#it looked better after I cinched the waist

[toytowns]

Realizing I never posted these from the Ohio Sonic Symphony!

[b00tyliciousbabe]

munch

bisexualbigboybf! x THICC!male reader

summary: manifesting my future husband

notes: THANKS FOR 1k ppl dem! BEEN IN DRAFTS FOR A WHILE. i think there needs to be some more love + appreciation for bi men and big boys so i amalgamated the two. not a fetish y’all, just a preference, they be taking care of my inner princess and for that i will ALWAYS be grateful. a lot of feminisation in this one so tread carefully. it’s a lil messy (jumps in tenses and stuff like that) but i litch couldn’t focus without getting too excited. ENJOY MY HEARTS.

song rec: normani - big boy (feat. starrah)

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your big boy bf didn’t think he had a chance with you at first, nor did he even want one. at first he hated you, watching how all the other men in your life were one flirty conversation away from having a piece of your juicy ass, and how the girls envied and coveted your thick hourglass figure. your sweet personality sickened him ; you made sure to give them your gym routine and your diet, being the beauty guru you were. but what he realised, was not that he hated you, but that he hated not having you. when he realised this, he needed you, more than anything.

you embodied a refreshing style of hyper femininity that made you all the more attractive to your bi man. seeing your body in its thick glory made him love himself more. how your belly added to your voluptuous figure, your plump cheeks, and fleshy muscle surrounding your chest and thighs, he was mesmerised by your form. you were, in his eyes, divine. little did he know that you had fallen first; his broad shoulders, strong biceps and pudgy belly practically had you ovulating. your gigantic teddy bear, standing at a foot taller than you, had a heart of gold and this protective aura around him, enamoured you.

when you debuted your relationship online, you were met with a flurry of mainly positive responses. yeah sure there were the odd few denouncing your femininity and body shaming y’all, but you ignored them because you don’t have to convince the world that you’re THEE baddie b and your man is the sexiest mf to ever exist.

luvagoalz: they are literally the embodiment of the wattpad height difference. I NEED.

user222: y/n getting dicked down DAILY by a giant is so girlboss of him.

sza: bestie got himself a big boy - y/n send me the deets for the wedding.

your bf is a huge gym rat and when you two became exclusive, your already voluptuous figure became all the more defined with his help. you were flawless. you love seeing him in the gym, sweating as the veins in his forearms pop out making him look so attractive. he definitely enjoys your company there, teasingly rubbing his bulge against your ass and face when no one was watching. his exhibitionist kink goes crazy seeing how beautifully your workout clothes hug your butt and cinch your waist. he used to be slightly insecure about his stretch marks but after a cool down session, and you complimenting them like lightning bolts imprinted on his skin, he felt superhuman. you always knew what to say to make him feel better.

he’s so protective of you. always sleeps on the side closest to the door and isn’t afraid to send someone to hospital if they even look at you the wrong way, or in a manner he doesn’t like. in his mind he’s seeded you and you’re literally carrying his kids and thus it’s his responsibility to protect you. it’s almost primal. he isn’t controlling or anything, but finds it incredibly important to remind you that with him you are completely safe.

they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and boy was that the case during your talking stage. it was perfect; you love to cook and so he’s more than happy to try your baked goods. your boyfriend loves his sleep on the weekends and so in true house husband fashion you often prepare breakfast in an apron with your thick cheeks hanging out from behind. one day he woke up to the sweet smell of you making his favourite. groggily stumbling into the kitchen, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, long dick swinging out of his briefs as he advanced towards you.

‘good morning love.’ his deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed the words into your neck. he held onto the groove of your hips, caressing your lower back with the tip of his index finger and watched as you writhed beneath him. ‘babe, what are you doing up? you need your sleep, you’ve been working so hard lately.’ you said, breathing haphazardly as he ground himself into you. ‘i missed you. and i want my morning kisses.’ beginning to untie your apron he turned you around, and removed the lace from around your neck. hiking you up on the table top, the heat of your bare ass, that his dick previous massaged into you, was cooled by the granite. you wrapped your legs around him, as your hands stroked his beard. wiping that shit eating grub off of his face, your lips came closer to his own, as you could feel his heartbeat in his throat - this man is so in love with you. the kiss lasted quite a while, precum staining the opening of his boxers and pooling on your thighs. you knew that you were about to be fucked dumb and so you turned of the hob to avoid burning the house down. the fire inside y’all was more than enough to keep you going.

your man doesn’t fully realise his own strength. he was very hesitant to have sex with you for a while and mostly stopped at groping you before his dick got too hard to ignore. so, for your first time, he had to refrain literally ripping your clothes to get to the prize of your nudity. he absolutely loves seeing you (try to) deepthroat. the reason? his size kink goes insane when you attempt to take his gigantic package. this man is LONG and GIRTHY, capable of splitting you in half and abusing all your spots with ease. the veiny sausage he’s packing could do some serious damage but he held back when it came to your first couple times with him.

he always takes time to ensure that your safe and comfortable. initially his size intimidated you, your mannerisms connoting your subtle anxiety. he kissed the fear out of you, reassuringly saying, ‘you know I would never do anything to hurt you.’

your boyfriend is the KING of consent, always ensuring that you want his big cock just as much as he wants to feel the warmth of your boy pussy. one day whilst he was working from home, he noticed you squirming like an omega in heat. he sighed and smirked. ‘d’you want me to fuck you?’ he burst out. already used to his blunt disposition, you nodded. advancing closer towards you, staring down at the desperation in your face, he stroked your hair. ‘use your words y/n, i wanna hear how badly you want it.’ his charisma practically had you high. ‘I need you, please.’ you began to undo the string that held up his joggers, as he removed his tshirt. ‘i can never say no to my baby boy.’ he smiled, pants bunching at his ankles as he slowly railed on the edge of your shared bed.

he encourages you to take him fully each time, praising you because no one else had been able to take him past halfway. ‘i know baby, i know, do it one more time for me.’ he said endearingly, wiping the tears from your face as his dick invaded your throat.‘THERE IT ISSS UGH FUCK! i love your mouth.’ he cooed.

equally, your bf is the only man you’ve been with that’s been able to satisfy you sexually. you steered clear from all the men who were only interested in your body and not your heart and so you had very minimal experience outside of toys and your hands. the few you may or may not have been with were damn near clueless. on the other hand…your man has had plenty of hoe phases. it sly bugged you how he’d been intimate with a greater number you could’ve imagined but all that disappeared when he first made love to you. the best thing about him is that he can handle allat that ass. despite the clear size difference this doesn’t stop you from being a FREAK. He even encourages it. loving your thick globes of ass flesh kiss his lower belly as you push back and twerk all over his dick. his favourite part of your shape are your hips. he wants to breed you full of his children.

whenever he says ‘fuck yeah baby, back that shit up.’ it sends you orbital. it’s well known that the two of you share a huge affinity for doggy. the way you stroke his pudginess while he rails you in that position has become a safety mechanism - one that he has learnt to make the experience all the more enjoyable. with one hand holding you up (realistically struggling to, under the sheer passion of his fucking) and the other one bent behind your back fingering his belly button. his huge dick borderline tears you open and by grabbing onto him makes you feel safe. he usually recognises that it’s getting a bit too much when your moans become screams, and you get tighter. and as much as he loves seeing you overstimulated and fucked out on his cock, he doesn’t wanna break you (completely). so he slows down, soothing your pain with sweet nothings and his large hands massaging your ass cheeks.

for him personally though, he loves to smush you underneath his weight. in prone bone, he has direct access to your ear, whispering words of affirmation but degrading you with the grip of his arms around your neck. his beard hair softly touching your cheek, causing a wave of bliss to hit you, always gets him going. he knows you love hearing him praise you; his grunts are so delectable, a symphony with the percussion of him clapping tf outta your cheeks. as you whine like a lil bitch, they become guttural, like an alpha in his rut. the carnal passion of your heavier and rougher sessions reveal a callous side to his possessive nature. dangerous how much it turns you on.

words can’t really describe how much you love his stomach, happy trail adorning his belly, and riding him offers you the opportunity to see allat that on a platter. his smirk as he tries to contain his excitement that your his and only his.

on the topic of eye contact, you’re favourite mutual position is definitely missionary - your bf adores every inch of you. how your body becomes compliant. your hole crafted to take his big dick. the way it pierces through the walls of your pussy, massaging your gumminess. he sometimes drools from how lost he can be in the experience. ‘take my cock, yhhh baby, fuckkkk.’

slowing down his jack hammering pace, he’d lean forward with his low hanging balls rutting into you agonizingly slow.

‘you like that shit, huh baby? yeah? loving on my dick so well.’ whispering as he begins to mark your collarbone. then moving upwards onto your neck, massaging your previously pummeled throat as you looked up, desperate to kiss him. he exhales into your mouth, breathing life into you that he had taken away with his hard thrusts. his softness escaped as quickly as it arose, thrusting his entire load into you.

‘shit’ you scream as he laughs hoarsely, the rasp in his voice a melting honey.

in the same position, you love his cum face. something about how his eye and nose scrunch as he pants and grunt deeply. his beard ticking your chin. it also allows him to be vulnerable with you. he would hold your head cradling it with an affection rivalled only by how sweetly his tip kisses your prostate with each lengthy thrust. when he first enters, he’s checking to see if your okay, if you want more lube. you say no. legs just above his hips, you bring your hand to stroke his beard as he concentrates on directing his dick in a way that doesn’t make him cum immediately upon re entry.

‘i love you.’ you say getting all emotional from how well he’s treating you. ‘I love you too y/n.’ he leans down for more kisses as your hand now snakes around the back of his head.

he stops, letting you catch your breath, playing with your hair and caressing your face lovingly. your arms drop immediately at the warmth of his touch. he lifts and cradles your head, a delicacy opposing his rough demeanour.

‘I fucking love you,’ your bf grunts, placing forehead kisses, panting, as he starts moving faster. your legs now wrapped tightly around his abdomen like a vice. he plants both hands behind your head, balling his fists at either side of your head to create the perfect foundation to fuck you hard. brings one of his hands to cradle your hair and to bring your head closer to his. your temples meet ensuring that you’re so close and intimate. the man brings his body up, still inside you, collects your legs together, one leg on each shoulder holding onto the thick flesh of your upper thighs, allowing you to adjust, before toppling over onto you again to get deeper inside your pussy. later, moving his hands up to behind your knees, his rugged fingertips grip the flesh of your hamstrings.

your boyfriend brings his fingers up to stroke your cheeks and remove the hair sticking to your face. he’s growling at his need to go ham, but he exercises self-control as a means to take care of you. however, what he doesn’t realise is that his painfully slow strokes transport you to a utopia of bodily ecstasy.

he ABSOLUTELY loves seeing the imprint of his girthy cock in your stomach, pressing down on it to add to your respective pleasures. and when you both reach the top of the mountain, the visual of you being completely fucked out on his huge pole, as it protrudes through your stomach which is now decorated with your own personal release, makes him wanna rail you again. and again. until you pass out or his dick becomes limp. the latter would never happen because wherever you are, that cocks gonna be UP.

aftercare is so underrated with him. in his past relationships, it was usually a hit and quit it situation - his words not mine. thus he didn’t really know what to do at first. he’s so used to hookup culture, that he never bothered. but with you, he knew he had to change; one, because he knew you’d never let him near you again if he didn’t take care of you, but mainly two, because you were his and he had a responsibility to cherish you. considering you literally couldn’t walk and body was limp, your man needed to ensure you were taken care of. though he always reassures you, you make sure to do the same. the first time you spooned him he slept like a baby. BIG BOYS NEED CUDDLES TOO Y’ALL.

he gets really apologetic, constantly asking ‘did I go to rough.’ as he massages the bruises on your hips. sometimes feels guilty that he fucks you too hard. You put his mind at ease telling him that you do like it. your bubble butt and tight hole were made to take his cock.

this still doesn’t stop him from confessing to you; ‘baby, I’m so sorry.’ he kisses your skin. ‘when I see that ass if yours jiggle, it drives me crazy, I just can’t stop.’ it often leads to him overcompensating. as the his cum seeps out of your obliterated cunt. he just wants to make you feel safe. the same safety he feels when he’s with you.

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tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

@lysanderplume

[moonchildstyles]

rosemary for halloween?👀

wordcount: 4k+

—————

Harry frowned at his reflection. 

While he loved (Y/N) more than anything, and would do anything for her, he wondered if he finally found limitations to that philosophy. 

Because dressing up like a sailor just to match with her for a Halloween party was beginning to look like the line he needed to draw in the sand. The ascot was bad enough, he doubted the hat that was looming on the bed behind him was going to make this outfit any better. 

The familiar sound of perfume being sprayed from the bathroom told Harry he didn't have much time left to fiddle with his costume before (Y/N) would appear to fawn over him and make him change his mind. In an impulse move, he attempted to tug off the ascot around his neck and hide it away in a pocket she could see. 

All hope was lost just as (Y/N) emerged from the bathroom in a plume of sparkles and sea salt. Her hair was styled full of pearls and glimmering sea glass clips, matching the shifting blue and purple iridescent glitter spread across her eyelids. There weren't many places on her body that weren't imbued with a sparkling sheen, giving the effect of shimmering mermaid skin. Her top was little more than a decorated bralette cinched in a thick band around her ribs, emulating a pair of scallop shells studded with pearls and shards of sea glass. Her high waisted bottoms were a tight fit around her hips and thighs before fanning out after her knees, mimicking that of a mermaid's tail. The material was a swirl of pearly threads, shifting with pinks and purples, teals and bioluminescent greens. Her bag for the night—the purchase that inspired the costume—was a golden seashell. 

Harry, distracted by the sight of the swathes of skin she had on display—a strip of her soft stomach, the slope of her neck and sparkling décolletage, her pretty, manicured hands—didn't catch the way her entire face lit up when she saw him. 

"You look so cute, honey!" she bubbled, rushing towards him with her hands reaching out towards his collar. 

(Y/N) preened over him, a bright smile on her glossy lips. The ascot he attempted to rip off was smoothed down, his shirt straightened, and the epaulettes on his shoulders patted down. 

He wanted so badly to keep up the attitude he gained while looking in the mirror, but not a shred of it remained when she smiled at him like that. 

"Y'like it?" he murmured, his own lips creeping into a short curl. 

"I love it!" She beamed up at him with her hands going stationary on the planes of his chest. "I know you weren't sure about it, but I'm so happy we match. Thank you." 

Moving on instinct, he lent down and pressed his lips to hers, uncaring about the glitter that would no doubt transfer to his own skin. 

"'M happy we match too," he smiled against her skin, the tip of his nose knocking against her own, "I don't think anyone's going to be looking at me, anyway. Not when 'm standing next to you." 

Her grin turned giddy, only widening when Harry encouraged her to twirl before him. "Do you like it?! I think I put on too much body glitter, but I can't go back now." 

He shook his head. "'S perfect. Look like a real mermaid. Y'would have lured me right to the sea, no doubt." 

She keened under his attention, canting her head with a flutter of her lashes. "I couldn't do that, though—I wouldn't want to hurt you." 

"I'd learn how to breathe underwater, then," he answered simply. He would find any solution if it meant he could be with her. 

Her answering laugh was enough to have him eager to wear any and every silly costume she wanted. This reaction was always going to be worth wearing an ascot and sailor's cap. 

"You're sweet, H," she crooned, surging to her tiptoes to share another kiss. He chased after her when she pulled away, drawing one more kiss from her before she made a step away towards her closet. "Are you ready to go?" 

Harry answered with a nod, hoping she didn't notice the hat missing from the top of his head. 

"Perfect!" she chirped, "I need to put my shoes on, and then we can go!" 

Just short of breathing a sigh of relief, Harry figured himself to be in the clear by the time she slinked into her closet. 

Until, of course, she called out to him. "Oh, and don't forget your hat!" 

He wanted so badly to frown, to groan and tell her he didn't want to wear the hat. But none of that came out. Only a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

There was a time in his life that he never thought he would have anyone that would want to spend these kinds of nights with him, let alone in a planned out matching outfit. Even if it felt a bit silly, there wasn't a single bone in his body that was going to say no to something like this.

"I won't, peach." 

—————

Despite the sweat beginning to slick his palm, Harry didn't pull his hand out from (Y/N)'s. 

While he was growing more used to the idea of large and loud crowds of people—especially crowds that knew him and made a point to say hello when he walked by—but there was still much more progress to be made in that department. Sabrina's Halloween party was one of his bigger trials, that was for sure. (Y/N) was his only anchor, her hold on his hand being the only thing that kept him from running through an obsessive cycle of spying all exits and attempting to scan each face around him for anyone suspicious. 

Though, tonight, it was a bit hard to see from scanning the room, if only to get a view of all of the costumes and decorations around them. Sabrina's annual halloween party was something Harry had only recently learned about, but (Y/N)'s excited descriptions made the space as familiar to him as his own. As she promised, faux cobwebs were stretched across walls and stuffed in corners. Streamers and metallic fringe hung from doorways, the visages of classic horror tropes were scattered on the walls, including decals of blood spatters that Harry made a point not to look at for too long. Everything was orange and purple, black all throughout. Music played throughout the space, though it was decidedly softer than most of his experiences when it came to house parties. 

Harry saw many familiar faces among the party goers, though more often than not they were disguised in costumes and altering makeup. There were plenty of Barbies, and angels, a few fairies and sexy iterations of mundane professions all throughout, being broken up by even more silly costumes. Video game and movie characters stuck out in iconic silhouettes. Many couples and friends were in matching costumes like the one he was in (though there weren't any other mermaids and sailors as far as he could see). More than a few lent into the season with spooky costumes, fake blood and weapons at their sides. Those were not Harry's favorite. 

Especially not when he felt a little flush when he saw the liberal use of blood on some costumes.

There was no way Harry was going to be peeling himself away from (Y/N)'s side. Even if he was beginning to feel a little like a potted plant while he listened to her converse with her friends. 

"But, you don't mind, right, H?" 

Blinking back to earth, Harry saw (Y/N) looking up at him with an affectionate smile and a familiar face from his days of sitting in at the bakery looking at him expectantly. His mouth fell into a gape as he attempted to find the answer to a question he wasn't listening to. 

"Um," he started, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, "Sorry, what?" 

(Y/N) didn't look all that surprised to realize he hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation. "You like the costumes, right?" 

"Oh, yeah." He automatically nodded, looking at (Y/N)'s friend. "They were her idea."

A laugh bubbled from the woman, a joke Harry hadn't heard before now coming into play. (Y/N)'s hand pulsed around his own, her smile bright as she gazed up at him. 

"Next year, I'll have to see if he'll be the mermaid," (Y/N) laughed, her nose scrunching while her friend joined in. 

In the back of his mind, Harry was sure he should have tuned back in when the chattering started up once more, but he just couldn't. Was there ever going to be a time when he wasn't completely enamored, just short of being brought to his knees, when she muttered something so innocent like plans for the future? Was that ever not going to steal his breath? The idea of having a future and stability and someone for the rest of his life? 

(At least, he hoped (Y/N) would be with him for the rest of his life. He'd just have to scrounge up the courage to ask her one day).

Soon enough, (Y/N)'s friend bid a short goodbye, promising to see them around the party, before they were left to meander around. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom to look at my makeup, if you want to come," she said, looking up at him with a soft smile, "Unless you want to go get a drink or something." 

He didn't have to think before he was shaking his head. "I'll go with you." 

(Y/N) turned with that pretty smile on her face as she led him through the partygoers, taking a seemingly familiar route towards the restroom. Sabrina and others spotted (Y/N) as they passed, saying hello with glassy eyes and praising her costume in slurred comments. Every slowed step while she engaged in the short conversation, she never left him out, immediately pointing out that they went together. 

Harry was sure a flush was beginning to creep up his neck by the time the third person stopped them.

Lucky for them, by the time they successfully reached the restroom, it was empty. Slipping inside, Harry shut the door behind them. It was a small bathroom, leaving little room between them while (Y/N) turned towards the mirror. 

In the quiet of the restroom, Harry felt his lungs finally expand to capacity. It wasn't hard being at (Y/N)'s side while she was a social butterfly, but it was exhausting trying to remind himself everything was okay when there were so many people around them. He'd learn one day; his body would catch up one day. That's what (Y/N) told him, anyway. 

"You doing okay?" she asked, catching his eye in the mirror while she scraped a rogue glitter away from the corner of her eye. 

"Yeah," he muttered, nodding his head. "Jus'... a lot still, I think." 

"I know. We don't have to stay too much longer, though. I just want to hang out with Sabrina a little bit, and then we'll be free." 

"'S okay," he shook his head, his fingers a knot behind his back, "We don't have to leave until y'want. I'll be fine." 

Abandoning the reflection, (Y/N) turned towards Harry with a cant to her head. Her features were made of soft lines and affectionate eyes. "It's no fun if you're not having a good time, H." 

"I am, I am," he insisted, even if the deep breath he took in wasn't all that convincing. "Halloween is fun." 

At this, she couldn't help but to let out a bubbling laugh. "Is it?" she teased, crossing the short space between them to wrap his middle in her arms. His body moved on instinct, draping his arms around her shoulders. "If you have to say it like that, I have a feeling it's not really true." 

He could feel his expression loosening as he gazed down at her. If this were another life, and he were a sailor out on the sea, it would only take a glimpse of her between the waves to have him swimming out into the unknown. Though that was what he figured his real life was like anyway; she was the lighthouse that guided him to a new shore, away from everything he knew before. Now, here he was, at someone's home on Halloween night in a sailor's costume. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. 

"I jus' like being with you, peach," he admitted, "If you're happy, so am I." 

"You're gonna make me cry," she laughed, eyes shimmering like her eyeshadow, "I really do want to go home soon, though. This outfit isn't as comfortable as I want it to be." 

A pinch appeared between his brows. He knew the corset-like fit of her top was what she wanted, but he'd worried about how well she was going to be able to breathe. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hands beginning to frantically trace around her form. 

"I'm okay, honey," she assured, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the point of his chin, "I think I'm just ready for some pajamas." 

He could work with that. He could make sure they were safe and comfortable at home soon; if he was fast enough, he might even be able to throw her pj's into the dryer while she takes off her makeup, leaving them warm for her once she was ready. 

"'M ready whenever y'are, peach." 

This time, when she raised to the tips of her toes, she met his lips with her own. It was a short kiss, hidden away from the rest of the world, but still more than enough to draw his heart into pounding against his ribs. 

This kiss was urging him to take back his earlier words. He should have told her he wanted to head home immediately. 

—————

"Oh my god, did you put these in the dryer?" 

Harry couldn't contain the smile stretching across his face when he heard (Y/N)'s shout from her bedroom. He didn't respond when he heard feet padding across the floor, coming right towards where he was tucked into the cushions of her sofa. 

Still with her mermaid hair and makeup on, she now had on a light purple crewneck and teal blue sweats. She wanted to stay within the spirit of her costume for when children would inevitably knock on the door for candy, but Harry could see she was much more comfortable in her new clothes. 

"Harry," she crooned, looking to him with softened features. Warm, pumpkin lighting filled her home, candlelight flickering over the glitter pasted to her skin. 

"(Y/N)," he said, parroting her affectionate tone. 

"You're so sweet, honey. Thank you." She crawled atop his lap as she spoke, fitting her knees on either side of his hips. 

He moved instinctively, his hands landing on her waist while she looped her own around his neck. Looking up at her, Harry let a smile bloom over his lips, a warmth bubbling under his skin. 

"Do y'feel better?" he asked, running his hands over the curve of her waist, "More comfortable?" 

"Much," she affirmed, pursing her lips to dot a kiss on the bridge of his nose. The sparkle in her eyes rivaled that of the flecks sticking to her skin when she pulled away. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. It was more hectic than I thought, but it means a lot that you came anyway." 

Harry's smile turned shy at her praise. It was still a very hard thing to hear these kinds of sentiments directed to him. The honey of (Y/N)'s voice made it just a touch easier to take, at least. 

"I know 'm not very fun at these things, so thank you for staying with me." Shifting to bar his arms around her middle, Harry pulled her into a hug as he perched his cheek on her shoulder, nose skimming the column of her neck. 

(Y/N) slid her fingers into the curling locks on the back of his head, threading through the waves in comforting trails. "It'll get easier, H. You're already doing so much better than you think." 

A flickering silence settled over the room. "Thank you," he murmured into her neck, "I want to keep getting better. With you."

In that moment, Harry was brought back to a motel room. He was sitting on a much stiffer, mustier sofa with darker thoughts clouding his brain. But he still had (Y/N) in his arms, reassuring him that he could—and would—get better. That she was right there with him, would be right there as long as he needed her. 

He held her tighter at the memory. 

She didn't make any move to pull away, letting Harry get his fill of her before eventually peeling away to gaze up at her. 

"You're still alright with me spending the night?" Despite posing the question, he didn't think he would have an easy time getting out of this spot even if she said no.

"Of course—who else is going to protect me on Halloween night?" 

She spoke with a teasing smile, canting her head with a slight pout puffing her lips. This was one of those moments he had to remind himself that he wasn't occupying his previous life—this was nothing more than a joke, something flirty that (Y/N) said to draw an affectionate reaction out of him. There was nothing real, nothing coming to get her in the middle of the night. 

A short smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I think I can manage that, peach." 

She must have sensed the brief hesitation, causing her to push a soft kiss to the curled corner of his mouth. 

"If you start some popcorn, I’ll pick a movie for us?" she offered. 

He responded with a quiet nod, pulsing his hands on her waist before she climbed off of him. He left her on the couch as he started towards her kitchen, the ghost of her warmth clinging to his front. Keeping an ear out, he rooted through her cabinets in search of a packet of popcorn—a snack she seemingly always had on hand, though he hadn't caught her indulging in the kernels more than once in the last months. 

A ring of the doorbell succeeded by muffled giggles had Harry's muscles bunching for a split second. It's Halloween, he reminded himself. Of course there were going to be people at the door, and (Y/N) wasn't going to hesitate with swinging it open. 

Old habits die hard, even the ones that were already in the process of being buried. 

Hurriedly shoving the packet into the microwave with numbers punched into the pad, Harry moved across the kitchen. Peeking around the threshold, he had a clear view of (Y/N) with a large bowl in one hand as she answered the door. 

The giggling grew louder as she pulled open the door. From the angle she was standing before the threshold, he had a view of her smiling profile as she took in the little critters at her stoop. The children, flanked by parents standing a few feet away, all smiled brightly up at the mermaid before them. 

"Trick or treat!" 

"Wow, look at you guys!" (Y/N) cheered, balancing the candy bowl on her hip, "You look amazing! Such cute costumes!" 

"I'm not cute, I'm a zombie," one of the children contradicted, a lisp in his voice. 

(Y/N)'s smile only grew wider, before she fell into a shocked character. "Woah, you are really scary. I don't have any brains, will candy do?" 

Harry was vaguely aware of the way the children cheered for her, the giggles and smiles filling the doorway as she handed out bundles of candy, but he only had eyes on the mermaid. 

He doubted she even knew just how fearless she was. More than once, he'd heard her describe herself as shy, boring even. Never doing anything new, sticking to her routine. She had no idea what kind of effort Harry would have had to exert to do this simple task she did so easily. 

She had no idea just how special she was in the most mundane ways. He would never run out of things to admire about her. He was sure. 

Waving goodbye to the children and their parents, (Y/N) shut and locked the door behind her. It was then that she caught eyes right on her. 

"They were cute, don't you think?" she chattered, unwitting of the fact that he could barely recount any of the details of any of the trick-or-treaters or their costumes. 

"Yeah," he agreed anyway, a dreamy haze smoked around his voice, "Really cute." 

Before she could offer a response, the microwave beeped. The fragrance of buttery popcorn scented through her home, drawing him away from the entryway. He made quick work of emptying the packet into a pastel pink bowl, rushing to head back to her side out on the sofa. 

Curled up, legs under her bottom with a pumpkin-printed throw blanket across her lap, (Y/N) flicked through her chosen streaming service on her television. It wasn't until he was seated at her side, his peach lifting up the edge of the blanket to allow him to slide in next to her, that he saw what she was looking for.

True to the season, he was looking through a section of Halloween movies. Though, not quite the kind he was sure was playing in many other houses in the neighborhood. 

"I know it's not really scary, but I was thinking Scooby-Doo might be fun to watch tonight," she muttered, looking through the various classic movies available for streaming. One Harry remembered watching as a child caught his eye.

Definitely a better option than the home invasion or slasher films he never really found the appeal of.

He moved to overlap her legs over his thighs, spreading her warmth across the side of his body. "That sounds better than anything scary." 

Moving to pick through the popcorn bowl settled on his lap, Harry saw from the corner of his eye the way (Y/N) turned her attention to him. 

Her eyes were impossibly soft, tracing over the planes of his face. She canted her head as she looked at him, just enough so that the light caught the glitter on her face. He wasn't sure what she saw when she looked at him like that, but whatever it was enough to draw her closer to his side. 

