedroom window, the patterns on the lace drapes casting shadows of profound nature marching across your comforter—the bunched-up blanket that lay at the foot of your unmade bed after you’d kicked it off in the middle of the night: too hot and head too full of the man that pushed you down onto the very mattress you’d touched yourself in the night before—ignoring the beauty of the four walls illuminated by mother nature’s dying heart. 

Human consumption, an all-encompassing need as he ate at your flesh, ripped your skin from its bones as he positioned you in the middle of the bed, kicked his shoes off, and nestled on top of you—a knee between your thighs that pulled a gasping breath from your lungs. 

“Pretty baby,” he murmured, lips back on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone and thumb working over your nipple—watching carefully to note the furrow of your brow, the parting of your lips and the bend in your back as you arched into him, reaching for his shoulders to feel the entire weight of him pushing you through the feathers and springs. “Always so pretty.”

Kissing down your bare stomach, tongue flicking against the skin as he reached his hands into your shorts—fists tugging just slightly to reveal your hipbones and the slight dusting of hair that nestled between them. He lay his lips on it, eyes ablaze when they opened and settled right on your heaving chest. There was question in them as he ran his thumbs over your hips, asking non-verbally whether he could strip you bare—fingers clasped around the hem, pulling just a little further and then ridding of them completely as you nodded your head and bucked your hips to ease the fabric down your legs. 

“No panties?” he grumbled, letting you kick away the shorts—hearing the thump as they landed somewhere at the foot of your bed. 

The air hitting your naked body left you writhing in the wake of enlightenment, body attuned to every touch as he rubbed his lips over your mons, breathing you in and forcing a whimper from your throat. A retort to his question pulled you from the reverie of weary head, smiling softly as you mumbled, “You’ve already seen them before.” 

He narrowed his eyes, smoulderingly handsome and devastatingly beautiful—beauty stripped away as he landed a smack to the side of your thigh, pulled a gasp from your throat and hummed softly. 

“Yeah, they were pretty.” He silences any response by grabbing onto your thighs, spreading your legs apart and tilting his head as he stared blankly at your cunt—taking in every detail. “Pretty like this pussy,” he murmurs into the space, breath fanning over your wet slit and causing your hips to twitch. Noting the movement, he slowly and deliberately purses his lips, inhales and breathes out a line of air against your clit. It pulses through you, the cold stream causing your eyes to flutter shut and a heavy heat to settle in your stomach. 

“J-Joel,” you stutter, biting your lip, hoping desperately that he’d touch you properly—bring you to that blissful brink where you could teeter just once and go falling over the edge into a meadow blanketed by the hands of angels and the mouth of God. 

“What?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone that aggravates you further. “Gotta speak up, sweetheart, I ain’t no mindreader.” 

“No,” you manage to huff out as he manoeuvres your leg over his shoulder, his thumb running along the outside flesh, teasing you to the point of no return. “No, you’re just an asshole.” 

“Mhm,” he agrees, licking his lips as he brings his eyes away from yours and gives his full attention to the leaking slit between your legs that pulses with the heat and aches with the denial. “She don’t seem to think so.” 

God and it's disgusting: the way he talks about you. It’s depraved and sick and so awfully indulgent but lying there, limp and at his mercy, you can’t care. All you can think about is his thumb travelling slowly, back and forth, along your slit, the gentle kisses he places on the insides of your thighs and the words “Think I should give her some love, don’t you?” swimming in your head before your mind blanked completely and your skin sears as he presses his mouth fully over your cunt, and begins to lick with intention. 

Expletives fall from your mouth, silenced by a second smack to your thigh and a chastising “Language,” as he pauses briefly, leaving you sweating and scared he’s changed his mind before he’s diving headfirst inside you again—tongue teasing at your hole. 

It pulls the worst of sounds from your, body reacting on autopilot as you arch into him, head falling back into the pillows and hands grasping the sheet beneath you in the hopes of gaining a semblance of stability. 

He doesn’t seem to like that, however, his head tilting upwards and hands grasping onto yours as he pulls them to his head, shuddering as your nails reach his scalp. “Hold on, baby,” he says with a slight smirk. “Don’t want you fallin’ off now, do we?” 

The assault on your cunt begins again, his tongue dancing with ease over the full surface, sucking and nipping and eating like he can’t stand to hear the growling or feel the sharp jolts of pain in his stomach anymore. The breathy moans ripping from your throat, the wet sounds reverberating from between your legs that you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by—the tearing sound as you gripped so hard onto his hair that you pulled tufts from the thick grey. 

Whimpering and writhing; unable to function with him lapping up everything from you—stealing the sweetness of your heat and hoarding it away in his back pocket.

When he sunk his fingers inside, life was pumped back into you, a phantom defibrillator bringing a gasp from your throat—eyes snapping open. 

“Shh,” he murmured as he pulled his mouth away, working his fingers in and out, stroking at the spot that sent you straight to heaven. “Relax, baby.” 

