#it does get better even if it feels like it won’t

[reignpage]

Physics Tutor!Nanami

Law of Love: following the stars across the universe to you

Content: final chapter of the pre-relationship arc, fluff and smut, 18+ mdni, not proofread Word Count: 6.1k Guide

Nanami Kento is a man of science. 

Always has been, likely always will be. 

Everything is measured, from his coffee (exactly one and a half tablespoon of coffee grinds and three hundred millilitres of hot water, no sugar, straight off the boil), to the temperature of his shower (thirty-eight degrees) and even to the number of steps it takes to get from his shared apartment to his Monday morning lecture hall (one thousand, six hundred, and seventy eight usually). 

So, it would be no surprise to anyone that he’s counting down the seconds till the clock strikes five on a Saturday afternoon, phone in one hand in case you get lost, or universe forbid, bailed, and coffee in the other.

He should have done this a long time ago, should have invited you here, or invited himself over to your place, anything to get you alone. No, not in a creepy way. He just wants to talk, to get everything out in the open, to fix things. 

After an embarrassing night of drinking more alcohol than he really should have, he resolved to send you a message imploring you to come to the Eden Observatory. Nanami isn’t exactly sure why he chose this place of all places — a girl like you should be taken somewhere fancy, like a five star restaurant, dazzled on an ice rink, or led through a mall and told to choose anything and everything you want. 

Palms sweaty, he wipes them on his slacks. That’s another thing. He hasn’t opted to wear something cooler. Dressed in a plain, clunky sweater and overly formal trousers, he groans inwardly and regrets not having taken Haibara up on his offer to wear some of his hoodies and jeans. 

He can still picture his roommate’s lopsided grin and the enthusiastic thumbs up he gave which only made Nanami furrow his brows, feeling oddly like a child being dropped off at their first day of school. 

With the sun setting, he stands in front of the doors, fiddling with the keys, and waits rather impatiently. He’s booked it for the evening so there won’t be distractions. It’ll just be you and him and all the things left unsaid. 

A smile flutters on his lips. 

You came. 

You emerged from your car, a hot pink mini, and are walking up to him with a sway in your hips that is distracting him from the frown on your glossy lips. Dressed in a denim mini skirt and a thin sweater sloping off one shoulder, he wonders if you’re cold. It might not be full blown winter yet but it’s the kind of weather people usually sigh at. 

“That coffee better be for me because I desperately need it.”

“Is that so?” He hands you the coffee, a caramel frappe so sickeningly sweet he feels a toothache coming from just looking at it. You take it from him with manicured hands and pat his chest in a thank you, eyeing your surroundings. 

Rambling, you inform him, “I woke up at seven today. Seven, Kento! Like, actually seven. Why, you ask? Well, because I wanted to make sure I didn’t oversleep. Which is stupid because our meeting’s at five pm so I’m not really sure where I got the idea that I could somehow sleep through it from. And, like, I didn’t even sleep at all last night.”

“Oh, dear. That’s terrible.” Truthfully, Kento could tell you’re frazzled this afternoon; there are bags under your eyes and there’s a slight quiver in your hands. He’s clearly not the only one nervous. Strangely, that does nothing to soothe that ache in his chest. 

“And like, I really shouldn’t be here, y’know? It’s not smart, even my sister said so. But here I am anyways. Because apparently, I can’t get enough of sexy, blond nerds.”

Kento smiles, feeling content to stand outside, alone with you forever. The sun is peeking through the clouds, shining a warm beam on your face. You’re glowing. 

It’s the kind of scene a scientist gains nothing from seeing; it only highlights the daunting reality that there are mysteries in the world that will never be solved in one’s lifetime and can only be theorised, like a black hole. It’s all consuming, a rare and magnificent sight to behold, but one mustn’t dare get too close for once they cross it, they might never return. 

But your pull is so strong he just can’t help himself. 

“You were totally a pain in the ass last night, y’know?” You mutter, casually checking the chips in your nail polish. You’re just saying whatever comes to mind now. 

He grimaces. He remembers everything and gosh did he wish he didn’t. “I’m sorry for having been a bother.”

“It’s alright. God knows I’ve bothered you more often and far worse.”

Nanami wants to argue. He wants to say you’ve never bothered him, never once irritated him, but there’s nothing he could say to erase all those words he had spoken and wished he could erase. So, instead, he pulls open the door and offers his hand to lead you in. 

Immediately he regrets that. Why would you need his hand to cross through a doorway? Did he not get the memo that you’re living in the twenty-first century? 

Despite the twitch of his fingers, you give him a knowing smile before you grant him some mercy. Your hand is soft. So very soft. It feels light in his, and he worries that if he holds you too tight, he’ll break you like a beaker. Faint memories from last night come back to him, reminding him this isn’t the first time he’s held your hand. And he hopes it won’t be the last. 

“What are we doing here anyways? When you asked me to give you the opportunity to talk, I thought you meant in a cafe, or in your place. In fact, I was kind of hoping it’ll be in your place.”

He leads you through the grand foyer, the shiny marble floors perfectly polished despite the day guests. “I was hoping this would be somewhat like a date.”

“A date?” You screech. “Nanami, you didn’t tell me this was a date!”

“What difference does it make?” It sounds rhetorical, but you know better. He’s pleading, genuinely asking if making his intentions clear from the beginning would have made this outcome different, if you wouldn’t have come, and he would have been left wondering ‘what if’ for the rest of his life. 

Instinctively pulling your hand, you stumble into his chest when he doesn’t budge, doesn’t let go. Face burying between his pecs, you’re practically smothered in his hard body and his clean, musky scent. It’s so easy to forget that Nanami Kento, being a nerd and all, is actually an elite member of the List for a reason.

Your classmate isn’t like all the boys you’re surrounded by in frat parties. He isn’t a boy at all. The strength he carries in every limb and muscle reminds you of all the things he could do to you, of all the things you want him to do to you. 

He doesn’t push you away and you don’t make an effort to leave. Instead, he takes your frappe from your hand, worried that it’s dangerously close to tipping over onto your clothes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it was a date. I didn’t mean to trick you. And well, it doesn’t have to be one if you don’t want it to be. But I’d like for it to be a date. Our first date.”

“But why would you want to date me? Haven’t I been horrible?”

Nanami feels something break inside. He likens it to the feeling one gets when they receive an anomalous result which throws off their entire research. Sighing, he attempts to nudge you so he can see your face but you only bury yourself in his chest further. He waddles you both over inside the double doors on the right with some difficulty, bringing the straw of your drink to your lips when you lift your head. 

“You haven’t been horrible. Not at all. In fact, I fear I’ve been horrible.”

“No! You’ve been great. Brilliant, even. You could never be horrible.”

He shakes his head. “I snapped at you that night. I jumped to conclusion and acted irrationally and emotionally. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no. I was wrong for lying to you and luring you to the party. I was wrong for teasing you this entire time. It’s so mean and so stupid and I hate myself for it. But I just really liked you. You have the best reactions and I wanted to see them all. And it’s all just so stupid. Ugh, I’m sorry.”

A blush is rising up his cheeks. It’s clear neither of you are going to relent. Maybe you’re both to blame for the unnecessary back and forth, for this farce that eluded you in some cruel twist of fate. Maybe it’s neither of you. Maybe none of it matters. Not anymore. Not when you’re here, not when you came and you’re looking up at him like he’s…something. 

That trusting, longing expression on your face threatens to sweep his legs out from under him. He feels like he’s suspended in air, free diving with the ground nowhere in sight, and judging by the way his fingers twitch, seeking to touch your softness, he suspects he’s been falling for eternity.

“Don’t apologise,” he finds the courage to breathe out, “Not anymore. Let’s just enjoy what I’ve got planned.”

You beam, eyes darting to what’s behind him, the conversation already forgotten. Marvelling at the hall you didn’t even realise you entered, you pull away from him and spin around, trying to catch sight of everything. 

He’s led you to the planetarium. Having spent many hours doing demonstrations and lectures here to tourists, students on school trips, and for birthday parties, it was the only place he could think of that might impress you. And though he was worried you’d find this lacking compared to your other potential experiences, those fears vanish the moment your eyes fall on his again and a huge smile is pulling at your lips. 

“Ken! This place is beautiful.”

Nanami gulps. 

You just called him by his first name. No, by a nickname. Like before. Like how you used to. And he feels his knees wobble a little. Not even his family calls him by a nickname, and admittedly, he’s never been fond of people taking creative initiative on his name but he likes it when it comes from your lips. He’d consider changing his name to ‘Ken’ permanently if it means you’ll call him that forever. 

"Can you believe I've never been here before? That's actually like so crazy."

Space is projected above both of your heads, countless stars twinkling in the abyss, forming constellations and glittering around planets and galaxies. Ever so slowly, the picture moves, disappearing to the right and allowing more of the universe to be observed. 

He’s so thankful he pleaded his case to his manager, the elderly man who owns the place, arguing that it’s for a special cause, to cheer up a friend, that it would be informative for their tutoring session. Mr. Tanaka insisted that it’d be too costly to shut down the observatory for even just an evening and for something so trivial.

However, when Nanami had said, ‘she’d really appreciate it’, Mr. Tanaka’s entire demeanour had shifted from grouchy old man, to giggling gossip. 

“Oh, well why didn’t you say it was for your lady, Kento? Of course, you can lock up and bring her over. Show her around, really make her day. I’ll let you in on a little secret, old boy. That’s exactly how I wooed my wife. Oh, she was so overjoyed she could barely stop gasping. How glad am I that a kid as serious as you actually has an appetite!” Mr. Tanaka laughed heartily, and laughed even harder when Kento blushed.

Having thanked him profusely, Kento was just about to leave before Mr. Tanaka added, a wistful tone in his gravelly voice as he caressed a picture on his desk, “You have fun, alright, Kento? You enjoy every second of it. Don’t get lost in what the universe has to offer you when everything you could ever want is within arm’s reach already.”

Feeling somewhat unnerved by the sudden seriousness in the old man’s face, he could do nothing but listen, absorbing every drop of wisdom as if he’s being shown the key to the beyond of the conceivable universe. 

And then, Mr. Tanaka smiled so brightly, the student almost missed the agony pulling his lips down. 

“Because that’s the beauty of the stars, Kento. They twinkle for love.”

Seeing those very stars reflected in your huge, wondrous eyes and the way his heart stutters, Kento feels inclined to listen to the rambling, grumpy senior more often.

Sitting down onto the centre velvet seats, the coffee stands in the cupholder on the armchair separating the both of you. The seat’s are plenty spacious and they even recline. You both make yourself comfortable, looking up at the dancing stars. 

“Oh, look! That’s Orion. I like him best because he’s fashionable,” you announce,  pointing at the ceiling. 

“Fashionable?”

Explaining like it’s obvious, you fix him a stare., “Because he has a belt, Ken.”

And who is he to argue with you?

Nanami had learnt that, though you’d much prefer to gain your information from him than anywhere else, there are some things he simply cannot change your mind on. One such example would be the great pancake versus waffle debate that had taken up almost forty-five minutes of one of your tutoring sessions. 

You sincerely, with every ounce of your being, believed that waffles are better than pancakes. You insisted, pleaded, urged him to see your cause, but he wasn’t having any of it. 

“That has no relevance to thermodynamics, y/n,” he had said with a deadpan tone. “And in any case, they are made of the same thing so I don’t understand what difference texture makes.”

“Can’t we just take a break from all the physics talk? I wanna chat and gossip.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is hardly the appropriate setting.”

“So,” you elongated, “take me on a date and we can argue about it.”

Nanami didn’t understand why one would spend a date arguing something as trivial as waffles versus pancakes when they were both the same damn thing but he couldn’t bear to encourage you. Instead, he clasped his hand and gave you a look he hoped would convey his thoughts. 

You only grinned at him toothily.

He gulped, then cleared his throat as he took his glasses off to wipe some invisible dirt. Opening the textbook at the correct page and slamming one thick half of it onto the table with more force that he had intended, he could only mutter, “I like waffles better too.”

“Aha!” You celebrated like a beautiful madwoman. 

Watching you clap and boo at planets and galaxies with seemingly no rhyme or reason, his opinion of you doesn’t change. You are just as crazy as ever. Whether that was yesterday, a month ago, or two years before. You still shine brighter than any celestial body. And maybe you’ll continue to do so in the years that follow. He hopes he gets to see for himself. 

Time passes as you two take turns highlighting asterisms and comets, discussing their history, their discovery and the next time they’ll pass again. Though he’s clearly the more knowledgeable of you two, you could give him a run for his money. 

“Cassiopeia, easily distinguishable because of her signature ‘W’ shape, was a vain queen from Greek mythology, punished by the gods for her arrogance. Her stars sparkle as though still boasting her beauty,” Nanami rattles off, almost on autopilot, just like he had been trained. 

“But because of the Earth’s rotation, her ‘W’ sometimes flips into an ‘M’, right? It’s almost as if the stars themselves are correcting her vanity.”

“That’s right.”

You’re more talkative than last night and he hypothesises it must be because you’re quiet when you drink. He was so nervous and out of place at the party he hadn’t even noticed just how much he resents not hearing your voice. Until now when he feels at bliss hearing your smooth cadence lull him to comfort.

Nanami prides himself in being a man of restraint. For many years, despite the girls who have twirled their hairs or pressed their arms next to his, his resolve to focus solely on academia had never wavered. Not once. His eyes never wandered up the legs of a woman or down their low tops, and he had never fantasised about much more than a cordial, research-based relationship with anyone. 

However, in this very moment, encased in the darkness of the planetarium, his eyes are sliding over to your crossed legs, bare and smooth, the fats of your thighs pressing against each other. Occasionally, they also venture upwards where your breasts are squished together on top of your crossed arms, and up that slender neck, settling on your glossy lips.

He gulps.

Shuffling in his seat, he’s trying to ignore the sudden tightening in his trousers. But it’s so very difficult. Especially when your perfume invades his senses and your plump lips wrap around the straw of your drink and you make a slurping sound that sends shivers down his spine. 

“W-whenever you’re ready, we can head to dinner,” he offers, attempting to distract himself with the next stage of his plans. “There’s a great place ran by a family friend who’ll make whatever you want, on and off menu. He’s truly a terrific chef and an even better man. 

“Dinner sounds great and all. But Kento,” you begin with a hum, sparkling gaze shifting to him, “is there a reason you’re gripping the armrest like it owes you money?”

You’re teasing him again, he can tell. He’s grown painfully familiar with that saccharine tone your voice takes when you’ve got him in the palm of your hand. 

The atmosphere has changed. The light and joyful air has evaporated and neither of you are laughing over how wrong those Ancient Greek philosophers were anymore. Instead you’re adding fuel to a fire he’s been trying to douse, lest he burns you with his impure thoughts. 

Clearing his throat, he attempts to deny your accusations. “I’m not.”

“Oh, so now you’re lying to me with the stars as our witness, Ken? And what’s next? You’ll lie to me when I ask why you seem to have a situation right…over….here?”

Nanami is powerless against the gravity of your long nails scraping along his tensing thighs. It’s merciless and climbing higher and higher until he feels a rumble in his chest, and he finds himself gripping your wrist with his shaky hand and he’s hauling you over. 

In a sudden turn of events, you find yourself straddling him, hands clutching his broad shoulders for purchase, whilst his own grab your waist. Nanami has no idea what came over him. Perhaps it was that animalistic urge that humans have yet to evolve past taking control for a second. Just as likely, it was the long buried desire to put you in your place. 

“You tease too much,” he whispers, taking your hands, fingers skimming underneath the sleeves of your sweater to tickle the inside of your wrist, and lifting them to the metal frame of his glasses. 

You pull it off and as you watch it dangle in your fingers, the glass reflecting the universe, he surprises you with his lips engulfing yours.

He kisses you, at first, like you’re fragile, like this moment is precarious and one wrong move could set it all off. But once the taste of you settles on his tongue, his resolve snaps altogether and he’s deepening it like he’s dreamed of doing for far longer than he’d care to admit.

Gasping, you allow him inside your mouth, tongues clashing and winding together. It’s a little messy, a little clumsy, but it’s making you hot all over. It’s the way he’s moving with no method, no rhythm, and instead, allowing himself to be guided purely by a desire to taste, to explore, and to consume you. 

“Ken,” you moan into his mouth. 

Nanami groans, digging his fingers into your waist, a pinkie tucking itself under the hem of your sweater, amazed by the softness he finds there. “You taste so sweet.”

You part from him to peck at his jaw, the stubble there eliciting a low whimper from you. With a giggle, you say, “That’s probably the coffee you got me.”

“Whatever it is, it’s delicious and I want more of it,” he growls. It’s a kind of noise he had never made before, didn’t even realise he was capable of making. A hand crawls up your back, embedding itself in your hair before it pulls your head back to crash against his lips again. 

Your hips are grinding together and the hardness there is meeting your moistening panties perfectly. You hope you don���t make a mess on him but that worry is thrown far in the back of your mind when he bites into your bottom lip. Emboldened by his firm, wandering hands, you grab that cold thing beside you and make enough space to take a sip. 

Kento is confused, dazed, but he can barely see without his glasses, and so, in the blur of it all he fails to see you’ve picked up your frappe until you kiss him again and something creamy and sugary tingles his tastebuds. His eyes roll back. Your tongues are mixing it up, really rubbing it in, and he sucks all that you’re willing to give him in desperate gulps. 

Feeling your hard nipples poke him through your sweater and his, he bucks his hips up, nudging your clit and you both moan. 

“S-stop,” he breathes out. “W-we can’t.” 

Blinking furiously, you nod, pushing off but his arms cage you in, keeping you in his lap. ”Ken?”

“I’m sorry. I promise I want to. Really. But, I d-don’t…”

Picking up his forgotten glasses and sliding it back into place, you then cradle his face. His eyes meet yours clearly and he smiles sheepishly, feeling more vulnerable with it on. His lips are shiny with both the coffee and your liquid, you swipe with your thumb. “You don’t what?