"H—" 

Before she could finish whatever it was that she was going to share, the doorbell rang. She hesitated before removing the blanket from her lap. 

"I'll be right back," she murmured, "You pick. 

A soft kiss was pressed to his cheek, just where his dimple devoted his skin. 

Remote in hand, Harry absently scrolled through the title cards though he was listening instead to the giggling conversation happening at the door. 

The sound of her voice soundtracked the beats of his heart. He heard the way she bubbled to these children, playing along to whatever tricks they pulled for the treats in question. He could still feel the press of her lips against his cheek, the warmth a point of clarity as he sunk into the amber-tinted moment that was his own life. Never would he have thought he would ever find himself in a place like this.

"I'm already starting to run out of candy," (Y/N) exclaimed as she made her way back to the couch, "I'm probably giving out too much, but I feel bad if I don't give out, like, handfuls." 

(Y/N) slid back into her spot, as natural as breathing. Entirely fearless, always. 

"You're so sweet, peach," he breathed, much too heavy an answer for something so simple. 

Though it was entirely worth the smile she gifted him. 

Harry wasn't sure if he was ever going to be a huge fan of Halloween, but he could see why others enjoyed it. Especially if these breezy nights went on like this. 

—————

happy (late) halloween everyone! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own, please send them in!!

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Home Movie - Rafe Cameron One Shot

+18 Minor DNI

Rafe x Girlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 Warning: SMUT & Swearing, Pet names, no use of Y/N, birthday sex, first-time anal fingering, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), recording a sex tape, hair pulling, Rafe talks you through it.

📖 You and Rafe spend some quality time together after your birthday celebration, where you catch all the fun on tape.

2.9k <- almost all smut oops

Reader’s POV:

Your fingers comb through the back of Rafe’s hair, making him groan. “You know how hard it is to get you alone, princess?” Rafe chuckles, breathily as you amble toward the grand staircase. His face melts into your neck; lips meeting your skin, making your head fall to the side. “I’m glad everyone could be here for you, baby.” He mumbles against your neck, working his way up to your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Fuck. I hate sharin’ you though.”

“And, I hate sharing you. Tonight was perfect, baby. Thank you. Seriously, this has been the best birthday ever.” Rafe pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze, his blue eyes sparkling. The corners of his rosy lips curl into a smile.

“That makes me so happy, sweetheart.”

Rafe sets you down, not losing contact, lowering himself to your lips. He kisses you deeply, consuming all of your senses. His rich cologne, the sweetness of his taste, and green apple Jolly Ranchers, he can help but snag from your purse. He moans into your kiss, music to your ears as the touch of his rough hands glides higher and higher up your bare legs. He backs you up against the wall, tongue tangling with yours.

“You still up for this?” He mumbles between kisses.

“Mmm… Mhmm.”

“You’re gonna look so good on camera, princess,” he rasps, the vibrations of his low tone tickle your ear, making you powerless. “Oh, I got you a gift. You wanna put it on for me? I’ll set up the camera.” You bite your lip and nod.

“After you, pretty.”

A smile rolls across your lips as you see the mess of gifts arranged on the counter, a spray of rose gold and blush-hued balloons lofted on the ceiling. “Rafe,” you sigh, happily as you take in the additional gifts added, a lovely bouquet of roses, your favorite pink wine, and a white apparel box with a red bow.

Rafe walks behind you, body pressing against your back, arms shrouded around your waist as you unfasten the satin, undoing the knot. You draw back the top, plucking out the tissue paper; letting out a sinful little laugh. There it sits, a VHS C resting on a nest of red lace lingerie.

Snagging the VHS you pass it to Rafe. He wastes no time, popping back the lid; pulling out the smaller cassette, jamming it into the camera. He turns back to you cupping your cheeks in his large hands, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. “Be a good girl and get dressed for me. Yeah?”

“Jesus Christ, princess,” he groans, lustfully as his bare chest presses flush with yours. “How are you so sexy?” Rafe whispers against your lips, deepening the exchange a moment later, claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers drift into your hair, pulling you even closer. You reach down, stroking your hand over his clothed cock. “Lemme see you.” He draws back to take a better look, moaning lowly as his eyes drink you in.

Rafe spins you under his finger, his darkened eyes trailing from the tips of your black heels to the top of your lace-trimmed thigh-high stockings. His finger traces the little straps, clipping your hosiery in place; following the line to the garter belt cinched around your waist.

“This is one selfish fuckin’ gift,” he chuckles, darkly.

“I love it, baby. I feel beautiful-”

“You are beautiful. Damn… You’re divine, angel,” he moans before you can say much more, lighting you ablaze.

“You ready?” Your hands rest lightly against his chest, feeling his heart racing underneath, matching your own.

“Haven’t thought about much else today, princess.”

“Neither have I,” you whisper as your lips brush against his, feeling the anticipation build.

His large palms circle the fullness of your ass. “Shit…” He groans, drawing out the word as his hand meets only skin. His arm reaches further around your hip, fingers skimming your ass, reaching as far as he can, the tips of his fingers swirling your arousal dipping into your entrance. “You don’t even have to take these off.”

“How ‘bout that?” You add, breathily, fanning the flame. He doesn’t respond, just a hungry stare as he picks you up, shifting the two of you to the mattress, looking like he could absolutely devour you. He reaches down, practically ripping the button of his slacks open, going on all fours toward you as you move back to the headboard.

He kisses your forehead, retreating on the bed. One snap open, then the next. Rafe unclasps your garter belt straps, peeling the stockings off your thigh and calf, kissing and kissing some more as he reveals more and more skin. His fingers never lose contact, landing on your panties again.

Rafe drops his hips thrusting and rolling his rock-hard bulge into you. You can feel the chill of the slick between your thighs making you release an eager whimper. “Need you,” you whine.

“You still wanna try, sweetheart?”

You nod rapidly at him before lowering your gaze, taking in his perfect form, tanned skin and thick muscles. His blonde fringe dusts his forehead, brushing against you as he continues to torture you with a few more hindered thrusts.

“I need you inside of me,” you breathe, tugging at his boxers, drawing them as low as you can before Rafe yanks them off completely. His hard dick stands straight, weeping at the tip. You wrap your hand around his thick shaft, swiping your thumb across his tip before taking it between your lips, purring at the taste.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he mumbles under his breath, his body tacking you to the mattress.

“Fuck. Me.”

“Anything for you. Hands 'n knees, sweetheart.”

You roll over underneath him as he rises on his knees, moving back slightly for you to assume the position. You rest your forearms on the bed, ass in the air.

“Like this?” You ask, looking over your shoulder, making his eyes roll back.

“Just like that,” he groans as he takes hold of your curves, spreading your cheeks slightly. You watch a devilish smirk stretch on his lips. His eyes drift to the camera, checking his angle, making sure to get the perfect shot.

He draws his hand back slapping your ass cheek, a satisfying clap cracks through the room. Rafe snares your hips, towing you closer. You relax your body a little more, the sway of your spine deepening.

Rafe’s rough fingers meet your clit, making you release a throaty moan. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans as he works a little further back, toying with your entrance, running his fingers through your folds before slapping your cunt. “Always so wet for me.”

“I’m so wet for you,” you pant. “Please, Rafe. S-Shit-” You’re cut short by a new sensation, as Rafe rubs his thumb over your taut hole using your slick as lube. He runs a line of spit down, making you release a little gasp as he circles a little quicker before pressing it inside, making you clutch the sheets.

“Good?” A smile spreads on his perfect lips.

“So fucking good,” you moan. Rafe draws his finger out, pulling out a moan from your trembling lips. Rafe presses against you again, his pointer finger replacing his thumb.

“Want me to keep goin’?”

“Yes. Fuck, Rafe… Don’t stop,” you whimper.

You watch as Rafe wraps his fist around his dick as well. Your entire body starts to throb, heart banging in your chest as Rafe pumps his long cock at the same tempo as his finger, working in and out of you. A bead of precum drips from his swollen tip onto the comforter below.

Is he gonna fuck me too?

You feel heat spread across your already hot skin as he answers your question. His fat cockhead presses against your entrance, making your fingers twist in the sheets, gripping tight, eyes squeezed as he glides inside your pussy.

“O-Oh, Rafe. I- Mmm…” He sinks balls deep, the skin of his body pressed against yours, making you cry out. He lets you adjust to his size and the new sensation.

“Please…” You manage, wanting desperately for him to move.

“Gotta use your words, baby girl. There somethin’ you want?”

“Fuck me,” you whine.

“There’s my good girl,” he grunts, rocking into you at a familiar tempo, working his fingers in tandem with his thrusts.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, in ecstasy as he adds another, filling you fuller than before.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs. Rafe curls his digits inside your ass, pumping both a little quicker, making you tighten around him more. “Feels so good, baby… G-Goddamn,” he pants between ruts.

“So good,” you cry.

Rafe’s palms the arch of your ass with his other hand, spanking your cheek before gliding it forward, forcing your body a little lower. He feeds off your whines and moans, searching for that perfect angle to send you over the edge.

“Right there,” you cry.

“Like this?” He asks in a taunting tone, using your words from before. “Right there, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Yes.”

A cocky smile spreads on his lips as he watches you carefully. The clapping of skin fills the room along with the lewd squelching of your cunt. “Faster,” you snivel.

“Mhmm?”

“Harder,” you plead through quivering lips, spit seeping out the sides of your mouth.

“Yeah?” He bullies. His hand takes a grip on your ass, rough thrusts with his fingers and cock making your body weak.

“Gonna cum.”

“Mmm… Squeezin’ me so tight. S-Shit,” he stammers.

You scream out his name, pussy fluttering around his length as you cum harder than you ever have before. Your toes curl tight, hands weaved in the sheets as you flood his cock with your release.

Your lashes beat to a close, muscles settling around him as his fingers pull out. “Mmm…” Rafe growls from behind you as his hand rounds your hips. He grinds his cock slowly, just rough enough to make the plush of your ass recoil.

“Felt so good, Rafe,” you mewl in exhaustion, feeling his hand sail up the bend of your spine, raking into your hair.

“You liked that, baby? You want more?”

“Yeah. Wanna make you cum, daddy.”

“Look at the camera for me, darlin’,” Rafe rasps, taking a tighter grip on your strands, guiding your fucked-out smile to the lens. You blink your eyes, doing your best to focus, ears ringing slightly.

“So fuckin’ beautiful… Holy shit,” he moans as he continues to fuck into you nice and slow. “I wanna go a little slower this time,” he whispers. “That alright with you, baby doll?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Come here, sweetheart,” he calls for you.

The pads of Rafe’s calloused fingertips skate up your thighs, finding your dripping cunt. He runs a few small circles on your clit as you scratch your nails up his thigh. He lets out a deep moan as you apply a little pressure, rolling his heavy balls in your small hand.

“Can you suck me clean, baby?”

“Fuck, daddy… Please,” you sigh, dreamily as you slot yourself between his strong thighs.

“Open,” he rasps, making you flatten your watering tongue. He inserts his thumb pressing down on it before inserting his cock nice and slow. “Close…” You wrap your lips around his length, feeling it strain on your tongue. “Suck, sweetheart.” You taste his essence, paired with a hint of your own.

“You’re lips look so pretty around my dick.” You take him to the back of your throat, sucking him off to the tip, eyes locked on his. “Co'mere, baby,” he croons, guiding you back in, kissing your lips, taking in the taste as well. His kiss is unhurried and deep, his tongue rolling slowly with yours, making you light-headed

Rafe pushes you back onto the bed, mounting you quickly, leaning his toned frame over your own. His kisses journey lower and lower on your body, kissing and re-kissing your skin, breathing in your perfume as his hands play as well.

His ringed fingers circle your breasts before pressing them together. He growls in satisfaction, kissing the mounds of your breasts. He flicks his pink tongue across your hardened nipple, sending chills across your body.

“Shit, baby. Look at you,” he sighs, marveling at your curves, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He rolls your pebbled skin roughly making pleasure spur between your thighs, causing you to shudder out a breath. “Fuck. I love your body, honey,” he groans. Rafe crawls closer, a boyish smile on his lips as he lowers himself to your ear, the warmth of his breath making a flighty giggle flee your lips. “I’m fuckin’ your tits later.”

“Yeah,” you smile as you tuck yourself into his arms.

“Neither can I,” you breathe, spreading your thighs a little wider as he takes his shaft in his hand.

You watch as he slides his cock into you slowly, plunging in with the wetness of your first orgasm. “Fuckkk. That feels so damn good,” he groans. Rafe begins to roll his hips into you. You can see all of his muscles at work as he holds himself up with his forearms, his gold chain keeps cadence with his thrusts.

It’s the perfect pace, the perfect depth, allowing you to savor him, every vein, and ridge, the curve of his swollen head dragging against your sweet spot already.

You look down, watching as he stretches you out; cock glistening with your cum. “It’s like you were made for me, baby,” he pants, breathily, pulling you from your daze, back to his beautiful eyes.

“I am…” you whisper.

Rafe’s hand works up your arm, fingers intertwining with your own. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Rafe,” you whimper as he pins your hand above your head. His lips meet yours, kissing you passionately as he fucks you close.

Your nails scratch into his hair, making Rafe moan into your mouth. You dig your heels into the mattress, close not close enough as you meet his thrusts causing your skin to slap together.

He presses himself a little deeper making you wail. Rafe’s body trembles, hips hitching at the sound of your bliss fighting himself to maintain his slower pace.

“Feels so good, Rafe,” you cry.

“So, so good. Shit. I’m gonna be leaking out of you all night, sweetheart. That what you want?”

“Wanna feel you all night,” you sigh.

He chuckles darkly, his deep voice vibrates against your skin just below your ear. “My dirty fuckin’ girl.” Rafe grabs his pillow from beside your head, placing it underneath you, changing positions slightly.

He pumps into you, building up speed. Your body starts to tighten around him, your finish surely coming soon. He separates from you, gripping your hips, thrusting at a rapid pace.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you moan, fiercely.

“Are you close?”

“Yes,” you whine, making him smile.

“You’ll cum, princess, but not until I say you can,” he orders through jagged breaths.

“Oh, fuck!” You yell, loudly as he spits on your pussy, rubbing circles onto your sensitive bud. You grit your teeth, muscles strained as you hold back your pleasure. “I can’t take it-” You huff.

“You will,” he grunts. Your eyes slam shut as he brushes his fingers from side to side.

“Rafe, please!” You plead. He smiles, his hand moving quicker causing you to grip the sheets.

“Cum for me, princess,” he orders, and you let it all go.

“F-Fuck, Rafe,” you sob, feeling your release, thigh shaking, back arching. Your wetness leaks from your pussy as he continues to pound into you.

Rafe throws his hips, pulsing deep inside as he fills you completely, his cum bursting out the seams, wetting his bed below. He thrusts slowly, brows threaded tight, milking out his last bits of pleasure.

Rafe leans down kissing you softly. “That was amazing,” he whispers through his rapid breaths as you cup his sweat-sheened cheeks in your hands.

“Fuck. That was so good,” you gust, doing your best to catch your breath.

“Let me shut it off. Okay?”

You nod, nose brushing against his, kissing him gently as he draws out. “Forgot that was on,” you giggle as you enfold your naked body in sheets, watching as he saunters toward the camera.

“Me too, sweetheart. It’s perfect. This is fuckin’ perfect,” he hails, holding the little cassette between his fingers, carefully setting it back in the VHS. He walks away, running his fingers through his hair, his bubble-butt bouncing slightly with each step. 

“Where are you going?” You giggle.

“Cake,” he answers, merrily, turning around with it in hand, sucking some pink frosting off his finger. “Tastes like your pussy.” You roll your eyes and smile as you nestle into his pillow. “I’m serious. Better even.”

“Better!” You gasp, playfully, pulling yourself up as Rafe climbs on. He situates you between his legs, dragging you back, leading you to relax on his chest, yanking the covers over you once more.

“Comfy?” He kisses your temple as he holds you close.

“So comfy,” you sigh, blissfully. Rafe grabs the cake, resting it on your lap digging into the dessert, giving you the first bite, then him.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

[steddietogo]

So. This is my own take on Steddie meet cute at the Grammys (gets a little thirsty in the middle for a second so warning I guess??)

———

The buzzing in his veins feel too much to contain in Eddie’s body, his cheeks ache from grinning too hard. He grabs Jeff by the shoulders to shake him and Jeff takes it without complain, too busy floating in his own cloud nine to do anything about it. All four of them are.

They’re being carted off from one interview to another, it’s all hazy in his mind, all he can think of is that they won a fucking Grammy.

“We’re here backstage with Corroded Coffin with their first ever Grammy from the best rock performance category,” the interviewer is saying, then he turns to face the band, and shit. Eddie has to sling an arm over Gareth to keep himself upright. “So how are you guys feeling right now?”

“It feels very validating to get the recognition for all our hard work—” and everything else Jeff says barely registers. Eddie is staring, he’s distantly aware of it. But he should hardly be blamed. The man before him is dressed in a deep caramel suit, jacket cinching around a trim waist and bubble gum pink lips stretched in a smile as he diligently listens to what his band has to say.

“— and Eddie, he’s really put his heart and soul in this song in particular,” the mention of his name unceremoniously drags him back to the land of the living where his bandmates know him too well and are actively trying to sabotage him before the sexy interviewer. Gareth is innocently blinking up at Eddie with his I’ve-never-done-anything-wrong-in-my-life eyes, urging him to speak.

“Um,” Um? Seriously? “Mob Mentality is an especially significant song to me personally—” Eddie’s given this spiel a hundred times, not that any word of it is untrue, but the practiced response lets him zone out just the right amount to fully drown himself in the shade of hazel of the interviewer’s eyes, imagine them looking up at Eddie from between his thighs, full of tears— goddamnfuckstopit.

The man must notice, because there’s a gorgeous smattering of pink dusting his cheeks Eddie could swear wasn’t there before.

After, Eddie is pretty much bodily dragged away from there, legs refusing to carry him away. He twists even as he’s walking, desperate to keep the man within his sights for even just a second longer. To keep him looking at Eddie, which by some miracle, he still is. And like an idiot Eddie waves, wiggling his fingers at him.

The man raises his own hand in return, and then he’s turning away, leaving Eddie to mourn the loss of his attention. But then he hears it— Steve. The camera guy calls him Steve. Sexy interviewer’s name is Steve. That in itself would be enough to sustain Eddie’s daydreams for some time.

———

Predictably, its all over social media the very next day. Or more accurately there’s one particular clip circling the net like there’s no tomorrow.

Eddie Munson simping for hot guy at the Grammys.

The comments were the worst (best) part. Eddie hasn’t dated since coming out to the public. And the fact that most of the comments people have about him openly showing interest in another man is just nonchalance or excitement makes him feel much better about it.

Eddie���s heart skips as he sees the face from last night in the clip, looking even more gorgeous than in his dreams if it were even possible. And then there is also Eddie in those clips, practically undressing him with his eyes, right there in public. He looks like he wants to open him up and lick him like melted chocolate in a wrapper.

Eddie was so screwed.

———

Top comments:

user 80085: that man is stronger than me because I don’t think I’d survive Eddie Munson looking at me like that

CorrodedFC: Eddie Munson Rendered momentarily speechless? by an interviewer?? More likely that you think

you_call_me_munson: they need to date. Right this second or I’m stealing one of the hotties for myself

———

Part II

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five Six

The car’s gone. Lets go now.

Eddie sighs, but at least this is still the trailer park and at least it’s dark, so they stand a chance of not getting caught.

Max says her room is around back.

“I am aware,” Eddie huffs under his breath, “I was there for the conversation, if you recall.”

Eddie finds the right window and sort of shimmies it until it gives, just like Max said it would. Eddie’s still not one hundred percent healed up, so pulling himself up and then flopping through the window is a little painful and not his best moment.

At least he lands right on Max’s bed.

He looks around to orientate himself, then heads for the wardrobe, right at the bottom there are two scrunched up paper grocery bags, right where Max said they would be. Eddie checks real quick; yeah, clothes. Not much, just a few of Billy’s things Max managed to salvage before they downsized to move to the trailer.

Eddie hits the bathroom next, bottom shelf of the cabinet, right at the back, a half bottle of Billy’s preferred cologne and a couple of half used bottles of fancy shampoo and conditioner, “you’re so fucking vain.”

You will thank me later.

Eddie looks at Billy. The bathroom in the trailer is still pretty small, so Billy is currently standing in the shower cubicle, watching Eddie brush his teeth. He looks perfect; perfect hair, perfect tanned skin, shiny earring dangling from one ear, chain flashing at his throat. He’s wearing a white button down, undone to between his pecs. And Billy actually has pecs, because Billy also has a perfect muscled body.

Take a picture, it’ll last longer.

Ha Ha.

“Right,” Eddie spits and rinses, “lets go.”

What. You’re not ready.

“Errr….yeah I am,” Eddie looks down at himself, he even got out the nice jeans for this. It’s his first real proper date with Steve, just Steve, and he is not going to fuck this up. They’re having dinner at Steve’s, and then going to catch a movie, and then maybe milkshakes after.

Perfect.

Absolutely not. You are not going out looking like that.

“But I did the fancy hair stuff. I even dried it the way you said.”

And it looks like, a million percent better, but you gotta’ change. We can’t go looking like this. You want to bag Harrington, don’t you?

“I...alright, fine. Make your suggestions.”

You’re going to ditch those dumb fucking white sneakers for a start.

“Billy, man, I’m not sure about this.”

Eddie eyes himself in the mirror, same jeans, but now with a belt cinching his waist in tight, and tucked into a beat up pair of black boots. His leather jacket over top of a tee shirt that Billy had insisted he cut the arms off of and around six inches off the bottom.

You look good.

Eddie wraps an arm around himself, the scarring is still pink and shiny in places, raised and uneven...ugly looking. The tee shirt gives a couple of inches clearance for bare skin to show above Eddie’s belt.

Trust me, you need to show off those ridiculous hips.

“I don’t have any hips!” Eddie says desperately.

Exactly, stand up straight. Turn side ways, look in the mirror. See how the jacket hangs, it makes your waist look even tinier. He’s going to want to get his hands on that, trust me.

“You can’t know that.”

Yeah I can.

“How?”

Because I want to get my hands on it. Trust me.

Eddie frowns at himself in the mirror, “the scars look fucking terrible. I’m just. Billy man, I don’t think I can do this...”

And then Billy’s there, sliding in behind him, turn, Eddie does, goes where Billy wants him, watches as Billy’s fingers creep around his hips.

“That’s...that’s so weird,” Eddie breathes, it’s like a tingle. Like the ghost of a touch, “I think I can feel you.”

Billy smirks, good, because I can definitely feel you.

One hand creeps further around, Billy watching them both in the mirror over Eddie’s shoulder, his fingers tracing softly across the visible scars on Eddie’s tummy, finding his belly button under his shirt and then moving on. It makes Eddie shiver. He watches, unsure where this is going, but too quickly it’s over, Billy stepping back, and Eddie finding he immediately misses the feeling of Billy’s hands on him.

Billy clears his throat, looking away, come on, lets go bag you your guy.

Okay, so this is about the millionth time Eddie has caught Steve starring at his bare middle and he’s only been in the house for twenty minutes...so I guess you were right.

I’m never wrong about shit like this. Ask him if he sees something he likes.

“See something you like Stevie?”

Steve splutters, going pink to the tips of his ears, “yeah, I, sorry, I’ll just. Sauce.”

In his head, Billy is absolutely braying like a donkey. Wild, joyful laughter that Eddie didn’t even think Billy was capable of. It’s beautiful, and weirdly charming, making Eddie smile at him. But he’s watching Steve turn away with his shoulders hunched up around his ears with embarrassment, and he shouldn’t leave that.

“This okay?” Eddie asks quietly, carefully hugging Steve from behind as he stirs sauce on the stove.

Steve sighs and relaxes back into him, “yeah, yeah it’s good.”

It’s dark as they stand shoulder to shoulder, doing the dishes. Eddie had taken off his jacket, and even though Eddie thinks his arms are stick thin and pale as fuck, that doesn’t seem to stop Steve from looking at them.

He’s so into you.

“What?”

“What?” Eddie grins at Steve, with it dark out and the lights on, he can clearly see their reflections in the windows over the sink.

“You’re grinning.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m enjoying myself.”

“Doing dishes?”

“Doing dishes with you,” Eddie amends, hip checking Steve and handing him another dish to dry.

Steve leans over and flicks some suds at him before giggling and moving to put the dish away. Eddie just might be in love. They had decided to skip the movies, staying in and watching something instead. Eddie was immediately up for the change in plans simply because it means he can hold Steve’s hand.

He’s not really expecting Steve to kiss him, not right now. Not lent up against the kitchen counter, and definitely not with his hands still a little wet with sudsy water.

But that’s exactly what happens. It’s a soft press of lips, at first, uncertain. Gentle. And then Steve sighs through his nose, relaxes, and they move together. Steve’s mouth is soft and, when it slides open, damp. Then wet. Eddie finds himself pressing Steve into the counter without really thinking about it, and Steve goes easily.

It’s so good. So fucking good. It’s slow and sweet and gentle, everything Eddie ever dreamed it would be. They part, but Eddie just wants to kiss him again. Wants to kiss him forever. Steve presses in with his tongue first and Eddie’s never been kissed before today, never mind this, and reflexively sucks on Steve’s tongue before he can even think about it.

Steve moans.

Okay then.

Steve’s fingers are squeezing at Eddie’s waist, and he can’t help but shiver, thinking for a moment about Billy’s hands on him. The tingly feeling he felt when Billy touched him and...Eddie blinks, pulling back to look at Steve.

Steve’s beautiful, his lips shiny and a little kiss bitten pink, his cheeks are rosy and he might be the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. He's probably the only person on the planet who's on a par with Billy.

Steve kisses him, but over Steve’s shoulder, on the other side of the kitchen, Eddie can see Billy. He’s watching them, arms crossed over his chest. Glaring.

He looks...angry. Sad. Fucking furious and fucking devastated in turn and-

“Eddie?” Eddie blinks again, looks back to Steve. “You okay, you kind of...zoned out. That wasn’t like, too much was it?” Sorry if I…”

“No. No it, was great it was. Shit. It’s the best Steve, it was great it was just...”

Steve seems to curls up into himself, pulling his hands back and wrapping himself up instead. “Right. Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll just uhm…” And Eddie’s getting his jacket before he can even think it through, putting it on on autopilot.

What are you doing?

I can’t do this.

Why the fuck not, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?

But is it what you want?

Billy goes silent as Eddie climbs into the van. Steve’s standing at the front door, and jesus, he looks devastated. Fuck.

Eddie can’t do that either.

He angles his mirror, finds Billy hunched moodily in the passenger seat, glaring out of the window. His eyes look suspiciously pink and shiny.

Shit.

Eddie scrambles back out of the van, jogging up to Steve on the porch.

Now what the fuck are you doing?

“Steve, I’m really sorry…”

Oh Munson don’t you fucking dare.

“...but I really have to tell you something.”

Part Eight

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Kylian Mbappé imagine where Kylian suspects you are pregnant and you deny it but somehow he’s right fluff

Suspicions

Masterlist

A/N: Wrote this on the bus so it's probably shit but I hope you like it.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Kylian knows you better than anyone.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 1.4k

Warnings! Fluff, slight angst, unexpected pregnancy,

Kylian knows you.

Perhaps even better than you know yourself, he would say.

From how you prefer hot chocolate over coffee to how you always choose the window seat on airplanes, even though you're terrified of heights.

He knows you.

Lately, though, something's changed.

It all started with a hunch, a whispered in his mind, and he's been racking his brain trying to figure out what's wrong. Even going so far as to call his mom and ask her for advice. And he thinks he's got it.

Call it intuition or whatever, but Kylian knows you, and he thinks, No, he knows you're pregnant.

You're not as energetic as you usually are, seeming more fatigued than usual, with dark circles under your eyes, often taking naps during the day and struggling to stay awake in the evenings. You've been eating a lot more than usual, often craving weird food combinations, something you usually hate when he does. You've also been having trouble concentrating and remembering things, which is unusual for you.

Not to mention that your mood seems to be fluctuating, going from being extremely happy to feeling down and irritable within a short span of time. Like your emotions were on a rollercoaster ride.

All your symptoms point to pregnancy, and the likelihood catches him off guard. After all, you both have been careful, using protection. Still, he can feel it.

You're in the kitchen when he decides to approach you.

Preparing a simple dinner. Spagetti Carbonara, his favorite. You look beautiful—the way the apron cinches around your waist, accentuating your curves—curves he's sure weren't there a few weeks ago. And you have a certain glow about you.

As you glide across the kitchen to grab ingredients, Kylian watches you closely, noticing the slight scrunch of your nose as you stir the sauce. As if the smell is suddenly overwhelming. You move more slowly than usual, and every now and then, you take a break to give your lower back a little rub.

Yeah, he's sure now.

He takes a deep breath and approaches you.

His steps are slow and calculated as he tries to find the right words to say, heart pounding in his chest as he tries to predict your reaction.