The words swam in your ears, feeling that sweet pressure in your stomach as he continued thrusting his fingers into you, curling them upwards in a manner that had your thighs shaking and a deep exhaling pouring from your chest. You trapped him between your legs when he leant down to lick at you again, small laps that transformed into blissful suckling as he took your clit fully into his mouth. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the encouraging way he looked at you every single time you dared open your eyes, all had you ascending. 

Every nerve was on fire, synapses working double time to keep up with the overload of sensations imploding inside of you. The world scurried away on a wave, eyes rolling back, toes curling as you squeezed your thighs around his head—locking him there to ensure he would not leave you. That he would keep this feeling brewing in your stomach building forever. 

“Joel,” you murmured between moans, a trail of expletives following it as you stepped to the edge of the cliffs in Big Sur, looked down at the rolling waves as your eyes fluttered shut, swaying in the wind, and letting the gust sweep you over. 

A strangled cry left you, a powerful force of nature overtaking you as you gripped tight onto his hair—briefly recognising his growl as you did so. You continued to fall, the sound of crashing ocean in your ears, before you landed softly in the tall grass and basked in the glow of the setting sun as it nestled across your face. 

Your chest rose and fell as his fingers slowed, mouth now hovering above you and watching intently as your head fell into the pillows and your body slumped with the exhaustion of pleasure. 

You found his mouth wet when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smearing slick over your hip as he crawled up your body and tugged you down the mattress. 

“You still with me?” he asked as he placed kisses on your neck, brushing sweaty hair away from your forehead and cradling your face in his hand. 

You managed a nod, communicating with actions as you pulled his face to yours, kissing him earnestly and trailing your hands towards the hem of his shirt, muttering an “Off,” barely registering his laugh at your eagerness. 

“Yeah, you’re still here,” he said with mirth, straddling your hips as he sat up to rip his shirt from his body, throwing it next to the pile of your clothes. “Still want it.” He grunted as he palmed himself through his jeans, the sight of him on top of you, so strong, so powerful, caging you in like you were a baby deer and he was the one standing over your dying body with a rifle. A shot through your legs as you heard the clink of his belt buckle, another to your stomach as he slid it from its loops and finally, one to the head when he reached into his pants and pulled his cock free. 

Sizeable in an entirely intimidating way—the vein on the underside that peeked through his fingers as he firmly stroked himself. That slight lick of precum gathering at the tip that dominated the space, your mouth watering as you were taken by the overwhelming urge to suck. He didn’t let you, however—pulling away to slide his jeans off his legs, boxers with them and leant over you to kiss you again. 

You couldn’t get enough of his lips, plump flesh bringing you to life as he nestled his mouth against yours—tongue forcing its way inside to meet yours. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and pussy, smelt of them too, yet it was buried under the overwhelming scent of him. The slight whiff of dollar store soap which was endearing more than anything, the musk of cologne he habitually sprayed over himself every day—a few more squirts when he was bedbound for a few days, unable to move with the pain weighing him down, and hadn’t found the will to shower. 

It hadn’t been one of those weeks though. You could tell as you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and fluffy, slightly wiry with his old age and thinning in the back but still so full and gorgeous. He smelt so good. So much so that as he buried his face in your neck to nip at your collarbone, you inhaled softly, breathing him in, feeling so content being trapped in this complicated dance with him. 

Your head was going funny, your body tingling and then going into overdrive when his hard cock touched the insides of your thighs—his bare chest against yours as he kissed back up to your lips, pecking twice before pulling away to stare at you. 

“No thoughts in that head, huh?” he murmured, leaning down to steal another kiss. Back up again to brand you with the force of his eyes. “Just want daddy’s cock, don’t ya.”

The visceral reaction that ran down your spine, shocked you. The undeniable shiver at the nickname, the complete perversity of it that had your cheeks heating in shame. 

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you breathed out, no real conviction to it, predicting perfectly what his next words would be. 

“And you like it.” His hand slid down your stomach, diving straight inside you and then falling in one swift movement. Fingers brought in front of your face, a slight smile on his face that you revelled in—the prospect of seeing him even slightly happy making butterflies fall and flutter in your stomach. “Sure looks like you like it.” 

The physical evidence swayed the final verdict, his wet fingers falling to your lips, you opening your mouth to let it in and lick away the verification. 

The groan that came from deep in his chest when you sucked his fingers had slick dripping down your thighs—the hasty way that he pulled his hand away from you to reach for his cock: all-consuming. Every cell cried out for Joel, for the blissful stretch, the fumbling of bodies as he slotted himself inside you and the casual roll of his hips as he drilled into you. 

His head at your entrance was undeniably overwhelming, the feel of it dragging back and forth along your slit, slipping in twice before he finally sunk inside—his body covering yours as he breathed a “There you go,” against your lips. “Take it for me, baby.”