“I don’t… I mean, I’ve never…”

“You’ve never been with a girl?”

Nanami nods, thoroughly embarrassed. There’s no way you’ll like him now. He’s ruined the mood. He came so close to having it all but he just had to go and destroy everything by revealing he is the stereotypical nerd and you’re way too good for him. He feels an urge to run, to hide and pretend none of this ever happened, that he hadn’t gotten too big for his boots and thought he could conquer a huge mountain and get to the peak with you. 

You must be disgusted to have been touched by a loser like him. Maybe you already knew from the clumsy way he kisses or the shaking of his hands, and the way he seeks your gaze but cowers when you meet his.

Nanami Kento is a man of science and he should have stayed that way, should have never dared venture further than a man like him was ever meant to. 

But when you smile at him, staring up through those long, fluttering lashes, he decides right there and then that he’s more than willing to submit to a higher power. For there is no probable way you were made by chance like he or anyone else was—you must have been sculpted by God himself, and sent down to tempt his honour, to humble his arrogance, and crumble the very foundations of his character. 

And how gladly he’d let you. 

“Kenny, you silly man. I don’t care about things like that. In fact,” you whisper conspiratorially and lean in close, nibbling on his ear, “I’m getting really wet from knowing that I’m going to be your first.”

He dies. 

Right there and then, Nanami dies. 

He feels his soul, of which he only discovered a second before, leave his body and ascend high into the celestial clouds, mingling with those stars that seem to twinkle harder as if amused by the dumbstruck look on his face. 

Like something had completely changed in his DNA make up, he takes you by surprise and presses his palm against your soaked gusset. You jolt. 

“You’re really wet.” He thumbs at that little bulge, watching the way your jaw drops. Piercing his body, your moans echo through his ribs, pounding against his heart and filling his veins with something far too addictive. “Does knowing that you’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed, ever wanted to taste here, and wanted to know how she feels inside turn you on?”

There’s no hint of playfulness in your voice any longer when you whimper a 'yeah, Ken', hips stuttering against the pressure of his palm cupping your heat in its entirety. He can’t fathom how someone like you could find someone like him attractive, and to this extent, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care enough to map out all possibilities and make hypotheses — he doesn’t want reason and logic and practicality. 

Not now. 

No, all Nanami wants is to know you, inside and out. So, he pulls your panties to the side, hands still shaking a little, and he groans at the disastrous sensation of your drenched core leaking onto his skin. There’s no technique to his touch; he’s just feeling you. There are folds and bumps he’s theoretically aware of but to touch in person is insanity. 

Your face is making all sorts of expressions: brows furrow when he follows the seam of your lips, nose twitches when his finger teases at your quivering entrance, and your mouth parts when he bumps against your clit. 

“Tell me how you like it,” he pleads. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

‘Pitiful loser’ must be written all over his face because you smile. You smile and thrust your breasts in his face just as your fingers wrap around his and you guide him. Urging two fingers inside, you allow him to sink in slowly, observing using his tactile receptors the pulsing heat of your walls, the squishiness, the texture, and the way he’s gliding inside. 

“Just touch me, Ken. Feel me. Get familiar because you’re going to make this your second home, okay?” 

“Okay.”

He thrusts those fingers in, seeking that spot that’s supposed to make women gasp and writhe. The sounds coming from you are obscene and it’s making him delirious. You’re growing impossibly wetter, hips stuttering, grinding on his palm, and he’s watching everything. 

Something about how hard he’s staring must make you uncomfortable because you laugh and slide your thumbs under his glasses, holding his lids close. 

“Don’t stare so hard, Kenny, you look like you’re trying to work out an equation.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. And then you take off his glasses again, baring his face to this otherworldly dream, but when he opens his eyes, what he sees threatens to collapse his own world beneath him. You’re wearing his glasses, or at least he thinks so; his vision is blurry. How he hates his visual impairment more than he ever has before. 

Pressing a kiss on his forehead just as you moan against his skin when he hits a good spot inside you, you shakily ask, “H-how do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he breathes out. 

You laugh again and he throbs inside his trousers. Then, his vision is being obscured all together by your sweater — you’ve encased his head within and his face lies between your lovely breasts. 

Nanami’s heart stops. 

He swears it does. 

“Play with them a little, won’t you, Kenny? I like my tits teased before I cum.”

He doesn’t know which part of what you just said is that final stake in his heart but he does as you say. He licks and sucks and nibbles, listening out for your moans and feeling for which makes you clench harder on his fingers. Nimble hand not slacking for a second, he rubs your clit with his thumb and prods that soft spot you seem to really like. 

Never understanding men’s obsession with breasts, Kento is more than aware of the irony of the situation now that he’s moaning around your nipple, rolling it on his tongue. There have been so many Tuesday evenings spent watching these very same breasts press against the desk as you complain about all the worksheets he had prepared for you. So many walks along campus to get to his next class spent grumbling about how you really should wear a bra more often if you’re planning to jump around like that in front of those jocks. 

But now, he has those very same breasts surrounding his face, threatening to suffocate him, and he thanks the heavens you didn’t wear a bra today. 

“Oh, Ken, fuck!”

“Gosh, a-are you orgasming?” His words are muffled around your nipple and the vibrations seem to fuel you. 

You giggle breathlessly, “It’s ‘cumming’, Ken. Can you -ha- say it for me?”

“Are you c-cumming?”

Through some sort of miracle, you eventually do cum on his fingers, and he hurriedly untangles himself from your sweater to observe the way your face crumples up in bliss, to see the way you flood his hand with your intoxicating cream, and how you’re spasming in his lap. 

It’s all through the fog of his poor vision but the awareness that you’re cumming because of him, in his arms, wearing his glasses and fogging it up with your heady breaths pushes him over the edge just as your hand brushes against the bulge of his trousers. 

“Oh, ngh! I’m s-sorry! Gosh! I'm so sorry.”

The bliss runs deep, filling his head with the scent of you, and for a second, through the haze, he swears his vision clears and you're magnificent face comes to him like a message from something divine. He might just cease being a man of science at this rate.

Panting, you slump against each other. The stars are still dancing above but neither of you pay attention. You’re simply taking deep breaths, trying to reorient yourself, and enjoy the warmth the other is radiating. 

“For your first time fingering a girl, you were pretty good. Which I’m not surprised by — you’ve always been a quick learner, isn’t that right, Kento?”

“P-please don’t tease me.”

With his glasses sliding off your nose bridge, you kiss his lips in apology before you slot the frame back onto his face. He thanks you with an awkward pat of your pussy before he brings his fingers to his face. 

“Isn’t it incredible how our body produces natural lubrication?”

Rolling your eyes you whisper against his stubbly jaw, “Don’t get all sciencey on me now, baby. We still have to talk about the fact that you came in your pants and I hadn’t even touched you.”

Nanami blushes. Hard. He’s humiliated himself in front of you once again. For a second there, he had genuinely believed his inexperience wouldn’t make a difference, that he’s not a teenager and he’ll pull through as a man by instinct alone if need be. How wrong he was. 

“Hey, now. Don’t start thinking too hard. I wasn’t complaining. I actually thought it was really hot.”

Still eyeing the shiny string that forms between his fingers from your essence, he clears his throat and concedes, “If you say so.”

Silence passes by for a beat or two, and all Nanami can think about is how uncomfortable he feels with his cum drying in his boxers and he realises you must feel the same way. Just as he’s about to voice these concerns out, you meet his eye with a strange kind of twinkle. 

“Wanna taste it?”

Before he can even ask what you could possibly mean, you’re already guiding his fingers back to your core and spreading your wetness all over his hand once more. Then, that wetness is being spread along his lips and he doesn’t disobey when he sucks them into his mouth. 

The taste is strange. Not bad, but new and odd. It’s mostly tasteless but it is a little tangy, and sweet. And he is obsessed. 

“How do I taste, Kenny?”

Nanami Kento is a man of science. 

He isn’t a poet. He doesn’t mince his words, doesn’t use flowery language or muses about nature and the fragility of humanity. No, he says it like it is. The world exists in black and white, there are no greys, no rose tinted glasses hiding the truth from him. He is a man of fact and truth. No more, no less.

But with the exhilarating, inebriating, and electrifying taste of you flooding his tongue, he realises, every man is born a poet, and the world silences that visionary within. However, there comes a moment in every man's life where that poet is awakened and they see the world not as it is, but rather as it should be. They simply need a muse. 

“Like a star,” Nanami rasps, completely and utterly weakened, defeated, and vanquished. “More. I w-want more.”

You chortle. “No, Ken. Not here. Some other time, okay? ‘Cause I’m actually really hungry now. But you’ve got a bit of a situation in your pants and you can’t easily hide it so maybe we should go over to your place and you can cook me up something instead?”

Liking the idea very much, he kisses you and lifts you up so you can both stand on your own two feet. The drying cum is proving to be a pain but it doesn’t bother him. Nothing does in this moment. Not the fact that he’ll have to sneak into the security office and get the CCTV footage deleted, or preferably sent to his phone and then deleted from the main system, not the thought of all the work he has yet to do in preparation for all his classes next week, and not even the knowledge that he’ll have to kick Haibara out for the night. 

“Does this mean you and I are… well…” He trails off, unsure how to phrase it. 

Giggling, you go on your tiptoes and peck his lips. “Yes, Ken. We’re dating. We’re exclusive. I’m your girlfriend and you’re my boyfriend. So that means I get to flirt with you all the time and you can’t pretend you don’t like it anymore.”

“That sounds like a fair deal. Will you come back to class? Let me tutor you again?”

“Wasn’t me coming here to begin with not answer enough, Ken? Of course, I’m coming back. Especially now that it means we can have secret sex during our tutoring sessions. Oh! Can we fuck in the library? I’ve always wanted to do that. And then you can tell me off for being too loud. Can we? I also really want to have sex in your car. Mine is a little too small but yours will work just fine. Oh! And maybe you can let me touch you in the lectures? We can sit at the back where no one can see us! You have to meet my sister. And my friends. And the rest of my family. Then I'll meet yours. Eek! I'm so excited. We'll go on dates every day, won't we? Oh, wouldn't that be so fun, Ken?”

Nanami gulps. 

Stepping away from the world of science and into a world of you seems much more daunting now than ever. Maybe he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Maybe he’s not cut out for a life outside of academia. Maybe he won’t be able to keep up with your appetite. Maybe you'll drain him dry and leave him a husk of himself, which doesn't sound so bad if he's being completely honest.

Everything you said leaves him a little lightheaded at the thought and he can't fathom how he could possibly meet every one of your expectations.

But... he’s always been a fan of the trial-and-error method. 

So, he supposes he’s just going to have to work it out like he always does. Because as you grin up at him, sweat making your skin slightly shiny, he can’t think of anything worse than disappointing you. 

Smiling, he brushes a stray strand away from your cheek and lays a lithe kiss on your nose.

“Whatever you say, my little star.”

[girl-lostconnection]

YOUR FRUIT BAT READER HAS MY WHOLE HEART 😩😭🫶🏻 any more thoughts to spare… no pressure tho i absolutely adore your writing <333

- @beloveds-embrace

For @beloveds-embrace. Some not the most appropriate thoughts about Price and Reader for you, friend

I’m thinking about fruit bat!Reader x Komodo Dragon!Price whom it takes some time to get to their core.

Price who’s uncharacteristically careful, feeling like a right twat after realising he doesn’t know much about their new addition to his team. New addition to his boys.

Price returns to your file and starts noting what can he do to do better. It’s not proper for a leader to know this little about their subordinate. It’s not proper for the leader of the pack not to welcome you like he should’ve.

Price who starts taking fruits during breakfast just to pawn them off to you a minute later, rumbling that he forgot he can’t eat this much.

(The man does it every bloody morning, does he think he’s actually sneaky with that?)

But no one says anything and he hums in satisfaction when you gobble down an orange or an apple he gives to you. Lizard part of his brain pleased to see you fed and happy with his offering.

Lizard part of his brain has already switched to proper courting without him catching up on it up until he finds himself massaging the nape of your neck.

Fingers digging into tense muscle, fingers sliding lower to the base of your wings, to the additional back muscles only you and Kyle have. He knows these are the places you can hardly reach yourself.

He knows that it’s usually reserved for pack to touch there — too vulnerable of a place, too easy for someone of his size to tear out the tender thin wing off your back.

But you don’t move away, deliberately not looking at him. Like if you pretend he’s not there you won’t need to explain why you are letting him this close.

Price hums massaging your back, warm palms sending shivers all over your body, your ears burning when he leans forward, beard tickling your neck.

He’s close enough to bite down. Close enough to close his jaws around inviting slope of your neck, to force you down.

But he doesn’t. There is no need for this.

You are not growling Simon, you are not cheeky stubborn Soap, you aren’t even Kyle with his habit to test waters until John pulls him under it.

You are you.

John presses small, soft kiss behind your ear, fingers tracing the skin of your wings, fingers melting you into nothing.

“Tha’ okay, love?”, he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your neck, his smile wide wicked thing full of teeth when you give him a shaky nod.

“Can’t hear you, sweetheart”, John is not used to this but he finds he rather likes to have a pretty bat like you being this good for him. Such a sweet little soldier, making his mind hazy with want to lick all over you.

Leaving saliva and his scent, marking you proper. Not right that you don’t smell like them yet.

John pulls you in, cradling in his hands, eyes warm and heavy. Komodo dragons fight to prove they are worthy of being at the top. Komodo dragons need to know that they deserve what they have.

John knows that for now he didn’t prove that he deserves you, your trust, your bond.

That’s alright. Just means he will need to put in some much needed hard work.

John presses his face to your neck and breathes in, smiling when your wings give him a small flutter. Sensitive little thing.

“Come on, love. Think I saw some mangoes dropped in with re-supply . Gonna have a feast today”, he grumbles, eyes crinkling with pleasure when your eyes light up.

Yeah, both of you will feast alright.

[corroded-hellfire]

Forever Young - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: It’s Eddie’s 40th birthday and when everything else is making him feel old, you aim to show him that he’s still young.

Note: in honor of our birthday boy

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m! receiving, older!eddie, Eddie still has his breeding kink of course

Words: 2.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

To say Eddie wasn’t excited about his 40th birthday would be an understatement. The closer it came to the day, the grumpier your husband became. He’d grumble under his breath, the words obviously not meant to be heard by you or the kids; but the sentiment was still conveyed.

Months before his birthday, Eddie made it clear to you that he did not want a party. Although he loved spending time with his friends and loved ones, he had decided that he only wanted to spend this particular day with his family. But just because he would be getting through the day unscathed by in-person jokes and ribbing from the likes of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson didn’t mean his own family wasn’t going to tease the patriarch.

“Happy birthday, Dad!” Luke holds a card out to his father. His grin isn’t necessarily mischievous, but it’s smart to always be on guard when it comes to the teenager.

“Thank you.” Eddie takes the indigo envelope from his son and slips the card out. Before his eyes can even take in the bold bubble letters on the front, a pamphlet slips out. Eddie catches it before it can fall to the floor and holds it up to take a proper look.

Hawkins Comfort: The Exceptional Home for Senior Living

The clenching of Eddie’s jaw causes Luke to snicker. Your husband tosses the pamphlet at your son’s face before reading the card itself. Luckily for Luke, the card itself was sweet and didn’t add further insult to injury.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie nods his head and closes the card.

“Thanks,” he reiterates.

“Aw come on, Dad,” Luke says, stepping forward and patting his father on the back. “I’m just messing with you.”

Freshly dressed for the evening out, Eliza zooms into the room, the three-year-old already tickled pink at the thought of having some cake after dinner. She runs into her dad’s legs and wraps her little arms around them.

“Happy birthday!” It’s the fourth time she’s told him this today and he knows it won’t be the last.

“Thank you, baby girl.”

“See?” Luke says, nudging his dad. “You have a baby. You’re not old.”

Eliza’s face goes from gleeful to rueful.

“‘M not a baby!”

“Excuse me, miss.” Luke bows to her before snatching the toddler up into his arms. “I meant to say that Daddy has a young lady for a daughter.”

Placated by that explanation, Eliza nods her head once. “Better.”

As you walk into the living room, a minute later than Eliza due to her rapid speed, Luke gestures to you with one hand while the other one supports his little sister.

“And look! You have a wife who is in her twenties.”

Eddie’s tongue pokes out of the side of his lips, internally trying to decide if that fact makes him feel better or worse. He does have a young, hot wife. But does that make him feel young as well or does he just feel each and every day of those eleven years between the two of you?

“See! Mama is young!” Eliza says.

“Are they ganging up on you, honey?” You playfully pout as you approach your husband’s side.

“Luke’s ready to check me into a nursing home,” he gripes.

“Why you need a nurse?” Eliza asks.

“He doesn’t,” you say before Luke gets a chance to be a wiseass. “Daddy takes care of himself and all of us. Right, Lize?”

“Yeah!”

“Are we ready to go?” Ryan asks, waltzing into the room as he pats his flat stomach. “I’m starving.”

“Didn’t you have a bowl of cereal an hour ago?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. “An hour ago.”

Eddie sighs, remembering the days when he too was a teenager and could inhale food all day and keep that small waist of his. As if able to read his mind, you slip your arm around your husband’s middle and give it a small squeeze.

“Alright gang,” Eddie says, “let’s head out.”

After you all return home, Eliza isn’t nearly as excited about cake as she was before. Her head rests on your shoulder, soft whines coming out of her mouth as you carry her into the house.

“We told you not to eat too much ice cream,” you say.

“Daddy said I could,” she groans.

The restaurant gave Eddie a free ice cream sundae for his birthday and he invited all of you to share it with him. The boys, of course, had room even after finishing off their dinner plates completely. But Eliza’s tiny tummy was already decently full of her noodles before she picked up a giant spoon and started scooping the vanilla dessert into her mouth.

“But you had too much.” You press a kiss to her curls before setting her down on the couch.

Eddie hangs his keys on the hook by the door before coming over and wrapping his arms around you.