"Mon amour," he whispers softly in your ear, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Hey. Did you get bored with your game?" You ask, temporarily pausing your chopping as you lean back against him, his warm skin sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes…So I have something to ask you."He asks softly, nuzzling your neck and breathing in your scent. Curiosity piqued, you turn around to face him, looking into his eyes expectantly. His gaze is soft, intense. It makes your heart race.

"What is it?"

He takes a deep breath. "I've been thinking…" He pauses, swallows and releases a shaky breath. You frown slightly, sensing that this conversation is about to take a serious turn.

"Go on, you can tell me anything," you encourage him gently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. He hesitates for a moment before finally speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you pregnant?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any hint of confirmation.

The question catches you off guard, and you stiffen for a moment, trying to process his words. "Um, no, I'm not pregnant," you respond, letting out a confused laugh. "Where did that come from?"

Kylian pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I...I don't know," he stammers, shoulders slumping slightly as he mutters. "It's just that...I noticed you've been acting different lately. You're more tired than usual, and your appetite has changed. Not to mention..." He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished as he searches for the right words. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel bad about your slight weight gain, knowing how much you've struggled with it in the past.

You roll your eyes, snorting at the simple notion he's hinting at. There's no way. "Kylian, I'm on the pill. There's no way."

He nods, still convinced he's not wrong. "Yeah, I know, but...remember that time you forgot? I just want to make sure."

You shake your head, dismissing him. "That was weeks ago, Kylian. I've had my period since then. I'm sure it's just stress or something." You reassure, turning back to resume stirring the sauce, hand gripping tight on the wooden spoon.

Usually, Kylian would drop the subject at this point, but he's sure about this. Deep in his gut, he knows. And he's never wrong about his instincts.

He takes a step closer, placing a hand on your shoulder, hating the way you tense up under his touch. "Baby, I love you. And I know you, and I know when somethings wrong, trust me." He can tell you're getting irritated by the way your eyebrows furrow and your jaw clenches. But he can't let it go. "Let's just take the test, yeah. Just to be sure."

You pause for a moment, feeling torn. But you trust him. Plus, his intuition has proven right in the past. Reluctantly, you nod, realizing that it wouldn't hurt to get checked out.

"Alright," you concede, giving him a small smile. "If it'll make you feel better."

Your hands shake as you sit on the toilet, nerves fluttering in your stomach. Kylian is standing next to you, gently rubbing your back for support, as you wait for the results.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," he murmurs, squeezing you gently. You steal a glance up at him, chocolate-brown eyes soft as he gazes down at you with concern.

"I'm scared," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Kylian's grip tightens. "Hey, I got you. I'm not going anywhere." He reassures you, leaning down to press the gentlest kiss on your lips.

The minutes feel like hours as you wait for the result. And your hands are shaking as your knee bounces in nervousness. The timer beeps, and your world stops.

You hold your breath as you pick up the test and hand it to Kylian, the small lump in your throat now feeling like a boulder. Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch him flip it over with trembling hands.

He stares at the test, jaw dropping at whatever he's reading, before a wide smile spreads across his face. Then he's running toward you.

He scoops you up in his arms, spinning you around as he exclaims, "Je le savais!" before gently setting you down and dropping the test into your hands. You stare at it in disbelief, jaw dropping as your eyes well up. (I knew it!")

Two pink lines—two lines that changes everything.

You sob when it finally hits and it catches Kylian off guard. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly as tears stream down your face. He doesn't say anything. Just holds you. Knowing that you don't need words right now. Just him.

He strokes your hair soothingly, whispering soothingly into your ear, his warm breath against your skin. And you cling to him. Cling to him like he's your lifeline- because right now he is.

The only thing grounding you to earth as you process this newfound information. You stand there for what feels like hours, just holding each other before you finally manage to whisper, "We're going to be parents."

Kylian gently wipes away a stray tear, voice filled with awe as he murmurs, "Yeah, you happy." not knowing how you felt based off of your reaction. His heart did backflips as he awaited your response. There's nothing he wanted more than a family with you. You're it for him. But he knows he'll stand beside you no matter what you decide.

So he schools his features, in case you choose a different path, and waits for you to speak, ready to support you in whatever decision you make.

"Yes!" You blumber, barely getting your words out as you choke on your own tears. "Y-Yes." Hiccups and sobs escape from your trembling lips.

His body sags with relief at your words before he's pulling you close once again and laying a hundred kisses all over your face."Thank you, thank you!" Tears fall from his eyes now. And he's bending down to get on his knees to lay kisses on your belly. "I love you so much. Thank you."

He stays like that for a long time, his tears soaking your shirt as he showers your belly with love.

And you know everything will be alright.

-Bianca🌻

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. dr veritas ratio. p2 of ? but you don't need to read part 1 but if you want to it's here summary: you've been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he's easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags. suggestive content, reader insert is a bit of a freak

“You’re up early,” you remark idly as you trudge down the stairs. Because it frankly is. The sun’s barely risen. Watery light washes in through the partly opened blinds. A brief glance out the window sees the narrowed streets mostly barren, only a few comers and goers. A woman jogs with her dog. A couple in floral shirts and sandals walks by, chatting leisurely.

Ratio stands in front of the stove, spatula in hand. 

“I wake up at six in the morning every day,” Veritas informs you. On the skillet, something that looks suspiciously like bacon and eggs sizzle. The egg is a little too brown to be an egg like you’re familiar with—the ones on your home planet have a bright blue yolk. “Waking up at a consistent time each morning ensures you sleep better every night. You should give it a try. It might fix that Rube Goldberg machine you call your circadian rhythm.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to do that, then,” you say, bending over the kitchen eyeland to peer at him. He’s wearing a white apron with pale blue gingham patterning. It is, most unfortunately, not the frilly kind like you might have hoped. The tie still cinches around that pretty waist, the pearlescent fabric of his robes bunching up where it’s fastened, strings pulled into a little bow. His robes end just above his knees. Like this, you can peer down at his calves. His ankles. 

Are you really getting off on this guy’s ankles? Shit. You kick off the island and sway around it, crossing your arms and leaning up against the counter, next to the stove. 

Here, you can admire the flex of his hands, the handsome curve of his nose. His dark lashes are thick, fanning over his cheek every time he blinks. “Any other advice you’re willing to give, Doc? I’m all ears.” 

Your fingers wiggle as you exaggeratedly reach over the pan, aiming to pinch a piece of bacon off the popping, hot surface. He swats you away with a scowl.

“I did not have to make enough for us both,” he reminds you, warning you. “The least you could do is wait.” 

“You’re so right, Doc. Patience breeds success and all that,” you nod factually, attempting to look as remorseful as possible for your attempted pilfering. 

He rolls his eyes, and motions over to the sink. Next to it, two mugs are sat. Steam steadily rises from each one. You blink over at them, and then look back to your long-suffering companion. It takes a moment for you to put two and two together, utterly unprepared for him to be so kind to you. 

“For me?” you ask, unable to keep the tender pitch out of your voice because—wow, shit, he really thought about you. He’s cooking for you. It’s a heady kind of feeling that fills you, then. This kind of domesticity is so often out of reach for a person who lives your kind of life—but the esteemed Doctor Veritas Ratio is wearing a cute little apron and laboring over the stove, for you (and himself, but he’s being nice enough to share, and that’s enough to get you going).

He lifts his head from his labors, looking at you with a gauging but otherwise indiscernible expression. 

“Yes,” he says, softest you’ve heard him all morning. “Drink your coffee and sit down.” He commands, but it sounds more like he’s griping at you. 

[soobrat]

fuck up my life; hjs

milestone celebration masterlist

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ pairing; han jisung x afab!reader (+ lee know)

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ words; 12.3k

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ genre; smut, angst!!!

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ warnings; very toxic relationship, two deplorable dirty cheaters, public sex, mutual masturbation, choking, very rough sex, bondage, ball gag, unprotected sex, slut shaming, large cock, dubcon(? just to be safe), slapping, squirting, spanking, biting, casual sex, you're going to hate mc and Jisung they're horrible people and just when you think it can't get worse hooooo boy

↻ ◁ || ▷ : If you can't set aside your morals for a story centered around two cheaters, I don't blame you, but this fic ain't for you lol. This is the first part of the second story! I'm so late to 1.5k that we're close to 2k, so I can't wait to start writing that one. Right now I'll just focus on the other two parts of this :*)

act i ➻ yeah right

Your blue eyeshadow was too flashy. Your cut crease and eyeliner too sharp and intense. Your overlined nude lipstick was downright gaudy. Feeling pleased, you stand from your vanity and inspect your outfit in the full-body mirror to your left. 

The thin silk fabric cinched in slightly at your waist, accentuating your breasts and hips. You’re basically telling men to look at them. Oh, and that slit. You turn to get a better look at it, tsking when you catch a glimpse of the swell of your ass. With how high the slit runs up and how short the dress is to begin with, you might as well just go out in your underwear. You looked like a cheap, tacky whore.

It was perfect.

With one last look in the mirror, you adjust the collar of your dress. With there being no sleeves on your dress or anything covering your shoulders, the thick piece of fabric was the only thing keeping you from flashing the entire club. Long strips of silk cascade down your back after you tie it securely around your neck. 

You flounce past your drunken boyfriend on the couch, the loud click and clack of your D’orsay heels taunting him to take a look. He scrambles to sit up and doesn’t bother turning off the TV. He’s annoyed but not that bothered by you leaving the house in this state.

“What, are you going out to find someone to fuck?” He slurs. You spare him by not even glancing once. You’re sure he doesn’t want to be seen when he’s being a belligerent fool. “Huh? Is that what you’re doing? You look like a prostitute!” He yells more frantically when he realizes he’s not deterring you. You snicker before finally looking back at the poor man. His shirt is more stain than polyester and his blue-striped boxers sit crooked on his hips. His hair is a mess and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“‘Twas the goal, my love.” You smile with a wink before leaving him to drink himself to sleep.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You hadn’t been to The Eve in years, since before you were cleansed. You enter and become engulfed by the pulsing music and dancing bodies. Looking around you can’t help but smile. This is where you belong. Across the room is a man who doesn’t share this sentiment. He feels out of place. He glances around nervously at the shameless PDA and lousy dancing. He should be at home with his loving girlfriend. 

Jiwoo is breathtaking. Her expressive eyes and radiant smile keep his lungs in constant lockdown. It’s true that she and Jisung are extremely different. She’s an early bird while he’s a night owl. Her active lifestyle makes Jisung seem sedentary. Also, she doesn’t want to have sex much at all. And when they do have sex, it’s vanilla missionary. At the beginning of their relationship, Jisung was convinced her lifestyle just needed some getting used to. Three years later and he's only gotten less strong-willed. He’s suffocating.

He needs to breathe.

Jisung has been off the market for quite a while now. After moving in with Jiwoo, his priorities shifted. He’s not a kid anymore. It’s time for him to get serious and settle down. So, no, Jisung hasn’t been to a club in a minute. It was all stressing him out, but he was dressed up and he was already here. He should at least get a drink.

One drink becomes two and two become four. Jiwoo would be pissed. He already feels guilty about keeping how he’s feeling a secret, and now he’s drunk and alone. He can already hear her lecturing him. He laughs to himself, forehead thudding on the surface of the bar. 

Everyone around him looks so carefree as they dance and shove their tongues down each other’s throats. How do they do it? Maybe he should get up and try. The dancing part, of course. Maybe he was drunk. Pushing through the sea of bodies was a blur. He was just determined to get somewhere in the middle. The more he’s completely surrounded, the more immersed he feels in the atmosphere. He gets it now, he sways his body to the music.

The people surrounding him brush against him, sometimes even knocking into him. It only helps him levitate higher. With an extended exhale he floats until he’s hovering in the atmosphere. A body brushes against his front, pulling him back down to Earth. His eyes travel down to an ass against his crotch. Electricity crawls up his legs, prickling at his skin. He doesn’t realize his hands are resting on your waist until the fabric of your short dress rides up.

“At least tell me your name before you take my clothes off.” Your voice is sweet, seductive, it makes his head swim. He yanks his hands away and tries to back up only to bump into someone behind him. His body is propelled back into you, and your behind is back against his groin. He groans, hands gripping your upper arms to keep you at a distance. “What’s wrong babe?” His hands slip from your soft skin as you flip around to face him.

The face put to the seductive voice was a near perfect match. There was a look of intrigue behind your alluring gaze as you examined Jisung. He couldn’t help feeling a hint of danger as you looked him over. The way you hold yourself indicates explicitly how confident you are. As your eyes travel back to his face he nearly flinches from the sharpness of your eyes. Did you think he was pathetic? 

Jisung clears his throat and squares his shoulders. Your smirk and snort make him shrivel up again. You lean in with an earnest look on your face.

“You seem like a sweet guy.” You smile before sauntering elsewhere. Jisung looks down, alarmed by his hand reaching out for you. He physically pulls it back with his other hand. His encounter with you sobers him up immediately and he rushes out of the club. What he should be doing is being there for his girlfriend and being upfront with how he feels.

On the way home he chews on his lip, regarding the bulge in his pants nervously. He takes a shower before even thinking of crawling into bed with Jiwoo. He sighs deeply as he joins her under the covers. It’s warm and comforting, despite how his thoughts prod at him. He should wait until the morning instead of waking her. He extends his arm to hold Jiwoo but hesitates. His mouth falls open slightly as he stares at the back of her head.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“Jisung. Jisung!” His girlfriend’s annoyed voice jolts him awake. She throws a hand through her messy hair that just falls back around her face. He squints as the sun intrudes his eyesight, it was definitely way too early to be awake. He looks up and smiles groggily.

“Good morning.”

“Don’t good morning me, you made a mess!” She gestures agitatedly at the bed. Jisung pauses before ripping the covers away. The moist feeling against his hip and upper thigh becomes more apparent when he sees his soiled boxers and sheets. He looks up at Jiwoo as she makes a frustrated noise. She pulls the fabric of her nightgown, looking nauseated by the semen coating it. The throb Jisung feels in his groin is downright reprehensible. Whenever they have sex, Jiwoo makes him pull out and cum into his hand. The sight of his semen on her makes him aware that not only did he cum in his sleep, but he’s hard again. 

“Don’t just sit there, clean it up!” Jisung scrambles up from the bed, wrapping the comforter around him when he hears the increasing urgency in her voice. Jiwoo was repulsed by bodily fluids. Saliva, semen, sweat, all of it. She gagged once when he accidentally came in her mouth. The incident made both of them swear off blowjobs. Jisung was completely willing after the look on her face. He felt horrible. Yet here he is, getting turned on while she’s freaking out.

“I’m so, so sorry.” He laments as he rips the sheets off the bed. He watches with remorse as she rushes to the bathroom. His uncomfortable hard-on made him wonder what got him all worked up in the first place. He’s had many dreams where Jiwoo was a nymphomaniac and did unspeakable things to him. Even then, he only woke up with a boner, he never came in his sleep.

Dread fills his body as flashes of his dream enter his mind. That residual heat lingered the entire time he was awake, only now is he realizing where it came from. Images of you with your breasts exposed while bouncing on his cock fill his brain. 

“Such a sweet boy.” You moan lewdly.

Jisung shakes the dream away and clenches his eyes shut. It was because he was drunk. That was all. He loves Jiwoo.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You brace yourself as your hand wraps firmly around the doorknob. With a sharp inhale you push the door open and are immediately greeted with your boyfriend still on the couch. He had cleaned up, it was the afternoon after all, and he fixes you with a disappointed scowl. He takes the time to realize that you’re wearing another man’s shirt again.

“What the fuck-”

He rushes over to you and you raise your arms into the air expectantly. He grits his teeth before pulling the souvenir sweatshirt over your torso and head. This time he doesn’t toss it in the garbage, he angrily throws it to the ground. 

“I thought that would piss you off.” You grin, eyes tracking him as he fumes.

“Aren’t you tired?” He asks exasperatedly. A grimace flickers through your smile but you force it back. “Aren’t you?” You quip back, angling your face closer to his. Your heartbeat accelerates when he doesn’t move away.

“You want me to fuck you? Is that why you’re doing all of this?”

You bite your lip, not shying away from his aggression. “So why don’t you fucking ask like a normal person?” He shoves you backward and you hit the door. A moan is pulled from you involuntarily. He growls, unbuckling his belt before shoving his pants down. His hands are rough as he grips you, spinning you around and pushing you into the door. Anticipation rips through you until you’re close to trembling. He makes quick work of hiking your dress up and moving the shamefully thin fabric to the side. 

“This what you want?” He wraps his arm around your chest before shoving his cock inside you. You moan out, still not answering him. He squeezes your jaw hard with his other hand. “Fucking answer me!” His voice is piercing right next to your ear and you jump, pussy clenching around him. You whimper but your resolve stays intact. He grunts as he continues to fuck you in a position that curves your back uncomfortably. 

“You’re not answering because you know you’re a whore.” His voice wavers under the power of his thrusts. “Did you let him cum inside you?”

“You think I’m disgusting don’t you?” You moan. He doesn’t answer, giving you the same treatment you gave him. He instead wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes until your eyes roll back. He doesn’t speak anymore. The living room fills with grunts, heavy breathing, and the sound of his skin impacting yours. 

He shoots his load inside you with jerky thrusts, tightening his hand around your throat until your hearing and sight get cloudy. He lets you breathe before shoving you away. You gasp in air a little too quickly, losing balance from the shove and falling into a coughing fit. Your knees burn from scraping the floor after the impact. As dread starts to spread, you count in your head; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6-

“Stand up.” His voice sounds uncaring but his hands are gentle as he lifts you off the ground. A genuine smile almost creeps through as you clear your throat. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up.” You can hear his bite start to wane. 

He took longer than last time but he still did it. He always comes around. 

Despite what he said, he ends up being the one kneeling between your legs while you sit on the toilet. You wince as he wipes between your folds. The cloth is damp and cold. He doesn’t speak the entire time. His jaw is tight and his thick, dark brows are drawn together. “I could do this myself.” You stare down at him before sighing.

“Minho.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you remember that shirt I wore in high school?” Minho’s hand hovers in the air as he hesitates. You puff air through your nose as you smirk. “Because I’ll never forget how you scolded me. You were so nerdy with your glasses.” You giggle.

Minho continues wiping away at your mound. “You came stomping up to me and said “those words are inappropriate for school!” and told me to put on the proper uniform.”

Still nothing. Is he doing it because he knows what his silence does to you or because he genuinely doesn’t want to speak to you? The former is better, you can grapple with spite. But you can see his face softening. He’s reflecting on your fond memories, but he still says nothing.

“You never stopped. You’re still that nerd in the glasses trying to get me to behave and probably always will be.”

Minho finally looks at you. He scowls at you and you brace for him to blow up. But he just drops the rag with a gross splat before leaving the bathroom. You shoot up from the toilet.

“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t like the sound of that.” You chase after him. “You want to give up don’t you?-” He slams the bathroom door in your face and you listen as his heavy shoes thud away.

Your nostrils burn with each inhale. The air is dry, you said that to him when you bought this apartment together. He didn’t listen to you.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung was dozing off at work. It was his fault for jizzing in his sheets. He guesses Jiwoo could’ve just cleaned herself up and waited for Jisung to wake up to wash the sheets and scrub the mattress. But she didn’t and there’s no point in thinking about what if’s.

Still, he was probably gonna be here for a while. Probably gonna have to work overtime. He already planned to put his right hand to good use in the bathroom, making sure to stay quiet. Jiwoo would surely ask why he didn’t ask to have sex. She doesn’t know he watches porn or the type he watches. She’d probably faint, thinking the man she’d been with for three years was some debauched pervert.

Turns out he didn’t have to work overtime. He takes the extra hours at his disposal to take a walk through the city. He told himself he was just walking around aimlessly, but his feet were walking a specific route. Taking him to a place he should be swearing off. He can see the neon sign in the corner of his eyes, bright green and screaming at him. Walk past, you should be home by now.

He hesitantly peeks at the sign. If he were to walk in right now, would you be there again? Jisung curses under his breath, shaking the thought from his head. He shouldn’t be thinking such a thing right now. 

She was strange anyway, he thought. Calling him a sweet guy from such a brief exchange. What did she know?

Jisung eventually gives up on his walk, ignoring his brain screaming at him to take a peek inside. When he walks through the door Jiwoo is sitting on the couch, frantically nipping at her nails. She shoots up when she sees him.

“There you are.” She breathes, as if she’d been holding it. She bounds toward him and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest before he can even hang his coat up. “I was worried you’d be working overtime tonight.” She chuckles, failing to disguise how nervous she seems. With his features wound tight, he flicks his sleeve away to look at his watch. It’s 9 pm, she should be in her pajamas already and reading a book in bed.

“You waited for me?” He asks, puzzled. Though, he was more fretful than anything. 

“Yeah, I wanted to apologize.” She slowly pulls away, guilt weighing down her cute mousey features. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” Her eyes flit up at him before she shuts them with a sigh. “Or woken you up.”

Jisung blinks, realizing she probably saw his dark circles. His fretting got stronger the more she spoke and suddenly he found himself in total panic mode. "Y-you don’t have to worry about that! I’m the asshole. I knew very well you don’t like body fluids.”

“You were asleep, Jisung. How could you have known?” She implores. She was right, it’s not like he forced himself to cum. But that part was only a cover for what he was truly guilty about. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be him. Right as he takes a breath, Jiwoo is sighing and stepping away.

“I’m gonna go get ready for bed now. Oh, and–” Jiwoo spins back around and gives Jisung an emphatic look. “You’re not an asshole, Jisung. You’re sweet. The sweetest guy I’ve met.”

After Jiwoo is closed within the bathroom Jisung feels multiple emotions tugging at his stomach. He should tell her. About everything. How he still isn’t used to their different preferences. His browser history. Going to the club. The dream.

He rushes after Jiwoo, pushing the bathroom door open to see her naked body. She squeaks and covers herself up. “J-Jisung? What…”

When he feels himself start to get hard he immediately shuts the door. He could just relieve himself and try again later. But where? She was in the bathroom. She’d be pissed if he came anywhere else. 

He kneels on his bed with uncertainty before collapsing on his face. He definitely shouldn’t do it here, but he still starts jutting into the mattress. The comforter is wiped clean of her scent so his fantasizing was dulled. But he still humps with fervor, finding something inside him egging him on. He clenches the comforter and lets out a squeezed grunt once the shower comes on. 

Jisung has been a no-good boyfriend. Apparently her friends keep banking on her to be the first to get hitched in her friend group. If only they knew what he was thinking about right now. They’d beg her to break up with him, plead her to stop shopping for rings. Maybe one of them would even speak up about the sneaking suspicions they’ve been harboring this entire time.

“I knew he would do something like that. He looks like the type to have wandering eyes.”

He whimpers, hiking a knee higher to really press his groin against the mattress. “He definitely checks out other women, he probably does it shamelessly too.”

It would be Haseul, he can feel it in the way she looks at him. She knows, she can sense that he’s no good. Jisung unbuttons his jeans to let the tip of his cock peek out from under his underwear. It feels so hot and soft against his stomach that he’s able to ignore his concerns about making Jiwoo upset. He even spits into his hand, a thick glob like he fantasizes about, before smoothing it over his cock head. 

He moves to his knees, gripping his shaft with two hands and fucking into them. With puffs of airy moans, he lets his eyes flutter shut and fantasizes about spraying his cum all over the bed. Oh, Jiwoo would get so upset. She’d call him disgusting and probably kick him out. She’d break up with him because of how bad he is.

He’s so close he can feel the heat swirling in his groin but then the shower shuts off and he hurriedly stuffs himself back in his pants. As he zips and buttons himself back up he can feel that euphoria slipping away, leaving him cold and unsatisfied.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You linger outside your door a little longer today. You can hear the tv blaring behind it. Maybe if you come in later than usual you can conjure up some more of his passion. He’s been colder. You’re pushing it.

It was unlike you to be so antsy but the possibility of you getting to him made you open the door. Minho glances up at you, only to look back at the tv like it was nothing.

For the first time in years you felt wary about the shirt you borrowed from your escapades. You stand in the living room, waiting for anything. He could even break up with you and it’d be better than this. Feeling suffocated, you leave to your room. You barely got any sleep at your one night stand’s house. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you’ve entered a new phase. The one where they realize you’re not worth it. That you’re easy with no thrill.

You strip your clothes off and lift your covers, slipping beneath them. You angrily wipe away the tear that slips free as you lay your head on your pillow. This is what you wanted. You were asking for him to stop pretending to care about you. He’s finally done it.

When you wake up it’s dark out. Minho is nowhere to be found. Not in the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, or the spot he’s carved out for himself on the couch. 

You wish you could track him down and force him to face you. What would you do then? You’ve tried pissing him off and pushing him until he has no choice but to blow up at you. What if he doesn’t do that anymore.

Your eyes scan the faces of each mid-height male dancing under the dim lights. They’re desperate to find those pouty lips. That annoyed stare that didn’t change the fact that he resembled a rabbit.

Him being here is past wishful thinking. Him being here means he’s decided to meet you at your level. It took a lot of letting him down to get him to even fuck you the way he does now. The day he becomes a degenerate to understand you is decades ahead, if you two make it that far.

You see a pair of glasses that feel familiar. Thinking of the Minho from when you started dating used to be sweet. But seeing those thick rimmed, square glasses make you sick right now. You clench your fists. Being in this atmosphere this long without a drink feels strange, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way over to the guy with the glasses. You shove at his shoulder, forcing his attention on you. 

Jisung stares at you like a deer in the headlights. He wonders if you somehow know about the naughty dreams he had about you, or that he’s happy to see you for the worst reasons. His thoughts won’t shut up. They indulge in the nasty fantasies while simultaneously telling him he’s a monster because of them. 

Jisung wipes his sweaty palms off on his t-shirt, only then do you recognize him. It’s hard to forget someone who wears a t-shirt to a club. The same person you saw nudging their way onto the dance floor seemingly in a trance. You’re still unclear why someone like him stumbled in here, or why he’s back.

“I-I’m sorry, you probably mistook me for someone else.” Jisung distances himself discreetly with a nervous smile.

“I didn’t.” You flash him the same smile you’re sure scared him off last time. You expected him to chase after you, but when you looked back, he was rushing out of the club. You should stay away from people like him. He’s practically trembling. Your eyes drag slowly up and down his frame. “You’re a sweet boy, you shouldn’t get involved with someone like me.” You say as if he told you he was interested. You’re being insanely presumptuous, but you have your reasons.

“I would never. I have… I have a girlfriend.” Jisung announces proudly. At that moment, the both of you come to an understanding. He got a boner when you guys danced together and now he’s unabashedly staring at your cleavage.

And Jisung? He’s aware of how obvious he’s being. The lust is as pleasing as it is painful. He’s drunk on it, eating up the black, strapless bustier hoisting up your tits and miniskirt tempting him to imagine your panties. His current behavior isn’t very sweet of him, you both think.

And it’s exciting all the same.

The lights bathe both of you in shifting hues as you swirl your hips against his groin. Your hand reaches to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his breath ghosts on your neck. Time is stuck in slow motion as you both relish in the teasing. It’s exhilarating, sending shockwaves through both your veins. 

Jisung’s breath labors more and more the further he gets into his fantasy. He’s already decided that your panties are red and lacy. The straps are thin and sit high on your hips. You have on a matching strapless bra and the cups cut so low that your nipples accidentally pop out when he yanks your top down. His burlish hands grope harshly at them while he bites your neck.

Your filthy moan makes his eyes snap open. His lips are actually on your neck and his hands have moved up from your hips to your breasts. Thankfully he didn’t expose you to the rest of the club, but that’s the least of his concerns. This is it. He can’t go back now. His erection is pressed firmly against you, riding up your skirt, and his hands are squeezing your tits. Jiwoo would be absolutely devastated. Fuck, fuck, fuck, desperation pleads and claws at him. Crippling shame and guilt wrack throughout his body.

This time a filthy noise leaves his mouth as his hips jerk against you. His cock is throbbing and his head is swirling with need. The fantasy has escalated. You’re gagged and bound, writhing underneath him. He grabs a handful of your pussy. He’s ripped from his fantasy once again once he feels lace on his fingers. Your face turns against his, your mouth grazing his cheek as you buck uncontrollably in his grip. Jisung grunts and presses you hard against him. Hot seed spurts up from his tip, soiling his underwear.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung rushes home and slams the door behind him. He rests against it, steadying himself. His heart feels like it’ll give out. He can’t stop replaying what happened. It makes his knees weak and triggers a deep ache in his pants. It feels so fucking good to think about. It feels so incredibly bad to think about. Jisung collapses to his knees with an anguished sob. 

“I’m so sorry.” He sputters out.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Your routine was interrupted. You return later that same night to see Minho asleep on the couch. You wonder if he’d feel relieved if he saw you returning home early. 

He shouldn’t.