His words helped with the ease, the burn of the stretch still prevalent but the need to please him, to be good for him, dulled the pain. The kisses on your forehead, the whispered, strained praise as he pressed inside of you, words jumbled and hurried—no sense to half of them—until he was fully inside you, balls pressed against your ass and a tear trailing into your hairline. 

Joel kissed it away, lips closing around the salty liquid, pulling away to gaze at your expression. His palms settled against either side of your head, grounding himself—trying to remain the competent party between the two of you, pulling his teeth between his lips and clenching his jaw as his fists curled into the sheets. 

When he’d settled and become comfortable with the tightness of you around him, he kissed you again, lips wet and swollen from where he’d bit at them—a full-mouthed kiss. Opening you up, distracting you from the length of him pulling away, leaving your cunt open and lonely, then the gasp and shudder as he pushed back into you. 

“J-Joel,” you stuttered out, unable to recall if you’d said anything except his name for the past hour. 

“I know, babydoll, I know.” 

He started slow, hips rolling, cock sliding: in and out, round and round, pubic bone catching on your clit—the sweet pressure that clouded you, that left you boneless and aching. The moan you let out was something that you would’ve been embarrassed by if it wasn’t for his praise. The sweet “Good girl,” that crept past his lips, followed by the “Keep makin’ those pretty little noises for me.” It could’ve been perceived as affection if it wasn’t for the growling tone it was uttered with, a particular harsh thrust that was met with a grunt and a whine. 

The world around you slipped away, the only constant being Joel and his hooded gaze, his parted mouth as he sucked in every breath you exhaled. Those perfect arms hooking around you, locking you in with him, the weight of him leaving as he sat up on his haunches to gaze down at the sight of him lost inside you—the fire that danced along your belly as he pulled your legs apart and began thrusting at a pace your mind could not catch up with. 

Words muffled in your ears, “Such a sweet little cunt.” A flash of heat down your neck as they reached your cock-muddled brain—whispered right inside your head. “Dreamt about this pussy.” Pace faltering as he parted his mouth and took a deep breath; his eyes fluttering shut. “Always fucking dreamin’ about ya.”

That southern drawl that lulled you right through every sensation, comforting words that helped you gain some amount of strength—just wanting to reach him and pull him close. It was cold without him pressed against you. Detached. In a way you didn’t want to be, in a way that you had always thought sex shouldn’t be. 

When he grumbled out, “My perfect girl,” you couldn’t stand the separation anymore, pushing up on your forearms and somehow managing to jump him, bracketing his thighs and swinging your arms around his neck—kissing him madly. 

The surprised grunt he let out made you smile, his hips stilling as you sat on him—feeling him so deep inside you it felt like he was stabbing at your stomach. You whined against his lips when he rolled his hips upwards, losing the will to move as you buried your face in his neck. 

Bodies entwined, limbs entangled and a mouth moving against your hair as it uttered words so sinful that you were sure the cross on your bedroom wall, hung right above your bed, would turn upside down all on its own. The devil in your room, his spawn fucking you on your bed and a laugh on God’s lips because he always knew you were false. That there was no verity to your prayers, that you weren’t ever a true daughter; that you would never spend eternity with him when you fell from the burning bridge to the lake. 

“Does my baby wanna ride?” he asked, hands on your ass, moving you up and down along his length whilst he smiled into your hair. Enjoying the desperation—basking in the way you pleaded for him. 

You nodded your head at his question, unable to breathe with the casual move of his hips paired with the strong manhandle as he moved you along him. 

“Wanted to feel you,” you mumble out softly, entirely dumb with the feel of him—sweat dripping down each body and mingling at the bottom of a well. “Just wanted you.” 

Within Joel Miller, in all his outright madness, past all that anger and tribulation, lay a vulnerability you had always wanted to pull from him. A vulnerability that he showed you, in your bed, with you wrapped around him, grinding your hips against his to feel that growth in your stomach. Vulnerability that he perfectly lay in front of you with broken laces lined up in an order, as he whined. A low, breathy thing that had something snapping inside you—a primal instinct as your slick spilt onto his thighs and your brain decided to give him everything. 

You reached up to drag your hands through his hair, using his hands on your ass as a guide—where to start and where to stop, where to speed up and slow down—as you rode him. Nails dragged down to his shoulders, digging into the skin of his back as he bucked his hips upwards. 

“Pretty, pretty, baby,” he mumbled. “Think about you all the time. Think about that perfect little face when I’m jerkin’ off.” 

Such crude words had your heart fluttering, your pace picking up as you pressed your forehead against his and chased that fleeting high. Unable to think of the comedown in the moment, too enraptured by his arms holding you tight against him, the slight dusting of hair against his chest that stimulated your nipples so perfectly and of course, his gorgeous fucking cock that dragged inside you with the sweetest of scrapes. Pushing and pulling, touching against the mind-numbing spot inside you with every thrust—every time you slammed down against his hips. 