“Thank you for a nice dinner, princess.”

You smile up at him and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Daddy?” Eliza asks.

“What’s up?”

She pushes herself to sit up straighter and tucks her legs beneath her.

“How old you now?”

He gives her a small smile as he drapes his arm across your shoulders.

“40.”

“Whoa.” Eliza’s eyes widen comically. It’s hard for you to keep your laugh in. “That’s big number. I don’t think we got enough candles for the cake me and Ryan made.”

This time you have to turn your head to the side and hide your smile in Eddie’s armpit.

Thankfully, Ryan is able to assure Eliza that they don’t need to put the whole 40 candles on the cake. With a gaggle of offbeat singing surrounding him, Eddie smiles and closes his eyes to think of a wish. Apparently, he takes too long for his daughter’s liking. She sighs, naturally dramatic as always, and everyone else laughs.

Eddie is able to blow out all the candles in one go and you cut the cake, giving pieces to your two sons who are eyeing the confection with glee. You’re unable to keep from snorting in amusement at their never-ending hunger and you take a seat next to Eddie to eat your own piece. Deciding to power through it, Eliza manages to eat half off a slice before she lays across her dad’s lap, hands holding her once again full belly.

The perk to her being so full is that it’s easier to wrangle her into her pajamas and under her covers. With one last wish of a happy birthday to Eddie, he presses a kiss to her forehead and her eyes begin to flutter closed.

The boys aren’t far behind. Whether or not they’re going to sleep, you’re not sure. But as long as they’re in their rooms you’re happy. Because you have one last surprise for Eddie today.

You come up behind him as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it out of the denim loops on his black jeans. His shirt raises up slightly and you take advantage, slipping your hands beneath the fabric, letting your nails gently scratch over his pale skin. Eddie starts to unzip his pants and you press trailing kisses across his shoulder blade.

“Baby?” Eddie steps forward out of your grasp and turns around to face you. “I’m pretty tired.”

A frown creases your brow. Eddie has every right in the world to be too exhausted to fool around and just want to climb into bed, but you’re not buying that’s really the case right now.

“Okay,” you say softly, stepping forward and gently cupping his face in your hands. “We can just lay down and cuddle if you want. But something tells me you’ve got something on your mind.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, Eddie sighs and steps backward out of your hands, and takes a seat on the foot of your bed. You move to stand in front of him and gently card your fingers through his bangs resting against his forehead. He rests one hand on your hip and appears deep in thought for a few minutes.

“I just…” he finally says. “I just feel like the older I get the more pronounced our age difference is.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that to be what’s on his mind.

“Hey.” Gently, you take his chin between your thumb and forefinger and lift his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “So what?”

Eddie’s brow furrows and he looks at you, skepticism dancing across his face.

“What do you mean ‘so what?’”

“That exactly. So what if you look like you’re forty and I look like I’m twenty-eight? Those are our ages. Just like you looked thirty-two when we got together and I looked twenty. And how in thirty years you’ll look seventy and I’ll look fifty-eight. What does it matter? Do you really think I give a shit what anyone else thinks? The only two people in this marriage are you and me, buddy.” You grab his shoulder and gently shake him back and forth. “I knew how many years apart we were when we got together. When I married you. When I had a baby with you. You think I would’ve stuck around all this time if I had doubts about our age difference? No way, baby. You’re stuck with me. Even when I get gray hair and all.”

A finger absentmindedly brushes against Eddie’s temple as you speak. Your husband stiffens, connecting the dots between your words and where you touched him.

“I have gray hair?” He jumps up and scurries to the full-length mirror in the corner of your room.

“What?” A heavy sigh deflates your body as you realize the conclusion he jumped to. “No, Eddie. You don’t have any gray hair.” His inspection in the mirror bothers you, so you walk forward and manage to squeeze between him and the mirror. “But even if you did, you’d still be the sexiest man I’ve ever met.”

Eddie sighs and rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t feel forty,” he whispers to you. “I feel like a kid still.”

“Well, you are a big kid,” you tease, managing to pull a small smile out of him. Relieved to see him feeling a bit lighter, you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck. “And besides, I think I’m the last person in the world you have to convince that you’re still young.”

“And why’s that?” he asks.

Giving him a suggestive smirk, you lean in until your lips ghost against his.

“Because,” you whisper, “of how nice and good you fuck me.”

A low groan reverberates from your husband’s chest and he pulls you flush up against his body.

“Yeah?” His voice is dripping in lust. “You like how I make you feel, princess? How hard I pound that tight little pussy of yours?”

“Uh huh,” you whimper before pressing your lips against his.

Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips as you walk him backward towards the bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, all it takes is a small push from you to have him falling onto his back. His eyes are dark with need as he watches you tug his open jeans down his legs. The two of you work together as he yanks his shirt off over his head and you tear his boxers off.

As you fall to your knees between Eddie’s thighs, he sits up enough to pull your top off as well. Once you’re free of the offending fabric, you take Eddie’s cock in your hand. You move it up and down slowly, feeling him harden in your grip.

“Fuck,” Eddie growls.

On a swipe down you lean in and press a kiss to the tip. The resulting moan from your husband sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You pump his cock a few more times before you can’t hold off any longer and have to take him into your mouth.

“Yes,” Eddie hisses.

You run your tongue along the underside of his length, making sure to keep eye contact with him the entire time. The way he watches you with lust-blown eyes and his chest rises and falls in rapid succession with his shallow breaths has you squeezing your thighs together.

You start to bob your head up and down, taking him a little deeper each time. He becomes impossibly harder in your mouth. A large hand gently cups the side of your head and pulls you off of him. The way you whine in protest makes Eddie chuckle darkly.

“Sorry, baby,” he says. “Feels too damn good, though. Need you up here.”

He helps you to your feet and shed the rest of your clothes. Eddie shuffles back towards the pillows, eyes taking in your every movement as you crawl up towards him. When he moves to sit up, you put your hand on his shoulder and push him back down.

“You just lay there,” you coo, lifting one leg to straddle across his thighs. “Rest those old bones and let me take care of you.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, playfully glaring at you and the shit-eating grin on your face.

“Fine,” he challenges. Eddie raises his arms and laces his fingers together behind his head. “Get going.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You line him up with your entrance and slowly lower yourself onto him. The two of you moan in tandem, the feeling of being united insanely pleasurable.

Once you’re fully seated on him, you start to rock your hips back and forth. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and bites at his bottom lip. His fingers dig at the back of his head, digging into his scalp to keep from caving and grabbing ahold of your body.

Sensing his resolve breaking, you rest your hands on his chest and lean in to speak softly.

“What do you think, Eddie?” you croon. “Want to get me nice and knocked up on your birthday?”

“Shit.”

Your words snap the last bit of restraint he was holding onto and his hands fly to your hips, helping your body move against his.

“Come on, handsome,” you continue through labored breaths, “fill me up with your cum.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie huffs a laugh and tilts his head up, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fucking forty now, I should be able to last longer than this.”

“You forget I know how to push your buttons.”

“Mm?” Eddie looks back down at you, raising an eyebrow as you bounce on his cock. “You mean like this?”

A ringed hand slides between your body and rubs quick circles over your clit.

“Fuck!” You bite down on your lip, attempting to keep your voice low.

“Let’s go, princess. Want you to come with me.”

Unable to respond in any articulate way, you nod your head and hum incoherently. With one hard flick against your clit, the coil in you snaps. Your head falls forward, your jaw hanging open as your high washes over you. The way you clench around Eddie has him following right behind you, the two of you rutting against one another as you ride out your orgasms.

“Holy shit,” Eddie groans as both of your bodies begin to come down.

Suddenly boneless, you flop down against Eddie’s chest and he instinctively wraps an arm around you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and lets his heavy eyes close.

“I love you so fucking much,” you mumble against his chest, slightly sticky with sweat.

Eddie breathes a chuckle and rubs his hand up and down your back.

“How are you so perfect?” he asks.

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

“I’m going to remind you that you said that next time you get all grumpy over me making fun of your age.”

Before you have time to process his movements, Eddie grips your waist and flips the two of you, smirking down at you as he settles his weight against your body.

“I’ll just have to keep proving how well I can fuck you then,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Is that supposed to discourage me?”

[phoenixrisingastro]

🔥 ASTRO OBSERVATIONS V: THE DARKEST SECRETS NO ONE WANTS TO ADMIT 🔥

This is not your basic astrology post. This is the raw truth, the obsession, the manipulation, the taboo. These are the secrets written in your chart that you don’t want anyone to know. But I see them. And now, so will everyone else.

🔪 1. Scorpio placements don’t “heal,” they just get better at hiding the damage. You’ll never see a Scorpio truly break down. They’ll self-destruct in private and come back looking stronger, colder, untouchable.

💋 2. Venus in Aries needs the thrill of the chase—but once they catch you, they’re already looking for their next target. The fun isn’t in keeping you, it’s in making you obsessed first.

🕷 3. Pluto in the 7th House doesn’t just attract toxic relationships, they ARE the toxic relationship. If you date them, you will never be the same. You might leave, but you won’t escape.

👄 4. People with Mercury square Pluto know exactly what to say to ruin you. One sentence, one whisper, one well-timed truth—and your entire world crumbles. They don’t argue. They just destroy.

🖤 5. Capricorn moons will mourn you while they’re still in the relationship. They don’t leave when they’re done loving you. They leave when they’ve already grieved your absence in their mind.

🔥 6. Lilith in the 8th House is a walking fantasy and a living nightmare. You will crave them, you will want to own them, and in the end? You will be consumed by them.

👁 7. People with Neptune in the 1st House don’t lie on purpose—they just don’t know who the fuck they are. Every personality they take on is real in the moment—but it won’t be real forever.

💔 8. Mars in the 12th House doesn’t show their anger—they absorb yours. The more you push them, the more it builds. And when it finally explodes? It’s over for you.

⛓ 9. Venus square Saturn can’t tell if they’re in love or in debt to someone. They’ll stay in relationships out of guilt, obligation, or karma long after the love is gone.

🩸 10. Pluto in the 1st House was born with a target on their back. People sense their power before they even speak, and they either want to control them, ruin them, or worship them.

💀 11. If you have Sun opposite Pluto, one of your parents wanted to be you, but couldn’t. Instead, they spent your childhood breaking you down so you’d never surpass them.

💋 12. Venus conjunct Mars people are either irresistible or repulsive—there’s no in-between. People either can’t get enough of them, or they feel deeply disturbed by their energy.

🩸 13. If you have Mars in the 8th House, you know what it’s like to almost kill someone in bed. Enough said.

💀 14. A Moon-Pluto person will love you deeper than anyone else—until they realize you’re not worth it. And when they leave? You’ll never find that depth again.

🕷 15. Chiron in the 7th House attracts lovers who stab them in their weakest spot. Every heartbreak feels like a personal betrayal. They love hard, and they get burned even harder.

💔 16. A Scorpio Venus will NEVER truly let go of you. You will live in the back of their mind, rotting there, forever.

🖤 17. People with Mars in Scorpio never fight fair. If you’ve pissed them off? You won’t even know they’re coming for you until it’s too late.

👁 18. Neptune in the 5th House makes people addicted to falling in love. They don’t love people—they love the feeling of love itself. The moment the illusion breaks, so does their desire.

🕯 19. Saturn in the 12th House comes into this life already tired. Their soul is carrying exhaustion from past lives, and they don’t even know why.

🩸 20. Pluto in the 5th House creates artists that make pain beautiful. They take their trauma and turn it into something that haunts others.

🔥 21. People with Mars in Leo will NEVER forget the one person who rejected them. They could be adored by millions, but the ONE who didn’t bow? That’s the one who haunts them.

🩸 22. If you have Venus in the 12th House, your love life will always feel like a tragic love story. The person you love most? You’ll never fully have them.

🕷 23. Moon in the 8th House people know things about you that you don’t even know about yourself. They can read your soul, your wounds, your fears. And you’ll never understand how.

💔 24. A South Node in the 7th House was born to learn how to be alone. Every relationship will break them down until they learn to choose themselves first.

💀 25. Saturn in the 5th House people never felt like children, even when they were kids. They were born into responsibility, and life has never truly felt light.

🔥 26. Lilith in the 1st House women don’t attract attention—they COMMAND it. People will stare, obsess, and fear them, all without knowing why.

💋 27. Pluto conjunct Venus people will either be the best thing that’s ever happened to you, or the worst. They either heal you, or they leave you scarred for life.

🖤 28. Uranus in the 7th House people attract lovers who come out of nowhere and disappear just as fast. Their love life is a never-ending storm.

💀 29. If someone has Pluto square their Moon, they have an unresolved war with their mother. And it will bleed into every relationship they ever have.

🔥 30. The darkest part of your chart is where you hold the most power. Until you own it? It will own you.

👁 So? Did I hit you where it hurts?

🔥 Drop your placements. Let’s see who’s brave enough to admit the truth..

© PhoenixRisingAstro, 2025. All rights reserved

[plaidcowboy]

taking care of 𓂃 rafe cameron while he’s spiraling

⟳⠀ a little inebriated rafe ⟳⠀after an argument with ward

⊹ you blinked into the open space of your room, slowly collecting your coherence as you listened to the voice over the phone. it took a second to realize you were hearing rafe mumbling, not sounding like himself. you quickly jolted up in bed at his quiet, but frantic words.

“i just don’t get why everything i do goes unnoticed.. unappreciated. i saved him. she didn’t do anything but run off and betray us. i got the cross. i killed that sheriff for him. me, rafe.. i don’t understand what happened with us..”

it broke your heart to hear his voice crack. you nursed your phone against your cheek, letting him get everything out. where was he? did his words sound partially slurred or was that your still half asleep mind? but you were so glad he called you in a moment this vulnerable. after months of being with rafe, he had a habit of keeping his feelings in and not letting you into his mind. despite this, you constantly told him you were always there if he needed an outlet.

you heard a dry chuckle across the line. “he even tried to blame you. my precious girl.. does he know how much i didn’t know i needed you? he can’t even begin to understand the love we share. he doesn’t have someone to take care of him like you do with me. he crossed the line when he mentioned you.. i just lost it..”

you placed a hand over your mouth, letting his words and current state settle in. you couldn’t let yourself get focused on ward’s thoughts of you. you knew he wasn’t a good man. you knew he didn’t deserve rafe’s respect. after months of knowing this, and knowing the fights he and rafe got into, never was it like this. this truly was breaking you.

you softly sniffled, not realizing you were getting worked up. “it’s okay, baby. it’s okay to let out that frustration. i’m so proud of you for letting yourself feel it. i’m even prouder you called me. that’s so good, rafe.”

you heard him breathing over the line, not speaking for a second. you took this opportunity to find out his whereabouts.

“um.. do you know where you are right now? can you see any signs?” you got up, walking to your closet to throw on a jacket and slip on a pair of shoes, waiting for him to answer.

it was another second of silence before he responded quietly, prompting you to listen closer. “i needed to hear your voice. i know you told me you’d be an outlet, but i didn’t think i’d have to use that outlet, but i needed it..”

you paused after grabbing your keys, listening intently, clinging on to his every word.

“..i needed to hear you. that makes everything better. i can’t see you right now, and i can’t let you see me, but i needed to feel you somehow.”

you slightly panicked at rafe telling you, you couldn’t see him. “rafe, i already see you even if i physically can’t. but i would really like to see you. do you think you could tell me where you are, handsome?” you didn’t let your voice portray your desperation too much. you didn’t want to let him know he was worrying you. then, he really wouldn’t let you go near him. not if he knew he was making you scared.

you could hear chatter grow louder around him as he answered. “i..” he pushed out a heavy sigh. “..i’m not disappointing you, am i? because i.. i won’t tell you if you’re disappointed in me right now. i’ll fix it.. i’ll fix myself and give you time to think.. i can’t have you upset with me..” he voice broke off softly at the end.

you were out of your room and outside, heading towards your car as he finished his sentence. “rafe, i think it’s impossible for me to feel anything diminishing about you. that feeling doesn’t exist inside of me. there is nothing, rafe, you could do or say that would make me view you differently from the caring and gentle hearted man you are.”

you were pressing on the gas, making your way toward where you knew rafe was without him having to say it.

this time it was him that sniffled, and you couldn’t grip the wheel tighter at the sound. he affirmed your thought of his location after a beat of still silence from his side.

“this might be impossible for rafe cameron, but can you please stay still?” you softly chuckled, attempting to lighten the tone, panic easing from you now that you were making your towards him.

“yeah, i’ll try” was his muttered response.

you were pulling up to the restaurant a few minutes later, rushing out of your car and looking around for rafe.

it wasn’t long before you spotted him outside at a high rise table, his head hanging slighty over his arms that were pressed atop of the table. standing tall, and standing oddly still. doubt didn’t dawn on you that rafe would listen, but him literally holding himself still was something you weren’t expecting. you softly shook your head, walking up to him.

he saw you from his peripheral, but sensed you before he actually knew you were approaching. turning his head, his expression couldn’t seem to turn softer and his posture more relaxed.

his face started to crumble, and you quickly reached around him to pull him into a hug, tugging his head down to rest on your shoulder.

you couldn’t feel the clawing and gripping of his hands as he tried to hold you inhumanly closer. only relief that he was in your arms now, and not afar over the phone.

“i’m sorry..” he softly uttered into your top. “..i’m sorry you have to see me like this.. but it’s messed up that i don’t care. i needed to feel you, to touch you, even if it meant you seeing me this way..”

you dug your face into his side, willing your eyes to not produce the tears you felt coming on.

“i can’t.. i won’t let go. you’re gonna leave if i let go, and you can’t leave me. you can’t..”

he spoke so softly you knew it was a thought that he didn’t mean to say out loud.

you reared back, pulling up his head to face you. the sorrow in his eyes felt like the last tug at your heart to finally pull it from its strings.