You’re still thinking about him. You don’t know his name and you’ve never seen anything but an imprint of his dick, but he’s running through your mind. You want fuck him bad. Bad enough that you’re touching yourself in bed. You let out a whine when the memory gets to the part where he runs away. He ran away from you again.

Now you know it’s because of guilt rather than being intimidated. There’s a chance you'll never see him again. It makes you more upset than you care to admit. You know what it feels like when you like someone. You avoid them like the plague and feel like throwing up at the thought of them. They make you imagine a bright future way too early. This is not that, but it’s not like your other one night stands either.

Thinking of him makes you think about the state of you and Minho. You sprawl out in your empty bed after climaxing. The cool parts of the sheets sizzle against your hot skin. You stare blankly out the window, hoping sleep will take pity on you and save you from your thoughts.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You sit at the edge of your bed for what feels like hours. Today you wish you could get to The Eve early. You’re disgusted with yourself. You want to plan your outfit and pick out something extra special. What the fuck is wrong with you. The door opening almost breaks you free from being locked in place. 

“Were you here all night?” 

You look up at Minho, who’s taken aback by the fear in your eyes.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” His concern is strong enough to show on his face, but not to come further into the room. You bite your lip and focus back on nothing. 

“Why are you worried about me?” You ask in disappointment. It’s easy to understand why someone on the outside would think it was disappointment in him. It wasn't. 

He leaves after that. Either he asked himself that question and came to his senses, or–

You sigh, shakily standing from the bed. It doesn’t matter.

Later that night, Minho is gone again. Not there to see you dressed up with more intent than usual.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“What have you been up to lately?”

The question was like a metal pipe crashing into Jisung’s skull. He whips his head around to gape at her. The fear in his eyes catches Jiwoo off guard but she laughs it off.

“I’ve been washing more of your favorite t-shirts lately. I thought you only saved those for special occasions?” She wiggles her eyebrows at him. She’s being cheeky, but the bile climbing up Jisung’s throat doesn’t care about that. He should tell her now before it gets worse. She’s such a wonderful woman that she’d probably forgive him. She’s so perfect, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Jisung’s cock twitches.

“I’m just trying to do more things that make me happy.” The words fly out of him, not a stutter, wobble, or voice crack in sight.

“D’aw,” Jiwoo pouts, touched as she sets down the dish she was drying to come sit next to him. She wraps her arm around his shoulder and pulls him in before placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I’m really happy to hear that!” Her smile slowly fades as worry takes over. “You know, I was worried that you seemed really down lately. I was thinking of canceling on the girls next month…”

“No!” A strange authoritative tone crops up. Jisung gives Jiwoo a firm look. “You’ve been excited about this trip for so long! You should absolutely go. The only reason I may have been down lately is because I’ve been feeling a little suffocated. I decided to try new things around town and it’s been helping.” Jisung turns his body toward her, grabbing both her hands. “Don’t you worry about me, okay?” One could say ‘trying new things around town’ wasn’t a complete lie, but it still worries him that he’s lying to his future wife so easily.  

“Okay… but if you need me to cancel-” Jiwoo attempts to rush out, but Jisung hits her with an even firmer look. 

“Go.” He says simply. With that, Jiwoo is back to beaming. She throws her arms around him and gives him a tight squeeze. Over her shoulder, Jisung’s smile fades.

Later that night, Jisung plants his dirty lips on a sleeping Jiwoo’s cheek before leaving.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung is anxious as he searches through the club. He doesn’t see you anywhere at the edges of the club. The last place to look is in the middle. Jisung pushes his way through, feeling his body buzz the further in he gets.

In the middle he spots a woman with a low waisted, flowy skirt and bandeau top. When you twirl around, the skirt’s front is revealed to be asymmetrical, almost tattered in appearance with its two high slits. You move closer to him, the hunger in your eyes matching his. You breathe hotly and grab his face. All the pent up passion built up overnight culminates in a sloppy kiss. A kiss that you can barely call a kiss with your tongues laving at each other’s mouths and chins.

Another boundary has been broken. Jisung grunts, grabbing you by the throat and yanking you away from him. The shock in your eyes would give him pause before the kiss. Right now, Jisung’s lust has taken over. You might slap him or tell him off now, and he’ll respect your wishes. But you don’t do anything, other than flashing pleading eyes at him. His nostrils flare as his breathing gets heavier. He leans in and draws your bottom lip back with his teeth. After he releases it he’s leaning by your ear. 

“Open your fucking mouth.” He growls. 

Your mouth lolls open, your eyes begging even more. Jisung spits into your mouth, some of the saliva landing on your chin. You close your mouth, putting on a show of cleaning up your mess with your tongue. Jisung balls the back of your skirt within his fist and pulls you closer. Your tongues are exploring each other’s mouths as Jisung reaches under the front of your skirt. He gasps against your lips when his fingers dip straight into your wet heat. You chuckle before licking a stripe up his cheek. The skirt you’re wearing isn’t short, but the slits in the front are high enough that one bold dance move could show the entire club your cunt. 

Jisung nearly whimpers, steeling himself before plunging two fingers in immediately. You moan loudly, the loud music drowning it out. Jisung keeps you pressed close enough that only someone paying close attention could see you getting your hole fingered. Your head lulls, resting against his chest as you shut your thighs around his hand. Jisung lets go of your skirt to tug at your hair. He yanks your head back. 

“Open them back up. Now.” He spits next to your ear.

You bitch and whine, but you still do it. An intense heat overwhelms his cock. He should fuck you right now. He should tear your skirt off and use the tattered fabric to bind your wrists together while he fucks you right in the middle of all these people. The club goers bump into both of you at all sides. One stumbles backward, propelling you forward and plunging Jisung deeper. Jisung licks his tongue into your open mouth. 

Your tongues tangle together while a droplet of your juices trails down Jisung’s forearm. 

“I’m gonna cum! Choke me!” You plead pathetically. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to oblige, squeezing until your eyes roll back. Jisung finds himself mimicking your pained expression as your cunt spasms around his fingers. He grinds pitifully into nothing, reverting back to his fantasy. Your bandeau is made into a makeshift gag as he fucks you so hard your tits spasm in different directions. Your entire body jiggles from the force. 

The feeling of your hand cupped around his bulge lights up his synapses. He groans, it’s guttural as sperm shoots into his underwear for the second night in a row.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung watches Jiwoo carefully, who just thanked him for doing laundry more often. Things are better than before, the two of them are more affectionate. She even has sex with him a little more. He doesn’t cum, which she was initially concerned about. He reminded her that this was ideal in their situation, and she felt better instantly.

Jisung realized long ago that missionary did nothing for him. He started to fantasize about you during it, but decided that was somehow crossing the line. Not the countless times now you’ve made him cum in his pants. Not the fact that you and Jisung have your hands down each other’s pants every night now. Not the fact that he now knows a list of what turns you on and has it memorized.

Jiwoo leaves tomorrow.

That fact replays in his mind as he watches Jiwoo maneuver around the kitchen. She catches him staring and smiles. He smiles back. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You chuck the bag over the high rim of the dumpster. You feel lighter, and it’s not just because you’re no longer lugging a heavy trash bag of large t-shirts, sweatshirts, and hoodies. 

When you walk back in the house Minho is familiarly pushing you back against the door. His eyes are wild, and you can’t recall a time he’s looked this crazed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He grits before grinding his jaw. He’s fuming. That in itself scares you a bit, but it’s also that he’s been getting more and more antsy for the past month. 

“I-I don’t…”

“Bullshit.” He spits, making you flinch. He releases his tight grip on your shoulders, sharp eyes still trained on you. “You’re fucking disgusting.” His voice cracks a little. 

You’re not scared he’ll do something to you. Well, not anything abusive anyway. You’re scared because he knows you’re up to no good. You don’t know if he’s narrowed it down exactly, but you know he’s onto you. 

Seeing Jisung is the highlight of your day. Your body ignites in goosebumps as soon as you see him. Something about him, the horrible thing he’s doing, makes you feel even better about yourself than all the years Minho dedicated to fixing you. 

“Fuck you.” He spits before retreating into the bedroom. He’s been spending so much time in there that you took his place on the couch. You sleep there in your day clothes, crying yourself to sleep. 

When you see Jisung that night, you’re more exhausted than usual. He pulls your hair like he usually does, smashing his lips against yours. You don’t love it as much as you usually do. You just want to climb into bed with Minho and hold him. A part of you knows he even wants you to. But you can’t. You don’t deserve it. So you cry as you kiss someone else’s boyfriend.

He laps up the tears and you’re slowly soothed. You’re not sure to what extent, but you’ve come to understand that Jisung is a monster. He frequently brings up how wrong it is that he’s treating his girlfriend like this. His cock throbs when he talks about how he knows she’s planning to propose. He cums after imagining her face if she saw the two of you. 

“So, do you want to come over tomorrow?” He asks with a twinkle in his eye. You were both stood outside of the club. The same day he described in detail his fantasy of his girlfriend forgetting something and coming back only to see her boyfriend balls deep in you, he revealed that she actually is going away. And now he’s making another part of that fantasy a reality. You take a long drag of your cigarette, mascara smudged all around your eyes. You blow, realizing you’re not the least bit repulsed. You feel good.

“Yeah.”

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You linger outside of the bedroom door, hand repeatedly reaching for the knob but deciding against it. Your eyes flutter shut, remembering how warm his embrace used to be. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

When Jisung opens the door, something feels off. Maybe it’s the lack of loud music and dancing bodies bumping into the both of you, but the hunger isn’t there yet. 

You shuffle inside, annoyed when he whistles and rocks on his feet. 

“D’you want something to drink?” He says, not meeting your eyes. 

“No. Is that the bedroom?”

“Yeah…” He hesitates before he answers and swallows hard after. “Yeah, let’s uh… let’s head inside.” Jisung offers to hang your purse up on the hook by the door, right next to a wooden bat. You do it yourself.

The bedroom is pleasantly designed, it’s clean and organized, and there’s a picture of Jisung and his girlfriend on the nightstand. A part of you was scared he was lying about it, this cements it. He hurries over to lay it down after seeing you stare at it. 

“So um, I have a few things in mind, but we could of course do whatever you want to do.”

So far this is a complete let down. You’ve confirmed that he’s an actual monster, but now you’re not so sure about his dominance. Was it just a fluke while you were at the club? You didn’t come here to be asked how you want be fucked. You sigh, considering going home and crying yourself to sleep again. While looking at the floor you see two feet plant themselves in front of you. 

When you look up at Jisung, you don’t intend for your eyes to be as glassy and pitiful as they are. It’s Jisung’s turn to sigh. 

“You’re just hopeless, aren’t you?” Jisung runs his knuckles down your cheek. The gesture confuses you, but then you notice his eyes. Before you can get excited, his hand is wrapped around your throat. Your eyes flutter shut. “Gonna make me do all the work? Hm? Can’t even fucking talk?”

You’re too busy relishing in the wave of relief crashing over you to realize you’re being disobedient. A slap across your face brings you back to reality. 

“Fucking. Speak.” He demands lowly. 

“N-no, I won’t make you do all the work–”

“Then get your ass on the bed. Hike it in the air.” 

You rush over, kneeling on the bed and pulling your dress off. Jisung comes over and yanks it the rest of the way, impatiently. He grabs your head and shoves it into the mattress before grabbing the rope from the nightstand. He told Jiwoo he wanted to learn sailor knots when she found it. He wasn’t completely lying, which is why he was able to demonstrate some for her.

Even a simple one was enough to convince her, that same knot is enough to restrain you and fulfill one of his biggest fantasies. Jisung unbuckles his belt not only to relieve some of the building pressure, but also to bend it in half. He raises the belt before swinging it down. The leather laps painfully against your ass. Your body jolts and you gasp. The sting doesn’t go away before the next lash. Another and another, Jisung is completely relentless. He stops only to haphazardly free his bottom half. 

You feel the bed dip again behind you, whimpering like a puppy. Then you feel his hard cock against your ass. You chant pleas under your breath, cunt clenching desperately to feel him inside.

“Don’t know how to shut up, huh? That’s okay,” Jisung leans over, grabbing the ball gag from on top of his nightstand. One of the many things he picked up this morning in preparation. He fastens it securely around your head, pulling the ball further into your mouth until you can’t coherently beg anymore. 

“If I were you I would stop that begging. It’ll only take longer for me to fuck you, okay?” Jisung’s voice was laced with sympathy undercut by a sinister undertone. You nod against the bed, trying to quiet your whimpering. 

You yelp as the belt lashes against you again. 

“What the fuck did I say?” He warns in a growl. You panic, silencing yourself immediately.

Swing after swing after swing after swing. Jisung punishes your ass until it’s red hot and tears have thoroughly soaked your cheeks. You gargle softly against the gag. 

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

You pant excitedly as he grabs your hips and pulls you closer. 

“If I do this for you, give you what you want, you have to keep it up. No noises while I fuck you open.”

You nod frantically, trembling from the sheer anticipation. His tip prods against your entrance. You knew he’d be the biggest you ever had from the times you jerked him off, but feeling him attempt to push into your hole made your eyes blow wide. You panic again, worried you’re not going to stay quiet. 

Then he shoves his way in. Luckily the force makes you choke on your scream. Your legs shake, fists balling tight. You’re pleased when you hear Jisung’s euphoric moan. He stays submerged inside you, but he’s moaning uncontrollably. 

“F-fuck, I can see your asshole fluttering, baby girl.” Jisung sounds like he might cry. He slaps your ass, this time with his own hand, testing your silence. With that, he starts moving. The pace is already brutal. His rhythmic, chesty moans show just how much this is getting to him. Does his girlfriend fuck him at all? Whatever. She doesn’t deserve this anyway. This is all for you. 

Your feet jerk up from the bed with each punishing thrust. It’s like he can’t help himself, he has to go balls deep every time. Each thrust with your cunt stroking him pulls a different string of moans. You’ve never heard him so vocal, and it’s never been so hard to shut up. He’s milking your pussy so good it’s making you cry. Silent sobs squeeze from your body as his body drapes over yours. He grabs your throat, making it even worse. Your sobs become audible, but he doesn’t even care. You’re both too far gone to care about how loud you’re both being.

His bottom lip drags from your shoulder up to the apex of your neck. He’s croaking out moans right next to your ear and you know he’s gone. You tug at your restraints, wishing you could touch and claw him right now. 

His seed is hot as it spurts into you. The sensation sends your body down, flat to the bed. His hips follow, continuing to buck into you as your orgasm rockets through you. You essence squelches around him until it forces him out, continuing to spray and soil the both of you.

The two of you lie there with loud, hoarse pants for what feels like hours. You expect to turn and see the sun rising. It doesn’t matter because it’s sunny inside your body. The minute Jisung unties you, you’re reaching to hold him close. Your hands travel down his back and over his shoulders like you’d been craving. Somehow the come down is still so euphoric. You both buzz long after you’ve cum.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

It was two years ago that Minho put a code on his phone. He doesn’t use it for anything but checking emails and making calls, so he didn’t worry about most of the traditional phone activities. You never understood why putting a code on his phone was included in that, and you warned him multiple times that he would get his phone stolen. You knew that a code wouldn’t keep someone from getting in if they really wanted to, but you weren’t saying it to help him out. Besides, he’d just shrug anyway. 

So you went through his phone. 

You guys had a fight, back when they used to be coherent, and then he put a lock on his phone. All that to say, you couldn’t have prepared for Minho’s spotty appearances lately if you wanted to. You were serious about tracking him. The unknown was sure to kill you. Death was the only thing that could come from pain like this. You didn’t actually do it this time, did you?

Was he at someone’s house? Someone who’s been begging him to ditch you and enter a healthier relationship? Who could it be? He doesn’t go to church, his family either lives far away or are constantly going on trips, his friends have essentially rage quit their friendship… who else does that leave?

You wish that meant there was no other way he could’ve connected with someone, but it’s not true. He’s handsome and a great guy. There’s no way no one has approached him in all these years.

Your vision has long blurred, the show on the television becoming blobs of color. You haven’t showered since you’ve been with Jisung. You feel gross but have no desire to move. Whenever you hurt him, it’s intentional. Sometimes you even spend the night alone at a hotel and buy a shirt from the men’s section the next morning, pulling it onto your frame right before you get to the door. Right now, it’s completely subconscious. You’re going to Jisung’s in an hour and it’s the only thing that makes you feel like anything other than death. The warm feeling you get at the idea of being with Jisung doesn’t come from wanting a reaction out of Minho. That brings a dark, gnarling fear out of the depths of your soul.

You don’t like Jisung. You love Minho. That much is apparent when you see Jisung. He doesn’t give you butterflies. You just feel comfort in the way he can still fuck you with traces of his girlfriend everywhere.

Jisung freezes mid-greeting to look at your old clothes. You’re definitely different from your encounters at the club. He noticed you go from dominant and intimidating to submissive very gradually. It hit its peak when you had your arms crossed in his bedroom yesterday, refusing to initiate anything. He chuckles at you which earns him a scowl. He tugs you inside and kicks the door closed, leading you all the way to the shower. He’s back to taking complete control, pulling your dirty clothes off one by one. 

He steps behind you once his clothes are off, smoothing his hands over your now moistened skin. The hot water aids in raising the temperature between the two of you. Jisung finally feels you relax against him. He moves his hand down between your legs. He parts your thighs, letting the water trickle over your mound. His cock gets hard fast when he’s with you. You feel his shaft rest rigidly in between your cheeks as he lathers soap all over your body.

To your disappointment, he doesn’t fuck you in the shower. He simply rubs your body everywhere but where you need him. He steps out the minute all the suds have been rinsed off your skin. He tepidly dries himself off, tossing the towel over his shoulder. You watch him clean his glasses before putting them back on, only for them to fog right back up. He looks over at you questioningly. 

For a moment, with his eyes obscured, you can transplant the image of a younger Minho onto him. Your mind starts to wander to an alternate reality where Minho knew you were a lost cause right off the bat. How different would your dynamic be? Would there be one at all?

“You should’ve been on the bed by now. Hurry up and dry off.” Jisung’s voice and expression ooze with disappointment that makes your core hum. You dumbly turn off the water while keeping your eyes trained on his naked figure. This is your first time seeing him completely bare. You almost saw it yesterday, as he took a shower right after you chickened out of staying any longer.

When you climb onto the bed you hike your ass in the air again. His hand thundering down on your ass makes you jolt. “Not today.” He grunts as he lies down on his back. He rests his hands behind his head. 

“You were a fucking brat yesterday. Immediately putting me to work and then not staying quiet. Did you think I missed that at the end?” Jisung raises his eyebrows, scolding you both with his words and his eyes. You wish you could put the Jisung you first met and this one side by side. He is totally relaxed while easily maintaining control.

“Straddle me, and hold your arms together behind your back. You’re putting in work today.”

You bit your lip to stifle the whine threatening to get you punished. This is a pillow princess’ worst nightmare. Your eyes unwittingly move to his cock which is so hard gravity is failing to lay it flat on his stomach. Your fleeting thought to disobey just to get more effort and attention from him disappears. 

So you clasp both your wrists and slip onto his cock. You didn’t realize how wet you were until his head slid past your entrance. His cock feels so hot and so does his skin when your calves graze his thighs. It’s electrifying yet inviting. You get the urge to lean against his chest but he’d probably pull out, and that would annoy you enough to make you cry. 

And so you bounce, letting him see the front of you fully nude in all its glory. How your tits bounce and hips swing. He grabs your hips but not to guide you, to dig his fingers into flesh. 

This, you figure, is one of his favorite positions. You figure because it’s the first time he’s cum twice for you. That, and it’s the only position he repeated. For the next two weeks, he has bounced you on his cock while standing up with your legs tightly secured around him, had you flat on your back with your legs in the air on his dining room table, had you halfway off the couch while straddling him again, and so on. He always shows you a picture or a video once you get to the area of his choice. His calm dominance melts away just for a moment as he excitedly presents it to you. Him baring his deep passion to fuck you strangely doesn’t push you away. You find yourself squeezing your thighs, wide eyes matching his as he shows you the position.

The two of you have gone from barely speaking outside of sex to making out as soon as he opens the door. You both giggle like schoolkids in anticipation. You both joke through a blur of lips and teeth.

But that excitement and glee fades as soon as you’re back in your dreary apartment. The escalation of childlike joy when you’re at Jisung’s directly translates to escalated sorrow when you’re back at yours. 

You only catch glimpses of the back of Minho these days, either retreating to the bedroom or out of the apartment. You have the urge to sleep over Jisung’s for the rest of the time Jiwoo is gone. That somehow feels like crossing a line that’s comically insignificant at this point. You know Jisung would understand what you mean. That night you took a shower at his place, he washed your clothes for you.

“You could stay until they’re done.” Jisung suggests after some tense silence.

“No, I should go.” You shoot it down immediately. The option has always been unspoken but ever present. To stay a little longer, watch a movie, drink some water, maybe actually cuddle. Not like what you did the first night, where you ran out of there as soon as you realized you were caressing someone else.

“In what clothes?” Jisung chuckles. You glare at him again. You hate when he does that. Well, you did, until you realized you’re both horrible enough to have fun while being unfaithful. 

“Can’t I just borrow some of hers? I’ll wash those and-”

“No.”

Just then, the Jisung from the first time you met him was back. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, but you could see the raging conflict behind them. So you left with some of his clothes instead.

You told him you were in a relationship, but not much else about it. Since then there was a mutual understanding of each other. It made your tension trickle away wrapped in his arms. You were able to at least disassociate so the depth of the pain became less apparent.

Then Jiwoo would call.

Jisung was sickeningly sweet over the phone. You laughed to yourself while listening to his overexaggerated joy when speaking with her. The humor rotted away when catching glimpses of her voice. She's elated to speak with her boyfriend. She can't sleep without him. There's no way they're not getting married soon.

In the corner of his bedroom the space grows vast, Jisung suddenly on the other side of a treacherous fissure.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You enter the apartment as soon as Minho leaves his room. He stares at you, clearly shocked. He probably expected to be gone before you came home, so you wouldn’t see him dressed up with his hair styled and your favorite cologne on. It’s been a long two weeks, so the stinging in your eyes turns into tears fast. He pushes past you and leaves the apartment, leaving you to collapse to the ground. The pain is immediate because the denial has shriveled up. You’re being forced to accept that it’s happening. Anger swiftly takes hold as you’re reminded of one hard to swallow truth. 

You stand up and grab the lamp beside the entrance. You shove it to the ground, the delicate glass covering shattering before the bulb does the same. You send the potted plant into the tv, throw a stack of plates onto the floor. Once your energy is spent, the fact is still there.

You have no right to be upset.

You throw a tantrum and break things because you made your own bed, but you have no right to do that either.

You deserve this.

You deserve him bringing a new girl home and fucking her loudly in the bed you used to share. You deserve him coming home every day and telling you what a worthless piece of shit you are. You deserve him introducing you to the girlfriend he’s been hiding from you and shoving his tongue down her throat right in front of you.

You deserve him giving up on you and admitting you were never fixable to begin with.

Your stomach caves from the sheer force of your sobs. Your body contorts, tangling within your bed sheets and kicking the cover off. You force yourself to imagine all these things he deserves to do to you even though it feels like it’s setting you on fire. You cry and cry until your body feels hollow and you stare numbly at the wall.

The sun rises.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Your ears pick up each sound but it’s muffled. The sound of the door opening. The sound of his boots crunching against glass. The sound of him crying. The sound of him leaving. 

The sun sets. It’s time to see Jisung. 

Your body wobbles as you sit up. Your body feels like a ton of bricks. You rush to the bathroom, finally emptying your bladder. You’re going to his house with the same clothes from the day prior again.

He opens the door, chuckling just like the last time you did this. “No work today?”

You’re not in a laughing mood, though. You thought things would be like they had been. You’d be depressed while you were home and cheerful at Jisung’s place. But no, the tears break free and stream down your face. Jisung pulls you into the house, asks if you’re okay. He shouldn’t. People like you don’t deserve sympathy. You grit your teeth, grabbing his jaw and pulling him forward. He stiffly places his hands on your waist, hesitantly accepting the kiss.

You cup his cock, making him moan and grant your tongue entrance to his mouth. You push him toward the couch until he flops down onto it, looking at you in bewilderment. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He asks just before you devour him again. You guide his hands to your breasts, whimpering when he pinches your nipples. 

“Fuck me.” You plead, voice weak and eyes glassy. Your eyes don’t plead him like they usually do. You’re deeply hurt, your lip trembling and shattering his heart. 

“Babe c’mon, let’s stop–” Jisung reaches up to caress your face, laughing awkwardly.

“Don’t call me that.” Your tone is venomous as you swat his hands away. Jisung is taken aback. Not because of your tone, but because he hadn’t realized he called you that.

Exasperated, you huff and reach for his dick. Once it’s free, you’re awkwardly shimmying off Jisung’s basketball shorts. Jisung is finding it difficult to find the words he’s looking for. It’s too late anyway, you’re sinking down onto his cock. Sex with you is like a defibrillator. It jolts life back into him, no matter how much the guilt is getting to him. It lets him set aside his worries for now to just focus on how wet and tight you are around him. The constant access to you is dizzying. Just when he’s coming down from his high, you’re back with another dose.

Without Jisung’s strict rules or constant orders you’re able to think. It’s horrible.

“Fucking choke me– ngh! Yell at me!” You grit out.

With this Jisung is back to reality with you. He stammers, your eyes and your words conflict each other.  He considers it, playing along while his heart’s not in it. The sex is going to be subpar today clearly, so it doesn’t matter what he does next.

“Jiwoo called me earlier today.”

You’re chugging along, hoping this transitions to him hissing demands at you. 

“Well, she calls me every day. I used to think it was because she was worried about me. I thought that was the same reason she hugged me so long before she left,” Jisung’s voice is conversational despite the strain your cunt squeezing him is giving it. His eyes are fussing with a conflict again. You stop, in exasperated shock that he’s opening up about this right now.

“She even gave me this look before she went out the door. So I kept telling her every time she called that I was okay and that she should have fun. That she didn’t have to call me every day. But today…” Jisung feels his heart clench as he recalls her words.

“Things are going really great recently, aren’t they?” She laughed, it sounded so sweet. Jisung could hear the commotion of activities more fun than being on the phone in the background. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I think about you so much that it's hard to have fun while I’m here. I miss you so, so much… and I realize now that I don’t like being without you.” She laughed again, but this time Jisung could tell she was crying. “I kinda wanna come home?” 

She was asking him.

“W-what did you say?” You swallow hard, trying to hide the horror in your eyes. Would he really tell her to come home? Is she about to walk through the door and fulfill his fantasy? Your stomach drops as you glance over your shoulder.

“I said no.” Jisung says quietly. You turn back to see his bitter smile. “I stayed on the phone with her for hours to soothe her and convince her to stay.” Jisung huffs, attempting to blink away his tears and failing. His head droops, hiding from you. He hiccups, “She was so happy with me after I did that. She-”

You cradle his face, slowly lifting it to face you. Jisung looks upset at this, shoulders bouncing as he begins to cry harder. You try to wipe away his tears with your thumbs, shaking your head when they quickly get replaced.

“It’s better this way.” You say weakly. 

“What?” The frustration leaks through Jisung’s anguish. He tries to shake away your hands but you grab him more securely and force him to look in your eyes.

“You don’t want her to know how awful you truly are.” 

Seeing the pain intensify in your eyes, Jisung stills. Knowing he understands now, your hands drop from his face. Suddenly, you feel more alone than you have in weeks. You start to get up but Jisung’s hands caress your face now. A tear hangs on your eyelash as you gaze wearily at him. You wish he’d just let you go. At least rotting in your bed, you’d be faced with one facet of pain. Staying here with him is like watching the last bit of color drain from the world.

He's not sure exactly what happens when you walk out that door. What he does know is you come back weaker than before. He sees the dread in your eyes at going back.

“Stay here.”

“No–”

“Stay.”

You stare at him, wondering if he’s just saying this because you’re the only one he can engage in this kink with. Then he kisses you. He inhales deeply as he threads his fingers through your hair. He captures your lips, detaches to breathe and captures them again. The lack of tongue or teeth feels foreign. You can’t remember the last time Minho kissed you like this. It’s only been drunk and sloppy, rough out of anger, or awkward in pursuit of keeping your trash-fire relationship a secret. 

The only thing close to Jisung’s trembling lips against yours was when Minho first found out you fucked someone else. He pleaded with you to tell him it didn’t mean anything, to tell him that you still loved him. His lips then were frantic, refusing to let you slip away with his hands caging you in. If only you did slip away back then. His life would be better now.

But Jisung is steady. The underlying shame and regret don’t dull the passion flowing from his lips. His hands feel like they're caging you. Begging you to just stay.

Another boundary has been crossed. The final one. There was no redemption to be desperately dug up to salvage your souls as you kiss each other like the world might tip off its axis if you stop. The two of you only break apart to moan as you ride him. Your hips grind against his lap, his dick as far in as it can go. You moan into each other’s mouth as Jisung’s climax brings you closer to yours.