“I- I,” you managed to breathe out when it all came flooding in. A hurricane swept past the county, headed straight for your home, walls down and completely defenceless when you felt the wind knocking against the panes. “Joel.”

“Shhh, baby, I got you.” He wrapped his left arm fulling around your waist, placing the right against your face to tilt your head back. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

Rain was fully beating down on your shelter, dripping through the rafters—threatening to push through the roof and flood you with debris. 

“I got you,” he repeated, holding you tight as there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere to run. Just wait for the glass to break and the door to slam open. 

You could only moan, unable to keep moving—just letting him do all the work. To keep doing exactly as he had been as the rain came pouring in through the cracks, water rising so fast you were waist-deep in it by the time he muttered a “Let go for me,” his hand moving to cradle the back of your head and keep you locked in place. “C’mon, baby, give daddy another one.” 

His words broke the glass entirely, the roof caving in as the hurricane raged, inching closer and closer until it found you—beating you right to the floor.

It was a continual cry of his name, his words sweet in your ear as he worked you through it, tone strangled and tense as his stomach clenched and he thrust his hips at breakneck speed—deciding that he couldn’t focus on you any longer as he was beaten to the ground by the twister alongside you.

Pulling away hastily, he reached a hand down to rub his cock, fisting at the length until he spilt over you with a broken moan and painted your stomach with the making of your union. 

You were still twitching when his breathing slowed, his arm still tight around you; not quite ready to let go yet. 

The storm had passed, and you were left with the damage of its destruction. 

Broken furniture, ravaged landscape, and a hole where you and Joel lay—fingers brushing against one another as you reached out to him. 

There was a brief moment of peace, the time between now and what was to come, pausing as if to grant you the sweet mercy of holding on for just a minute longer. 

Then, as quickly as it came it was gone, a single kiss to your lips before he gently laid you down, hesitating just a moment, gazing at you like he wanted to stay, before deciding that he was too stubborn to go against his word, and stood up from the bed to find his pants. 

Stupidly, in your fucked-out, hazy state of mind, you decided to ignore everything he’d said before: about you not being permanent. Some part of you wanted to believe that he had said it just to hurt you, that there was no real meaning behind them except mindless arrogance and a will to push you away because he was afraid. 

“You aren’t staying?”

He paused his movements, halfway through putting his jeans on, and looked at you with something akin to disgust. 

“What’d I tell you, princess?” 

It was awful. That switch.

As soon as his dick wasn’t wet and leaking, he was gone. Lost to the tunnels of his mind, trapped in a maze that had no exit. You couldn’t find him—couldn’t see that Joel that had been there just moments ago, calling you pretty and perfect. Telling you that you were his girl. 

You’d agreed, you knew you had. It didn’t make it any less painful as he refused to look at you when he re-buckled his belt, didn’t even glance over when you reached down for the blankets and pulled them around you—suddenly feeling entirely exposed. 

All you could do was watch: in an awkward silence. Scan his face for anything as he pulled his shirt over his head and didn’t even dare sit on the bed to put his boots back on. 

It was hurtful when he reached into his back pocket to shake out a cigarette, bringing it to his lips and flicking open his zippo in a way that shouldn’t have been so damn attractive. 

“Joel?” Where the bravery had come from, you didn’t know, your body shaking under the covers as his eyes landed on yours for the first time since he’d stared at you as you came undone. 

“Mhm?” he grunted out in response, breathing out the smoke and going straight in for another drag. 

What you were going to say, you hadn’t thought out. You hadn’t thought out the entire encounter in general and in that moment it felt like you hadn’t thought out anything in your entire life. So, when the mumbled, “Thank you,” fell from your lips and the harsh chuckle fell from his, you couldn’t quite stop the feeling of utter embarrassment and humiliation. 

You’d promised him you wouldn’t tell anyone, that you wouldn’t go spouting his business to the park's biggest gossips, so you wouldn’t. You’d have to sit with it, to go back to lying on your bedroom floor every day and regretting everything and everyone. Rehashing every person you had wronged when you were stuck in the harshest depths of your mind, every time you’d been beaten down by those out to get you—every fork in the road you’d come across that seemed to harbour identical destinations: damnation. 

“Gratitude accepted,” he mumbled out, cigarette perched between his lips—inhaling and exhaling with it still in his mouth. 

For some reason, you wanted to cry. Your throat closed, lip quivering and tears forming in your waterline. You suppressed it—at least, you tried to. He’d already seen you cry before. You had no interest in letting him see it again.

There was a heavy silence as he stood there smoking, eyes trained on you and taking note of your throat bobbing as you swallowed down the lump. You knew you’d been caught then, his twitching jaw that he rid of with another drag of the cigarette, the slight sigh that he huffed out through his nose and the single nod of his head as he walked the few paces to your bed and sat down atop the mattress. 