“i’m never letting go, so you can’t.”

rafe’s arms came down, his hands both cupping over one of your hands. you took it as the sign rafe was ready to leave. was ready to only be near you.

you turned, walking back towards your car, feeling his hands tighten. you went to open the passenger side for rafe when he pulled you back, halting you.

you turned towards him to ask what was wrong when he pulled the back door open instead. he nodded his head into the opening, gesturing for you to climb in first. you did so, not once letting his hands slip from your one. rafe was right behind you, closing the door behind him.

you laid your legs out, letting him settle between them and rest himself against you. he was holding you up to your promise of never letting him go.

you wrapped your arms around him, listening to his breathing. he had done so much talking, it was time for you to return it.

“you’re perfect to me. for me. if no one else can see your worth, they’re not worth your time, rafe. there’s nothing for you to be sorry for. i am so, so glad you called me. it doesn’t hurt seeing you like this as much as it would hurt to know you were going through this alone. there’s nowhere i would rather be than right here with you.”

rafe settled closer into you, always needing to be so close to you it seemed as if you shared the same skin.

“i don’t need anyone but you. i only need you seeing me and really knowing me.. can you just hold me for right now? please.”

as if you would ever deny him. “of course. whatever you need.”

it was a second before you heard him mutter something, not aware he was responding to what you said.

“just you.”

ϧ𝑒ׅ ࣪

[memorabxlia]

Tied Up ━ 방찬

genre: smut summary: “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.” warnings: language, bondage, oral (fem receiving), begging, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), Chan is referenced as Chris in this, I most definitely forgot something pairing: boyfriend!bangchan x fem!reader wc: 1.2k a/n: DAY 12!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The room smells like pine and cinnamon, a lingering reminder of the Christmas morning chaos. The discarded wrapping paper is scattered across the floor, remnants of gifts exchanged with laughter and delight. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, holding a long piece of red ribbon, about to toss it into the trash when Chris stops you.

“Hey, don’t throw that away,” he says, his voice low and teasing. His eyes gleam with mischief as he plucks the ribbon from your fingers, letting it slide through his hands like silk.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “And what exactly are you planning to do with this? Tie up some more presents?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. His body radiates warmth, and you feel the heat of him even before he touches you. “Oh, no. This has a much better use.” He leans in, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.”

Your stomach flips, a mix of surprise and anticipation coiling tight inside you. “Is that so?” you murmur, your voice trembling just slightly. The idea sends a shiver down your spine, but not one of fear—no, it’s something far more electric.

Chris smirks, his hand trailing up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You’ve been teasing me all morning,” he says, his tone playful but laced with something darker, needier. “Every time you bent over to pick up a gift, every time you leaned forward to grab a cookie… you’ve been driving me crazy. And now…” He holds up the ribbon, letting it dangle between his fingers. “Now I think it’s my turn to have a little fun.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “And what if I say no?”

His grin widens, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your knees weak. “You won’t.”

Before you can protest, he’s gently pushing you back onto the bed, the soft comforter cushioning your fall. The ribbon slips around your wrists, cool and smooth against your skin. You gasp as he tugs lightly, testing the knot, and then secures your hands to the headboard. The sensation is strange but thrilling, the way the ribbon bites just enough to remind you that you’re at his mercy.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux concern.

You tug experimentally at the restraints, feeling the ribbon hold firm. “Not bad,” you admit, trying to sound casual despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

Chris laughs, a deep, rich sound that fills the room. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

He kneels between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs. His touch is warm, possessive, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it travels over your body. Slowly, deliberately, he traces patterns on your skin, his fingertips skimming higher and higher until they brush against the fabric of your panties.

You bite your lip, arching into his touch, but he pulls back, smirking. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “I want you to beg for it.”

You groan, frustration mixing with arousal. “Chris…”

“Shh,” he interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips. “Patience.”

He drags his hands back down your thighs, his touch feather-light. Then, without warning, he brings his palm down sharply against the tender flesh of your inner thigh. The sting catches you off guard, and you yelp, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“Sensitive, huh?” he teases, his voice dark with amusement. He does it again, this time on the other side, and you squirm, the sensation mingling pain with pleasure in a way that leaves you breathless.

“Chris, please,” you whimper, your voice breaking. The ribbon tightens as you pull against it, your body straining toward him.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your hipbone. “Please what?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin.

You moan, unable to form coherent words. He takes that as encouragement, his mouth moving lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your thigh. When he reaches the juncture of your legs, he pauses, his breath ghosting over your aching core.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice a growl.

“Eat me out,” you plead, desperate for relief. “Please, Chris, please.”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer. In one swift motion, he yanks your panties aside and buries his face between your legs, his tongue delving deep into your slick folds. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, your hands clenching into fists above your head.

He moans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His tongue flicks over your clit, fast and relentless, and you writhe beneath him, helpless under the onslaught of pleasure. Every lick, every suck, feels like it’s lighting you on fire from the inside out.

“So good,” he growls, his voice muffled against you. “You taste fucking incredible.”

His hunger is insatiable, his movements almost frenzied as he devours you like a man starved. You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, your back arching off the bed as you hurtle toward the edge.

“Chris, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, tipping you over the edge. Pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and all-consuming, and you scream his name as you come undone.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue coaxing every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body. By the time he finally pulls away, you’re a wrung-out mess, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. He climbs up your body, settling between your legs, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against your thigh.

“Need you,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“You’ll get me,” he promises, his eyes dark with lust. “But first…” He grabs the end of the ribbon, slowly pulling it free from the headboard. Your arms fall limply to your sides, but before you can move them, he’s gathering your wrists together and securing them once more, this time behind your back.

“Chris,” you protest weakly, though you’re too spent to put up much of a fight.

He silences you with a kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he positions himself at your entrance. “Trust me,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re going to love this.”

And then he’s inside you, filling you completely in one fierce thrust. You gasp, your nails digging into your palms as he sets a brutal pace, fucking you deep and hard. Every stroke pushes you closer to the edge again, your body already wound tight from your last orgasm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips as he slams into you. “So tight, so perfect.”

You can’t speak, can’t think, can only feel as he drives into you with unrelenting force. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your combined moans echoing off the walls.

“Cum for me again,” he commands, his voice raw with need. “I want to feel you—”

The words are cut off as your body convulses around him, another wave of pleasure crashing over you. He follows close behind, his release spilling deep inside you as he collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged.

For a moment, you both lie there, tangled together in the aftermath. Then, with a wicked grin, Chris sits up, his eyes gleaming with renewed mischief. “Think we should save the rest of the ribbon for later?”

❥﹒ stray kids taglist: @minkilicious @casemoa143 @instabull @lice @amarecerasus

[mingi-s-dimples]

Strictly Confidential - San

~"Hiii❤️Can you pls write one where you are the mafia San’s lawyer, but since you are kind hearted and innocent ( not naive) he got his eyes on you??Corruption kink, (iffff it’s ok with you reader can be a virgin), dirty talk (including how much he was longing for you and waiting to take you), mild bondage, possessiveness, (reader has a crush on San too but wouldn’t think San would even look at them), pampering reader while ripping them into half <3 thank youuu❤️" ~ sweetie you also added sth about pregnancy but unfortunately I don't write those😞 but I loved the idea so I just didn't add the pregnancy talk ^^ hope you like ittt 🤍

pairing: ceo!san x lawyer fem!reader

genre: filth, 18+

summary: your outfit is *just* a little bit too revealing for San to not react.. and later that evening, he drops on his knees for you, then he ruins you.

wc: 5.5k

warnings: ceo!san, possessive san, slightly controlling san, corruption kink *just slightly*, reader is a virgin, restraining/light bondage (her hands tied up with san's belt), office sex, he doesn't even bother to take her skirt off, san's desperate, he eats her out, multiple orgasms, cursing, dirty talk/degradation (slut), praising (good girl), ass spanking, face pushing (into the desk), pounding *literally*, vaginal sex, teasing, unprotected (booo use protection irl!), completely consensual!, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: why do I feel like this one is written better than my last San request..? either way y'all will see I DAMN enjoyed writing this one 😂 the detailssss sjsjshsuushs controlling san sjshshshs possessive san ajsjshhs and so on I'm biting my knuckles as we speak. I hope you all enjoy it ^^ ly guys 🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

You should’ve known the outfit would push him too far.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not at first. The silk blouse, a shade too light, clung in ways that weren’t entirely professional, the top button left undone just enough to hint at something softer underneath. The skirt hugged your waist, cutting off at mid-thigh when you sat, revealing just a sliver more skin than usual. It wasn’t indecent. It wasn’t against the rules. But it was enough.

Enough to make Choi San snap.

You’ve been his lawyer for months now—long enough to know that he watches you more than he should. Long enough to catch the way his gaze lingers when you speak, dark eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up as if he didn’t mean to. Long enough to hear the shift in his voice when he says your name, the slow drag of it on his tongue.

You’ve known, and you’ve played along—just a little. Just enough to keep things interesting.

But today, something is different and you feel it the second you step into his office.

San is already standing, a rare thing given that he usually prefers to remain seated behind his desk, lazy and composed, as if the world itself is something he can toy with at his leisure. But now, he’s braced against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes pinned on you the moment the door clicks shut behind you.

His silence is thick, crackling with something dark and unreadable.

Slowly, you set your leather portfolio onto the desk, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Something wrong, Mr. Choi?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile. It’s something sharper. “Come here.”

A demand, not a request.

You raise a brow. “I thought we had business to discuss.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

It’s a warning. A test.

And you should say no. You should keep things professional. You should sit in the chair across from his desk like you always do, open your portfolio, and get straight to business. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward. Then another.

San stays perfectly still, watching, waiting, as if savoring the moment. When you finally stop in front of him, barely an arm’s length away, you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of leather and spice wrapping around you like a slow-burning fire.

He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s about to dismantle. Then, his eyes drop—slow, deliberate.

Your blouse. Your throat. The delicate slope of your collarbone. The soft curve of your chest where the undone button reveals just a little too much.

His jaw tightens.

And just like that, you realize—he’s been holding himself back.

For months, he’s played this game with you, circling, waiting, indulging in stolen glances and veiled innuendos. But today, you’ve tipped the scales. Today, you’ve worn something that makes him forget to be careful.

San exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused, almost like he’s irritated with himself. Then, without warning, he reaches out.

Fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up.

“You did this on purpose.” His voice is low, rougher than before.

You don’t flinch. Don’t waver. Instead, you smile—slow, knowing. “Did what?”

San laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Cute.”

His thumb brushes over your jaw, barely a whisper of a touch, but the intent behind it is unmistakable. He’s testing. Measuring.

And you let him.

Because for all his power, for all his control—he’s the one unraveling.

His gaze dips to your lips, lingers there. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower, dangerously smooth.

“You walk in here looking like this and expect me to behave?”

“I expect you to be professional,” you say, and you make sure to let the words drip with teasing, with something that is not quite innocence but plays at the edges of it.

San hums. “Is that what you want?”

His fingers trail down, brushing the column of your throat.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, just enough for his thumb to press against the hollow of your throat. Just enough to let him feel the pulse beneath your skin.

San stills.

Then—he moves.

One hand splays against your hip, gripping, tugging you closer until you’re barely a breath apart. His other hand trails up, slipping beneath the loose collar of your blouse, fingertips skimming over bare skin. It’s barely a touch, barely anything at all—yet it sets every nerve alight.

“You’re not as innocent as you look.” His voice is dark, laced with something dangerously indulgent.

You smile, lashes lowering just slightly. “I never said I was.”

San’s grip tightens.

And for the first time since you stepped into his office, you think you might have miscalculated.

Because you’ve been teasing him for months. Playing at the edges of this, knowing he wanted you but never letting him have enough to tip the scales.

But now?

Now, you can feel it—the shift, the moment he decides.

He isn’t going to let you play anymore.

You should resist.

You should step back, put distance between you and the man currently pressing you into the edge of his desk like he has every intention of keeping you there.

But you don’t.

Not really.

Instead, you let your hands press against his chest, the silk of his dress shirt warm beneath your fingertips. It’s a flimsy excuse for protest, a barrier that does nothing because you both know—if you really wanted to stop him, you would.

San catches the movement, and for a moment, he stills.

Dark eyes flicker to yours, sharp and assessing, scanning your face for something—hesitation, uncertainty, anything that might make him reconsider.

You arch a brow, lips curling just slightly. “A little desperate, aren’t we?”

San exhales sharply through his nose, and then—he laughs.

Low, rough, almost wrecked.

And then he moves.

Faster than you expect, pinning you between the hard edge of his desk and the even harder press of his body. His hand slides up, fingers catching your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his chest. The other settles low on your waist, fingertips digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters.

Because you’ve had a crush on him for months.

Ever since you first met him, ever since you realized the sharp-edged CEO persona wasn’t just for show. He was powerful, ruthless, magnetic in a way that made people obey without question. And yet, he’d always been just a little different with you. Always watching, always waiting.

But you never let yourself believe he actually wanted you.

Not like this.

Not enough to snap.

San must see something in your expression, because his grip tightens. “You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice is smooth, but there’s something else beneath it—something rough, something frayed. “You think I haven’t seen the way you play with me?”

His lips brush against your cheek, not quite kissing, not quite touching, just a slow, maddening drag of heat.

“You walk into my office every week, looking like you don’t belong in a place like this, looking like you shouldn’t be anywhere near men like me.”

His mouth ghosts over your jaw, just shy of where you want him.

“And yet…” His hand slides lower, fingers teasing over the fabric of your skirt. “You always let me get too close.”

A slow, teasing exhale against your skin.

“You’ve been testing me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an immediate response.

So instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, forcing him to drag his lips against your skin in the process. “Maybe,” you whisper.

San curses under his breath.

And the next second he’s kissing you.

Hard. Desperate.

It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s months of restraint snapping like a live wire. His hand slides up, tangling in your hair, angling your head back to deepen the kiss, to take more. His tongue parts your lips, claiming your mouth with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

He kisses like he owns you. Like he’s been waiting for this, for you, for far too long.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling, clawing, needing more.

San groans against your lips, and then he’s pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are red from kissing you, and he looks completely, utterly wrecked.

“I’ve waited for this.” His voice is rough, frayed with something unspoken. “You think I didn’t notice you? That I didn’t feel it every single time you walked through that door, acting so fucking innocent, knowing damn well what you were doing to me?”

His fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I wanted to ruin you the moment I met you.”

Your breath shudders.

San notices. Smirks.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” His voice dips lower, teasing. “You want me to take what you’ve been tempting me with?”

You shouldn’t say yes.

You should make him work for it.

But the way he looks at you—the way his body presses against yours, the way his fingers trace slow, maddening circles over your hip—has you completely undone.

So instead, you breathe, “Yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

San makes a sound—something dark, something pleased—before his lips crash back against yours, hungry and unrelenting. His hands are everywhere, gripping, pressing, mapping out every inch of you like he wants to memorize it.

He kisses down your throat, sucks a mark into your skin, groaning when you arch into him. “Mine,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “You don’t get to tease me anymore. Not after this.”

You shudder, nails digging into his shoulders.

And then, finally, you surrender completely.

San doesn’t hesitate.

One moment, you’re standing against his desk, breathless from the force of his kiss, and the next—his hands are gripping your waist, lifting you with ease. A gasp slips past your lips as he sets you down onto the cool wooden surface, the shift in height making you acutely aware of how much he towers over you.

The movement sends half the contents of his desk crashing to the floor. A pen rolls somewhere unseen. Papers scatter in a careless mess. He doesn’t care.

Neither do you.

Not when his hands slide up your thighs, spreading them just enough to make space for himself between them. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours, all heat and teeth, breathy and desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

It’s overwhelming.

The way he kisses you—possessive, unrelenting, like he’s been starved for this, for you. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as if he’s anchoring himself to you, as if letting go isn’t an option.

And you—

You kiss him back just as fiercely.

Your hands find purchase in his suit jacket, tugging him closer, needing more, gasping softly when he presses flush against you. His warmth, his scent—everything about him consumes you.

Then—

You break away.

Not because you want to, but because there’s something you need to say.

Your chest rises and falls, lips kiss-bruised, head spinning. San doesn’t move away, his forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your lips.

“What?” His voice is wrecked, strained with restraint he’s barely holding onto.

Your fingers tighten against his jacket.

“I—I’m a virgin.”

San stills.

Completely.

You watch as his expression shifts—dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something dangerous. His grip on your waist tightens for a second before he stills again, as if forcing himself to process what you just said.

Then—

He exhales sharply, running his tongue along his bottom lip, and the slow, wicked curl of his mouth makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck.”

The word is low, rough, dragged out like he’s savoring it.

His hands move again, sliding over your thighs with newfound purpose, fingertips teasing against your exposed skin. He leans in, lips grazing over your jaw, down the column of your throat, tracing the shape of you with agonizing precision.

“You’re serious?” he murmurs against your skin.

You swallow hard, nodding.

San lets out another rough exhale, then pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his expression dark with something unreadable, something deeply, deeply pleased.

“You have no idea,” he says slowly, deliberately, “what that does to me.”

Your breath hitches.

His lips find yours once more, but this time, the kiss is different. Slower, more calculated, yet no less intense. He kisses you like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you respond to every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

His fingers trail up, reaching the buttons of your blouse, and he undoes them one by one, exposing more of you with every slow, deliberate flick of his hands. He doesn’t rush.

No—San takes his time.

And you let him.

Your breath stutters when he pushes the fabric aside, revealing bare skin, delicate lace. The cool air makes you shiver—or maybe it’s just him, the way his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of you.

He curses under his breath.

His fingers twitch like he wants to touch, to claim, to devour.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with something reverent, something wrecked.

And then—

He starts undoing his own buttons.

The sight alone has you utterly mesmerized.

You watch, transfixed, as he shrugs off his jacket, as he unbuttons his dress shirt, revealing inch after inch of smooth, sculpted skin. He moves slowly, almost teasingly, as if drawing out the moment just to watch your reaction.

And you—

You can’t help but stare.

San is unfairly gorgeous.