And yours comes and goes. Your freshly showered bodies lay as close as you can get in his bed, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You jolt awake multiple times during the night, jolting Jisung awake with you. He just soothes you back to sleep, not asking about your nightmares detailing each scenario you forced yourself to imagine two nights ago.

Jisung leaves early in the morning, whispering to you to lock the door if you leave.

“You can stay, though.”

To your horror, Jisung kisses your cheek. Him falling for you hadn’t crossed your mind. He had always been so sex focused that romance seemed like a distant afterthought. He could have rubbed circles into your back each time you awoke because he was being nice. Your rationalizing is cut short as an even more horrifying thought rears its ugly head.

You wished he had kissed you on the lips.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Judging by the mess you left behind, Minho must think you’re on a rage fueled bender right now. He never did check if you were in the room that morning, so maybe he thinks you trashed the apartment, left, and never came back. You know for a fact he’s worried. Very little could stop Minho from worrying about your safety. That’s why even someone like you never played that card to get his attention, and why you’re worried sick. You pace around Jisung’s apartment. Your phone is still at the apartment, shattered from your temper tantrum. He would probably report the incident to the police before he contacted you, but the sight of your phone broken on the floor with you nowhere to be found doesn’t encourage confidence.

The thing is, you can’t go back and face him. Walking in, completely unharmed and freshly showered, with some other man’s clothes on and guilt evident on your face would just cement it for him. All you would do at that point is apologize, and what’s left of his soul would shatter right in front of you. You clamp your hand over your mouth, unable to bear the image of Minho realizing there’s actually someone else. You’re horrible to him, but the only thing he could be sure of is that you only love him. You imagine it’s the only thing keeping him around.

Minho putting together that all these years of pain and suffering and praying you’ll change has culminated in someone else getting the appreciation he deserves could change him forever.

So you lower your hand from the door knob.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

That night with Jisung was different. You were both so overwrought with guilt that you spent the evening taking turns soothing each other. When you finally had sex, it was more tender than it ever should be. He was hovering over you, looking straight into your eyes and he smoothed his hand over your hair. He peppered soft kisses all over your face. You loved every second of it. You showered together again and cuddled in bed. 

“Minho? Is that his name?” The sound of his name makes you flinch. You move away from Jisung who looks at you in confusion. 

“Don’t say his name!” You shout, stumbling out of bed. He blinks at you as you start to gather your clothes. He follows after you, stammering an apology. 

“Y-you said his name in your sleep yesterday. I’m sorry– I–”

“Just stop!” You’re more panicked than angry, which comes through in your voice. Your voice is loud, so it could be heard through the door. Pounding against the door makes you gasp, you stumble backwards. Jisung catches you, pulling you close.

“Who’s there!” Jisung shouts.

“Open the door!” Minho shrieks, his throat sounds like it’s tearing from the sheer force. Jisung grabs the bat, readying it before swinging the door open. Before he can even threaten him, Minho is pushing past him, eyes frantic as they search for you. When he finds you, you see it. You’re clean, unharmed, wearing nothing but Jisung’s shirt as you hug your body. 

He’s putting the pieces together.

Your mouth feels dry, your tongue feels like it’s swelling. The way Minho’s shoulders slouch makes your chest ache. He shakes his head at you in disbelief. 

“Your purse.” He gestures weakly at the bag sitting on the couch from when you entertained the idea of going home. “The tag is connected to my phone because I knew you’d do this.” Despite being so quiet, his words slash you open. 

“Minho…” Your trembling hands cover your mouth. This is it. This is it.

“Minho I didn’t mean to scare you I swear–”

“You can have the apartment.” The words fight their way from Minho’s mouth, but he’s not able to look at you. 

“Minho?” You try pitifully. Minho just drops his head, lingering for just one more moment before leaving. Jisung is quick to hold you, caress the back of your neck as if to cushion the incoming sobs. But they don’t come. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“For some ungodly reason, he’s going to keep paying your lease.” You gape at the woman. She doesn’t introduce herself, but you know it’s her. The one he wore your favorite cologne for. 

“He told me not to but fuck it– don’t contact him.” She shoves a finger into your face. “Don’t go looking for him, don’t make this any worse than you already have for the past twelve years.” She pauses, waiting for your reaction, seemingly expecting you to explode on her. You nod, finally closing your mouth that had been hung open this entire time. 

“Okay.”

She looks confused before she shakes her head and walks off of Jisung’s porch. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung comes home with Chinese takeout. 

“I’m going to set it on the table.” He says breathlessly as he takes off his coat and hangs it on the coat hanger that his girlfriend undoubtedly picked out. She’ll be back in five days. He’ll erase any signs of you and go back to normal. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks.

“What the fuck are we doing?” You say before you can stop yourself. It’s quiet for a moment, and you refuse to turn around and see his face. 

“What?”

“Why would I sit at that table and eat with you?” You stand up, finally turning around once the emotions stirring inside you are potent enough. You interrupt him before he can answer.

“Your loving girlfriend is going to come home soon.”

“That doesn’t change anything. I mean, we can still meet at your place–”

“She’s going to propose to you, Jisung.” He freezes for a moment, but you can tell by his face that he still doesn’t get it. 

“Do you seriously think she’ll never be suspicious? That she won’t wake up one night and realize you’re not there? Then she’ll pretend she’s asleep and hear you walk out. Then she’ll be more aware of the clues. You smell like perfume that’s not hers, there was a small amount of lipstick smudged on your collar, you’re sexually satisfied all of a sudden,”

Jisung swallows, “Then we’ll be careful.”

“Are you seriously willing to risk your relationship?” You ask, a nasty hint of amusement in the way you raise one brow at him. He closes his mouth.

You laugh loudly, the laughter spiraling out of control before you finally catch your breath.

“I fucking knew it.” Your expression sours, settling into a bitter one as you yank your purse off the hook.

“Don’t leave…”

“I don’t give a fuck about you. Don’t waste your time on someone who wouldn’t care if you died. Focus on your fucking fiancée.” You look back slightly before slamming the door behind you. 

Jisung wasn’t sure why he felt a bit panicked. His heartbeat accelerated as he stabilized himself against the counter. The slam of the door echoed in his head over and over until Jiwoo was kneeling in front of him, surrounded by all their friends and family. Everyone swooned, there were tears in Jiwoo’s eyes and all her friends' eyes. 

“Han Jisung, will you marry me?”

Jisung looked around frantically, feeling like the world was spinning. Only then did he realize why he was immediately panicked by you leaving. It was solidified by the fact that he couldn’t get in contact with you. He never did get your address, and you either never got another phone or changed your number.

Jisung’s breaths felt like they couldn’t break free. 

He was suffocating.

“Yes.”

-> end of act i

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Beautiful Disaster (13)

← Chapter 12 • series masterlist • Chapter 14 →

13 | Glass

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

A party at Satoru's house ends in disaster.

words: 3.9k

AN: Hey guys! Not sure if anyone is even reading this story anymore, but I fell of the face of the planet for a while, sorry about that. Things IRL were crazy with work and my personal life, and I just didn't have it in me to write anything. Things are much better now and I was in the writing mood, so decided to give this one a little update, since I already had the chapter mostly written already. 

I will be going through it to proofread/edit before I do the last two chapters (which will probably be posted together).

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April 2012

Taking a deep breath, cinching the robe around your waist a little tighter, you step into the class. There’s a murmur from students setting up their supplies, getting their easels into position, and canvases ready to draw on.

The walls are covered in art from various classes and years passed - even some portraits of past nude models hang on the wall as examples of creative liberties and proper proportions. Something many artists have a hard time getting a handle on.

As you stand in front of the class, a little stool next to you so you can sit on occasion while the other students draw, you look around the room, making eye contact with Choso.

He gives a small, shy smile, like he always does and you swallow thickly - feeling the way your chest and neck heat with the flush creeping up to your cheeks.

Satoru wasn’t particularly… pleased when you told him you were taking an extracurricular art class this semester. Less pleased when he realized Choso was in your class.

And even less so when you told him you offered to be the nude class model.

The decision was easy though, despite his grievances. His only real one was jealousy and not wanting everyone in the class to ogle you - which you assured him wasn’t likely going to be the case. You have no reason to be ashamed, and everyone who’s taking this class knew this was an assignment. Besides, the professor has made it very clear that if anyone says anything or makes you uncomfortable, they’ll fail and be removed from the class.

You offered to be the model when you found out it’s a paid gig, and you’ll take an opportunity that arises to get your own money - money your mom doesn’t need to know about and money she won’t have any reason to grill you on how or where you spend it.

Once you explained this, Satoru relented a little, though you’re confident his problems have more to do with Choso than anything else. Which is ridiculous considering there hasn’t been anything more than a friendship between you two. It’s not like you have a history with Choso like Satoru does with Mei.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the professor states after closing the classroom door. You look around, taking in the overhead string lights giving the space a warm glow - the shades are drawn on the windows, stopping anyone from outside the room from witnessing what’s about to happen.

Licking your lips, and looking up at the ceiling, you draw the ribbons on the robe, letting the soft, fluffy material fall to the floor. The air is cold in the room, immediately perking your nipples as you purse your lips, feeling a wave of goosebumps cover your flesh.

The rustling of utensils being grabbed and the scratching on canvases immediately fill the room. Gaining a little more confidence, you look back at the class; Choso’s deep black eyes are the first - and only - you see in the room. At the beginning of the class, you thought it might be more awkward with him here, being the only person you know outside of class and seeing you vulnerable in front of everyone. It’s more comforting than you could have imagined.

In reality, you don’t know him all that well, but he’s always been kind, and he hangs around Suguru a lot. You also don’t miss the way his eyes trail the length of your body before he busies himself with what he’s supposed to be doing.

There are several times during class when your eyes meet, you give a little shrug and smile and he grins full-on, laughing to himself quietly as he continues drawing your form.

When class comes to an end, the professor allows you to leave to dress in the bathroom down the hall and come back since he has a few announcements.

Once you’ve changed you take your place next to Choso as the teacher drones on about maintaining professionalism from seeing a classmate naked and urging everyone to continue working on their canvases on their own time, turning in their finished work at the next class.

Except for you, of course, being exempt from having to draw anything and getting an automatic A on this assignment.

“Thanks for drawing me naked and not being a perv about it,” You whisper to Choso, nudging his shoulder gently with yours.

He flashes his brows, chuckling, “That’s kind of my thing, you know - trying not to be a creep.”

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you wait for Choso to finish packing his art supplies, slipping the canvas under his arm, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him out of the room.

“Are you coming to the party tonight? Haven’t seen you around the last few.”

Choso gives a wistful smile, “Yuji’s grandpa is sick, in the hospital so I’ve been joining him on his visits. But I think he’s hanging out with his friends tonight.”

“Great!” Smiling widely, you turn and walk backward toward your next class as Choso stops in front of the stairs, on the way to his, “Then I’ll see you there!”

Steam rolls out from the bathroom door when you open it, the cool breeze from Satoru’s room hitting your skin, immediately making you shiver. He’s lying on the bed, arm relaxed by his head, long legs crossed at the ankles.

As soon as you emerge, he lets his phone drop to his chest, a heated gaze watching as you meander around, combing through your hair and deciding what to wear for their house party tonight.

Per usual, there’s a fight tonight starring yours truly. How the higher-ups at the school haven’t figured this out, even with Toji acting as an “inside man” - for lack of a better term - is beyond you. You’d think schools would want to investigate why several students show up with black and blue bruises and cut lips and eyebrows every so often, but apparently, they have better things to do.

Satoru has gotten off the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist and slipping them under the towel until it becomes loose enough to drop to the floor. He pulls you close to him, one large hand splayed on your stomach, the other playful tweaking your pert nipple while he kisses down your neck.

You let out a soft sigh when he nibbles your lobe, before whispering, “You smell so fucking good,” pushing his hips into your ass so you can feel his growing length.

With a sharp gasp, he spins you around, setting you on his dresser, wrapping your arms around his neck as he continues nipping and kissing your neck. And almost inadvertently, as soon as he slips his hand between your thighs, you close your legs a little tighter.

Satoru pulls away, brows knitted as you sigh and purse your lips. His tone comes out harsher, more exasperated than you think he really means, “What’s wrong?”

The truth is your heart fucking aches at the state of your relationship. Things were so great, until they just weren’t anymore - there was a part of you that always thought people who described being in a hard relationship felt like they were drowning were just being dramatic. But it honestly feels that way.

Your chest is heavy and your heart beats so loud that sometimes it’s the only thing you can hear; your throat feels so tight you can’t catch your breath. There are nights where you’ve stayed up wondering if he feels the same way but in reality, you’re not sure he’d ever tell you.

He avoids conversations like the plague and is so much better at hiding his feelings and playing them off than you are.

Since the Okinawa trip, there’s been a lot weighing on your mind about how realistic this relationship with Satoru is. He’s fun and makes you feel alive with his silly ideas and schemes, makes you feel heard and seen. And along that same vein, there are times where you feel simultaneously loved and unwanted.

Afterall, he’s the one who wanted to keep things casual but relented only because you wanted a relationship and it almost feels as if you forced his hand with that. Sure, he made his own choice, but even then, there are things you can’t deny or look away from.

There’s no hiding Mei is a point of contention in your relationship. She has been since before it even started. And it was something you thought would go away - that she would see the two of you together and go find someone else to sink her claws into but she just keeps coming back, and for whatever reasons, he won’t let her go either.

Satoru told you their relationship was primarily physical - that there’s no real interest in one another beyond that, and the only reason they were involved to begin with was because of their family businesses being tied together. More convenient than anything.

So why won’t he let her go? And is it fair to even ask him to? Outside of Suguru, Shoko and even Utahime, she is one of his oldest friends.

You’ve also been wondering recently how much Satoru respects you. Considering how many times you’ve talked about how uncomfortable you are with this… relationship with Mei and how it hurts you, nothing has changed despite his repeated promises.

And it’s not logical to think he’d change.

Satoru groans when you hop off the dresser, grabbing your shirt and slipping it on, “I’m fine. Just not in the mood, I don’t feel great tonight.”

“You’re never in the mood anymore.” There’s no mistaking the annoyance in his tone as grabs his glasses to shield his eyes, no doubt rolling them behind the dark glass.

Despite the lie you’ve been telling, you want nothing more than to have him, let him have his way with you as he has so many times before. But you’re not emotionally ready to go there right now - you need time to think and you can’t do that when he’s buried ten inches deep in you almost every night.

So the physical aspect of your relationship has taken a hit. You’ve tried talking about Okinawa with him, bringing up everything with Mei once again - but just like always, Satoru says you’re being dramatic, making a mountain out of a molehill.

But it’s clearly not nothing since it bothers you and it’s clear as day to everyone around.

Satoru doesn’t bother staying by your side during most of the party, opting to meet up with some of his classmates. You try not to pay too much attention to him, but you sneak glances over every now and again.

He chats, a drink in hand while laughing and animatedly waving his free hand around while telling a story.

“Hello?” A pale hand waves in front of your face, snapping a few times, breaking you out of your trance - apparently you were staring longer than you thought.

Blinking a few times and turning your head, you look at Choso, “I’m sorry - what were you saying?”

He gives a soft smile, glancing between you and Satoru for a moment, “Everything okay?”

Pursing your lips and sighing heavily, you nod slowly, “Yeah… It’s just…” You trail off, not sure how much or what to actually say. It doesn’t take long to make a decision though, since looking back over to Satoru shows Mei has joined his little soiree. “He says nothing is happening, but he’s always with Mei.” You nod your head in that direction.

Choso purses his head and nods, “Yeah. I was wondering about that.”

“Great.” Your voice is monotone. Because this just confirms you’re not the only person who sees them together constantly - that it’s not just you being high maintenance or a pain in the ass. It is a real problem, and one Satoru refuses to acknowledge.

“Why don’t we,” Choso starts, eyes flickering between yours for a moment before pointing off to the side, “take some shots?”

Your eyes trail to where he’s pointing - a small group of people around a small table, just big enough for someone to lay on and take a body shot. A smile spreads across your face with amusement for two reasons: Shoko is currently taking a shot glass out of Utahime’s mouth and tipping it back and because you’re feeling a little petty tonight.

Maybe it’s the alcohol you’ve already consumed, your inhibitions are lowered but you don’t care. If Satoru gets to have someone other than you hanging with him all the time, going on family outings during the holidays and hanging on him twenty-four seven - then why can’t you do the same?

Choso’s questioning stare is innocent, so there’s a chance he won’t be up for this - there’s a part of you that wonders if he meant just regular shots, and not specifically body shots. You get your answer however, when you agree and a wide smile spreads across his face.

While you walk to the table and lay back on it once Utahime has gotten up, Choso busies himself with getting salt, a lime and a shot of tequila.

Shoko is off to the side, staring daggers at you before asking, “What the hell are you doing?”

You smile and shrug, “Playing his game. I’m tired of being the one that gets hurt all the time.”

“This is a really stupid fucking idea,” Utahime chimes in to your surprise. It’s not often she adds her two cents on your relationship - normally she just adds how stupid she thinks Satoru is.

Choosing not to answer, you lay back and turn to face Satoru. He’s not paying attention, however Mei is, you glare, lick your lips and lift your shirt just enough to expose your navel.

“Ready?” Choso asks and you nod, but he keeps a hold of the tequila shot, rather than putting it in your mouth.

Small grains of salt hit just below your belly button and then the feel of a small metal ball and cool tongue trail up. The reaction your body gives is normal; stomach clenching, breath hitching and thighs closing ever so slightly - like a reminder of all the times Satoru has done the same to you.

Looking down at Choso was a mistake - he has a mischievous smirk spread across his lips and heat in his eyes. And rather than take the shot in his hand, he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes widened in shock, because this was not part of the plan - it was supposed to just be a normal body shot, just something to make Satoru a little jealous and hopefully realize how he’s been treating you.

Panicked, you sit up and fix your shirt - Choso winks, placing the glass to his lips just as a fist connects with his jaw in a deafening crack. Satoru is seething, nostrils flared as he grabs a fist full of Choso’s shirt and pulls him in for another punch to the face.

Choso isn’t caught off guard this time, landing his own blow on Satoru’s cheek, and then his ribs.

“Stop!” You scream hysterically, covering your mouth with your hand, because this was not the mess you wanted to cause - this wasn’t supposed to happen!

Before you can take a step forward, a large hand grips your shoulder. Suguru is next to you, shaking his head before stepping in to separate the guys. Panicked, you look at Shoko who has a look of disappointment written on her face, Utahime is shaking her head, watching as Suguru stands between the two.

Satoru runs a hand down his face, Choso wipes his lip with the back of his hand as Suguru says something to them - when he’s done, Satoru stalks out of the room and up the stairs without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Why,” it’s a small noise that leaves your lips, not loud enough for anyone to hear other than yourself. Looking at Choso with upturned brows, you shake your head slightly. If you had known he planned on kissing you, there’s no way you would have agreed to do this.

He must have seen you mouth the word because Choso walks over to you, brows bunched together. “Because he treats you like shit. And you just let it happen time and time again.”

A scoff leaves your lips, “I love Satoru - you know what, I can’t deal with this right now.”

Onlookers move out of your way as you make your way to and up the steps to Satoru’s bedroom. The room is quiet, light off except the illumination of the lights peeking out from the partially closed bathroom door.

For the first time, probably ever, you knock on the door to make your presence known before poking your head inside. Satoru’s standing, head hanging between his shoulders, leaning on his palms on the cool countertop.

“Satoru,” a step forward with your hand outreached for him, wanting to check on the cuts on his lip, and the bruise blooming across his cheek, “I -”

“Stop.” He interjects, tone raspy, lifting his head to look in the mirror but not looking in your direction.

A sigh leaves your lips, because of course he doesn’t want to talk about this. He would rather let his emotions show physically - through sex or fighting - rather than sit and have a two minute conversation to talk things through.

“Okay…” You’re really not sure what to do in this situation, stay and potentially make it worse or leave him to cool off and come try and talk to him later. Opting for the latter, you take a step back - you really need to talk with Choso about what happened too, you just needed a second to take a step back and see Satoru. To make sure he didn’t need any bandages or some other medical care. With the exception of the few scrapes and bruises, he seems physically fine.

Turning and opening the door, a large hand reaches over your head and pushes the door fully closed.

“Where are you going?” Satoru asks, voice annoyed.

“To check on Choso.” It comes out quieter than you intend, which Satoru’s body heat radiating against your back, his hand still firmly pressed against the door, yours on the knob.

“Why? Kissing him wasn’t enough?”

Heat flares through your veins at the comment, because he’s acting like you asked for him to kiss you. And that was never the intention - you would never do anything like that, and he knows it - especially with your history.

He’s just trying to piss you off too.

Turning around, you snap at him, pointing a finger in his chest, “Maybe because my boyfriend went insane and beat the shit out of him,” he grins slightly at that comment, teeth pink from fading blood. “And because -”

Because you saw the way Choso looked at you when he suggested body shots. Knew it would piss Satoru off to no end. Because you were already questioning what Choso was wanting to do before you agreed. It was like you lost your mind in the moment, in all of the feelings and anger and hurt at everything that has happened, and continues to happen in this relationship.

“Because this is my fault.” Your voice is quiet, shoulders slumped, guilt written on your faces as tears well in your eyes.

Satoru’s arms are around you the moment the first tear drips from the corner of your eye, holding you close and rocking side to side gently.

“Don’t leave me,” He whispers into your hair and you’re sure he doesn’t mean physically, in this moment.

“I’m not - I won’t.” You say between sniffles, pulling back to look into his ocean blue eyes, showing his own uncertainty in this situation - a look you’re not used to from him. “Satoru, that was scary. It looked like you were trying to murder him.”

“I wanted to.”

Your brows pinch together at his admission, “You’re insane.”

“In a good way?” The teasing tone to his voice is starting to come back.

A small laugh leaves your lips, “How is there a good way to be insane?”

He thinks for a moment, pulling you back into his muscular chest before shrugging, “Dunno just, don’t go to him. Okay?”

Closing your eyes, you nod against him, taking in the warmth and safety you feel in his arms, hoping he’ll explain his reaction to that, “Why did you punch him?”

It takes several minutes of standing in silence, holding one another to realize he’s stopped swaying you back and forth, a motion you found comforting when he was doing it, and the odds of him answering are lower and lower with every passing second.

After another few minutes you pull away and sigh, wiping the smeared makeup under your eyes away.

“I don’t want him touching you,” Satoru says hurriedly when you open the bathroom door again, grabbing your free wrist, “Let alone kissing you.”

That’s not a real answer - just some fucked up possessiveness he feels he needs to display because another guy is clearly interested in you. Which is ironic considering he said the two of you could see other people before he agreed to try dating.

And clearly he forgets is attached to him at the hip anytime she’s around, but how dare anyone but Satoru do that with you. It’s a stupid double standard and one you’re tired of.

He lets your arm go when you shake your head slowly, which breaks your heart. Wishing he would fight for you right now, for your relationship - not physically fight, but actually listen to each other and work together to make things better.

Maybe it is time to call it quits. Having these feelings in your relationship continuously is not healthy and it’s taking a toll on you. At this point you’re not sure what’s worse - finding your boyfriend cheating on you with your own mother, or this cycle you found yourself in with Satoru.

There’s a deep stuttering sigh behind you, to your surprise, “Things haven’t been great between us recently,” he says quietly, clearly unsure how to say what’s on his mind, “And I - fuck -” he groans, running his hands up and down his fast several times, “I don’t know, okay, but I don’t want to see you with anyone else.”

Your brows are raised as you turn to look at Satoru with surprise, not having anticipated getting any sort of answer. It’s not much, but it speaks volumes that he’s admitted your relationship isn’t in a good place right now - honestly you weren’t sure he was even aware of it. He never wants to talk about these things, he’d rather have sex and show you how he feels by the way he delicately spreads your legs, teasingly kisses up your thighs and makes love to you.

But it also hurts that the only time he says he loves you, with the exception of the first few times, is when you feel like you have to force it out of him, or when he’s buried deep in your cunt.

“Are we gonna make it?” You whisper back. And for the first time in your relationship, find yourself wondering when this relationship will meet its inevitable end.

But maybe there is hope. He’s admitted this - maybe it’ll just take more time for him to find the words and continue learning to open up. 

Satoru kisses the top of your head, opening the restroom door and pulling you gently to his bed, laying down behind you and covering you both with a throw blanket before whispering back, “We’ll make it... Just don’t leave me.”

So you don’t.

@petalsrdead @sofiaconlaz @lovelylashawnalee @s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @desthevirgo @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @musababy @sagejin @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @erenputurchildreninsideme @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui @sugurunicorn @niki-sun @lilith412426 @sofiaconlaz @lxvephxbic @iam-mia9 @laylasbunbunny @creolequeen11210 @xiaosie @lem-hhn @yogurttea @slut-jr @crystxlline @ritsatoru @abba-simp @myabae @etherealkakashi @hyperfixationsporfavor @yihona-san06 @ambersea7 @knightoflove

[miasmaghoul]

for the ship & kiss prompt: #46 terzo/omega !!

From this list.

#46 - out of envy or jealousy

-----

Omega digs his claws into his palms and works to hold back his growl. He told himself he would be okay with this, but the more he sees the harder it is to keep the frustration silent.

He can't even recall what this ritual is for right now. Terzo had reminded him this evening, while Omega busied himself applying his Papa's paint and combing his hair, but he'll be damned if he can recall anything. Except, of course, the bit that won't stop replaying in his mind.

"It is not my decision, Omega," Terzo had murmured while the ghoul lined his temple in black. "It is as I said - this ritual requires a fire ghoul."

"I understand that," he'd rumbled, tucking thick locks behind Terzo's ear. "But does it have to be that one?"

Terzo had chuckled, cinching the belt of his silky golden robe. The soft yellow light of the chapel's dressing room had glinted off his gold, onyx and amethyst rings. Odd to see his hands exposed before a mass, a specific kind of nakedness that Omega had been unable to pull his focus from.

"If I did not know better, my ghoul," he'd cooed, adjusting the rosary nestled in his silky chest hair, "I would think you are jealous."

Omega had scoffed, scowling behind his mask while he tucked away his applicator. Jealous? Certainly not. One of those glittering rings matches the one on Omega's own left hand, and his spins it with his thumb. Proof of their devotion to one another, exchanged years ago now - devotion that has never wavered. He has nothing to be jealous of.

But it just had to be Ifrit.

Ifrit, who slips the robe from Terzo's shoulders with too much slowness, leaving him bare save for the paint. Whose knuckles graze their Papa's skin with a reverence that suggests knowing. Whose fingertips graze that silver rosary at the center of his chest while Terzo recites something in Latin.

Ifrit, who pours a heavily scented oil into his large palms and takes his time massaging the heady substance into Terzo's skin. Who fills the air by the altar with juniper, sage and something floral. Who rubs it in from the line of Terzo's throat to the tips of his fingers, coating every inch of pale skin and thick hair. Who gets all the way to Terzo's waist before he needs to douse his hand in more of that oil.

Ifrit, who has the gall to look Omega right in the eye when he gets a handful of Terzo's cock and rubs it all slick and shiny.

It just had to be Ifrit.

Omega rolls his shoulders, counts to ten over and over again while Ifrit holds his gaze and oils up Terzo's thighs. Making an unnecessary show of touching him, one that has Omega's hackles up and his face hot behind his mask. He can hear Ifrit purring underneath the drone of Terzo's recitations, and Omega knows it's for his benefit. He's the only other ghoul near the altar, after all.

Omega knows it's true that he has nothing to be jealous of, but something about Ifrit in particular makes that hard to believe. He touches Terzo like a lover, every time he can find an excuse to, and it makes Omega's jaw hurt on the best of days. Having to watch those greedy hands caress every exposed inch of his Papa has his blood pounding in his ears.

Ritual or not, those should be his hands.

But they aren't, and Omega suffers through the minutes it takes Ifrit to do his job. To coat Terzo in that sacred oil while he finished his infernal prayers. He also suffers through Ifrit's unrelenting gaze, burning copper eyes dancing behind his mask in a way that makes Omega want to throttle him. He breathes through the tingle that runs through his palms at the thought, and rolls his shoulders when Ifrit finally steps away with an obvious bulge behind his tunic.

Terzo caches his eye during the moment of silence that follows the end of his long, archaic incantation, and Omega can see his smirk straight through his paint.

This time, he can't hold back his growl.

The rest of the ceremony happens in a rush of heat and power and the stench of sulfur. Ifrit's purpose makes itself known; a plume of searing, blue and white flame coming to life in his palm and dancing in a nonexistant breeze. Omega crosses his arms over his chest when he hears whispers of ghoulish, muffled behind Ifrit's mask, and he takes a deep breath when that flame burns even brighter.

A breath he holds when Terzo kneels. When he cups his own palms and holds them out in silent offering. When Ifrit pours that malleable fire into his hands, Omega's claws bite into his flesh.