Quietly, he gestured the burning stick towards you, watching as you accepted it gratefully. It helped rid the ache in your chest. 

“I said I didn’t wanna say I told you so,” he said, running a hand over his scruff before placing it on your thigh—skin burning through the thin material. 

You sniffled, trying to maintain composure as you jutted your chin out and gave him the hardest of stares you could muster. 

“And I said I understood.” You let the cigarette burn between your fingers—the single drag making you feel sick to your stomach. “I’m not…naive. Not stupid either.” 

“I know,” he said plainly. “I know.” 

“Then why are you still here?” It was said bitterly, a tone that you hadn’t wanted to take with him but left your body unconsciously as some form of repressed rage came bubbling in pieces through you. 

He swallowed calmly, pulling his hand away as he plucked the cigarette from between your fingers—deciding he needed it more than you did. 

“Just wanted to…” he cleared his throat upon hearing the strain in his tone, seemingly struggling to speak the words aloud. “Just wanted to make sure you understood.”

“And I do,” you countered quickly.

“Good,” he countered even quicker. 

Your skin was burning, and your cunt began to ache with the loss of him—the imprint that he’d left inside you that you were sure would be there for some time. 

The smell of tobacco was starting to make you feel sick, the scent of sex in the air a harsh reminder of everything you’d gained and lost in the space of a few hours.

The sun hid itself behind the horizon, its light no longer shining through and piercing your heart. 

It was instead the harsh stab of his gaze, the lasting feeling of his hands on your thighs and the intense tightness in your chest every time you looked at him, that broke you completely. 

“You can go,” you mumbled, watching his face for any sign that he didn’t want to do as you asked—that he’d finally lay beside you and stroke your hair as he told you everything he’d done wrong. Just so maybe you could feel normal. Like someone else in this world had finally seen you and understood that you weren’t perfect—that there were more flaws than strengths and more fuckups than good decisions. 

There was nothing. Just a blank stare as he stood, knees cracking and back aching—walking away and leaving the phantom feel of him inside you, nestled between your legs. 

“See you ‘round,” he mumbled, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, okay.” 

There was a pause as he waited, eyes firmly on the floor as he screwed his brow up—looking like he was thinking hard. Weighing up his options before flicking his gaze up and landing on you: naked and trembling in bed. 

“I still mean it.” You were confused for a moment, waiting for a confession, hoping in the grandest of your delusions that he’d change his mind and love you till the end of time. Then, the confirmation that, upon close inspection, seemed to be the closest to a confession you would ever get. “You need anythin’, I’ll be there.” 

You nodded to show you understood, unable to speak in fear you’d crack and crumble, and watched with a deep longing in your heart as he turned his back on you, and walked away. 

His footsteps were heavy against the floor, his power reverberating all throughout the trailer—the gentleness he displayed in small gifts of protectiveness and affection, shown through the way he closed the door as quietly as he could. If it wasn’t for the creak of the steps, you would’ve thought he hadn’t left at all. 

When you were sure he was gone, you allowed yourself a moment to cry, turning over in bed to curl up in a ball of self-pity. 

Why he couldn’t stay, you were unsure. Why he wouldn’t hold you close, if only for one night, you didn’t know. You didn’t know anything. You were lost in a world you were so sure was not meant for you, knowing right there, in the sweat of your bed with tears dripping off your nose, that you did not know Joel Miller and would never know him for as long as he lived. 

Cracking him open was like trying to split a coconut with nothing but your bare hands. 

Crying with no one to hold you, those final words of admission ran through your head; you knew that this problem, you could not go to him with. That the word “anything,” was a courtesy and a promise he could not cater to. 

Head pounding with disdain, tears running with despondency, chest aching so painfully you thought your heart would fail. In some way, you wished it would. Just so you could rest for a moment. Because you couldn’t without the warmth of him behind you, his arms tugging you close and lips on the side of your head—whispering everything that had pulled him to you and kept him there. 

Turning around to face your window, pressing a palm to your head like it would take away the pain, you gazed at the trailer that neighboured yours. The cracks and cobwebs that littered its surface, the two chairs that spent every waking moment together, tucked into their own corner of the world where they could whisper and giggle—expel every truth because all that time had left them with nothing but absolute trust. 

You realised that sitting in the chair on the left, the one that had no owner would mean that you and Joel would have to navigate the same type of relationship: one that relied on a bond unbroken by anything except their mistakes and mistruths. 

You faced away, closing your eyes and willing God to send you an eternal sleep—pathetically pretending that he was there beside you as you ran a finger over the drying cum on your stomach and the lingering bruising inside of you that left a blood on your thighs and a butterfly in your head as it knocked against each surface of your skull and fell gracelessly when it came hurtling against the wall.