Broad shoulders, toned muscles, a physique that looks like it was carved by gods themselves. The way the soft glow of the office light catches against the lines of his body, the dips and curves of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbones—it's intoxicating.

And then, your gaze drops lower.

And you freeze.

Oh.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling the full weight of his cock straining against his pants and pressing on your body.

San catches your reaction, and the smirk that pulls at his lips is nothing short of devastating.

“Mesmerized?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement and something else—something darker.

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Not when the heat of his body is so close, not when his fingers are still trailing over your skin, slow and deliberate.

And then, he leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers—

“You should be.”

San watches you like he’s already won.

Like you’ve been his from the moment you walked into his office, oblivious to the fire you were playing with.

His fingers trace along your exposed collarbone, slow and teasing, barely touching, but enough to make your skin prickle with heat. His eyes drag over you, dark and ravenous, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your thighs are still parted for him, your skirt hiked up from how recklessly he had pulled you onto his desk.

Then—he smirks.

That slow, knowing smirk that makes something in your stomach coil tight.

“You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” His voice is deep, smooth as silk, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

You swallow, fingers curling against the desk, but you don’t answer.

He tilts his head, almost amused. “Showing up dressed like that—” His hands slide down, fingers skimming the fabric of your skirt, teasing at the hem. “Looking so damn innocent but wearing something like this? You were begging for it.”

Your breath catches, a slow heat creeping up your spine.

San leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Such a little whore, dressing like this just to test me.”

A sharp inhale leaves you.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down to your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His tongue flicks against your pulse point, his teeth scraping just enough to make your breath hitch. “Or were you hoping I’d lose control?”

His fingers tighten on your waist.

“Because you got exactly what you wanted.”

Your head spins.

He’s too much—his voice, his hands, the way he’s looking at you like he’s about to ruin you in ways you never even imagined.

San pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and something dark flickers behind his eyes.

Then—

He gets an idea.

His smirk deepens as he looks over your shoulder at the discarded mess on the floor. Then, before you can question it, he steps back slightly, reaching down.

A soft rustle of fabric, the quiet slide of leather—

And then you see it.

The belt he had discarded with his pants that pooled at his ankles.

Your stomach flips.

San runs his tongue over his bottom lip, holding the belt loosely in one hand, testing the weight of it. Then, he meets your gaze again, and for the first time since this started—you shiver.

Possessive.

That’s the only word for the way he looks at you now.

Like you belong to him.

Like he’s about to make sure you never forget it.

“You’ve had too much freedom tonight,” he murmurs, stepping back into your space, the belt dangling from his fingers. “And I think it’s about time we fix that.”

Your pulse spikes.

San reaches for you, his hands trailing down your arms before he gently—so gently—grabs your wrists.

“Give them to me.”

It’s not a request.

It’s a command.

Your lips part slightly, but when you don’t immediately respond, San hums, tilting his head. “Oh?” He smirks. “Are you hesitating now?”

He presses closer, making you lean back slightly, making you feel the solid weight of his body.

“That’s cute.”

You swallow hard, the heat between you becoming unbearable.

San’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists. “I’ll tell you right now, sweetheart—” His voice dips, eyes locked onto yours. “If I tie you up, I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

A slow, deliberate pause.

Then, he leans in and whispers against your lips—

“You sure you can handle that?”

Your breath is shallow, chest rising and falling as San watches you, waiting. His fingers tighten around your wrists, the belt still dangling from his hand, ready to bind you, ready to claim every inch of control you’ve willingly given up.

And you—

You should hesitate.

You should resist, tease him a little longer.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze with a slow, deliberate smirk. “Do it, then.”

A flicker of something dark—dangerous—passes through his eyes. Then, his smirk returns, sharp and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The leather is cool against your skin as he pulls your wrists behind your back, looping the belt around them with practiced ease. It’s not too tight—just enough to hold you there, to remind you who’s in control.

He tugs once, testing the restraint, then hums in approval. “Perfect.”

Before you can process the way your body reacts to that single word, San moves.

His hands slide to your thighs, gripping firmly as he pulls you forward.

Hard.

A gasp leaves your lips as your body jerks, dragged right to the edge of the desk. Your legs part instinctively to accommodate the shift, your breath catching as you feel the undeniable heat of him between them.

San watches your reaction with a lazy smirk. “That’s better.”

Then—

He drops to his knees.

San doesn’t even look away from you as he does it, his movements deliberate, dripping with control. The sight alone—his broad shoulders between your legs, his dark, hungry gaze looking up at you like he’s about to devour you whole—leaves you breathless.

And then—his hands move again.

He doesn’t bother with your skirt.

No.

He slides his fingers along the inside of your thighs, parting them further, his grip firm—possessive. Then, with agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls.

A soft, humiliatingly wet sound follows as he drags the fabric down, exposing just how ruined you already are.

San freezes.

And then—

He chuckles.

A low, deep sound that sends heat shooting straight through your spine.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing his thumb against the now-soaked fabric before tossing it somewhere behind him. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, but the way he’s looking at you—with pure, unfiltered hunger—makes shame the last thing on your mind.

Then—he leans in.

And without another word—

He dives in.

San doesn’t hold back.

The moment his mouth touches your folds, a wrecked gasp escapes your lips, your bound hands straining against the belt as your body jerks from the sheer heat of it.

He groans against you, the vibration making you shudder. His grip on your thighs tightens—bruising, possessive—as he presses you further against his mouth, like he’s determined to ruin you.

And he does.

His tongue moves with devastating precision—slow, languid strokes, teasing flicks, then firm pressure against your clit that makes your head spin. He eats you like a man starved, like he’s waited his entire life to have you like this, legs trembling around his shoulders, breathless and undone.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips glisten with your arousal, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, wrecked with hunger. “So fucking sweet.”

Your face burns, but before you can process it, he’s back on you, his tongue pressing in deeper, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

A broken whimper leaves you.

San chuckles—dark, teasing. He pulls back again, dragging his lips over the inside of your thigh, pressing slow, wet kisses against your skin. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement and something deeper. “Fucking soaking. And all for me?”

You whine, shifting against his hold, but he doesn’t let up.

His teeth graze your thigh, just enough to make you gasp. “You pretend to be so innocent,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, “but look at how filthy you are. Spreading your legs so easily, letting me taste you like this.”

Your breath stutters, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable.

San hums, satisfied. “I bet you’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” He flicks his tongue against your clit again, making you jolt. “Bet you’ve thought about me bending you over this desk. Tearing you apart.”

His words wreck you.

A high, needy moan spills from your lips, your bound hands clenching behind you.

San groans against you. “That’s it,” he breathes, his tongue moving faster now, pushing you closer, higher. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds you down, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he’s drowning you in.

Your body tightens, the pressure coiling in your stomach unbearably, winding, winding—

Until it snaps.

A sobbed moan rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of blinding pleasure. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders, your back arching as you cry out, utterly wrecked.

San doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re whimpering, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation.

Only then does he slow, his tongue giving you one last, languid stroke before pulling back.

He looks ruined.

His lips are swollen, his hair slightly disheveled, his breath ragged as he stares at you, utterly transfixed. Then, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your thigh before standing.

Your dazed gaze drops—

And your breath catches.

His briefs are painfully tight around his cock, the sheer size of him making your stomach flip.

San curses under his breath, yanking them down in one swift motion.

And then—he’s on you.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you further as he aligns himself, the heat of him pressing against your still-sensitive core.

Your breath stutters. “San—”

He doesn’t wait.

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside—

And you break.

A cry rips from your lips, your body arching at the sheer stretch, the way he fills you so completely, so overwhelmingly. Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of it, from the way he buries himself to the hilt, not moving, just feeling you.

San groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his hands tightening on your waist. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, trembling with restraint. “You feel so—” He exhales sharply, dropping a kiss against your lips, almost tender.

He soothes you.

One hand trails up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Breathe,” he murmurs, voice soft, but his body trembles against yours, barely holding himself back.

And then—he moves.

Destroying you.

Every thrust is deep, dragging against your sensitive walls with devastating precision, pushing you to the brink of insanity. Your bound hands twist behind you, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto, but there’s nothing.

Nothing but him.

And he knows it.

His grip tightens on your waist as he pulls back, making you feel every inch of him, before sinking in again—so deep, so full that you can’t stop the moan that spills from your lips.

San groans, the sound low and wrecked. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, kissing—nipping. “You hear yourself? You're a fucking whiny mess just for me.”

Your face burns, but the humiliation only makes the pleasure worse—makes your body clench around him, desperate for more.

San feels it. And he looses it.

A sharp growl rumbles from his chest as his pace stays agonizingly slow, but his words turn filthy, raw. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, rolling his hips deep, making you cry out. “Like you were made for me.”

You are.

The thought is dangerous, but it lingers.

San notices.

His fingers trail up your stomach, his touch warm, teasing, possessive. His other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, ravenous.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Wearing that little outfit—acting all innocent when you’re dripping for me.”

His hips snap forward, a little harder, and you gasp.

San smirks. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

The teasing should make you flinch, should make you want to shy away—but you don’t.

Because you love it.

Because you love him like this—feral, corrupted, completely obsessed with you.

Your moans break into whimpers as his thrusts turn deeper, sharper, but still so slow, so cruelly controlled that your body starts trembling. “San—”

He shushes you.

His lips brush over your temple, soft in contrast to the way he’s utterly wrecking you. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

And yet—

It’s not enough.

For him.

For you.

San curses under his breath, frustration clear in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. “I can’t—” His breath is ragged. “I can’t fucking hold back.”

Before you can process—

San moves.

His grip locks around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the desk, but before you can fully catch your breath, he flips you over.

Your palms slam against the your back, the belt still binding them, your cheek pressing into the cool surface as San forces you down, arching you for him.

A sharp sound echoes in the room.

You gasp.

San’s palm stays on your ass where he just spanked you, rubbing over the heated skin, his breath heavy behind you. “Mhm,” he hums, dark, pleased.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s more like it.”

Your body is trembling—wrecked, pinned under San’s weight as he presses you against the desk, his grip firm on your waist. His breath is heavy, hot against your skin, his patience fraying with every second.

And then—

You say it.

A teasing little whisper, breathless, barely a murmur—

“San.. you can go- harder.”

A guttural growl rips from his throat, and then—he ruins you.

His grip tightens bruisingly on your hips as he slams into you, deep and relentless, each thrust sharp, overwhelming, making you choke on your own moans.

He pounds into you, his cock pushing impossibly deep, so deep that— He hits your cervix.

A sharp cry tears from your throat, your bound hands clenching behind you as the intense stimulation sends a wave of pleasurable pain crashing over you.

San hears it. Feels it. Loses it.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked, his pace punishing. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He thrusts harder, making you wail. “Wanted me to break you?”

The way he’s holding you—gripping your waist tight, pressing you down deep into the desk, his chest flush against your back as he fucks into you like he’s starving—

It’s too much.

He feels the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body clings to him, drawing him in, taking everything he gives.

His breath is ragged, his groans turning into curses.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his thrusts becoming desperate. “So fucking tight, so fucking wet—”

He grips your wrists, still bound behind your back, and pulls, arching you further, making your back bow into him, making you yake him deeper.

A wrecked sob escapes you.

San curses. “That’s it,” he groans, his voice breaking. “Fucking take it.”

He pounds into you, hips snapping, rhythm frenzied, his cock hitting that spot over and over until you’re a mess beneath him—whimpering, crying, begging.

And you could swear he fucking loves it.

“Listen to you,” he pants, his lips brushing over your ear, his breath ragged. “Crying for me—so desperate.”

You are. But he’s no better.

His grip tightens, his thrusts turning frantic, his moans growing shaky, and you can inly feel how damn close he is. And he knows it.

His pace falters for half a second—just long enough for him to lean over you, his lips grazing your ear as he breathes, voice dark, rough, possession dripping from every word—.

“I’ll fill you up just like you’ve probably been fantasizing over for a while, you little slut.”

And then—

He breaks.

A deep, wrecked moan tears from his chest as he thrusts deep, his body shuddering violently as he spills into you, warmth flooding your insides as his grip on your wrists turns almost bruising.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even as he comes, he keeps moving, keeps pounding into you, pushing you over the edge right after him.

Your body shatters.

A high, sobbed moan rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening, pulsing around him, drawing out his own orgasm, making him groan, curse, whisper filth and praise against your skin.

You gasp his name—

And San loses himself all over again.

His hips slow, his body shuddering as he rides both of you through your highs, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your spine, soothing you while still wrecking you.

You could barely move.

Your arms are still bound, your body limp against the desk, your breath coming in ragged, exhausted gasps.

San finally stills.

His chest rises and falls against your back, his grip on your wrists loosening, his breath hot against your skin.

And then—

A satisfied, dark chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“That’s my girl.”

San exhales, his grip softening as he slowly lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His hands are gentle now, his touch the exact opposite of how he just wrecked you. With careful precision, he sets you down on the desk, his fingers immediately moving to untie your wrists.

The moment they’re free, he brings them to his lips, kissing the delicate skin as if to soothe away any marks left behind. His gaze meets yours, still dark, still possessive, but now filled with something softer.

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Can’t have you walking out of here looking like this, baby.”

Before you can respond, he grabs your blouse from where it was discarded, slipping it over your shoulders, his touch slow, careful, reverent. His fingers linger as he buttons it up, his eyes roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Then, he leans in, kissing you.

Deep, slow, lingering. Like he’s still not ready to let go.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your lips, his voice a low murmur. “Come on,” he says. “We’re taking a shower.”

Your brows raise slightly. “Here?”

San chuckles, shaking his head. “Not in the office, baby.” He eyes you, his woman, his masterpiece, before smirking. “And I’m sure as hell not letting anyone see you like this on our way there.”

You laugh, amused by his protectiveness, and his smirk widens.

“Laugh all you want,” he muses, scooping you up again. “But you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[emsdevs]

I’m a sucker for Angst, so a heaviest of heavy Angst will always do it for me, like I need my insides to feel like it’s being stabbed and overwhelmed with all sort of emotions. Bonus point if it’s long. Hope this isn’t too much to ask for maybe I’m getting too carried away loll Could you do it with Justin Herbert please?

No Strings?

a/n: nonnie you sent this at the perfect time! I've had justin on my schedule for a while, but couldn't figure out what to write for him, so this worked out perfectly! this does not have a happy ending but i might be open to a part two if enough people want it. enjoyyyy :)

masterlist | NFL Masterlists | Justin Herbert Masterlist

You swore you could handle casual. When you started whatever you had going on with Justin, you swore you were the kind of person who could have a casual relationship, but now you aren’t so sure. When Justin asked you out four months ago, you never would’ve expected to be where you are now. It had all been going so well. The dates had been everything you could’ve asked for and more, and Justin was the perfect gentleman. It all began to go downhill after your third date. You had invited Justin into your apartment when he dropped you off, your intentions clear, and he had followed you inside. You two had been sitting on the couch when things began to get serious, the kiss you were sharing heating up.

Justin pulled away, looking slightly guilty. “I feel like I need to be honest with you about something before this goes any further.”

“Um, yeah, okay,” you were a little confused, but you let him speak.

“Look, because of the job I have, I really can’t do anything serious right now. I know I’ve probably led you on a little bit, but I swear I’ve never had any intentions to hurt you,” he stared at you, looking nervous.

“That’s okay!” you speak up too quickly for your liking. “We don’t have to stop unless that’s what you want. I can do casual.” Surely, you could. It couldn’t be that different from a normal relationship.

“You sure? I don’t wanna overstep if casual isn’t something you’re comfortable with.”

“Yeah, of course. No strings attached. Just having fun.”

As Justin leaned back in, you were thinking that this could definitely work. Justin was great, and this would keep him in your life without overstepping any boundaries. You could do casual.

~~

Turns out, you can’t do casual. You’ve been trying to stay normal, but you realized two days ago that you were falling for Justin, hard. You’d been keeping it to yourself, not wanting to scare him away, but it’s getting more and more difficult. He’s just so sweet, and the things he tends to do for you simply cannot be casual.

Is it casual when he plays with the ends of your hair before you get out of bed in the morning? Is it casual for him, even though he keeps all your favorite snacks at his place for when you have movie nights? If it’s casual, why does he keep a drawer free so you have space to keep a few clothes at his place? If it’s casual, why does he know you better than you know yourself? Why has he gotten you your favorite flowers every two weeks since you went on that first date with him? Why does he know “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” is the perfect movie to cheer you up after a long day? If it’s casual for him, why is he acting like he’s in love with you?

Eventually, it had gotten to a point where you couldn’t stand lying to him or yourself anymore. After four months of no strings, you had to talk to him. You finally got the chance one night when he invited you over for a movie night. Before the movie got started, you decided it was time to break the news.

“Justin… I actually think we need to talk,” you wiped your hands on your pants, feeling them already starting to sweat from the nerves.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“I just really need to say this, and I know you probably won’t like it, but I need you to listen until I finish,” you pause, waiting for him to nod. “Okay, so, I just feel like we’ve definitely crossed some lines in this arrangement, ya know? Like we both have a drawer at each other’s places. We’re spending the night together, and sometimes, we hang out without even having sex. I just… this isn’t what we originally agreed to,” you were avoiding saying what you were truly feeling.

“So we’ll step back some? I don’t know. That doesn’t seem like something to be worried abou-”

“I caught feelings for you, Justin,” he just stares at you, shocked, “I know we said no feelings, but we’ve just gotten a little too close. We don’t have to stop or anything. I’m a big girl. I can handle-”

“No. No, we should stop,” he cuts you off, and it’s your turn to stare.

“Seriously?”

“We said no strings. I told you I can’t do relationships because of my job. If you have feelings for me, this needs to stop now before it can get worse.”

“Right,” you stood robotically, grabbing your things and walking out of Justin’s house with tears in your eyes. The worst part? He didn’t even try to stop you. Somehow, with one sentence, you ruined something that could’ve been so good for you, that had been so good for you.