Now he recalls the purpose of this ritual. It's a test of strength, of faith. Secondo went through something similar, he recalls, years and years ago. His trial had been administered by a water ghoul, but the premise had been the same. Designed to have their leader risk life and limb, with their only protection being that of their faith. Thanks to that, Secondo had endured nearly seven minutes submerged underwater without so much as a brow twitch.

Omega watches the fire grow in his Papa's hands, watches it shiver and spit, and for a moment his heart skips. A half-second of doubt, of worry that the oil had caught and that the human who means more to him than his own pack would be engulfed.

He should know better by now.

The fire settles, curls itself around Terzo's wrist and snakes a slow path up his arm, curling around soft muscle and slithering it's way onto his chest. The congregation murmurs as they watch, and Omega unclenches his jaw, the tightness behind his ribs fades to the warmest sort of pride.

Then Ifrit steps back into frame, and that soft warmth gives way to the icy swirl of envy that wraps around his spine.

Omega watches like a hawk as the other ghoul steps between Terzo's spread thighs, the sharp light of the unholy flame flashing off the buttons of his tunic, his pendant. Terzo hasn't taken his eyes off Ifrit since he took hold of the fire, pupils wide, and Omega's upper lip curls when he lifts his mask. He doesn't remove it, just slides it up enough for Omega to see his mouth form the distict shapes of their old tongue.

He can also see the shit-eating grin Ifrit doesn't bother to hide, and he would like to do nothing more than slap it off his brutally handsome, angular face. It's a feeling that only grows when Ifrit's hand moves to cup Terzo's jaw, when his claws dimple a painted cheek. When he bends at the waist, half-masked visage no more than an inch from their Papa's.

Omega closes his eyes before he has to watch Ifrit's forked tongue slip between his Papa's black-and-white lips.

He doesn't open them again until he feels the swift rush of hot air that snuffs out every candle in the chapel, moonlight flowing through the ornate stained glass dome above the only remaining source of illumination. It casts the pair on the altar in sharp relief, a snapshot of connection that sears itself into Omega's retinas without his consent.

When Ifrit pulls back, his tongue is the last thing Omega sees.

That wandering flame swirls its way back to Terzo's outstretched hands and Ifrit collects it with a flourish, letting it fizzle between his fingers. It's shrunk to nearly nothing when he raises his palm to Terzo's lips, and with a whisper of something Omega can't quite parse their Papa extinguishes that final spark.

All at once the candles lining the aisle and dotting the altar flare back to life, and applause erupts from the ghouls and siblings filling the pews. Another successful rite under their Papa's bejeweled belt. His body shimmers in the warm light, and as Ifrit helps him to his feet all Omega wants to do is collect Terzo's rube and whisk him away from prying eyes - and callused hands that linger far too long for his liking. But he can't - he told himself he could handle this.

One of Ifrit's hands drifts to Terzo's hip, fingers sinking into the softness there, and Omega decides he's handled enough.

He says nothing when he joins them on the raised plinth at the head of the chapel, heels clicking against the black marble, and then he's pulling Terzo from Ifrit's side with decidedly possessive hands. He feels Terzo stumble and apologizes under his breath, but Terzo simply pats his chest. Lets the ghoul settle that golden robe around his shoulders once more while Omega stares daggers at Ifrit. The other ghoul responds in kind, gives himself a rude grope that makes Omega want to gnash his fangs and stake his claim right here in front of all these people, but he's not like Ifrit. Not showy, at least not when he isn't performing, so he tightens his grip on his Papa's arm instead. Waits for Terzo to finish tying off his belt while he addressed the crowd, thanks them for their faith and adulation. Only once he's bowed to his adoring followers does Terzo excuse himself, and without another word Omega coaxes him from their perch and towards the dressing room.

He feels Ifrit staring at his back the entire way, the heat of it only breaking when he latches the door behind them. The growl that's been stuck deep in Omega's chest rattles itself loose the second they're alone, and he can't help how quickly he pins Terzo to the nearest wall, nor the way he flings his mask aside and bares his fangs.

"Not jealous, hmm?" Terzo teases, a touch breathless, and Omega wishes he wasn't so in love with those mismatched eyes.

He doesn't answer - not with words. He gets a broad palm over Terzo's mouth and wipes off the paint Ifrit had smudged from his lips, and Terzo laughs.

The kiss Omega silences his with is overzealous, aggressive. He pins the man's shoulders to the wall and licks into his mouth with no grace, nothing but the desire to own. Sloppy and urgent, like they hadn't woken up together this morning and spent most of the day in bed. Omega kisses him like it's the first time again, and with every breathy sound he wrings from the human he's made his mate he feels a little more sane.

"He didn't deserve to taste you," the ghoul snarls when they part for breath, his Papa curling oiled hands into his tunic. He leans in and buries his nose in that thick hair, breathes deep. "Next time I see him, I'm ripping his tongue out and feeding it to the hounds."

"That would be a terrible waste," Terzo rasps, leaning up to lick at Omega's lower lip. "He is quite skilled with that tongue."

He grins with every tooth in his head, Omega's vision flashes red, and before he knows what's happening he has Terzo face down on the carpeted floor with his ass in the air.

"You shouldn't know that," he bites out, and he can tell by the sound Terzo makes that the tone goes right to his most sensitive spots. Omega knows he does this on purpose - he's a hard ghoul to rile up - but with the scent of arousal that's starting to cut through the aroma of the oil, he really can't complain. He sneaks two fingers between Terzo's slick cheeks, watches them move under the robe, and the moment he grazes his hole Omega's stomach goes hot. "I'll have to make you forget."

"That may not be so easy," Terzo breathes, settling into a deep arch and pillowing his head on both arms. "He's very good."

Omega's answering hiss is promise enough that he means it.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

DAISY OF WATERDEEP SAVE ME DAISY OF WATERDEEP. i donr know if commissions are open hell i dont know if you even TAKE commissions but i am BEGGIBG YOU. WITH MY WHOLE HEART AND SOUL FOR A PART TWO OF THAT CAUGHT ROLAN FIC. you get rolan better than literally everonelse PLSSS. (but for real dont feel pressured if you dont wanna write this just wanna say how amazing ur writting is 🤩)

Read part 1 here!

'Caught?' Part 2

Rolan/femcis!Reader !NSFW!

__ You're not really sure what the entire game plan is here, but you know that you have one goal in mind: to rile Rolan up.

After the events of the previous day, you know that riling him up is easy. But getting him to act-- well, that seems like it's going to be a real challenge. One that you're not sure you'll be able to pull off, but damned if it's not going to be fun to try.

You take longer than usual getting ready for work. Hair, nails, makeup-- you primp and preen yourself to perfection before shimmying into one of your favorite date-night dresses. It's modest by some standards, but the low-cut neck and cinched waist do plenty to accentuate your assets, and you're sure it won't go unnoticed by a certain wizard.

You step into Sorcerous Sundries to start your shift, your plan in motion the instant Rolan's eyes fall on you.

"Good morning!" You wave at him from his place up the stairs.

You're grateful for the glow of his eyes, because it makes it all too easy to see them drag down the length of your body from this distance.

"Morning." He returns curtly before going back to fussing with an animated armor.

You frown at the back of his head, displeased with the lack of reaction. You'll have to try a little harder, it seems.

You saunter around the counter and ascend the stairs, lifting the length of your dress to the side so you don't trip.

"What are you doing?" You ask as you approach Rolan, his hands pulsing with a dim light as they roam over the armor's breast plate.

His eyes dart over to you for a moment, and you don't miss how they flick down to your cleavage for a split second before returning to his task.

"Some minor upgrades to security."

"Ooh, like what?" You close the distance between the two of you, standing at his side as he works.

The flowing movement of Rolan's arms become jerky and stiff as you lean forward, giving him a whiff of your perfume.

"I'm j-just--" Rolan clears his throat and ends the spell wordlessly, the glow wreathing his hands dissipating. "Can I help you with something?"

"Sorry," You say innocently, taking a step back and folding your hands behind your back, "Am I distracting you?"

Rolan turns his head to address you properly, and you swear that you can physically see him fighting the urge to look at your tits. And is it just a trick of the light, or do his cheeks look a deeper red right now?

"Yes, a bit." Rolan's words are as tight as his expression.

"Sorry," you say again, "I'll just ask then....would you be willing to cast a water repellent spell on me?" You jerk your head towards the door, "I think it's getting ready to storm, and I didn't bring my umbrella..."

"It should pass by the end of your shift."

"Probably, but I have to sign off on a shipment coming in from the docks before then."

Rolan's eyebrows raise before setting into a scowl. "No. You can't go to the docks."

"What?" You blink at him, "Why not?"

"Because--" Rolan's eyes dip down to your cleavage before snapping back up, "B-because those men down there are uncouth."

"I've signed off on plenty of shipments," You insist, "You never objected then."

"Yes, well, I didn't want you to do it those other times either." Rolan is talking fast, his voice hard with annoyance. "And I definitely can't have you going down there dressed like--" He manages to stop his words, but not his eyes. They stutter down to your tits again, and it's just then that he realizes that his hands are still on the enchanted armor-- splayed out on the breast plate, like he's groping it. He jerks his hands back like it's burned him, and he hurriedly straightens up. "Just...let me do it."

"Wait wait," You wag your finger accusatorily at him, other hand on your hip, "Dressed like what, exactly?"

Rolan is obviously uncomfortable. There's no denying the deep blush on his cheeks now, and his fingers pick over the front of his robes in search of something to do.

"Nothing." He finally says, flinging a hand in the air as if to bat away the conversation. "I'll finish the upgrades after we open."

Rolan makes to walk past you, but you grab his arm.

"You can't be the one to storm away," You're not really sure what more you're expecting to get out of him, but you're not ready for your button-pushing to stop. "Not when you're the one who insulted me."

"Insult you?" Rolan scoffs and shakes his arm out of your grasp, as if that too is burning him. "It was a compliment, if anything."

You can feel your cheeks prickle at that, but you maintain your faux grumpiness. "Not by any standards that I know of."

"Take it however you want. I have things to do." Rolan begins marching down the stairs, his back to you. "Scrolls and...tomes..."

He continues mumbling his oh-so busy yet oh-so vague list of things to do until he's well out of earshot. You watch as he walks, controlled and stiff, towards the supply room.

Already? You thought it'd be nearly impossible to get him back in there, but it seems that he's easier to break than you had anticipated. It really makes you rack your brain-- Rolan has a habit of ending conversations whenever he feels like it, but just how often did those conversations lead him to the supply room? You should have paid more attention...

Either way, this is your chance to corner him. To confront him. You need to act fast.

Holding the bottom of your dress up, you descend the stairs two at a time, heart hammering and adrenaline spiking.

By the time you make it to the supply room door, you feel like a sweating wreck. Part of you wants to use it as an excuse to turn back, but you dab the sheen of sweat away with your sleeve and fan your arms in an attempt to cool down.

This is it. You got this. You can do this.

As calm as you can manage, you lean your ear against the door and listen.

"Stupid....stupid..."

There's no accompanying noises, just the sad, frustrated quiver of Rolan's voice.

It's heartbreaking, yes, but also perfect for your idea. You have no clue how well it'll work, but there's only one way to find out.

You open the door, heart in your throat as you step into the dim room. There's no windows in the storeroom, only torches that dot the wall at even intervals. It seems Rolan has forgone lighting them, instead casting a set of dancing lights that float up above, giving the room a warm, shifting glow.

"Rolan?" You call, spotting his figure a ways into the room, his body turned partially from you and his forehead against a shelf of potions.

As soon as you call out, he straightens himself and whips around, the enchanted lights nearly flickering out in his surprise.

"What?" He barks, reminding you all too much of a cornered animal lashing out.

You step into the room and close the door, buying yourself time to choose your words carefully.

"...I'm sorry." You walk towards him and stop a few feet away, just enough to clearly see his face. "I know you didn't mean anything bad with your comment." Rolan is still visibly guarded, so you add on, "I won't go to the docks, if you don't want me to."

Rolan's lips tighten and he gives you a long, silent look before turning to his side and fussing with the bottles on the shelf, clearly doing nothing of importance but trying to appear that he is.

"Forget it. I was being childish." He pretends to be heavily invested in the label of an elixir before setting it down with a clack. "Let me know when you're about to leave, I'll cast the spell on you then."

You take another step closer, "Rolan, are you upset with me?"

He scoffs, casting an incredulous look at you as he straightens a row of healing potions. "Of course not." He picks up another bottle and swirls the liquid around as his voice dips into something more conversational, though you detect the prying edge in his words, "So what's the occasion, anyways?"

You take in a deep breath, stomach tumbling as if you're in free fall as you say a single, simple word.

"You."

Rolan freezes, his glowing eyes wide as they stare sightlessly at the shelf, not daring to drag them over to you. You can't begin to imagine the thoughts that are flying through his mind right now.

A few moments pass like that, and it's clear that he doesn't plan to move or respond. He's waiting for you to continue, to inevitably add more to the conversation that will prove him wrong on what he's thinking, or maybe even to exclaim that it's a joke.

You take another deep, steadying breath. "I wanted your attention."

"....Alright." Rolan says carefully, finally turning away from the shelf to face you directly. He looks nervous, lips twitching and eyes restlessly darting. But you can tell-- it's not all just nerves. There's a layer of excitement there, too. His wandering eyes finally lock onto yours, and his voice lowers, barely audible yet still booming in your ears with the weight of it. "You have it. Now what?"

It's a clear invitation. Rolan wants you to take control of this situation-- maybe he's scared to overstep your boundaries, or maybe he's not entirely convinced that you actually want him. Judging by the things you've heard him say to himself, you suspect that it's a terrible blend of the two.

But that's fine, because you're going to show him just how much he's worthy of you.

Slowly, deliberately, you reach up and put a hand on his chest. You push him lightly, and he obediently steps backwards once, twice, then his back connects with the shelf with a clatter of clanking glass. Rolan doesn't blink-- his eyes are trained on you, almost like he's challenging, begging you to do more.

"Am I allowed to touch you?" You trace a fingertip over the intricacies of his silver shoulder piece, head tilted up to keep your eyes on his.

"Yeah," Rolan nearly groans out the word before he wets his lips and you see his adam's apple bob as he swallows, "I mean...yes."

"Where?"

"Gods," Rolan breathes, the points of his teeth shining in the dim light as he pants, "Please, don't tease me..."

"Sorry," You grin up at him, conveying the exact opposite, "You're just really cute right now...I didn't know you could be so docile."

"Docile?" He lets out a sharp exhale from his nose and you swear that his lips pucker out just the slightest, "I am not docile."

"Yeah?" You run your hands down his chest, loving the way the ridges of his ribs make your fingers jump. Rolan sucks in a breath and you can feel the muscles of his stomach tighten and quiver as your hands continue down. "Prove it."

Rolan's nostrils flare at that, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he looks you over. He wants to do something, that much is clear, but his nerves are still holding him back. So you decide to give him one last little push.

You raise up on your toes, bringing your mouths closer together, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips-- but only for a moment, because he holds in his next breath as your breasts press against his chest.

"Don't you want me?"

It's enough to finally break him. Rolan's hands grab your hips with a surprising, bruising strength as his head dips forward, his mouth hot and devouring against yours.

You feel naive to have thought that you were the one in control. His mouth is dominating, rolling against yours with an intoxicating mixture of passion and inexperience. You try to match his vigor but struggle to sync up with him, so instead, you submit. You let Rolan lick and suck and kiss you however he pleases, your head swimming with the hot slickness of his tongue and the rough, hungry drag of his teeth.

It's overwhelming in the best way, and it only gets better when his hands find your chest. His groping is more gentle than his kissing, but you can still feel the bite of his claws as he lifts your tits to enjoy the weight of them in his hands, kneading and pressing them together as he moans into your mouth.

Even though both of you are fighting for air when he finally pulls back, you can't help but whine and try to follow his mouth, not ready for him to stop.

"Gods, so soft, every bit of you..." His lips glisten with saliva and his eyes are burning as he squeezes your tits hard to accentuate his point, hungrily watching as the line of your cleavage swells.

"You haven't gotten to feel every bit of me," You take the opportunity to do some groping of your own, feeling along the lithe strength of his arms, then the taper of his chest to his waist "At least, not yet."

Rolan swallows roughly as your hands finally venture down his robes, feeling the taut muscles in his thighs. He spreads his legs immediately, welcoming your touch, and you can see the hard shape of his cock even through the layers of clothing.

"Poor thing," You coo sweetly, dragging your hands teasingly closer to it, "You're pent up, aren't you?"

Rolan's hands go to grip you by your upper arms as he begins panting again, each exhale holding the smallest shiver of a moan at the end. The sound is intoxicating, and it gets all the sweeter as you finally place a hand over his erection, fingers contouring to it's shape. Rolan's body reacts immediately and intensely to the light touch, trembling and bucking as he lets out a high, needy moan.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" You keep your eyes on him, loving the way he fights to do the same as his face twitches and his cock throbs against your hand, "You wanted me to touch you like this, right?"

"Yes, please, yes--" Rolan's voice tumbles into something nearing a cry as you press your palm down softly and begin to rub him through his robes, "Fuck, f-fuck--"

The shifting lights above flicker out just as Rolan's body curls inward in a rough jerk. In the darkness, you feel the weight of him nearly crumple to the floor before he stumbles into balance. His cock flexes against your hand in strong, desperate pulses as Rolan gasps around throaty groans, his claws digging into your arms.

"Fuck," He says again, but his voice is now wavering with embarrassment.

"Gods, Rolan..." You ease the pressure on his cock but don't remove your hand, hypnotized by the spent thumping of it against your palm, "You're so--"

"Please," Rolan cuts you off dismally, his fingers loosening their grip on you as you hear the shelf behind him rattle once more. "Spare me the niceties, I'm humiliated enough."

"Don't be." You press your body against his, once again standing on tiptoes to peck a kiss against his chin, then his neck. "I can't tell you how hot that was....wanting me so bad you couldn't control yourself." You kiss his neck once more, letting the tip of your tongue press against his skin for the briefest of moments, "I just wish I could've seen your face when you came."

Rolan's body shivers and relaxes the slightest bit as you kiss up his jaw before finding his mouth. Now that he's managed to calm down, you get to be the one to guide the kiss. It's tender, slow, the each of you relishing the feeling of the other. You could stand there all day, body pressed against him, lips together, breath entwining, but you know there's other matters that need to be attended to.

"Rolan," You pull away, pecking a kiss on the tip of his nose before finally stepping back, your hands finding his in the darkness. "It's probably time for the shop to open."

"Zurgan," Rolan hisses under his breath, "It probably is. But you-- I didn't get to--"

You know exactly what he's going to say and give his hands a squeeze. "Next time."

"Next time..." Rolan says the words with a sort of awe that makes you grin like an idiot. You hear him suck in a breath, and the hands in yours squeeze back. "Next time, certainly. I'll...take care of you. The way you deserve."

"I know you will." You raise his hand to your mouth and place a soft kiss on the back of his knuckles. "I'll open. You should probably change."

"Y-yes....thank you."

"We'll need the lights on first, though."

Rolan goes silent for a moment.

"Oh."

He gives your hands one last squeeze before releasing you, and you hear the rustle of fabric as he mutters a spell. The room lights up once more, the glowing orbs floating lazily above your heads.

Rolan looks at you, head turned down slightly and bottom lip trapped between his teeth. It looks like he has something to say, so you wait patiently, smiling at him to help ease his worries.

"I'm..." Rolan starts, stops, shakes his head, then starts again. "I've thought about you...I mean, I've wanted..." Rolan exhales sharply from his nose and shakes his head again before giving a shy smile. "I'm just very happy right now."

You can't help yourself. With a big, goofy grin, you raise up on your toes and kiss him again.

"Me too."

[underdark-dreams]

Fellow Rolan lovers forgive me 👀 I have no idea where this came from. I just encountered Harper Geraldus in Act 3 again in my playthrough last night, and my brain said, that boy needs to get [redacted]

Harper Geraldus x afab!OC (unnamed, description kept vague)

Wet Behind the Ears

"What would you like, Geraldus? You can tell me." Harper Geraldus has had a very bad, terrible, absolutely no-good week. His superiors decide he needs a night at the Sharess's Caress to cure what ails him.

Tags: Size Kink, Sexual Inexperience, Face Sitting, Explicit | afab!OC

Word Count: 5.6k [Read on AO3]

No sooner had she stepped from the bathwater did the door to her chambers swing open.

“Hope you’re not headed to bed,” called a sing-song voice.

She wrapped a towel around her wet middle just as Irenya flounced brazenly past the wooden screen beside her bath. Privacy was a rare luxury in Sharess’s Caress, but her workday was well over—she’d earned the right to a bit of it.

“Do come in,” she drawled. 

The elf only gave her a coy smile as she toyed with the laces of her tiny bodice. Even for a courtesan, Irenya wore as little as she could get away with. And the bar downstairs owed her half its profits for it.

“Good, you’re up. Mamzell’s got another client for you.”

“At this hour?” A bit of impatience crept into her voice; it was far past midnight. Whoever they were, they’d better be paying well. “Don’t suppose they’d prefer one of our lovely drow.”  

“You know that’s not how this works,” Irenya laughed, a tinkling sound. “Mamzell handpicked you. Said you’ll be his type.” 

That meant he was either quite green, or quite reserved—she knew her niche well. She busied herself with toweling off and wondered which. “Patriar?”

“Harper,” answered Irenya.

That did stir a mild curiosity. Harpers were even rarer than Guild members on the upper floors of this place, and that was saying something. Folk who dealt in secrecy and under-dealings were strongly discouraged from visiting pleasure houses—though she knew from personal experience that they didn’t always listen to orders. 

And why should they? Sharess’s Caress kept secrets better than any of them put together. But unlike the Guild or the Zhent, most Harpers weren’t known to have pockets deep enough for after-hours trysts. 

“If this is another favor for Entharl Danthelon,” she warned, cinching a gauze robe around her waist. “I swear, Amira turns into a giggling maid around that bloke. Don’t tell her I said that,” she added swiftly.

Thankfully, Irenya didn’t seem to hear. She took an eager step closer. “Just wait till you see, you might have fun with this one. He’s so pretty,” Irenya groaned, biting her lip in the way that earned all that coin.

Pretty or not, her body yearned only for her empty bed. But telling Irenya that would ensure it got back to Mamzell Amira, and the house mother’s patience had its limits. She put on a practiced smile instead.

“Then kindly shoo,” she told Irenya. “And send the pretty man up.”

As the door swung shut behind the elf—who was no doubt headed for a good night’s sleep, unlike herself—she heaved a sigh and moved to prepare her room for clientele. A second goblet on the tray; a pass over the covers and pillows to ensure they looked fresh and unslept in. She shook her hair down from its clasp, glancing in the mirror by the bath to smooth it. Then she perched herself on the edge of the mattress and arranged her robe to show a sliver of leg. Just enough to catch the eye. 

If this Harper was openly visiting the Caress, he must have done something very impressive worth rewarding. Or else survived something awful enough to warrant a professional distraction.

Gods, let it not be the latter. She’d comforted her share of men and women who only wanted to be held while they cried, but tonight, the prospect made her groan. A tumble in the sheets would be far less work on her part, and the customer usually left just as satisfied in the end.

A soft tap at the door broke her reverie. 

Her brow furrowed for a moment—knocks were rare. “Come in,” she called.

When the youth stepped slowly into her room, it was immediately apparent why he hadn’t just opened the door like any other patron would.

Irenya hadn’t lied—he was certainly pretty. But gods, he was young. Couldn’t be older than twenty or so, with an angular jaw and wide hazel eyes framed by long, dark lashes the same color as the hair curling just past his shoulders. He had the look of a fawn who’d just stumbled into the middle of civilization.

She watched his large eyes quickly take in the room. When they fell on her where she sat, the blush that traveled up his face was noticeable even in candlelight.

Her mind switched tack at once. She rose to her bare feet, wearing her friendliest and least wanton smile. 

“Please,” she invited, drawing an arm out to welcome him in. 

His eyes flicked down her figure once, then settled firmly up on her face. “Thank you,” he managed, and strode briskly into the room as if afraid she might rescind the offer. 

It took only a few seconds to size him up. His leather jerkin was well-worn but clean, same as his boots. He was tall and fit, yet he moved with more of a cautious ranger’s gait than that of a soldier or swordsman. Perhaps that was just down to nerves. As she watched him close the door, she noticed his pale fingers fidget and shake on the latch slightly.  

Few of his age and apparent rank could afford this place, particularly by special appointment. Someone must be very fond of this young man.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she told him, filling the inevitable silence before it could form. “Would you like a drink? I’ve got something excellent from Amn.”

She turned away to uncork the bottle and give him a chance to look around. In truth, this was a vintage she’d been saving for a quiet moment alone tonight—but it would taste just as fine with company. As she filled both cups, she could hear him shifting on his feet behind her.

“Thank you,” he repeated again as she turned back. His voice was a gentle tenor, and there was a nervous tremble on the first word. 

“So.” She offered the wine out to him—he was careful not to touch her fingers as he accepted it. “What shall I call you?”

“Geraldus,” he blurted out. Clearly not taking up her veiled offer to give a pseudonym. When his doelike eyes finally met hers again, they were unsure. “Can—could I ask your name?”

She gave him another easy smile and replied with the usual. Not returning his honesty—but when did she ever?

“Very nice to meet you.” And young Geraldus actually dipped his head in a little bow to her. Oh, she would have this one fast asleep in half an hour.

“What a gentleman,” she laughed, finding herself harmlessly charmed by the gesture. “The pleasure’s all mine. Seat?” 

She sank back down on the edge of the bed while leaving plenty of space for a gap. For a moment Geraldus froze, and she was afraid she’d broken him. Then he followed suit wordlessly, wine in hand, and took a seat on the very far corner of the mattress.

Really should bother Amira for some chairs, she noted to herself. Then again, most of the clientele didn’t mind beds as much as Geraldus apparently did.

At least he was drinking. It would help him forget his nerves, and she was pleased to see Geraldus take a long drought as his eyes roamed across the room again over the edge of his cup.

She took a savoring sip. “Good, isn’t it?”

“It’s sweet,” he agreed in surprise. “It doesn’t burn like—” He caught himself, looking sheepishly at her. “That is, it’s better than the wine back home.”

“Where’s home for you, Geraldus?” She tried and failed to imagine such a gentle soul growing up on the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

“Nowhere special,” he said, looking down to swirl the liquid in his cup. “Just a little village in the Greenfields.”

“Ah—” She half-reclined with an elbow on the mattress, and felt a grin rise to her face in spite of herself. “Yeah, that’s firmly ale country. Damn good ale, though.”

Geraldus’s face finally relaxed. “You’re from Greenfields too?”

“Just lived there for a while. Long enough to miss it after a few years in the Gate. Let me guess, was your family in barley or sheep?”

“Sheep,” he laughed, and she admired how handsome he was with a touch more confidence. “On rainy days I can still smell the wool.”

“You think sheep are bad? Try pigs.” She cocked a brow at him and took another drink.

Geraldus looked at her as though trying to tell whether she was joking. “There’s no way someone like you has mucked out a pig stall.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a lady,” he protested, as if that ended the discussion. “You drink Amnian wine, you smell like lavender—” Geraldus straightened up slightly, looking as though he'd given too much away. 

She found she enjoyed his guilelessness. She had no regrets about the comforts this life afforded her, but ‘lady’ was a stretch. Still, manners were always appreciated.

“How else do you think I paid my way here?” She teased him. “Selling my best sows set me up quite nicely my first year in Wrym’s Crossing.”

The subjects of life in the country compared to life in Baldur’s Gate took them far. She refilled their wine twice, eventually just leaving the bottle within arm’s reach on the floor. Geraldus had relaxed enough to mirror her pose and lean back on his elbow; she brought her feet up on the bed to curl into a comfortable shape beside him.

Perhaps sleepiness and the wine were going to her own head…but Geraldus looked prettier by the minute. She watched the rose-petal curve under his lower lip as he spoke, not catching what he was saying. His eyes were more of a pale green than the hazel gold she’d taken them for at first. Or maybe that was just a trick of the candlelight?

As she pondered, she realized that he had grown silent and was watching her face in turn. She'd angled herself closer to him involuntarily while he spoke. They were close enough she could hear the shallow note of his breathing.

“Can I ask you something?” She requested, breaking the quiet. Geraldus nodded.

“Why exactly did you come here tonight? You’re not the usual type,” she added, and touched her fingers to his free hand in an attempt to soften the observation.

“Oh.” Geraldus fiddled with the neck of the wine glass in his hand. “It wasn’t really my idea. Not that—this is nice,” he said in a rush, and she felt his fingers twining up through hers on the bedspread. “Not like I expected.”

She cocked her head. “Did you expect me to eat you up?” Not a bad idea, she thought, glancing over the lines of his body under his jerkin.

“No!” He blurted out in surprise. “Maybe? I don’t know…it just happened so fast. Entharl pushed me out the doors before I knew where I was. Said I was too gloomy for usual company,” he added, looking down at his boots. 