© virginreprise

a/n: well, i finally got it out!! not entirely pleased with it but i never am lol. it's only half proofread just because i got bored halfway through and only went through what i wrote today. either way, i hope you enjoyed it!! maybe...there'll be more chapters after this. it's quite a depressing ending which is what i like best tbh but it'd be nice to see joel finally stop being a dick :))

thanks for reading !

taglist: @1maasrpe

[howlsofbloodhounds]

What's your opinion on Dadmare aus?

I don’t think much about Dadmare aus, or not very often. I don’t have anything against them and whenever I come across content i usually think it’s cute and like the post before moving on, but i don’t seek it out and hardly engage in it.

This is mostly because i haven’t found an interpretation of dadmare aus ive been able to get invested in, most interpretations ive come across just aren’t for me.

My biggest “issues” (but not really) with most interpretations is that nightmare is almost always portrayed as a perfect dad who can do no wrong, all the other sanses are infantilized to hell and back, and as @/signanothername said in their own post, none of the characters feel like their own people.

Their relationships to eachother and Nightmare all feel very one note and cut from the same mold most of the time. All the same reactions, all completely trust Nightmare and kiss the ground he walks on.

I don’t mind found family, but I don’t like it when the found family is shoved into little boxes and cannot differ from them.

Nightmare is 500+ years old, did not grow up with any significant parent figure in his life despite winging it on taking care of Dream, and spent his 6 early years of life being routinely abused by all the adults around him. And then he was horribly transformed and corrupted.

Why would he take on a parental role again when the last time he tried something like that he was also a child, he had no other choice, and everything went to shit despite it? Wouldn’t he also struggle like any actual parent would.

If he spent 500+ years isolated and only interacting with others when forced to, or needing something from them like negativity, wouldn’t that life experience translate into trying to care for this group of traumatized men.

And they are men. They aren’t boys. They’re adults. Unless they’re supposed to be actual children when they meet Nightmare, or one or all of them are age regressed, then I don’t see the point in infantilizing them or treating them as if they’re children. None of these guys are looking for a father figure.

Adults can be found family, there doesn’t need to be any dad or child or siblings boxes to me.

Especially not when Horror already has a brother, Killer’s concept of family dynamics is also very likey screwed to hell and back (just look at what he thinks about any relationship, there’s no such thing as “equals” in his eyes, killer in dadmare dynamics would probably just view it as another role and game he has to play and “dadmare” is his new Chara), Nightmare killed his mother and his currently trying to kill his brother after trapping him in stone for years.

Dust killed his brother and is constantly haunted by his hallucination, Cross destroyed his entire AU and also came from an entirely different AU with a completely different life from the others. (Alphys being his sister, for example. Horror having lobotomized his Alphys and Killer having likely killed and tortured his many times and Dust having murdered his.)

So tldr: I don’t mind dadmare, but it personally isn’t for me. I like found family bad sanses, but not if there’s roles assigned and not if it’s not earned.

I don’t like Nightmare being the perfect father somehow and the sanses being treated like children even though they’re 30-40+ adults and aren’t looking for a father figure.

I prefer dysfunctional found family dynamics with the bad sanses.

Also that some people aren’t likely to be overly emotionally involved or invested in these dynamics for a very long time if at all, even if he plays along as if its all a game or some elaborate test being played on him— either because he thinks he has to, or because it’s something new and he’s curious. He may even get bored of the dynamics eventually, and start asking Nightmare when it’s game over.

Which could lead to something very interesting if he realizes it was never supposed to be a game or a test.

[enden-agolor]

When i tell you i screamed, i SCREAMED, Lukas and Petra's interaction with a very tense and very saddening vibe really adds to Petra's character of always and making sure not to let her emotions and feelings spill, keeping up her facade of a strong and very strict leader when deep down she just wants to go out and adventure with her friends again :( The whole mayor thing really doesn't suit her but she probably became one as to lead the people the way Jesse did but ended up with what she has now, when her frustration of keeping things to herself has spilled because of Lukas' and his similarities to Jesse had really made me sad as her way of dealing with grief is to not show it, when she said that he sounded like Jesse, it seems that the memories of her and Jesse instantly came up and she just kinda wanted to think about it, about what Jesse wants and for the first time she actually think about Jesse with how he'd go and scold her for turning BeaconTown like this and I'd like to think that she'll go to his treehouse and stay there as it helps whenever her head is in shambles and need to think :> JDIDJNEJD I LOVE THE NEW CHAPTER SO MUCHJH

YES. YOU GET IT.