~~

Now, it had been three months since that night, and you hadn’t spoken to Justin since. You’ve been going through the motions, just doing a fairly normal routine to make it through your day. You wake up, get dressed, go home, shower, cry while you eat your sorrows away, sleep, and then do it all again the next day. Nothing has felt right since your breakup with Justin, if that’s what you would even call. How can you break up with someone you were never really dating. 

You’ve found your confidence to be much lower recently, too. You couldn’t count the amount of time you’ve wondered where you went wrong. Why did you have to tell him? Why would he not even try? Why didn’t he follow you? Today, you found the answer.

You had decided that a day out would do you some good, so since you had the day off, you got dressed and walked around the city. You were about to go into one of your favorite coffee shops, one that you had brought Justin to many times. As you neared the door, you caught a glimpse of something that shattered your heart in a second. There sat Justin across from some girl you’ve never seen, looking too close to just be friends. You watched as she stood, kissing his cheek before she wandered off to the bathroom. A bright smile made its way onto Justin’s face, a smile you had never managed to bring out of him. With your heart broken all over again, you made your way to a close friend’s place. It was closer than yours, and you knew you didn’t want to be alone right now.

He had told you he couldn’t be in a relationship, but what he really meant was that he couldn’t be in a relationship with you. The questions began to set in again. Were you not pretty enough? Not popular enough? Did he need someone in the same tax bracket as him? Did he really just not like you? Did he think you weren’t good enough for him? Was he lying the entire time, every time he told you how special you were to him

Even with all the questions you had, you knew two things for sure. You were done with Justin Herbert, and you definitely could not do casual.

taglist: @heartsforjh @irishmanwhore @heartforherbert @jusaints @one-sweet-gubler

join the taglist

[revelboo]

The SQUEAL I let out when I saw Tailgate and Cyclonus, I love them SO MUCH

They are too cute

Chain Me Free Pt 2

Tailgate x Reader x Cylconus

• Why are you screaming? He’s not hurt you, he’s being gentle because of how small you are. Your fear triggering his own panic as Tailgate claps a hand over your mouth to stifle the screaming. “Wait. You’re okay. Safe. You’re safe,” he gasps, servos trembling. Why won’t you stop? This isn’t what he’d expected. Not sure what to do to make it better, how to fix this. “Please stop. I can’t, Cyclonus? I can’t.”

• Venting as you claw at Tailgate’s servos and the small bot begins to tremble, Cyclonus sits up and loops his arms around both of you. Curling himself around you. Knows this works for Tailgate. Has no idea about you, but Tailgate is his main concern as he slowly begins rocking. “Tailgate, let them breathe,” he admonishes. Resting his chin on Tailgate’s helm.

• Gasping in a frightened breath as the one finally moves his hand, you’re aware of the bigger, scarier one rocking you and the smaller monster. And the little one is shaking as badly as you are. Trying to get your terror under control as the big one begins a deep, guttural growling that you think might be singing. “Where am I?” You ask, heart racing, trying to squirm free of the little guy’s grip. Able to calm down some seeing the one’s anxiety.

• Trying to get his anxiety under control is easier with Cyclonus’s voice to ground him. Optics shuttering behind his visor as he lays his cheek on top of your soft head, Tailgate relaxes into Cyclonus. “On board the Lost Light. It’s a bit complicated,” he manages as Cyclonus’s singing tapers off. Does the singing calm you, too? Make you feel safe? “This is Cyclonus,” he says, affectionately touching the bigger mech’s jaw. “I’m Tailgate.”

• Feels bad for you as you try to wiggle free of Tailgate’s grip and the little mech only hangs on tighter. You’re tiny, compared to Tailgate. Warm and disturbingly fragile where Tailgate has you pinned between them both. Can feel your racing heart and quick breaths. So afraid still even if you’re not screaming anymore. You found yourself in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers and you’re coping admirably. “You’ll be alright,” he mutters, holding both of you close. Knowing he’s going to have to take care of you just like he looks after Tailgate. What’s one more? Though he knows firsthand how much trouble a small being can cause and hopes you’re not as difficult as Tailgate can be. Doesn’t know if his spark can handle it.

Previous

[weirdblkgrl]

MODERN AU! SEVIKA HEADCANONS

cw: none i think. just fluff

an: please forgive me if this is trash, this is my first post. also this is barely proofread sorry :p. also here's my modern!sevika moodboard

modern!sevika who’s love language is physical touch. she’s not great with her words like… at all. she loves to wrap her strong arms around your waist and bury her face in her neck while you’re cooking or cling onto you while she's sleeping. she won’t tell you she loves you, but she’ll tell you in other ways.

soft giggles escape your lips. “what are you doing?” you question, as sevika holds you down on the couch. she peppers slow, soft, wet kisses in a trail from your cheek, to your jaw, and down your neck. “what, i’m not allowed to kiss my girl anymore?” she replies, a cheeky smile on her face.

modern!sevika who loves to watch cheesy rom-coms with her girl. whether it’s a k-drama or an old movie, she’s pretty much down to watch anything. not only does she watch it, but she’s invested in it. she’s definitely slammed her cup on the coffee table too hard, and a bit too many times. she can’t help it, how else is she supposed to react to such a riveting plot?

sevika watches the tv screen intently, eyebrows furrowed. “wait. the head nurse is her mom? and her mom killed his mom?! what the hell?!” you can’t help but laugh and feel amused seeing her so into the show.

(any its okay not to be okay fans? :p)

modern!sevika who is actually super sweet, but only extends that curtesy to her girlfriend. i mean, let’s be real, she has the meanest rbf you have ever seen and she’s the most romantic person, to say the least. but if there’s anything she knows how to do, is take care of what’s hers.

you can’t help but plop onto your bed and let out an exasperated sigh after the day you’ve had. long meetings, a heap ton of work, and constantly complaining bosses has finally taken its toll on you. you curl up on your bed, stray tears falling from your watery eyes and soft sniffles escaping you. you were so lost in your thoughts, that you didn’t even notice sevika had arrived home. it wasn’t until you felt a dip in the bed behind you, that your cries had paused.

“what’s wrong?” you hear behind you, in a low gravelly voice as the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood settle in the air. “just…work.” you respond weakly. she hums as she wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you closer. she leaves a gentle kiss on your shoulder. "need something?"

she’ll do whatever you need her to do. she’ll go out and get food, or cook your favorite meal. she cuddle you on the couch, and let you put whatever you want on the tv. all that matters is that her girl feels better, and when she finally gets a smile out of you, she can’t help but emulate it, tooth gap and all.

modern!sevika who can speak fluent hindi. she doesn’t speak it often, but she might mumble something under breath subconsciously since it was her first language. she finds it absolutely adorable when you try to repeat after her and totally butcher the pronunciation. she appreciates the effort. you’ve also picked up a couple phrases she says often, responding in english to whatever it is she said.

not only do you try to speak her language, but she’ll try to speak any other language you do, too. despite her confident demeanor though, she gets shy, so she'll just respond in english as well.

“tengo hambre,” you groan. she scoffs, though it’s more like a laugh. “go make yourself something to eat then.” a childish pout quickly forms on your face as give her a mean side eye. sevika rolls her eyes, knowing you’re too lazy to go cook yourself a proper meal. she’ll give in, not wanting you to be hungry. “next time you’re doing this yourself,” she’ll grumble.

(obviously if not spanish whatever other language you speak)

modern!sevika who's undeniably and astonishingly good with people. it makes sense, since she is a corporate manager for a large finance company. when your friends first meet her, everyone was, understandably, intimidated. but they were surprised to find she’s actually… charming. it's easy to have a conversation with her, but only if she wants to have one. she'll make it known if she doesn't.

a small smile finds its way onto your face as you leave your friend's event. "what?" sevika asks, confused, but amused nonetheless. "nothing... just... that went better than expected." she raises an eyebrow. "what? what'd you think was gonna happen?" she asks, skeptically. "to be honest, i'm not sure, but i didn't know you were so... personable." you give her a suspicious look, "have you been hiding this skill from me?" she rolls her eyes. "dont be an idiot. how'd you think i got you head over heels for me?" she says, as she smiles cockily.

ahh she's my fave i hope you liked it :D

[kunareads]

meta angel

suguru x reader

it's just suguru, he would never hurt you. but your body reacts like it doesn't know that.

masterlist

wc: 1.4k

started as a journal entry months ago kinda

content: boyfriend!suguru, hurt/comfort, angst, argument, trauma response, reader was in an abusive relationship (no specific details)

i’ve got voices in my head telling me that i won’t make it far

suguru thinks you carry things too deeply. that you let words and events settle into your chest like stones, holding onto them long after they’ve passed. he wonders if you even realize it, if the weight of them is familiar now, like something you’ve always known. he wonders if you’ll ever learn to let go.

he carries things too, but unlike you, he doesn’t hold them where people can see. he tucks them away into the spaces between his ribs. you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s drowning.

“you treat yourself like you’re disposable, suguru.” your voice cuts through the stillness, not loud, but laced with something unshakeable. “like your life is collateral.”

he draws in a slow, deep breath. “and you think you know better?” his voice is quiet, but sharp enough to cut. “you think knowing me means you get to decide what’s right for me?”

suguru doesn’t argue to win. he argues to exhaust, to chip away at resolve until the whole thing feels like a mistake. you’ve seen him do it, but you won’t give in tonight.

“i know enough.” the exasperation in your tone is building now, pressing against something deeper. “i watch you come back in pieces. you stitch yourself together with the bare minimum, just enough to survive next time. and all you’ll let me do is watch.”

he shakes his head, a harsh exhale escaping. “i don’t need saving.”

“this isn’t about saving you,” your voice wavers. not from weakness, but from something raw, something too knowing. “it’s about you acting like it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t come back.”

suguru stills. a fraction of a second, something caught between then and now. his face hardens, something so brief it could be missed, but you don’t miss it. when he speaks again, his voice is colder, more penetrating, a glacial edge slicing through the distance between you.

“i didn’t ask you to care.”

mirror singing in my face, where’d you go?

the words land like a slap, soundless but deep. you feel them settle, heavy, leaving something raw behind. he isn’t raising his voice, isn’t yelling, but that only makes it worse. it’s the control in his tone, the way the warmth drains from it, that makes something inside you go quiet.

he moves before you can process it. it’s just a shift, an unconscious attempt to put distance between you, but the way he does it places him directly between you and the door.

awareness prickles at the edges of your vision, something instinctive, old. your breath catches. you shift back, a step so small it shouldn’t matter. your fingers curl, not quite a flinch, but close. your shoulders lock. your gaze flickers past him to the door.

suguru notices the movement, but he doesn’t understand it yet. he assumes you’re backing down, that you’re retreating from the fight because it’s no longer worth the energy. his frustration simmers, pushing against the borders of restraint. “so that’s it? you’re just done now?” his voice tight, regulated, but there’s something hollow underneath it.

you don’t say anything.

“you wanted honesty,” he presses. “this is what it looks like.”

the silence between you concentrates, dense and unyielding.

you’re not just quiet. you’re tense. too tense. your breath comes too steady, too controlled, like it’s manual. your hands are curled, not in anger, but in something else.

for a moment, he doesn’t understand what just happened. the argument was sharp, cutting. but this? this feels different, off-kilter in a way he can’t place. his frustration lingers, but it’s edged now by something else, something uneasy.

something twists in his chest, cold and immediate. this isn’t right. his eyes follow yours, straight to the exit. and then it clicks.

he sees it—the way your shoulders have drawn inward, the way you’re not just stepping back, but recoiling.

throw it in the fire, ego in the fire

the realization drops into him like a stone in deep water.

it’s not about the fight anymore.

his voice softens instinctively, dropping into something warm and careful. “you’re not shutting down.”

you don’t look at him. but something changes in your expression, something unstable.

“i scared you.”

your head shakes too fast, too forcefully. “no, you didn’t—it wasn’t you.” the words rush out too quickly, like you need him to believe them.

but you still won’t meet his eyes. and that’s how he knows.

the ache is instant. deep. he steps aside immediately. not because you’re afraid of him but because you need space. and because he understands now.

you wonder if he knows how different he looks like this. how his edges dull, how he softens for a moment, just enough for you to see.

something loosens in your chest, but it doesn’t fade completely. you’re holding onto something. something not here, not now. you don’t know how to let it go.

he moves carefully, slowly enough that you can track every shift. his posture relaxes, breath leveling, voice smoothing into something softer.

“alright,” he murmurs, quiet. he doesn’t demand an explanation. he just lets the moment settle.

you move first. a hesitant step, the ghost of your fingers against his sleeve. it’s careful, tentative. the space between you hums with something delicate, like a thread pulled too tight.

it’s a risk in its own quiet way. a silent question. a test of whether he’ll pull away, whether you’ll regret reaching for him at all. your fingers hover, barely grazing the fabric, as if pressing too hard will shatter whatever this moment is turning into.

suguru waits. he watches, his breath measured, his presence persistent but unintrusive. he doesn’t reach for you. doesn’t pull you in. he lets you set the pace, his restraint saying more than words ever could. you think, for a moment, that maybe he’s just as afraid of breaking this as you are.

and when you nod, so small he could’ve missed it, he moves.

i’ve got a love for desire

the shift from conflict to comfort is soft and intentional. it unfurls slowly, like an exhale you didn’t realize you were holding, like the tentative warmth of sunlight after a storm. no sudden movements, no desperate grasping. just quiet, and the weight of understanding settling over you both.

he doesn’t say i would never hurt you. you already know that. instead, he whispers, his voice low and unwavering, “you’re safe. i got you.”

the silence stretches, gentler now, no longer thick with unspoken tension. after a long moment, he moves again, guiding you to the couch, not forcing, just easing. his fingers trace slow, familiar paths along your spine. a kiss pressed to your temple, lingering.

eventually, you speak, your voice barely a whisper.

“he used to—” you stop. the words catch, jagged and unfinished. they hover between you, raw and bleeding like an old wound reopened too suddenly. you exhale sharply, but it doesn’t steady you. the memory presses too close, settling heavily in your chest, something you can’t push back down.

suguru says nothing. he doesn’t urge you forward or try to fill the silence. he just listens, steady and patient, the way he always does when it counts.

you curl your fingers into his sleeve, anchoring yourself to the present.

“i don’t—” you try again, but the words feel too big, too tangled, too much. you shake your head, pressing your face into his shoulder instead.

he turns slightly, slow enough that you don’t even realize it at first. the space between you disappears as he tucks you closer, his hand smoothing over your back, tracing slow, familiar circles. a grounding weight, warm against you, breath calm at your temple. not asking, not demanding. just there.

and it should feel small, this moment. but it isn’t. it’s something more, something that settles in the quiet, telling you that he already knows what you can’t say.

he doesn’t say you don’t have to tell me.

he just nods, resting his chin lightly on top of your head, letting the quiet settle.

his warmth spreads through you, filling the spaces words never could.

“okay,” he murmurs, quiet and certain. not dismissive, not final. just something to hold onto, a reassurance.

you’re here. you’re safe. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.

and that’s more than enough.

[transformers-spike]

You put Breakdown with a gutbuster in my head, and now I need. For him to use it. On me. (Aka reader)

Bonus points if it's disgustingly cute and sweet and BD gets lots of love and praise. 🥹🥺

I overdid it. Again. Thank you @drunkeninlovesailor for beta-reading this fic and smacking some sense into me when self-doubt reared its ugly head. And I will go on to say @ss-shitstorm made me adore Breakdown so much more through Breaking Bread. I look up pictures of him and cry And yes, this is a sequel to Visitors - so back to the heatverse

Knock Out always goes first. Breakdown doesn’t mind it. At least he shouldn’t. He knows he’ll have his turn with you. Everyone does.

Second or seventh place, it doesn’t matter. He should be grateful to have a chance. Just like he should be grateful he didn’t lose more than one optic. Or the feeling in his left arm. Or his honor.

Again, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s his turn. No superior waiting at your habsuite, no humiliating dismissal (obviously, they don’t mean for it to seem humiliating – they’re his superiors after all, and he has to obey them) – only you in the midst of your heat cycle.

The “breeding room”, as you jokingly call it, is actually Knock Out’s old habsuite. Repurposed, yeah, but he’s been here enough times to recognize it. Any Con worth their ball-bearings can upgrade after reaching third class. Knock Out used to be a first class. Then he was promoted to Chief Medical Officer and skipped a rank. Breakdown is stuck in second class. Better than first. Better than being a vehicon. He should be satisfied.

You’re curled up in your oversized berth on top of the heating pad. “Hey, squishy,” he whispers, taking his usual place next to you. “Don’t tell me Knock Out tired you out.” Your answer is a snort. You stretch, flesh poking out from under your frame coverings. A common sight by now, but his cooling fans didn’t get the memo. His frame vibrates with their familiar hum.

“Like what you see handsome?” you ask and scuttle up to him, wearing that precious spark-warming smile. He returns it full force.

“What can I say? Even a one-opticced oaf can recognize true beauty.” “Careful, partner. There’s only so much I can take before jumping on your spike.” He barks a laugh. “It may come sooner than you think.” “Bring it. I’m ready to deepthroat until your system reboots. But first -” you huff as you climb into his lap, waving away the servo he’s offering. Once comfortably seated in his lap, you cheekily rub your aft against his interface panel.

“Spill the tea, sis.”

“Hmph…” He drums his digits over his thigh. “We’ve had a record break in the mines! I haven’t seen them this happy in quartexes. There was a small party at homebase, squad’s been celebrating with engex.”

“Homemade?”

“Nah – I’ve checked. I won’t let them pull that stunt again.” He winces at the memory. B15F. Poor scrapper’s been euthanized well before his time. There wasn’t much left to save. The engex melted right through his fuel tanks. Breakdown didn’t pride himself on morality anymore – none of them did. But it was the right call – even if the uncertainty is tearing through his circuitry like a horde of scraplets. Could Knock Out have fixed B15F? Or maybe it would’ve just dragged out his suffering for a chance at nothing. His conjunx had studied at a bigshot academy – Breakdown’s knowledge’s based around rushed medical training. “You okay, big guy?” He snaps out of it. “Yeah! Everything’s good.” You can’t see his reassuring smile with his massive chassis in the way. But maybe if he keeps it up he’ll really mean it.