So that confirmed her earlier suspicions. Harpers may be discreet, but it was hard to miss things when you worked down the street from what was almost certainly one of their safehouses. Which meant poor Geraldus must have been sent here tonight for comforting as much as pleasuring.

“Have you had a bad day?” She asked gently.

His large eyes met hers with a long look. For a moment, he almost seemed close to tears. “Bad week,” he answered.

She brushed the back of his hand with her thumb. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Vehemently, he shook his head at her.

“What would you like to do then, Geraldus? You can tell me.”

“I don't know…I’m not sure.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Can I kiss you?”

In answer, she took the wine glass from his hand and set it at the foot of the bed beside her own. Then she reclined parallel to him, tilting her face up in an open offer.

Without another word, he leaned down to press his lips to hers. He trembled slightly against her, whether from nerves or from a more sober emotion she couldn’t tell. She brought a hand up to his hair regardless, smoothing and tucking the dark waves back behind one lightly pointed ear.

Their lips slid together softly like that for a long moment. Eventually she felt Geraldus relaxing against her mouth. But his frame still hovered over her, as if he wasn’t sure where to put his weight.

Without breaking the kiss, she guided his far arm to her side. Though she’d placed it there herself, the feel of his large palm pressing against her waist stirred a pleasant warmth in her belly. She clasped both hands behind his neck, encouraging him to lean down further over her while they kissed.

When he left his lips parted for a few seconds, she took the chance to gently touch her tongue to his. Geraldus made a soft, eager sound against her, returning the gesture with enthusiasm. His mouth was warm and sweet and tasted of rich Amnian wine.

While kissing him was lovely, she was increasingly curious to know how else she might take this poor boy’s mind off his apparent troubles. When she pulled away, Geraldus’s face trailed after hers as though reluctant to end the kiss.

“Would you like me to kiss you anywhere else, darling?”

Geraldus blinked down at her, perhaps thrown by the pet name. “Where else is there?”

It brought a laugh from her, and she curled her fingers through the dark locks behind his neck. “You really don’t know how this works, do you.”

His eyes widened with a nervousness that only confirmed her suspicions. 

“I've been with a woman before,” he answered defensively. 

“Oh?” She continued petting his hair, keeping her tone light and unteasing. “Have you been kissed other places, then? By men or women?”

From there, it was easy to suss out the exact limits of his experience. It came as no shock that no one had ever put their lips anywhere but his mouth. Not his neck, his chest, his cock—that last fact she withheld her kisses from him until he admitted, flushing profusely right up to his dark hair all the while. 

She found herself speaking more plainly than usual. “Geraldus, first I’d like to help you out of these clothes. Then I’d like to suck you off before I ride you. How does that sound?”

That had most certainly broken him. He stammered and blushed somehow darker; she could practically feel the heat radiating off his face above hers.

Finally, he managed a breathless response of “yes, please.”

She drew his lips in against hers again as she went to work. She felt him reach a hand to the buckles under his side, but she was already springing them open on both right and left.

“How do you know—” He began, impressed, before quieting as the realization hit him. She slid the leather pieces up over his head and leaned in to give him a quick, enthusiastic kiss. When his linen tunic followed, she kept him held back for a moment with a hand splayed over his sternum.

Gods damn, but they grew them right back in Greenfields. 

Geraldus was broad-shouldered and lean, with firm bands of muscle beneath the pale skin of his arms and chest and stomach. From the sinews in his forearms and the strong cut of his shoulders, she guessed he handled a longbow quite often.

As her eyes raked over him with open appreciation, she caught sight of a shining scar across his left side. Young he may be, but his body already bore evidence of his chosen profession. She reached to brush down the line of it with her fingers; Geraldus shivered but tilted slightly into her hand.

“Didn’t get that shepherding,” she observed.

“No,” Geraldus agreed. He licked his lips again—the gesture was much more intriguing combined with shirtlessness. She hooked her thumbs over the waist of his pants in suggestion.

“Wait,” he requested, his gentle voice trembling again. She watched his eyes moving over the curves under her thin robe. “Can I?”

She leaned back and stretched her arms up over the pillows, arching her back in invitation. 

Slowly and deliberately, as if unwrapping an expensive gift, his fingers reached for the tie at her waist. She watched with satisfaction as he drew the garment open to each side to expose the bare length of her body. His lips parted in admiration as he took her in.

“Can I touch you?” Geraldus asked in a whisper.

“Anywhere you like,” she assured him.

To her delight, Geraldus fell over her and began eagerly exploring her chest with his lips. When his hot mouth closed over the hard peak of one breast, she hummed in approval and ran her nails up through his long hair. It seemed to encourage him; his calloused palm moved to cup the other.

“Tonight’s for you, darling,” she reminded him lazily, not really in a hurry to interrupt him.

He responded between hungry swirls of his tongue. “I’d kiss you here if you’d let me,” he said, and his hand actually slid from her breast to land boldly above the apex of her thighs.

“Absolutely not,” she laughed against his brow. “Gods, you’re unbelievable—how dare those Harpers keep you hidden away so long? Sure you don’t have a little sweetheart in Rivington?”

“Of course not—” There was a wet sound as he released her breast to stare up at her, wide-eyed. “I wouldn’t be here if—if I was—”

She clasped his jaw in a hand to kiss him again, drowning out whatever earnest response he was trying to make to her teasing. “If you’re very, very good tonight, I’ll sit on your pretty face. How about that?”

“Gods,” he groaned, and that pretty face landed between her breasts. “Would you?”

She looked down at him quizzically. “You honestly want to, don’t you?”

His cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Yes,” he admitted.

“As long as you’re a good boy, then,” she told him. With a firm shove, she sent him sitting back on his heels at the end of the bed. “Now take off your pants, Geraldus.”

He scrambled to obey, kicking off his boots before his fingers fumbled at the laces of his trousers. She lay back and watched him with genuine anticipation. From the size of the tent straining at his front, she already suspected that the gods had given to him with both hands.

And what a delightful bit of justice in a harsh world—for young Harper Geraldus to be blessed with such a big cock.

His impressive length stood stiff at attention, skin a lovely smooth pink—and the size of him. Not the biggest she'd had, but much closer than his blushing shyness had led her to believe.

She crooked one finger at him where he stood in a come-hither motion. He crawled up the bed eagerly, but she shifted away to the side at the last minute. “On your back,” she directed him. 

Geraldus obeyed again, his tall frame collapsing into the pillows as he watched her shuck the robe all the way back off her shoulders. She curled up into his side, tracing a finger down the firm, fair planes of his chest and stomach. He shivered under her touch.

Then her fingers closed gently around his base—barely fitting a third of his length in her grip. She pumped him a few slow times from base to tip. It would require most of her creativity to take him, either with her mouth or her cunt.

But if anyone deserved both, it was the young man currently squirming and whining in her bed. She could tell Geraldus was struggling to quell the instinct to thrust up faster into her grip. No doubt trying to be good enough to earn what she’d promised, judging by the way his wide eyes were fixed in anticipation on her face. She clenched her thighs together at the thought of having his eager mouth between them.

“I can see why no one’s put lips to your cock before,” she mused, enjoying the way his dark brows screwed up just from the unhurried strokes of her hand.

“W-why?” His tenor had shot up to a strained pitch. She loosened her grasp completely—it would be too easy to finish him like that.

“You’ve got enough to choke on,” she told him, and climbed between his legs. “But don’t worry, I’m quite good at this.”

Before he could clear his expression from its jumbled mixture of shock and hope, she leaned to take his tip softly over her tongue.

His body made a sharp jackknife at the waist, and Geraldus let out a word much filthier than she expected. But she was ready for his physical reaction—the weight of her forearms on his hips kept them firmly planted into the mattress.

She slid her mouth over him, relaxing her jaw to take him all the way to the back of her throat before releasing everything but the very tip of his cock. She continued the motion several times until saliva trickled down the rest of his length. Then she returned her hand to his base, twisting her grip to meet her lips with each motion.  

She took him just like that, giving attention to his full length, relishing the way his smooth tip bumped the back of her throat with each thrust. He whimpered and begged incoherently above her at the sensations of her mouth and hand taking him in tandem. Could he already be as close as he sounded?

Just as the thought occurred, she felt his legs tense on either side of her own. Almost disappointed, she instantly slid her mouth off him with a wet kiss of release. 

Geraldus made a sound like a sob at the absence. When she glanced up, there were actual tears pricking at the corners of his dark eyelashes.

“Dearest,” she murmured up to him. It was far too tempting to apologize to that face; she placed nipping kisses along his thighs instead. “You deserve to feel my cunt first, don't you think?”

“Yes,” he groaned, obviously trying to master the strain in his voice. It suddenly seemed like a very good time to reward his patience.

“Be a good boy and slide down,” she urged him, already moving up around his straining erection on her knees to straddle his waist.

That brought a spark of hope to his eyes. Geraldus frantically gripped her torso for leverage, tugging her bodily up the bedcovers as he somehow nudged each of his broad shoulders through the gap in her legs. As he settled her above him, he stared up at the slick view between her thighs like a penitent.

“Smack me twice if you can’t breathe,” she told him, giving his dark locks a teasing pull to try and get his attention. The way he nodded left her unconvinced he’d heard.

Deciding he looked ready enough, she lowered herself firmly over his waiting mouth.

For all his obvious inexperience, the instant heat and enthusiasm of his tongue was a pleasant start. Her eyelashes fluttered in satisfaction as he painted firm strokes up her folds, just barely reaching her peak.

“Good,” she praised with a sigh. “Higher—”

He listened attentively despite wearing her thighs clasped around the delicate points of his ears. His hands rose to her hips as he angled his mouth higher, finally hitting the spot where she needed him most. Her toes curled where they were pressed over his biceps.

He was completely unpracticed, but he had good enough instincts to keep the pace steady as she rocked herself against his face. She imagined his hips bucking uselessly into the air behind her, desperate to wet his neglected cock in the folds his tongue was parting.

“Pretty Geraldus,” she sighed, her hand a fist in his dark hair, trying to keep her wits about her as she felt a twitching climax build at her core. “Shall I come on your tongue?”

His eyes flew wide between her legs. In answer, strong forearms gripped tighter over each of her thighs, holding her down onto the now-frantic lapping of his tongue over her slit. She closed her eyes and arched her back against him, giving way to the heat of his mouth desperately sucking and licking her closer to the edge.

With one last tug on his hair, she shuddered against him and rode out her orgasm over his tongue. She felt a gush of arousal from her center flow out over his lips. Geraldus moaned something against her flesh, but the words dissolved into a hum that ran straight to her core and reverberated as another shiver of pleasure up her spine.    

With effort, she pushed herself back to sit on his chest, freeing his arms. Geraldus gasped for air slightly, but his expression was drunk with pleasure and a bit of pride. His mouth and chin were painted wet with her arousal.

“Such a good boy,” she purred in praise. “Getting me ready to take that big cock of yours—” Before he could respond, she reached to swipe her thumb along the wet line of his jaw, then nudged at the juncture of his lips.

He understood immediately, obediently sucking her finger into his mouth and cleaning her release off with his tongue. She felt his hips rocking involuntarily behind her.

With a smooth shift of her weight, she landed with her bare chest pressed to his and pushed her wet slit back against the top of his cock.

“Oh,” Geraldus whined above her, and his beautiful eyes squeezed shut at the feeling. She continued slicking her folds up and down his length to wet him, all the while watching the way his face screwed up as if pained. His fingers flew to grip around hers where they lay over his ribs. 

It was difficult enough to line up her opening with his cock from this angle—let alone while having both hands held hostage under his own. Using his firm stomach as leverage, she pushed up to straddle him against her and then sank down. It seated the tip of him perfectly inside her. 

Just that first stretch was delicious. Geraldus seemed to feel the same; his hands released hers, instead landing on her hips with an enthusiastic squeeze. But he panted obediently under her, eyelids still shut tight, waiting for her to take him further.

Little by little, she eased herself down onto each inch of him, her jaw falling slack as he stretched her walls to their limit. Finally her hips landed to slot against his own. 

She stayed there for a moment, relishing the utter fullness of having his cock entirely buried within her. The ache at her opening was slowly tipping from a twinge of pain to a throb of pleasure.

But she wouldn’t be able to ride him from this angle. Instead, she leaned forward to grasp his strong shoulders and braced her arms straight against them. “Geraldus, look at me.”

His eyes fluttered open then, and landed on her face where it hovered above his. She took in his parted lips, the aquiline line of his nose, the youthful smoothness of his brow marred by a pleading wrinkle as he waited for her to move. And his expressive eyes, which she now decided with certainty were a pretty shade of hazel—currently traveling over her face as if trying to read her thoughts. 

“You are the loveliest man,” she told him with utter sincerity. And I’m going to fuck you until you forget everything but my cunt.

With his eyes still on her, she slid her hips up and back down over his length. A guttural, breathy sound rose straight from his chest. She continued working him in and out of her tight wetness, finding a slow but steady pace that was just barely past the edge of teasing for both of them.

“Oh, Gods—” His hands spasmed against her hips, as if he wanted to bounce her faster on him but wasn’t sure whether it was permitted.

She took the cue herself. She ground her hips into his at a more brisk clip—and bit her lip hard at the sensation of his tip knocking deep inside her with each thrust. At this angle and pace, he filled her to the point of incoherence.

After being taken up to the edge of release by her mouth, she could tell Geraldus was already close again. When her fingers brushed up over his hard nipples, he let out a shuddering whine of pleasure. His hard length twitched against her walls.

At once, she slowed to grind her hips into him, relishing the pressure of his hard cock filling her so fully. He panted at yet another denial, and she felt his calloused fingertips digging into the flesh of her hips. Geraldus gazed up at her with a plea for more.

“Have you been good enough to come in me?” She studied his face unhurried, admiring the way his fair brow screwed up in anguish and pleasure at the question. “What do you think, darling?”

“Yes,” he begged, too sweet to know he was strong enough to fuck her at whatever pace he wanted, even from this angle. “Please, yes, I have—”

She splayed her fingers across his chest, rocking herself deeper atop him. “Ask me for it.”

“Please,” he whined prettily, his eyes shining with tears again. “Please, please, I’ve been good, I swear—Gods, let me come inside you, please—”

He was so earnest, so beyond desperate, it would be unthinkably cruel to deny him. She leaned both hands back on his thighs and rode him hard, using the angle to drive his cock into her center again and again. Stars swelled across her vision; each thrust sent his considerable length pounding against the limits of her insides. She closed her eyes against another rush of pleasure to her core, listening to the sweet way Geraldus whimpered her name.

Large palms pressed hard against her lower back—the angle of him shifted inside her as he leaned up to muffle his sounds into the skin of her breast. Then his arms and legs shuddered as he released inside her, spilling and twitching against her walls. She rode him out through it, as best she could with the way he clutched her to him, wanting him to feel every last scrap of pleasure.

Her own climax hit her like the snap of a bowstring. She found her arms clenching around his shoulders for balance, as if she might tumble away on the wave that rushed through her body. 

Geraldus supported her firmly, sweet thing that he was, holding her tight despite the way his own limbs trembled.

After a while of him holding her straddled on his lap, the pressure between her legs turned to an ache. She stifled a wince as she shifted to slide off him. Even his softening length was a stretch for her tender and likely now bruised insides. She chided herself for riding him so enthusiastically before—she knew better than that. 

As she began to pull away further, Geraldus clutched his arms tight around her back.

“We just need a towel,” she explained, turning to kiss the tip of his ear. “Did you think I was leaving?”

“No,” he lied, growing sheepish again, but his arms loosened to let her up.

She returned with a soft cloth for each of them. He reached for one, but she knelt beside the bed to neatly clean him. Even now, he was still too green to grasp exactly how this all worked.

And the mess between her own legs could wait; by now his release had already dripped out of her to generously coat her thighs.

Once they were both tidy, she rose to her feet and smoothed back a stray lock of his hair. “Would you like me to draw you a bath?”

Geraldus shook his head, looking up at her with sleepy affection.

“Would you like to go to bed, then?”

His eyes filled with innocent delight. “I can stay?”

She considered telling him that after the sum his keepers had no doubt paid, he could do a great many more things with her. But it might be nice to surprise him with that in the morning. 

Instead, she raked her fingers through his hair and tilted his face up for a soft kiss. “Of course, darling.”

She moved on rather unsteady legs to snuff all the candles, then helped guide him under the covers through the dark. 

When it came to sleeping, she didn’t usually care to share her bed with others. Tonight she found herself in an unusually generous mood. Geraldus was long-limbed and full of wiry muscle, yet every bit as gentle as a lamb. 

As she settled herself under the blankets, he notched his face up against her shoulder and rested an arm securely across her middle. She leaned her cheek against his dark hair like a pillow. The feel of being weighed down by his body against her side was comforting in a way she didn’t expect.

“I love you,” Geraldus abruptly sighed against her neck.

She let out a sleepy breath of laughter that ruffled the locks of his hair. 

“No you don’t,” she told him gently, and pressed a kiss to his brow. “You just really, really needed that.”

[arcielee]

the salver & the sword

paring: Suguru Geto x reader summary: Prince Satoru Gojo sends his trusted general, and friend, across the kingdom to retrieve the girl who saved him when he was a boy. You loathe the idea of having your life uprooted on the whim of some faraway prince, and General Suguru Geto is determined to see through his prince's command, by whatever means. word count: 4.5k+ warnings: AFAB reader, noncon elements, bloodshed, death in graphic detail, facing your demons and working through the trauma medieval style, and some more pining author's note: It is not Wednesday, but this chapter was a doozy. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter V - Unguarded Moment

“Shiba is almost a two day walk from here.”

The kitchen was thrumming with morning life. Hana and Nobu were vying for attention, revitalized after a long night’s sleep and desperate to hold onto their oji for a little longer. Runa was at the stovetop while you, Kento, and Suguru sat at the table in the center, balanced on top of the stools brought to it. 

“Yuki is still set up out there. She probably would not mind you staying at her place.” Kento continued, setting Nobu down. 

Suguru hummed, noncommittal, and you glanced over to see a rose flush that darkened on his cheeks, though his eyes never left the kids: the little boy spotted his sister and, with determined toddler legs, bolted towards her. Hana shrieked her returning charge only to be halted by Suguru, his tactful swoop to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder; she shrieked again, but this time with delight. 

Kento was unfazed. “From there, Hoshi is only another day and a half, two at most.” 

His words struck you deep. You were little more than halfway there, and soon it would be over: you would return to rebuild your life and the general would remain at his prince’s side. 

You felt a grief for what was coming, despite telling yourself it was all that you wanted. 

Small hands were patting at your knees, pulling you back. You looked down into the bright eyes of Nobu and reached to pull him up onto your lap, allowing him to sit at the table. He watched his mother walk over, a cloth wrapped around the handle to carry the kettle, and she poured hot water into the saucers placed, the tea leaves rising to steep.

“You know, after you decline Satoru’s,” –her lips curled upwards– “gracious offer, perhaps you could come back and visit us.” Another glint of mischief. “The springtime is lovely.” 

Nobu and Hana turned their attention to you, their excitement spilling, unaware of the weight of their mother’s words. You dared to look again at Suguru, watching the celerity of his emotions wash over–a curiosity, perhaps hopefulness–and it held you still. When you blinked it was gone, and his stoicism back in place. Your blood rose to the surface, warming you, while your tongue withered to ash in your mouth. You could only offer a meek smile and nod to acknowledge Runa. 

She arched her eyebrow at you, but said nothing further. 

What food that could be spared was packed away and added onto Mimiko. Your new belt was cinched around your waist with the sheath snug against your side. Bittersweet goodbyes were exchanged; Runa offered a smile as Nobu and Hana hugged your knees; to the side, a subtle severity was shared between Kento and Suguru.

And it began again, with Suguru taking the lead to guide Mimiko’s steps while you shadowed the other side, your exhale bursts of white above. The morning chill stretched throughout the day as the sun remained tuck behind the gray shroud, allowing a mist that nipped and stuck to the skin. Walking was the better option as the motion garnered some warmth with your steps. 

You shivered still and Suguru halted the horse, coming to wrap his cloak around you. “I stay warm,” he murmured, avoiding your eyes. 

You already knew this from his every touch that simmered through to the marrow of your bones. You thanked him and held it close, enjoying his heady scent and how it mixed with the soap you made him; it warmed your cheeks. “I can understand why you return here every year.” 

Suguru pulled at Mimiko and she began to trot after him. “They are good people.” He paused, his jawline tightening. “Kento mentioned to me that he noticed some stray Ryomen soldiers coming through about a week ago. I told him about the skirmishes in the northern villages, about what happened to your father.” 

You remembered his visceral reaction with that, and it knotted behind your ribs. “Do you think Sukuna…” You could not stomach the thought. 

“I am not sure.” Uncertainty flickered between his brows, another thought held to his chest. “I think we try to get to Hoshi quickly and call for an audience with the queen.” He hesitated again, but settled on silence. 

“Of course,” you agreed. I just want to be done with that damn Gojo, was your first thought, followed with the reminder again that your time with Suguru was coming to an end. 

The gray remained and the clouds grew darker, night rolling over with thunder. Droplets began to fall, cold and heavy, and Suguru scouted alongside the river. The road ahead split with one way that curved upwards and onwards, stacked on top of stone, while the other path remained level, curving off into the limestone that jutted out. 

It led to an entrance that was carved into the stone, a darkness bleeding through, but you followed after Suguru who seemed so surefooted. You waited in silence until you saw a spark of light, rocks circling around a kindling that filled the space with an amber light. 

As you unpacked, Suguru shared about the ancestry, how these hideouts had been created when the kingdoms first split, hundreds of years ago. They served as reprieves for Tengen soldiers, serving as shelter and some even having a spring further back that was dug up and led back out into the river flow. 

“We used these during the war.” There was a sconce carved into the wall and he grabbed the torch to light from the fire, placing it back. “Ryomen soldiers did not know they existed and it allowed us to hide in plain sight.” 

You nodded, still numb from the chill, and looked to a long branch that had been set on the stones. You peeled off the cloak and hung it over, returning to unpack the mat, the blankets and furs. 

Suguru was still standing, aglow from the fire casting over while rain now sheeted the entrance. “Try and get warm,” he decided, moving to grab the cloak and adjusting his fur mantle over. “I am going to try and find some cover for Mimiko.”

It was dark. It was raining. Your heart was begging for him to stay and those emotions were on display. 

He paused, his expression softening as he moved closer to you, his usual hesitation gone as he reached to pinch your chin between his thumb and finger. “I will not be far. I will not be long.” he promised, holding your eyes. “Stay by the fire and keep your knife with you.” 

You nodded again, watching him disappear into the black night where the thunder rumbled along with silent flashes of white that lagged between. Unease still flitted along your nerves, but you did as he said, moving to pull off your dress and hang it over the branch. Your chemise was dry enough and you curled beneath the furs, keeping the knife close at hand. 

And you waited for Suguru by the fire, bleary-eyed. 

+ + + +

It came without warning: white smoke that billowed around you, rolling with a heat that was heavy, suffocating. You could see your home being consumed, the flames reaching to lick against your skin. 

You tried to run but your legs were rooted at the sight. You opened your mouth to scream, your lungs aching for air, and the action jolted through you–a muffled gasp–your eyes opening to see the ceiling of the cave above you. 

A hand was pressed over your mouth, the palm clammy. There was a crushing scent of sweat and rye weighing on top of you. “If you scream, I will gut you,” came a warning, ugly and rasped. 

Fear halted you, your eyes straining to focus on the silhouettes being cast by the embers of the fire. You saw three more men were around with two posted at the entrance of the cave and another who was watching as his companion breathed on your face.

One of the men guarding looked over. “I’ll help ya keep her quiet if I can go next.”

Your stomach lurched, your eyes frantic, flitting back to where the other one was standing still. He looked frayed, his hand poised around the hilt of his sheathed sword. “We should just kill her and go.” He swallowed. “He will come back for her.” 

Suguru. 

“He is already dead. They said they would handle the demon.” The man on top of you grunted, moving against you to push your thighs apart. His scarred face loomed close as he rucked your chemise around your hips, the stitches tearing. “Besides, she’ll keep quiet. Won’t you kitten?”  

He is already dead. It gutted you, twisting in your belly. I will be next. That realization raced through you, alighting your tendons–a call to action–and you grasped at the knife at your side. You could not pull it from the sheath but used the momentum to smash the hilt across his ugly mug with a sickening crunch. 

Blood and spittle sprayed from your blow, stunning him, and as he swayed on top of you, your adrenaline urged you to sink your teeth into his hand. He howled, wheeling away, and you twisted from underneath, scrambling to claw into the earth to get away. 

One of the men laughed. “She’s a fighter–!”

He clamped around your ankle, his other hand pressing on your back and wrenching you upright to face him again. Someone else moved to grab your wrists, and you looked up to his ugly sneer as he balled his injured hand, the back of his fist cracking across your face once, twice–stars bursting white in front of your eyes, a pained hiccup with the taste of copper. 

You were dazed, your head spinning to see double until you realized it was the first man who offered to help that now covered your mouth, your split lip burning. He held your wrists in his other hand while the ugly man moved to kneel onto your chest, pinning you to the ground. You looked to see he was holding your knife above you, the glint of steel in the fire’s light as he pulled it from the sheath. 

There was a dark bruise already forming on his marred jaw with a smear of blood across. “You will regret that,” he seethed, stabbing the blade into the dirt by your head, a sinister smile curling when you flinched. He reached to pull at the drawstrings of his slacks. “I’m going to fuck you first, and then he will have his turn,” –red stained his teeth, and his accomplice sniggered above you– “then I am going to fuck your with your little dagger.” 

Fear shattered your mind, your heart seizing in your chest, but you could only choke on your screams. 

The other voice at the entrance called over. “I want my turn to–” 

It died on his tongue as the purple-eyed demon spilled from the shadows, carrying his blade with a grace that left a scarlet stain in his wake. 

The man who was holding your wrists yelped, falling backwards, while you and the ugly man twisted to watch a head roll, a body toppling after. 

The man who was standing panicked, fumbling to unsheathe his broadsword despite his hold earlier. Suguru noticed, moving to meet him with Nanako and slicing him in half, a wet splatter of his innards falling to the dirt. 

You looked up to the man who had you pinned. His face twisted, stunned from the bloody spectacle, and you dug your heels into the ground to buck your hips enough to topple him over. You pulled your knife from the earth and swung wild, cutting through to his skin. He howled as the blood poured. 

Suguru snapped his attention towards you. His eyes were ablaze and his face flushed, crimson staining his cheeks and spilling into the rivulets from the outside rain. “Run,” he was loud, echoing through the cave.

You could not move, but clung to the dagger, enrapt with a sick satisfaction that curled within you as you watched Suguru moving towards your assailant. Another deadly swipe cleaved off his head and it fell from his shoulders, his horror forever frozen on his face. 

Suguru reached for you, his touch commanding as he pulled you to stand behind him. He squared off towards the last man standing, who now trembled with the weight of his sword drawn. Suguru pressed forward, disarming him and pressing the tip of Nanako into the soft divot as the base of his throat, pushing until his back was against the cave wall. 

The sword was an extension of Suguru, intertwined, and the gemstone embedded was glowing in the fire’s light. “Why are you here?” His voice was low, lethal, but with an eerie calm to his question.  

The man held up his hands, his eyes pleading. “T-there is a bounty for Prince Gojo’s betrothed!” He was shaking at the blade’s point, his words stammering, spluttering. “Her head f-for s-some gold!” 

His words shuddered through you, this fate that was decided outside of your control, something you did not even want to begin with. Your fists balled tight at your sides. 

“For what reason?” Suguru pressed even closer, his brow furrowed with his focus. 

A bead of blood trickled and the man winced, tears rolling down his cheeks. “What reason is it always?”

It was plain in his eyes. The bounty was another declaration of Sukuna’s insatiable wont for bloodshed, for war. 

“Did you set fire to my home?” Your throat was dry and you stepped closer to look at the man. 

When he could not hold your gaze, Suguru flicked his wrist, the tip digging a little deeper. “The lady has asked you a question.” 

“The others did it!” He cried out, now unable to wince away for fear of slitting his own throat. “But, w-we killed them because we realized…” he licked his lips, a new panic searing over with what he shared, “...for the bounty, it required physical proof that you were dead.”

Her head for some gold. You felt dumbfounded. There was no justice in knowing why it had happened, only clarity for the cause: it was the greed of Ryomen that continued to haunt your steps leading back to Hoshi. 

Suguru, unsatisfied, sought for the name to be spoken out loud. “Who sent you?”

The man looked back at Suguru, a weary understanding of the finality with the question. A sense of acceptance swept over him and he held still. “We both know… I cannot answer that.” 

Suguru nodded, his movement fluid as he pulled away for a singular swipe across. The man’s head fell back with a dull thud to the cave floor, another crimson spray and show of ivory bones as the body crumpled after. 