I know this is a jesskas story but I very much deeply care about the other characters and making sure they stay true to their canon counterparts as well, even with all these new life changes. Petra is very much unhappy where she is now. Eventually, you'll see and understand why she's in the position she is, despite hating it. While she does feel very bitter towards Lukas for what he does as a job, it mostly comes from the jealousy she has that it's not her who is travelling the world the way she wanted to back in the day. Lukas is a walking reminder of something she wishes she had, and his care towards the people and the environment makes it even worse because he does think like how Jesse would. Jesse would do what he did in his situation, and that's to tell Petra that she's running BeaconTown wrong and that this just isn't right. Lukas has no relationship he fears of ruining with Petra, so snapping at her for running the town the way she is wasn't something he was scared of if there was any ounce of possibility that it could benefit the town, or maybe even Petra herself. Learning that she's an Order member definitely changed his perspective of her, understanding now that there is something much darker deep down inside her happening. Lukas doesn't despise her, but he certainly doesn't like her. He believes in her though. And that's something she really needed to hear. It means a lot, especially from an outsider who barely knows her or her situation.

There will be a lot more plot involving her in the future 😁

[stagkingswife]

This may sound a bit silly, and I apologize if you've gotten this kind of ask before (please feel free to tell me to look for it or link posts if you want; no need for any answer even, there's no pressure), but I think unrecorded deities have been reaching out to me. I'm a bit nervous to reach back because I'm not sure how to verify who they are effectively. I also typically ask the deities I worship for protection, but I feel like that wouldn't be very respectful if the unrecorded deities truly are reaching out, you know? I want to be considerate of the fact that they, themselves, are also deities. Do you have any advice on what I can do to verify them? Do you know of ways to protect myself that wouldn't be seen as disrespectful? If you're unsure, it's totally ok. I appreciate any and all advice you may have, as I've never really encountered this before.

Regardless if you choose to answer, thank you for being here! I love your blog, and whenever I see your posts on my dash, it brings me a smile. Thank you, and take care! c:

Vetting unrecorded entities is very different from vetting recorded ones in my experience, but you can still do it! I've found it to be a much slower, longer process, that you really have to be patient and dedicated for. It's much more about getting to know the entity for who they are as an individual than it is about checking them against known facts. So be prepared to be in for the long haul!

I've written about my methods of vetting entities, both unrecorded and recorded in a couple of places. I have sort of an intro to my process of vetting an unrecorded entity here, it lays out the idea of checking the entity against themselves and looking for internal consistency. I combine this method of getting to know you questions with my note taking methods: Part 1 and Part 2 respectively. By having good notes I can establish that consistency and look for contradictions. Does the entity say something in one visit, and then contradict it the next time I encounter them? To me that's not a reason to cut off contact, but it is something to ask them about. Maybe it's a complicated thing for that entity, maybe there's a story, maybe they're reveling truths bit by bit as they come to trust me. There's a chance they may have lied to me, and I can ask them why. I'm very willing to hear explanations when I'm getting to know a new spirit, and for things to change as I get to know them. Sometimes they are remembering things about themselves as they are telling it to me. This doesn't apply to an unrecorded entity who is a regular spirit who has just never been written down, like a local nature spirit, or an individual one of the Fair Folk, but I've found that working with the really truly ancient spirits that maybe haven't interacted with a human in very long time can be a bit like talking to someone with dementia. I was started working on returning the Forgotten Ones in the same year that I lost my Pop-Pop to Parkinsons, and communicating to them in the begin was a lot like talking to him at the end. They knew who they were, loosely, but the details were foggy and vague, and would sometimes change a bit from visit to visit, like my Pop-Pop remembering my Nona was the most beautiful girl in the world, but not what her name was.

As for asking for protection I'm going to ask you this. Do you think it's disrespectful to ask the recorded entities and deities that you have relationships with for protection? If asking for blessings and protection is part of your normal way of interacting with a recorded deity I think it would be more disrespectful to an unrecorded one if you treated them differently. I don't really have too much to do with recorded deities anymore, but when I did I always made a point to treat them and the Forgotten Ones the same. It was important to me to show both the Forgotten Ones and the recorded deities that they were equal to me, and that the Forgotten Ones weren't different, lesser, or other in any way because of their unrecorded-ness. They were all just spirits in silly hats.

Personally, to be perfectly frank, I don't like relying on outside forces for protection. I've never been one to ask a deity or spirit for protection, it's too reliant on the benevolence of an external being, which could be revoked if a relationship ever soured. So while I think you could ask an unrecorded deity for it, I wouldn't personally recommend it. I would instead recommend coming up with a self reliant method of protection. I prefer wards on my living space and personal shields built into enchanted jewelry for when I leave my warded space, but there are other methods of protection spells out there. You could probably tweak my "Retreat Into Your Shell" Spell to be more general protection, it's sort of geared at emotional protection as designed, if you wanted to! Would just need to swap the herbs and then design your sigil/symbol for what you want.

[cienie-isengardu]

Khaos Reigns and the matter of Lin Kuei

Warning: rant not spoiler free!