“You sure? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” His smile falters. If a human has noticed it… who else has? Is this why Dreadwing’s been especially tolerant of his mistakes? Scrap, Breakdown almost misses his commanding officer’s reproaches. Could he get any more pitiful for frag’s sake? Proving himself after losing an optic to fleshies is bad enough. He’s not an invalid – he won’t be demoted to janitorial duties after working his aft off to make it this far.

“Workload’s been pretty intense. Been on my mind a lot.” He adds a chuckle to convince you – but he can’t see your expression with his chassis in the way.

“Bad enough for the vehicons to get blackout drunk again?”

“Found them recharging in mine carts.”

“Just like a college frat party, huh?” He has no idea what that means. Doesn’t stop him from laughing, though. “You should’ve seen them getting out! The sight brought lubricant to my optic.” “Scrambling like turtles stuck on their backs?” Oh – those, he definitely remembers. “Better. Remember that video you sent of the cat-looking thing surrounded by fermented fruits?” “The raccoon?” “Yeah! Struggling to sit up, then falling back in again!” You snort louder. “Ah. An absolute classic. You should totally film it next time, I would kill to see it.” “Oof. I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can do that while on shift. Ask Soundwave. Nothing escapes him.” Especially any contamination of the medbay – his processor shudders at the memory. At least it wasn’t Commander Starscream. Fooling around’s been kept to Knock Out’s habsuite ever since. And outside the ship, but that’s not the Intelligence Officer’s business.

“More than you know…” you say. Your tiny digits sneakily stroke the protomatter between his hip and thigh. The touch isn’t sensual. At least he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be. You’re not shy about squeezing, biting or running your glossa over it. This feels different. Hesitant.

“You know… you rarely visit first.” He sputters. “It’s not that I don’t want to or anything!” He shifts his frame and cranes his neck to take a good look at you. No success. “It’s that… I’m still a soldier, and they’re my superiors.” “I know that, silly. I’m talking about how you always let Knock Out have the first go at me before either of your shifts start. Why is that?” “I…” He shakes his helm. “Come on, second place doesn’t make any difference. As long as I get to pay you a visit, I’m happy!” His vox is strained. He meant to sound cheerful. What came out felt like rust being scraped off mesh.

You sink your digits into his thigh. Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. A single fleshie can’t hurt a Cybertronian. But it’s clearly meant as a warning. Even he can tell that.

“Dude, just ask to go first. Knock Out is lovely and all, but you shouldn’t neglect yourself for his sake. I want you to come around and let loose before anyone else. Hell, you deserve it. Do you want me to ask Megatron personally? I can do that, no prob-” “No!” It comes out too desperate. “No,” he repeats. Softer. “The others don’t do well with favorites. Uh… except maybe Soundwave, but he doesn’t count.” Breakdown cringes. He wants no part in their power struggles, especially Commander Starscream’s. Else he’d end up at the barrel of his Master’s cannon.

“Okay… but my point still stands. Ask Knock Out to reschedule next time orr I’m bringing Megatron into this.” His vents huff, servos drawn into fists.

“Got it,” he relents. “I’ll talk to him, but if he refuses-” “He won’t refuse,” you say none-too-softly. “We’ve had a chat post-coitus.” He blinks. “You cannot be serious.” “Low and behold, I am. What? Did you expect me not to address it?” “He’s going to be furious at me.” “Like hell . If he so much as lifts a digit, I’ll be happy to inform Megatron and get him put in his place. He’s your superior in the medbay, not outside of it last I checked. And trust me, I’ve been checking.” He clenches his jaw and offlines his optic. “We’re not…” he starts gently, leveling his words carefully. “We’re not Newsparks. There’s a balance we’ve established on the Nemesis. All of us. Bringing Lord Megatron into this won’t offset the balance. It’ll destroy it. What we have here,” he gestures at the small habsuite. “Is thanks to his generosity. I don’t want to lose this because of some petty interface stuff. If he intervenes… I doubt we’ll still be able to visit.” There’s a long pause. He gives you the time to mull it over. An apology already on his glossa. “I understand. I know it’s not my place to call the shots. Part of me wishes that…” You swallow. “Part of me wishes that I could make things easier for you guys. You’ve all been through so much, and I know I’m only the ship’s resident pet or whatever, but I can throw my weight around a bit. You know, use my position for good?” “For good? Primus, you’re already doing us enough good!” “Hm, not exactly. You’re the ones helping me with my heat when he’s not around. Ugh – I would be suffering without you guys.” You squeeze his thigh. “Man-” you laugh nervously. “I hope I’m not getting too sappy. You’re, like, the only one I can have these conversations with.” His fans stutter. “Really? Not even Lord-” “Not even,” you repeat with finality. There’s a comfortable silence. Breakdown is smiling to himself.

“Hey, big guy.” “Yeah, squishy?” “Wanna kiss?” “Is that even a question?” he asks as he picks you up from his lap, servos cradling your fragile human frame. “Mmm, you know the answer.” You touch the sides of his face. His cooling fans flip to the second setting. Your hands are soft. Incredibly soft. His vents cease functioning entirely as you kiss him. Your glossa is warm and wet. His circuits crackle with charge. How could something so small push his systems into overdrive? When you pull away, he’s left cold and yearning. You don’t waste a klik undressing yourself, tossing your frame coverings over his servos and onto the berth. His lips find yours again. You devour his intake like your fuel tanks are empty.

Knock Out satiated you groons ago, but you’re already running hot with want. His heavy engine purrs. “Someone’s eager to get spiked,” he mutters against your intake. You ex-vent sharply and kiss again, grinning against his lips. He slides a digit between your legs, which you immediately part. There’s still feeling in this one, taking in the heat of your slick valve. There’s no trace of your last interface, only a craving for more. A hiss escapes you as he rubs the digit over your minuscule anterior node. Your hips buck into him, teeth grazing his lip.

“Please, stop teasing already. You know I can’t take it.” “I’m not a tease - that’s Knock Out’s job.” He swipes his glossa over your intake. “I’m the total opposite. So, what do you say? Is your little valve ready to take my spike?” Your optics widen, lubricating in excitement. “Oh finally!” You press your helm against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this! I’m so glad the recent energon haul got you enough to mass displace.” “Actually, I’ve been rationing my energon for a deca-cycle!” You step away from his helm and look at him in… strange horror. “You what?” There’s pity in your optics and disappointment furrowing your optical ridge.

Oh frag him! Why did he have to open his intake? “It’s nothing to worry about, I swear! I’ve done this plenty of times in the past – there was this time my unit was stranded in the Sea of Rust and there was no energon for almost a whole deca-cycle! Impressive, right? You don’t see any seekers surviving that!” Your horrified expression worsens. “What do you mean you’ve been starving yourself for weeks just to mass displace and fuck me?”

“Come on, it’s not really starving! We bots can deal with it better than you humans!” he stammers, engine revving in panic. “It’s not about that – it’s about sacrificing yourself for… for this!” you gesture at your body. “Fuck’s sake, you could have told me! I was waiting for you to ask! I could have gotten you the energon ages ago!” “Then why didn’t you?” The words smash through his intake before he can stop them, leaving him to clean up the mess.

His spark tightens when you flinch. It’s the first time he’s startled you. The first time he’s seen you scared. “I… I didn’t…” Your gaze falls. “Scrap, I’m so sorry! It’s not my place to say it, I didn’t mean-” “It’s fine,” you gently stop him. He immediately yields. “You don’t have to apologize. I just… didn’t expect it to be this bad.” A sigh leaves your intake. “I still want to help, though. If Knock Out can mass displace almost every time he visits, isn’t there plenty of energon to go around? Don’t you also work in the medbay on top of everything? You deserve at least the same amount of rations.” “It’s more complicated than that,” he mutters. “Knock Out outranks me.” “So? You’re just one bot, it won’t drain the reserves.” He presses a servo to his helm. “My frame type’s the issue. Us warrior class bots need far more energon than the average vehicon.” “Yes, and? You’re still just one more war frame. Who else is there? Megatron, Dreadwing – that makes three.” You bite your lip when you meet his optic. “Let me give you a hand. I’ll leave the whole thing with Knock Out alone if you let me help with this.” “I…” His vents huff. “Okay. I’ll let you take care of it. But, please tell him not to summon me. Else it’ll seem suspicious.” A smile tugs at the corner of your intake. “Got it. Easier done than said.” Hesitating, you reach out to touch his cheekplate. He leans in. You take a deep in-vent. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I’ve been so worried about everyone lately, I’ve overstepped so many boundaries. The energon thing just… drove me off the edge.” “It’s okay,” he says, unsure of his own words. “It happens to the best of us. If it’s any comfort,” he grimaces, “Knock Out’s been riding my tailpipe about my energon intake for the whole deca-cycle. That’s why I… tried to keep it a secret. Until now.” “Did it work on him?”

“Frag no!” He laughs. “For all his drawbacks, he’s the closest thing to a doctor on this ship. Noticing something’s wrong’s part of his primary code!” His laughter dies down. “Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I definitely ruined the mood.” “Not at all.” You press your cheek against his. “If it’s any comfort on my part, I’ve been called someone else’s name during interface.” His optic buzzes in its socket. “Who?” he demands without meaning to. “Who?” He repeats, far softer – now a polite question. “No one in High Command, sadly,” you say like you’ve read his mind, adding an apologetic shrug. “Another human before the alien shebang happened.” “Ah.” He averts his optic to hide his disappointment. “Come on, man. You know I would have immediately rung you up if Starscream had been moaning Megatron’s name during overload.” He cracks a smile. “I guess you’re right.” “Gossip girls forever?” You offer your fist. “Gossip girls forever,” he agrees, tapping it with his digit. You both mimic an explosion and draw your servos away in slow motion. “Still not sure what explosive punches have to do with gossip.” “Shhh - it’s a human bestie thing.” You kiss him again. Gently at first, then harsher with his wordless encouragement – your hunger makes his engine rev. “Want to start with valve to glossa action? How about we keep mass-displacement for the final course?” “Like I’ll ever refuse a free refueling.” You snicker. The noise is so precious it makes his joints weak. Lying on his abdomen with you in his servos, you writhe as he presses his glossa to your valve. “Fuck,” you hiss. “You okay?” he’s unable to hide the smugness in his tone. “I thought Knock Out had the first taste.” “ Fuck , Knock Out. I need your glossa right now. No one else’s.” His fans shudder. Once, handling someone so small was circuit-frying. He’d been with plenty of minicons, but never an organic. Those bots could take a good pounding. Fleshies? Not so much.

“Fuck.” You shiver as his glossa rubs up and down your pretty valve. Your hips buck into it. He grins between your legs and licks again. And again. And again. Until he feels your servos on his crest. “I need to ride your face,” you say – more declaration than request. He blinks, grin widening. “That desperate, huh?” “Shut up,” you growl – too adorable for your own good. How he wants to squeeze and smother you against his face. Your legs are soft on either side of his cheeks, servos gripping onto his crest with impressive strength for a creature so small and frail. He holds his glossa out for you to use as you please, two digits holding your hips in case you tumble off. “How…” You pant. “How are you this good?” He shrugs with his free arm. His vents blast harder. “I’m not even doing anything,” he mumbles with his glossa out. “Of course you are. You’re being your sweet himbo self,” your words falter as you keep riding. 

His cheekplates heat up. “Uh, a what now?”

There’s no answer, only your legs shaking as you furiously grind against his intake. You grip onto his crest, your entire frame shaking. “Breakdown!” you call out, vox breaking. A sudden burst of charge travels down his interface array. His pressurized spike clanks against his panel. “Frag,” he groans. His spike’s throbbing, Ugh, it hurts like he swung it against a wall.

At least you’re oblivious to his, uh, mishap – twitching against his glossa while trying to slow your ventilation. The plating of hips shifts and his panels release his array. His valve is soaking with transfluid, steam almost emanating off of it after overheating for half a groon. The cold air makes his spike twitch. “Is it… is it time?” you ask weakly, turning around to look at his lap. “Oh hey, so that’s where the noise came from.” He cringes, but still helps you get down. You scurry towards the middle of the berth and cheer out “Show me the goods, big boy!” Mass displacement is something he’d done in the past – back on Cybertron when there was plenty of energon to go by. Now it’s just a waste. Not for you, obviously! Primus, you’re worth every last drop. His working receptors buzz with sensation. System diagnostics appear at the corner of his vision. Mass conversion: successful

Warning:

Minimum energon required: 70%

Current level: 93% His joints are calibrated, there’s no ache in his processor, subspace feels fine – everything’s in working order. He can rest easy and focus on the important stuff. “Woah.” you beam at him. It’s uncanny to see you… so much bigger than he’s used to.

The hug is sudden but not unwelcome. Your helm comes up to his chassis, but only barely. It doesn’t take long for you to pull him on top (the close view is to offline for), and drag him into a kiss. His spark pulsates like never before.

“Please, spike me,” you beg. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He looks down at his spike. Then back at you. There are many things he’s learned as a nurse, one of which being: pick the smallest pair of forceps when operating on minicons. Sadly, he cannot replace his spike with a smaller one. But he can prepare you for the operation. “Hey, how about I get you started with something else before you get the hammer?” He lifts up the servo with functioning receptors and flexes his digits. “Promise you’ll rail me afterwards.” “Promise.” He grins.

He’s a denter first and all, but he’s always been careful with his servos back when brushing debris off his comrades after a busted demolition job. It felt like second nature to him. They were at the bottom of the scrapheap. Caring for others, even in small ways, made their plight bearable. His own at least. He pushes in, chuckling as you furrow your optical ridge, intake slightly agape. “Does it sting?” “No.” Another digit is carefully added. You whimper and grit your dentae. One digit and a half then. “What about now? How do you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” “Oh shut up…” Your tiny valve is absolutely soaked, slick with human lubricant, struggling to accommodate him. If you’ve taken the entire High Command, you can take him. Sure, he’s been told his spike is a “weapon forged by Solus herself”, but Megatron’s definitely bigger. And you’ve fragged him. Everyone knows that. Your valve’s more durable than it seems.

You clench around his digits, expression so lovely it’s clear you’re about to overload. He cautiously curls a digit inside of you. The gentle pressure’s an easy way to make your valve calipers clam down on him. Another whimper escapes you as he rubs at the spot. Your pedes push against his thighs, a desperate plea to stop. But he knows better. “Cute,” he thinks as your sweet noises intensify. He never expected fleshies to be so adorable – but then again, you’re not like the other squishies. Lord Megatron picked the best one. “Please,” you whisper. “This is torture.” “Aw, I thought you wanted to overload.” “You and I…” You swallow. “We both know damn well you’re teasing me. I need your spike, not… not this .”

He laughs. “I keep my promises, don’t worry about it.” He pulls you flush against him, legs over his hips. Bracing himself on one servo, he’s got an arm cautiously wrapped around your waist. “Comfortable? How do you rate your position on a scale from 1 to-” “Breakdown, I swear to fu-” “Got it. It’s hammer time.” He grins. You grip onto his digits and offline your optics. He pushes in. You suck in a sharp in-vent. He pauses.

“Go on,” you say after a moment. “I can take it. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so big.” “Big?” He blinks at you. “You’re the one taking Lord Megatron. He’s larger than me.” “Not his spike.” You chuckle. He looks up at the ceiling in wonder. “Wow.” “Wow indeed. Now please put that spike to good use.” Like a good soldier and seasoned interface partner, he follows your orders. Ridge by ridge, you take him, grip tightening and dentae gritting until he reaches your limit. He shudders. You’re clenching around him like a cold press, crushing his spike harder than any minicon valve. You seem on the verge of shutting down. “You okay?” “...yeah.” “Do you want me to stop?” “Don’t you dare.” “Got it.” His smile widens.

The pace is incredibly slow. Yeah, Knock Out likes having his circuits rearranged – and yeah, most vehicons he’s been with want to get railed into oblivion. But taking his time with you feels just as good. Charge is building along his array. He wants to tell you so many things – how you’re so beautiful holding onto him like he’s the center of your universe, whimpering and repeating his name listlessly – or how he wishes this could last forever, that he can forget the war when your arms are wrapped around his frame, no matter how small.

Your optics come back online and meet his. Wordlessly, you beckon him closer. He leans down, now bracing himself on his arm. Your servos find his face. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” you ask, nuzzling his cheekplate. It’s not the first time you’ve done so. But at this moment, either from mass displacement or the sight of you sprawled out before him (or both), his spark throbs in his chassis. His array is pulsating with charge. He presses his forehelm against yours. “Yeah. You always do.” “Good. Because I love you.” Your lips meet his. The charge explodes. Your valve clamps down on his spike. Sparks shoot through his sensors – his engine roars. The world stands still.

Then, he breaks the silence. “By…” his vox crackles with static. He recalibrates his vocalizer. “By Alchemist Prime…” there’s still a buzz to his words. “What was that?” “You tell me,” you answer shakily. Neither of you move for a while. Diagnostics report: Energon level: 87% He pulls out of you, earning a wince. You loosen your grip on his neck and fall back. His optics widen at the load of transfluid trickling out, valve still twitching. He feels equal parts pride and wonder something so small took his spike. Should he tell you about it? You appreciate greatly when he says what’s on his processor. Not everyone does. “Good job,” he tells you, petting your helm like the human he saw congratulating its furry companion. Your expression spells confusion. Then, you grin wider than he’s ever seen and pet him back. His engine rumbles in content. “I would die for you,” you declare without a hint of sarcasm in your vox. He laughs nervously. “Please don’t, Lord Megatron would kill me.” “Then I’d kill him first.” “But you’d already be dead.” “I’d come back as a ghost.” He laughs again, twice as nervous. “Anyway, was it… good?” “You blew my back out.” “I – what ?” “You rearranged my guts.” “Wait, are you about to offline-” “Human euphemisms.” “Oh.” “It means it was the best frag of my life.” “I… oh wow.” He allows you to pull him back on top. “You’re the best I could have asked for.” His cooling fans are blasting. “Um…” “You’re my favorite blueberry popsicle.” “Uh, thanks?” “I love it when you’re blue in the face.” More energon rushes to his cheeks.