I said it before and I will say it again: Netherrealm Studio does not utilize the plot of Lin Kuei brothers to its fullest potential. And by brothers I don’t just mean Bi-Han and Kuai Liang. Mind you, their Khaos Reigns’ strained relationship comes back to Mortal Kombat 1 (2023) mess, so it’s not that there is no sense in how they interact. I’m frustrated by it but my frustration is not directed at characters itself but at NRS that does all in their power to *not* give us the heartbreaking story of shattered brotherhood - and it says a lot that we have much more wholesome relationship between Bi-Han/Noob and Sektor or Kuai Liang and Cyrax than we have with brothers themselves.

This is however not the most frustrating thing about the Lin Kuei brothers plot for me but how the previous game established Smoke and Kuai Liang as the “true brothers” and then Khaos Reigns ignores Tomas even more than the last time. And let’s be honest here: last time Tomas already was shoved hardy to the background.

The thing about Khaos Reigns that killed the most my enthusiasm is not actually Bi-Han/Noob & Kuai Liang subplot (as frankly, I did except the worst), nor even how NRS handled Noob after “mending his mind”. I’m fully disappointed and absolutely frustrated how the new part of Liu Kang’s timeline is heavily centered at Lin Kuei and TOMAS IS NOT THERE AT ALL. Everyone, including Scorpion, totally ignore his existence during the meeting before the mission to Chaosrealm.

The scene I’m talking about went like this:

Kitana: Which is why you believe we need Sektor. Liu Kang: As Lin Kuei, she and Cyrax are trained for this type of mission. And they have the benefit of being with us, here. I can send them immediately, under Scorpion’s command -- Scorpion: I want neither’s help. I will go alone.  Liu Kang: That would be unwise.

See? Not for the first time we hear that Lin Kuei were trained since childhood for that kind of mission, so Kuai Liang and Sektor are natural choice, sure, but no one even for a moment thought about including Tomas - whose BIO specifically said he “chose to make the Lin Kuei’s mission his own. But as he lacked his brothers' innate supernatural abilities, he set out to master practical magic. Having done so, he now joins them in Earthrealm's defense."

There is a reasonable excuse or two to leave him behind I can make out of my head within seconds. For example, as a backup plan if the mission has failed, so there is someone to command Shirai Ryu  during battle. Or leaving Smoke behind to keep Harumi and/or their clan safe, as Scorpion can’t trust there won’t be another attack of Lin Kuei. But apparently even for a second it did not cross Kuai Liang’s mind to take Tomas - his trusted, loyal brother -  with himself, as counterargument to taking Cyrax and Sektor on a deadly mission. That Kuai Liang did not trust his former comrades makes absolutely sense, but this is why Smoke’s presence could be a good preventive measure. Scorpion did not ever utter any wish to have Tomas there at his side. Instead, Kuai Liang wanted to go alone (a mindset actually shared with Bi-Han!) and we got the Lin Kuei storyline with Tomas BEING THE ONLY ONE (EX)LIN KUEI NOT INCLUDED AT ALL.

Remember when the fandom was so angry at Bi-Han for not considering Tomas to be true Lin Kuei ("Mind your place, Tomas. Father may have taken you in, made you one of us... but your blood will never be Lin Kuei.”)? One year later, this exact scene on one hand actually backs up Sub-Zero’s claim, as even Kuai Liang does not consider Tomas to have at his side in a dire situation and opting to go alone. Which is why NRS should in my opinion allow *any* character to excuse the lack of Smoke at Mileena’s palace or why Liu Kang couldn’t teleport him there to aid Scorpion in his mission.

On another hand, the Khaos Reigns is about Lin Kuei more than ever while Tomas has barely few speaking lines and is totally removed from Lin Kuei brotherhood storyline. This was the perfect opportunity to add Smoke into the main group and expand our understanding of the relationship and history of characters. And hey, Bi-Han and Tomas too were once brothers and it would be really nice, if their brotherhood got some focus too, instead of excluding Smoke from it completely. Which again, adds a new layer to how hypocritical Kuai Liang was in the first game, with all the declaration how he and Tomas may not share a blood but they were brothers, when Scorpion A) has never once(?) mention Smoke through the new storyline nor B) even for a moment considered how Bi-Han’s death - his choice to not save their brother - could affect Tomas who, as intro dialogues imply, wished Scorpion and Sub-Zero could reconcile.  I understand why NRS put the focus on blood brothers, but it is the studio’s own choice to add Tomas to said brotherhood in the first place and by excluding him, they paint Scorpion as very self-centered and selfish man that is so focused on himself and his anger at Bi-Han, he literally gives no fucks about Tomas’ feelings on the matter. Which is… a surprising choice to say at least. 

We literally could have all Lin Kuei main heroes interacting on the same mission. A chance that most likely won’t happen too soon, if ever again.

So, yeah, I’m disappointed in that regard, as Tomas and Bi-Han once again got the short end of the stick from all the available Lin Kuei characters. With the one difference that Bi-Han, whatever presented as a good or bad person, brings some weight and impact on the storyline and other heroes. Tomas though? He could be cut away and his absence would change literally nothing.