“Oh, um – you too!” Frag - that didn’t sound smooth. He hasn’t been this bad since he was newly forged. “Raspberry and blueberry,” you press your helm against his. “My favorite mix.” You kiss him again, less desperately – finally satiated for the next cycle. Or at least a few groons. “Can you cuddle in this form?” Or…do you have to turn back?” He hits his chassis with pride. “Another groon won’t hurt me – I’ll do just fine..” “Aw hell yeah!” He lies down and you quickly take your place at his side, burying your face in the crook between his neck and his chassis. You let out a hum when his digits stroke your back. He can sense the minuscule hairs on your plating. They tickle.

A klik passes by, but you can’t seem to sit still. You push his arm away, readjust yourself, then pull it back in, only to start again a nanoklik later. “Everything ok?” You make a noise of frustration – so adorable it makes his spark ache.

“Give me a sec,” you mutter.

He watches as you get up to fetch your blanket and pillows. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I barely managed to clean up before coming over.” “Don’t matter.” You cover his side in them. “I just want to cuddle you.” He bites his glossa. You’re too sweet for your own good. Once comfortable, his servo comes back to stroke your skin. You shiver. “Are you cold? Do you want me to get the heating pad?” “No. You’re warm enough. It just… feels nice to be with you this way. I meant what I said. I do love you. Maybe not on Knock Out’s level – he’s known you before my great grandparents were even born.” He affectionately taps your helm. “I mean, yeah – but what does that have to do with us? Do you humans have a monogamous contract or something?” Your expression says it all. “Oh,” he drawls. “Uh – it doesn’t mean that you can’t be with us, it’s that-” “I’m Megatron’s first and foremost,” you say, looking away from him and straight at the wall. “I… yes. But I mean that-” “I’m together with everyone. I know that.” You turn your attention back to him. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. I simply want to give you the praise you deserve. And the energon. Man, you need that so badly.” Resting your helm atop his chassis, you flash him a warm smile. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

[hoiststowline]

responses to “don’t come over, I look like a mess” [w/ sunstreaker, cliffjumper, ratchet, bluestreak, hound & ironhide]

_

“What? No. What did you say? That doesn’t make any sense, I’m coming over anyways,”:

• Sunstreaker is probably the biggest repeat offender on this one, and he uses it in other situations, too. he suddenly can’t comprehend and doesn’t allow you to explain yourself, though he and you full well know he understands. grumbles the whole ‘you’re breaking up!’ schtick. pretends to drive through a tunnel when he’s forty-five seconds away (where there is no tunnels) just to hang up without letting you say a peep. he won’t leave either, so you comply and come to see him, or you will be hearing his horn for the better part of the evening.

• a second guilty charge is aimed straight at Cliffjumper. somehow, there is never any time to explain and he’s in a huge hurry, and he’s only calling you as a courtesy so you’ll be outside and ready to go. If you even get a word in, mentioning weakly you look like shit or don’t feel up to seeing him, he’ll hang up. He can’t hear your lies if he literally can’t hear them or something like that. but once he pulls up and you aren’t outside, now you’ve done it, though he never directs the frustration at you. but if he’s in such a big hurry, wouldn’t he have left by now? Surely doesn’t have the time to wait around- and he’s yelling that you look fine from the street.

“That suspiciously sounds like you just made that up. at what point has that ever stopped me before?”:

• Ratchet will express that in so many words, but his concern will triumph over most things. He’s worried by your misplaced and unusual deflection, partial to looking for his company when it’s often unattainable. He doesn’t do it on purpose, but in the spare moments he does have, he uses them to see you. So when you decline his request, he’s still coming over, hell or high water. Whatever you’re wearing or whatever you’re doing he’s fine being in the company of, so your excuses are paper thin. You don’t sound sick, but he’s gotta be certain of that...

• “yeah, a hot mess!” Bluestreak tried, you’ll give him points there. “…that’s what you meant, right?” Unsettled and nervous chatter arises on his behalf when you can’t quite articulate why you feel so messy, and he immediately begins pressing for answers. there's a full minute where he thinks he did something wrong, and just when you console him that he didn't, you can already hear his wheels burning rubber in the background. hah, good luck stopping him, he's already halfway to your place, and cannot fathom why you looking a little messy would ever prohibit him from coming over. he'll be wary and uneasy the rest of the ride, wanting to get to the root of your woes.

“You always look beautiful, but if you’re not up to company that’s okay,”:

• Hound sorta understands, yet doesn't quite completely in regards to your explanation. though he's disheartened by a handful of things- one that you don't feel up to par outwardly and think that he cares what you are wearing or how you look in this very moment. you always look perfect to him, and your comment only fuels an unsteady flame that makes him think something else is very wrong. but he won't pry or shoulder his way in, he knows you'll come around when you're ready to talk, being supportive as always. he won't argue, he's straight to the point: no, you don't look a mess. he doesn't have to see you to know that, he knows, and to call him whenever you're ready for his company because he'll be over in a heartbeat.

• if anyone gets it, it's Ironhide. your excuse is garbage and untrue, but he'll kid around and poke fun just to get you to laugh. "What, did you just wake up or somethin'?" He really misses your company if you end up canceling, but he makes sure you know that you always look good to him, no matter what. he ultimately respects your boundaries for a couple of hours, and then he's circling your block to make sure you're still alive in there. radio silence is unforgiving, but as much as he misses you, he doesn't want to cross the imaginary line that is your patience. something else must be wrong for you to disappear into your room for the majority of the day, and he intends to get to the bottom of it by the evening.

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS ARGUING

scout: scout wins arguments because he talks so fast you can’t keep up. will ask fifty questions and as you’re answering the first one he’s demanding answers for the other forty-nine. he would be an almost admirable debater if it weren’t for the fact that he won’t slow down, shut up, and hear the other side out to formulate a rebuttal; but because he essentially refuses to do so, he misses vital information in the argument.

soldier: soldier doesn’t argue. soldier gives orders and you either follow them or are insubordinate and will be treated as such. he has no interest in arguing why he’s right, just know he’s right, shut the fuck up, and do what you’re told. honestly, if you’re at a point where you’re arguing with soldier; you fucked up somewhere in your day to lead you there. it’s not like soldier is telling you to disarm a bomb. okay, well he might be, but you could let the damn thing explode and he’ll take that! most of his orders are so boringly easy to follow, even when you think they’re not; that you could ignore them and they still get done.

pyro: pyro doesn’t argue unless they’re getting blamed for something they know they didn’t do. then it is a court trial. gets very heated very fast, and ends up throwing their hands up and stewing like a child. they’ll take the blame, but they’re not happy with anyone about it. it’s better to avoid them at that point, because then they’ll argue with anyone. it’s hard to break through to pyro when they feel like it’s them against the team. those are their buds, and they don’t like getting blamed for things they didn’t do. they’re willing to take accountability, but if they didn’t do it then they didn’t do it.

demo: demo is one of the better mercs to argue with because he will at least give you an opportunity to state your case, and if he finds fault in what he did he’ll admit it. but if he didn’t, then that’s all that arguing out the window. he’ll tell you to take it somewhere else. the only people who get no mercy is medic and spy, because he knows they just like to argue when they’re bored. he’ll tell you scout did it if it gets you off his back with an argument. he already fights as a job. he has no interest in fighting for fun.

heavy: heavy’s mean when he argues. one of the few times he curses and hurls insults directly at people. but again, if you find yourself in a position where you’re arguing with heavy, you fucked up somewhere in your day to lead you there. heavy is an easy guy to get along with, he is a man willing to communicate. so to bypass all calm means of communication and bring him a problem by arguing with him will get you called a dumbass, a fucking idiot, a pathetic moron; especially because he keeps receipts and alibis, so if you’re accusing him of something you better have undeniable proof it was him. and if you are stupid enough to argue with him in public you’ll regret it. if he doesn’t elect to make you cry outright as he harshly shuts you down, the growl in his throat of him telling you to shut it should be enough to frighten you into turning that into a private conversation.

engineer: do not argue with this man. he gets in your face, he is insulting, he is condescending, he’s flat out wrong half the time, and even when he’s right it does not justify his behavior in the slightest. arguing is a blood sport that isn’t about right and wrong. it’s about domination. and it’s a sport he’s very good at. that is, if he doesn’t gaslight you into thinking that your issue with him is actually an issue with yourself. there is a reason anyone who associates themselves in any way with engie have nothing but positive things to say. he is not a man with a survivable bad side.

medic: see, is it arguing if you’re not even sure you’re arguing? don’t argue with this freak either. it’s the most fucked up game of metaphorical poker. you see his face in flashes, the momentary sneer, the brow furrow, his lips very clearly pull down, but you blink and his face is neutral again. he’s making scathing claims in an even more chipper tone than normal. then he laughs. but the room is tense. it’s easier to back out of an argument with medic than it is the other mercs, because the air around medic is normally so intense that you truly never know where exactly you stand with him on a given day, so it’s easier to go “actually doc, you’re being weird. i’m gonna go.”

sniper: a relatively normal guy to argue with. he groans, he grumbles, but he listens before he shoots back. however, the second he gets whiff that you’re wrong, or he thinks he’s worn you down enough that you’re willing to admit you might be coming at the wrong person sideways, he’s an opportunist with it. he’ll hit you with that “this is why we double check our sources and don’t believe random shit we’re told, dumbass”. he is also very fast to back out of an argument the second he gets the thought that he might be wrong. it’s an immediate argument ender. he says “oop— nope i’m wrong, im sorry.” and will quickly find somewhere else to be that is not in your line of sight.

spy: it depends how you start the argument that is going to determine how spy argues with you. if you come at him aggressively, he won’t even entertain it. “don’t you lecture me with your thirty dollar haircut.” he uses insults you know you’ve heard from the other mercs before. but they sound so natural coming from him that it’s hard to know who got it from where. he will cut you down in ten words or less every time before he just cloaks and comes up missing. a calmer approach will let him be more open to what you’ve got to say, but at that point is it even an argument? because spy argues for fun. he doesn’t do it for anything less than fun, and he’ll corner you somewhere, or alienate you in a room and ask you a question he knows is going to piss him off just to argue with you. and he pushes. he’ll test your patience with it. and you won’t know (because you’ll be too busy trying to get your own emotional state under control) but he’s having so much fun. sometimes he forgets he works with men, and pushes (particularly the doctor, with a shorter temper than anyone on the team will accurately recall) to the point where it’s a physical fight.

[qinluna]

compliant piece to this, but can be read as a standalone. cw: discussion of suicidal thoughts, toxic relationship dynamic / arrangement. directly references 2-9. reader is gender-neutral. reader is not mc but still works for the association. reader is severely depressed. special cameo at the end + slightly happy ending.

“I’ll be gone. Aren’t you happy that you won’t have to see me then?”

…

“I’m about to leave. It’d be nice if we had a meal together.”

Three days too long. Three days too tumultuous for what you could tolerate. Three days—finally, miraculously up. Everything leading up to it—drove you to the point of mentally drafting resignation letters to the Association. Some combat medic you were. You learn in your time on Skyhaven that perhaps your will was not as strong as it initially was.

You were still a scared, little child in spite of it all.

You’ve drowned out the sound of the news report, before Caleb switches off the TV. Seated on the couch, your weary gaze is focused on your lap. You’re tugging at the bracelet he put on you back when you were in the infirmary. The infection of your wound—and the force of his Evol that held you down when you protested his protection.

The cold, detached look in his eyes…

(And how it hardened even more when you attempted to fight back physically.)

You hadn’t spoken a word since.

‘If being with me only brings you pain, then just put up with this for three more days.’

Three days that you didn’t sleep properly at night—and if you did, it’d be in short, unsatisfactory increments of time. Three days that you ended up vomiting every meal he had prepped and left in his fridge for you.

Three nights of nightmares that were a reminder of your disturbed, regressing soul.

You keep fiddling with the bracelet, the action causing the hologram panels to glitch as they constantly appear and disappear. Caleb’s noticed your deteriorating state, but his duties as a Colonel kept him away from doing anything about it.

In that short bracket of time, when he would arrive back home, he would feel his heart beat uneasily seeing you twitch in your sleep—brows furrowed in distress.

(On the second night, that’s when the guilt nearly cut through him, all because he saw the glisten of tear streaks on your face in the moonlight.)

Finally, in the present, does he make a move.

Caleb strides toward you, getting on one knee and resting his hands on top of your own, stopping you from messing with the bracelet any further.

“I’d say you could be mad, and… to not let it affect your health,” he speaks gently. “But… I hate seeing you like this. Especially when it’s your last day in Skyhaven, and…”

I know I fucked up, he wants to say. I know I should have done better. I know you needed me. I know I’m the reason you’re—

The rest of his thoughts remain unspoken. You don’t care.

“...Remember when I told you, on my thirteenth birthday, that… I wanted to die?”

You finally say something. But the lack of use in your voice has left it hoarse and unfamiliar. You don’t even feel whole. You feel like everything was taken from you, because of him—and you can’t get it back. If there were gods out there, you now accepted the gravity that perhaps this was your punishment. No higher power was protecting you from the yearning of Death.

Caleb’s jaw tenses, and he squeezes your hands a bit firmer as he spoke lowly, “Yeah, I… remember. I hated it.”

“...That’s how I feel right now.” You confess, clearing your throat, “Despite… everything… despite how much I missed you… I never would have thought that I would feel this way again.

“Let alone—you being the reason for it.”

The underlying darkness in Caleb’s eyes dissipates. The constant sight of what was a cold, calculating commander who could bend anyone at his will—shifts. Even in the moments he feigned tenderness for your sake, it’s not even that particular scheme that his gaze changes into.

For once, ever since he held you captive to his side—a glimpse of his truest soul dusts into the violet gaze that looks over you. Offense? Hurt? Sympathy?

You feel like you could hear the distant traffic of Skyhaven’s busy main street. There’s also the slight hum of the heater running—but close enough to you was the slight hitch of his breath. Caleb, who once meant the world to you. Caleb, who once swore to always make you smile.

Caleb, who grieved with you about the life you should’ve gotten instead. You should’ve been happier as a kid, should’ve felt safer. He would have done everything in his power to ensure you of that.

But even as you lift your head to find his eyes, the brief guest of his sincere heart is not meant to stay. It is not enough to sway you to believe that the Caleb you knew was still there.

“...Just let me go home,” you begged him, your voice cracking amid the quiet. “I wanna go home…”

(Had it been different circumstances, you were already home.)

There were a few thoughts running through Zayne’s mind when he was informed by Yvonne that you were checked into a room, only seven hours after you’ve returned from Skyhaven.

One: he’s relieved you’re safe. Considering your days of silence, it prompted him to check his phone more often than he would, hoping to hear something from you. You willingly came to Akso—likely for a check-up. Two: he feels an indescribable, repressed rage that was foreign to him.

An evaluation of your vitals showed you were slightly malnourished and dehydrated. It’s what’s reported to him by Greyson as he’s on his way to your room. But standing near your bed, Zayne instantly notes your eyes, circled by sunken, dark shadows and traces of puffiness that indicated long, agonizing tears. On top of it, your skin was slightly paler.

He needs to know what happened to you on Skyhaven.

Yet that was the last priority of the current matter.

You had been gazing out the windows looking over Linkon City, finally turning your head towards the door to see Zayne. He forgets his role as your doctor for a moment, seeing the silent plea in your eyes.

He barely has time to get a word out when he finally reaches your side. You throw yourself onto him, clinging to Zayne as you break into a horrific fit of sobs. Your tears soak into the pristine, rigid fabric of his white coat. You’re continuing to beg through this anguish, no coherent words leaving you.

And with utmost ease, he envelops you in a firm, protective embrace.

The warmth you had sought in those agonizing, isolated days—was finally here. It’s always been.

[slimybeth69]

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

w/c~ 8k

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself. 

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

--

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now. 

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you? 

Hurting you.

You like it. 

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister. 

You’re being bad. 

You like it. 

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it. 

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake. 

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize. 

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a  flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you. 

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell. 

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move. 

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps. 

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly, 

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets. 

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs. 

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table. 

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you. 

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little. 

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead. 

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate. 

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that. 

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst. 

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing. 

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either. 

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list,  but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on. 

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here. 

Now you’re gettin’ it. 

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. 

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then. 

But ya’ didn’t! 

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished. 

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate. 

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly. 

--

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat. 

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’. 

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing. 

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying. 

He’s got a collar on. 

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen. 

It makes him smile. 

--

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face. 

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach. 

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little. 

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair. 

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick,  heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks. 

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands. 

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here. 

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe. 

Who made sure that he was safe? 

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of. 

The only thing you wanted in return was his company. 

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it. 

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other. 

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain. 

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed. 

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink. 

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip. 

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone. 

The romance novels are almost bare. 

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it. 

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf. 

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition. 

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through? 

No. 

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one. 

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker. 

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times. 

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase. 

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition. 

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach. 

Sad. 

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape. 

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun. 

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it. 

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists. 

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to. 

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion. 

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at. 

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate. 

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm. 

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand. 

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep. 

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court. 

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.” 

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?” 

“Yup.” 

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time. 

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement. 

He wonders if you’re even real. 

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off. 

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me? 

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined. 

Why does he even care? 

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart. 

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–” 

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here. 

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.” 

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower. 

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly. 

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you. 

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend. 

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter. 

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing. 

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually. 

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man. 

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind. 

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick. 

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair. 

Joel. 

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth.  “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

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