The adrenaline petered away with the slowing rain outside, with the sound of your breath and the low crackle of the embers that were still burning. Your senses gathered again, your head sore and your tongue touching your bottom lip, licking away the blood. There was the overwhelming aroma of iron and sweat and death that swirled around, and for a moment, you thought you would be ill. 

He called to you, pulling you back. “Are you hurt?” 

The demon was gone and you saw Suguru with the same careful consideration he always showed you. He wiped his blade on his slacks, wincing when he tried to lift his arm to sheath it. He staggered, his cloak opening to show the red bleeding through his tunic. 

“Suguru!” You dropped the knife and moved toward him, your own pain forgotten. “I will be fine, but you are injured–!” 

Nanako clattered to the floor as Suguru fell against you. Your arms wrapped around him, mindful of the blood stains but struggling to hold him upright. “Please, please,” you whispered, a rekindled fear bubbling to the surface, “I need you to move, to lay down so I can help you. Can you take a few steps for me…?” 

“...for you…” he murmured, almost slurred. He leaned heavily into you, his face nesting into the curve of your neck. 

You focused on your steps, ignoring the tickle of his breath against your skin, and helped him to his knees by the fire pit. You moved to straighten the blanket and the furs, careful to help him lay on his backside. 

Blood was soaked through his tunic and cape, desperation curdling under your skin as your fingers flitted across his chest. He winced with your soft touch and you pulled back, grabbing for your knife, your mind whirring with the possible fatality that could be piercing through as you cut through the fabric. The smooth plains of his chest were decorated with silver scars, stained red, and your eyes flitted over, searching, realizing the blood spilled not his alone. 

Then why… you saw the shallow gash on his side, inflamed, with a residue that framed around. You looked up to his pallid complexion, now beaded with sweat, and his black hair sticking to his skin; you pressed your wrist to his forehead and he burned. 

Your fear vanished, a blistering, darker realization pulling up; you moved back to pick up one of the discarded sheaths to smell the pungent odor of parsnips. Crushed hemlock, shi no ha. 

How long do I…? You were quick to set aside the new hysteria of questions you could not get an answer for, but instead tore through the satchels of the dead: clean clothes and strips of cloth, a flask of whiskey and a skillet and little else.

The torch in the sconce still flickered, and you grabbed it to light your steps as you moved deeper into the cave, following the bubbling sounds of the spring. You emptied the flask to fill half-way again, returning for the pouch of ash to mix. 

You moved back to Suguru, cradling his head into your lap. “You must drink this,” you whispered into his hairline. 

His eyes fluttered open enough and your fingers held the nap of his neck, coaxing the mixture down his throat, the black mix spilling from the corners of his mouth and staining his pale cheeks. Suguru coughed, choking down the rest with a low groan before his head fell back into your lap. 

Please, your prayer remained unfinished and you pressed your lips against his hairline before you laid his head down to rest.  

Time felt fleeting. The pages of your father’s book fluttered open, your hands trembling to gather the slices of turmeric for a slow grind with your pestle and half a mortar. You added drops of water to clump the powdered substance, keeping it from spilling over the broken edges. 

Eucalyptus, lavender or even honey, your brain listed what you did not have before you remembered the crystal vial, adding drops of the rose oil to the mixture.  

As you cleaned the gash, wiping away the residual grime, the kettle boiled on top of the fire. You grabbed a cloth to dip into the water and wrung it out before patting the mixture onto it, pressing it to his side.  

Suguru groaned, more muted with his sleep, and when you finished, your hands moved to push aside his hair. You reached for another cloth, wiping his brow, following the bridge of his nose and cheeks, to the curve of his lips. Your heart seized in your throat, choking on your unshed tears. 

Crying cannot save him. “Please,” your voice was hoarse, a whispered plea close to his skin. “Suguru, I cannot lose you.” 

It spilled so easy from your lips, and you watched him, hoping your words would stir him awake. Instead, his face remained serene and your exhaustion pulled a deep breath from your aching lungs.

Nothing else could be done. All you could do was wait. 

The unknown still lurked in the night outside of the cave, and you remembered Nanako. You staggered to your feet, picking up the sword; she felt so heavy despite how Suguru handled her with ease, your hands so small in the grip that was formed for his large hands. 

You balanced the blade in your palm face up, bringing her close. “I do not wish to steal you away.” You were desperate, whispering into the crossguard while the iridescent glimmer from the pommel cast over from the fire. “I only wish to borrow your strength to protect your handler.” 

You dragged the sword back, the edge following the crease of your hand and your blood staining the edge. It was a stinging sensation that burned through you, and you laid her down before wrapping your hand. You moved back alongside Suguru, pulling Nanako close.

And you tried to sleep. 

+ + + +

Nanako did not hum or vibrate, but your sleep was fitful as every sound pulled you away with a sudden, fervid alert running through your veins. The smell of decay would not allow rest and you rose before the dawn, leaving Suguru to slumber, still pale, listless other than the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

His forehead was still warm to the touch, but his pulse was regular; hope flickered in the corners of your mind as you cleaned and changed his poultice.

The extra scraps of cloth were boiled and hung to dry. You looked over the men slain, your eyes following to see the gray daylight, the air dewy and cold from the rain. You found a scabbard that could carry Nanako, pulling it over your shoulder, and decided to walk the perimeter outside the cave, finding the other two men mentioned: dead, face first in the wet dirt. 

You saw the beginning of a makeshift shelter and Suguru’s fur mantle that was trampled and muddied. This is where they found him, you thought, crouching, looking over the dark blood that painted the earth. Mimiko was nowhere to be found, and from your backside, you felt a low vibration against the length of your spine. 

You could hear Suguru. I can feel her vibrate when danger is near.

On the rocks that sloped upwards, perched, were two pairs of yellow eyes that watched. You struggled to pull out Nanako, standing and raising her above your head. The wolves balked at your size and scurried off. 

They will come back. You looked over the dead men and remembered how Runa shared with you, in detail, the way she removed the bodies of the Ryomen soldiers. 

A fire would not be reasonable. It could draw the wrong attention. Her voice echoed in your head. 

You needed to remain unseen, to allow Suguru the time he needed to heal.

Nanako pulse with your grip, your palm still sore from your blood offering, but she allowed you to cut through to the bone until they were a more manageable size. You then picked up one of the broadswords and broke through the matted dirt, returning to carve through the other dead men in the cave, to retrieve the skillet to shovel. 

Though it took most of the day, it was gratifying to dig deep, dumping the men piece-by-piece and filling the pit with the dismantled limbs that gleamed in the clotted ruby red blood. You buried them all, knowing it was not deep enough to keep whatever carnivores away. With your last bit of strength, you stacked what rocks you could move on top of the mass grave. 

Dusk brought its velvet tones of purple and blue to clash along the burnt horizon. You saw Suguru was still sleeping and you fed another log, kindling the fire to mask the sickly sweet scent that lingered with the bloodstains left behind. 

You looked down at your ruined dress, the chemise torn beneath, streaked with the mess that came with disposing of the dead. You went through the spare clothes, deciding on dark slacks and a cotton shirt, and you grabbed your bar of soap, moving back towards the spring. 

The water was cold but soothing to your bruised wrists, your split lip and tender cheek. You washed yourself raw, until you could no longer feel the lingering touch of unwanted hands clawing at your skin. 

The shirt was large, and you cinched your waist with your belt and the knife. As you rolled the hems of the pants and pulled back, you heard your name echo, faint.

“Suguru?” Your voice was rasped, your legs pulling you back towards the front. 

Relief poured over you as you watched him push himself upright, his black hair mussed and a godly glow from the amber light of the fire. He looked over to you, a smile on his cracked lips and the shadows pulling across his sharp features. “You stayed.” 

You could have cried. “Of course I did.” You said this with absolution, a warmth pooling into your face, but you could not pull away your eyes, though your boldness faltered. “You save me, Suguru. I had to save you.”  

He hummed. There was a subtle change caught in the flickering fire, his eyes falling away to look over the cave. You wished to close the space, to touch him, but instead you pulled out the food that was packed, passing it along with his canteen that you filled with spring water. 

Suguru touched your wrist and it rooted you, his fingers careful to trace the bandage you wrapped around your hand. “What happened?” 

Your heart pulsed against your skin, your smile proud as you showed your hand to him. “I made an offering to keep you safe.” 

You returned Nanako, ablaze under his amethyst eyes that watched you anew as you shared about what happened while he slept. The subtle change shifted into an admiration that glimmered while he watched you move to pull away the poultice, checking to see how his skin knitted together. 

“Thank you,” he said when you finished. You balked. “For everything.” 

Another shirt was found and you remained seated by the fire as Suguru moved to the spring to wash up. The flames danced and your fingertips were still prickling from the warmth of his skin, begging to touch him again. 

You looked to watch him walk back, and you could not stop your offer to brush his hair, but relished in the color that returned to his cheeks. He moved closer to you and you took your time, the black silk spilling between your fingers, holding onto the rose scent that stayed with the ivory. 

When you finished, his fingers caught your wrist again, a teasing smile on his lips. “I now smell like you.” 

You burned as he pulled you closer, moving back towards the fire and its warmth. “Rest now,” he murmured, pulling you to curl against his chest. The furs held onto his heady smell and it called to your heart, now bursting at your seams. “You have done everything for me, but now you need to rest.” 

Fear flickered in your heavy head. “But what if something happens?” 

“Then I will wake you, and we will handle it together.” His arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer to feel the thrum of his heart beating against his chest. You felt his lips touching the top of your head with his whisper, “I promise.”

And you finally slept. 

taglist: @sugurubabe @elliesndg @paprikaquinn @yeehawbrothers @witchbybirth

arcie's navi | jjk masterlist the salver & the sword masterlist

[billskeis]

hiii! i really love your writings and im excited to see the new ones!

i was wondering if you could do a tom kaulitz fluff?

also no rush, i saw the new post so take your time!💜

ᡣ𐭩 shopping w tom

you and tom were out shopping at the mall, stepping into one of the stores, you look around to all the unfamiliar fabrics around you.

everything was so, tight-fitting.

you and tom had been dating for a while, and it has been going so well. you love him so much. however, for the time you have been dating tom, one of your biggest concerns as of now is that not once have you really wore anything feminine around him.

not that he cared.

tom was selfish, and very selfish in the fact that he wouldn’t want anybody else seeing the body you hid under the oversized clothes you wore everyday. in comparison to all the other girls tom has dated, they wore clothes that hugged their body snug, curves out on display 24/7.

not to say that you weren’t confident in your body, you very much were. you just found comfort in wearing clothes that didn’t have to suffocate you, comfort over anything. there were countless times you have been mistaken for a boy wearing clothes as such.

but for tom, he was the only person who could see your perfect body.

he was the only person who could relish in the true beauty you hid under all the layers of bagginess. he also adored how similar your styles were and that matching with each other was so easy, always buying two of the same shirts or sweaters for one another. he loved it a lot.

“what’s the matter?,” tom stands beside you as you hold the small, black body-con in your hands, the straps dangling off your fingers. “i don’t know if i like this, if we’re going out for dinner i want to be able to eat quite a lot. but this dress is soo gorgeous..”

he laughs at you and squishes your cheek between his thumb and index finger, you try to swat away his hand but he’s already dodging you.

“you are quite the eater,” he chuckles as you jokingly elbow the side of his body, smiling. “but whatever makes you most happy and comfortable, i will always love you and what you wear regardless.”

this man has you in a chokehold.

his way of words was so clever, whatever he said and did was always able to make your knees weak, you tilt your head at tom, staring, “i do want to be able to dress up for once..” biting your lip, tom’s eyes widen as he looks at you, the dress, and then quickly looks away. “mm, but baby you know how i feel about men.. they have no shame.”

“they can’t help but gawk their eyes at you even when you’re mine.”

he’s recalling the night were you were both out on a date, coming out the theatre from the movies. it wasn’t even anything dressy you were wearing but instead of a baggy t-shirt like you’d normally wear it was a crop top that showed off your midriff.

let’s just say it didn’t end well for that stranger, tom made it very clear who you were to him.

you pout, you weren’t upset at tom’s possessiveness, if anything it was quite hot. but you wanted to doll yourself up for your man. after all, he really deserves it for being the best boyfriend ever. “aw, but i really wanted to wear this tonight, it IS more for you than it is for me.” you smile innocently at tom who swallows hard, a little speechless at your words because you usually praise how you hate clothes like this.

what’s changed?

he imagines you in the dress, staring at your reflection in the full body-length mirror as you adjust the dress by the spaghetti straps. the dress sits right above your upper thighs, the whole thing showing off your cinched waist and chest. black was also such a sexy color, and it made tom go insane.

you definitely looked good.

as you fix your lip gloss, you bend your body a little closer to the mirror to see better, dress rising up a bit to reveal a bit of your butt.

snapping out of his imagination, tom stands behind you, snaking both his arms around your waist under your shirt, his arms warm. you feel yourself feeling a little hot and panic a bit as you’re in public. trying to escape the grip from him but to not cause a scene in the shop as you almost drop the dress on the floor doing so. he laughs at your attempts to get him off you and kisses your cheek quickly.

you grin at him, what is he doing? tom finally loosens his grip on you as he snatches the dress you were once holding and runs towards the cash, “hey—! what changed your mind?” you ask following behind him as you have a hold on his sweater like a pet-owner trying to control their dog. he stops in his tracks to look at you while the cashier rings up the dress.

tom brings both of his hands to each side of your waist, caressing it a bit while you simply just allow him. his touch is so familiar and comforting you cannot help but not stop him. did the both of you forget that you were in public? “hello? tom? you didn’t answer my question,” crossing your arms as he stops the movement of his hands now just staring at you and smiling brightly.

“wear that dress tonight, i can fight.”

[jayke0]

Cowboys and Angels

Pairing: Jake Lockley x fem reader

Summary: The infamous outlaw, Jake Lockley, decides to spend the night with you.

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: reader is a prostitute, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, minor angst at the end, mentions of other men being assholes, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 3,420

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

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“What's a fine lady like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Yeah, like you haven't heard that before. Despite the way your eye literally twitches at that phrase, you take in a deep breath and turn towards the gravelly voice that beckoned you from the bar… pleasantly surprised with the picture in front of you.

An obvious gunslinger, what with the rifle and multiple rows of ammo hanging loosely over his shoulder, but, he's not as beat up as the others. Sure he's got some scars and wrinkles, jesus, he's got to be in his mid 30s at least, but his facial features are symmetrical, /handsome/ even. His brow is heavy, and it makes his eyelids sit half open, long lashes covering the rest of his brown eyes. The black moustache fits his look perfectly, sitting above a pair of red lips, hell, even the stubble that usually makes your skin crawl looks good on him.

It's like a breath of fresh air for you, and to be honest you're surprised the other girls hadn't pounced on him first.

“Waitin’ for a man like you to come along, mister,” you answer playfully, leaning against the bar so that your hip sticks out. Your dress is long, but it dips perfectly at the chest, and the cinched waist of your corset shows off your beautiful curves.

The gunman notices your pose, making a quick not-so-subtle glance up and down your form before that pretty, lidded gaze lands on your face again.

“Is that so? Well, you're lucky I can be ya prince charmin’ then, ain't ya?” He takes a final swig of his drink, though it seems he'd only just started, since you can barely smell the alcohol on his clothes as you move closer to him. You twist your body and rest your elbows on the bar, sticking your ass out a bit instead.

“Prince charmin’? Now I don't know about that, mister. You ain't the first cowboy to come in here and tell me I'm ‘too good for this place’.”

It's always amusing to you, seeing how much that comment seems to make the others falter, but as his smirk tilts to a soft frown, you almost feel bad for shooting down his shot… and possibly losing yourself a decent client.

“Oh– I'm just jokin’ around, sir,” you place your hands on his jacket, fixing his collar. “Pay no heed to my silly words.”

The grin that cracks across the man's face has your face heating up.

“I know, little lady, I'm just messin’ with ya too.” His eyes scan over you again, dragging his gaze up your body till he meets your eyes, tilting his hat up to look at you properly.

The way he looks at you makes your skin thrum. It's a dark gaze, but one that reads comfort to you, it feels like you could get lost in his eyes for hours, as if you're some vampire's victim being drawn in before being mercilessly devoured.

“Well… you certainly had me there, cowboy.” You giggle a little, mostly to break the tension between you that's coiling in your chest and making the room feel warmer than normal. A strong arm snakes around your waist, and you feel his fingers sprawl across your back, pulling you closer to him and his dangerous gaze.

His words break your thoughts. “I was only askin’ ‘cause I've been ‘round these parts quite a bit, and I ain't ever seen you, pretty.”

“I started a couple weeks ago, actually.”

“Ah…” you watch as his thoughts seem to trail off for a second; is he contemplating what he should say? It's not exactly like he's trying to court you, this is a business after all, and you're more than used to handling the distasteful things that have been thrown at you.

Finally, his words start again. “Guess I had better get ya warmed up then, hadn't I? Though, I doubt you've been strugglin’ for clientele.” He gestures around the dismal saloon at the other men, all in varying states of intoxication. His observation makes you giggle properly this time, but your brain lingers on what he meant by the first part. Despite your uncertainty in his words, you agree to his proposal, feeling his fingers graze the thread of your corset through the dress.

“I think you should, Mr…?”

“Lockley, but ya can call me Jake.” He says as he gets up and fixes his holster, placing a coin on the bar before gesturing towards you. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Why do you feel nervous? He has to literally take your hand before you actually switch into autopilot and lead him upstairs to the reserved rooms. Maybe it's the pressure of pleasing an older man? No, you've done that before. It's a thought that gnaws away at the back of your brain and evidently makes the gunslinger concerned.

“You doin’ ok? I didn't frighten ya, did I?” He sounds apologetic as he closes the door behind you both with a loud creak.

“No... no, I'm sorry! Forgive me, my head's been a little all over the place recently, nothin’ for you to worry about, mister.” You lie and shake your hands wildly, before you start undoing the top buttons of your dress.

He swoops in before you can finish undoing the second one, taking your hands and removing them from the fabric.

“I do things a little differently, if that's alright with you, miss.” You feel his calloused fingers glide over the pulse on your wrists, moving up before intertwining them with yours, “I don't just take, I make it so ya give ya'self to me.” The tone he uses feels smooth on your brain, it seeps into your ears and soothes the worries you'd had beforehand, his deep gaze only adding to that soft feeling in your chest, and the slowly growing need between your legs.

“Alright, Mr Lockley.” Your smile is genuine, one that makes the man break into a smile himself.

“ ‘Atta girl.”

His grip loosens on your hand so he can slide his own down your body and over your sides, until it eventually comes to rest on the small of your back, pushing you further into the heat of his body as he engages you in a kiss.

It's a nice feeling, having a man that actually knows how to kiss, so nice that you feel yourself getting lost in the bitter taste of his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck to get impossibly closer to him. His stubble scratches your chin as you drink in his taste and become intoxicated with just the simple feel of his body. Maybe it's because he's attractive, or maybe it's because he's so gentle with you, but either way you find yourself wanting more of him; more of his lips, more of his hands.

The gunslinger breaks the kiss, making you whine softly under your breath.

“Patience, little lady. I'll give ya exactly whatcha’ want.” You feel his lips curl into a smirk, one that makes you roll your eyes playfully.

“Forgive me, mister Lockley, but usually I'm bent over the bed by now with my drawers at my ankles.” You challenge, looking into his brown eyes as your fingers trace the soft, tattered scarf donning his neck.

“Well excuse me for tryna’ treat ya like a lady–.” He says before swiftly scooping you up and pressing you against the wall. It makes a gasp leave your lips, and your legs automatically wrap around his thick waist. “Next time I won't be so nice.” The way his lips brush yours teasingly makes your pussy clench, his words lingering on your lips like the faint taste of whiskey on his.

Using one arm to keep you suspended against the wall, his other travels up underneath your skirt and over your soft thighs. His fingers tease under the cotton of your drawers that fit snugly around your thighs, dragging his rough fingertips further and further up to draw a soft gasp from you.

“Ya ever had a man touch ya like this? appreciate ya like this?”

You shake your head and instinctively suck in your bottom lip to chew on while you try to close your legs, but he just pries them open again, looking at you with that damn lidded gaze that's making your cunt clench.

“Well, there's a first for everythin’, ain't there?” His breath is hot on your lips and sends ripples of shivers through your body, your breathing shaking just as much as your thighs.

He's just centimeters away from your pussy lips before he recognises the feel of his own jeans against his hands, so he does the only reasonable thing and lifts your skirt completely, astounded by the sight.

“My my…” He huffs with a chuckle, sounding surprised. There is your cunt, on full show through a hole in your drawers, one that'd been purposely crafted for your exact line of work. Your slick glistens in the dim light, and Jake can't help but run his fingers through your already wet folds, drawing a soft moan from your pretty lips.

“In all my years, I ain't ever seen that. You've certainly made my night, darlin’.” He purrs to you, voice as smooth as silk. “You ever talk?” He asks, that mild concern returning from earlier.

“They usually don't like it when I talk.”

“Yeah? Well I do,” he leans forward and nips your neck underneath your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth briefly. “I like hearin’ the noises ya make for me.”

Shit, that makes you actually moan, pressing down on where his fingers still linger atop your lips. They slide perfectly between given your arousal, and you grind your clit down in his fingers with a sigh. “Please, Jake, stop teasin’... I ain't ever wanted to be taken so badly in all my goddamn life.”

“But the teasin’ is the fun part.”

You can now feel the outline of his cock pressing against your thigh through his washed out jeans, and fuck does it feel big. You want him to pull it out right now just so you can look at it, but your thoughts are halted when you feel his fingers press against your needy hole. He circles it, matching the movements with his thumb on your clit. It feels way too good, especially when both of his thick digits slide inside you and stretch you open. Your jaw drops at the sensation as he starts fingering your cunt, massaging that sweet spot inside you that has you gripping his shoulders.

“No, Jake don't– dammit, don't do this to me–.”

“You can take it, there's a good girl.”

His praise only has your head swooning more and your chest pressing tightly towards his as you rock your hips towards his thumb. Each time he catches your clit it sends a wave of pleasure through your body to your toes, making you whine needily against his ear.

“Such pretty noises you've got, ain't ya? I wanna hear ‘em all night.”

Your orgasm crests quicker than you can tell him, and you teeter on that edge for what feels like eternity until finally you feel his thumb circle your clit one last time, and you come crashing down on his fingers, moaning out his name loud enough for the next room to hear. You rest your forehead on the man's shoulder, amazed by how easily his fingers drove one of the best orgasms of your life out of you.

“Wanna see ya do that again, darlin’, please lemme see ya make that face again?” Jake asks, his own words now breathier than before as he already starts working his belt and jeans open.

You give a shaky nod and pull your head from his shoulder. You try to ignore the ache already settling in your muscles from pressing yourself against the wall, too focused on the rugged man in front of you and the instrument that is ultimately going to split you in half. He goes to slide under your skirt instantly, but you tap his shoulder. “Oh, ya wanna see it first huh?” He grins proudly and lifts your dress enough to reveal his throbbing cock.

Fuck it's thick, and the way it's throbbing makes your mouth salivate, the tip already glistening with precum that he spreads over himself with his free hand.

“I dunno if I can take it, sir.”

“You can take it, don't ya worry that pretty little head about it. Just feel it, ok?”

You nod in response; it's funny really, you have no reason to trust this man, but after he's given you a great orgasm, it only makes sense that he knows more about the female anatomy than any other cowboy.

The fat tip runs up and down through your soaking folds, getting nice and lubed up before he starts to press against your hole. Your brows knit together in concentration as his tip slides in with a satisfying ‘pop’, a soft grunt leaving Jake's lips.

“That's good, girl, just stay niiiice and relaxed,” he groans. He rests one hand on the wall beside your head as his body inches closer to you and his cock sinks deeper inside your cunt, stretching it deliciously to an almost aching point. Finally, he bottoms out, and you can't help the way your walls flutter with how full he makes you feel.

“Ya ever had a cock this big, miss?”

You shake your head quickly with a whimper and your eyes screwed shut, but he grabs your chin and makes you look deep into the fiery pits of his own stare, “I asked ya a question, little lady.”

His voice is still soft, but there's a slightly threatening tone underneath, one that makes your cunt clench. “No mister, I ain't.”

“Mhm, good, means I get to carve my shape into ya then.”

The wail you let out is a result of both his words, and the way he pulls back just to snap his hips back into you again. It feels like it blinds you for a second, the feeling getting stronger as he begins a deep pace.

“Christ almighty–.” You feel like you're going to tear his shirt with the way your nails are dragging against the dark fabric already. Shotgun shells and trinkets rattle with each of his harsh thrusts, all mixing together with the beautiful sounds of both your moans and the slapping of sweaty skin.

“Godammit girl, I ain't ever had a cunt this tight before.” Jake's words are mostly grunts at this point, emphasised with thrusts that only seem to get harder and faster.

You can feel your back scraping against the wooden walls, but all you care about right now is the cock of the dirty old cowboy that's filling and fucking your cunt better than you could've ever imagined. It sends waves through your body each time his tip butts that soft spot inside you that has your pussy drooling over his length.

The people next door are sure to hear you, hell, the whole saloon can probably hear you, what with the floorboards creaking under Jake's boots and your hips slamming against the wall… not to mention your noises. Shit, you're sure your voice is going to hurt tomorrow, your thoughts only solidifying when you feel his calloused thumb return to your neglected clit.

“That's a good girl, keep makin’ those noises, show everyone how good Mr Jake Lockley makes you feel.” He's speaking through gritted teeth, eyes boring into your expression as you tilt your head back and wail again.

“Bet you'd love to have this cowboy take ya cunt every night, wouldn't ya?”

God, the white hot pleasure is coursing through your veins, making your muscles tighten and your thighs clamp shut around his waist. Your mouth and throat feel dry from all your moaning and gasping. You're on the edge again, cunt clenching around his cock in a vice grip, you just need that final push.

“Yeah, squeeze my cock like that, shit, girl. Ya gonna cum? Cum all over my fat cock, pretty.”

You feel like you're falling when it finally hits you, your body is swept with wave after wave of hot pleasure that makes you spasm and throw your head back against the hard wood… or at least what would be hard wood, if Jake hadn't put his hand there to save your precious head.

You feel like you're going to melt into him as he continues to fuck your needy cunt. He wraps both arms around you this time and drags you a little further down the wall so your pussy is at the perfect angle for him. It only takes him a few more thrusts like that before he coming undone with a loud, deep moan, hips stuttering as he fucks his spend into you.

The cowboy keeps you cradled in his arms like that for a bit, chest heaving like yours as you both slowly come down. You're the first to open your eyes, and you're glad you do, because the sight is gorgeous. His black curls are sticking to his forehead, nostrils flaring with each breath out as his eyes flutter a little. It's then that you realise his hat must've been thrown off in the process, either on purpose or by accident.

Finally, the man opens his eyes too and meets your gaze. It's soft and deep, one that makes your heart flutter and a smile tug your lips, despite your efforts to hide it. He carefully lifts you off of his softening cock and places you on the ground, holding you up until your legs stop shaking.

“Ya good?”

“Wonderful, actually.”

His smile spreads across his face as he reaches down to pick his jeans back up, his belt clicking while he does it up.

“How much ya want?”

Those words suddenly hit you like a bucket of cold water. For half an hour, you got to pretend like everything was good in the world, but his words simply bring you crashing back down to reality.

Jake's too busy sifting through his notes to notice the look on your face, the look of disappointment and distaste.

“I don't need money. I need to see you again.”

That instantly makes the outlaw freeze up, as if he's run into this scenario before.

“Oh, darlin’.” A frown now dons his perfect lips. He reaches forward and rests his hands on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your neck. “Ya know I can't do that. I'm sure you've seen my face before, if not ‘round here, then on wanted posters.” The sound of paper crinkling gives you a reason to avert his gaze. “Take this, ok? It's the least I can do for givin’ me a great night.”

You feel his lips graze yours then, the feeling making your breath hitch as loneliness sinks into your gut and stales your bones.

“Maybe I'll see ya around again, sweetheart.” He picks up his hat and dusts it off, placing it atop his curls before he tips it to you.

“G'night, miss.”

He's gone before you can even fathom a response. You're left in the silence of that creaky old room, wind whistling in through the cracked window and making your whole body suddenly feel cold. You feel numb as you sit on the bed and examine the money he'd given you, mindlessly folding and unfolding the notes as you imagine him already setting off on his horse, never to be seen again.

It's only then that you notice a scrap of paper mixed up in the notes. Your fingers trace the outline of it as you unfold it, and you realise it's an advert for a gunsmith, the same one that was scrawled in small lettering over his holster and ammo sash: his favourite gunsmith. Had he done it on purpose? Slipped in a golden ticket to your next meeting point? He certainly was shuffling around with those notes for a while.

It makes you want to jump for joy, a small glimmer of hope shining through the overcast clouds that'd been plaguing you since you can remember, your knight in shining armour; or at least… knight in washed out denim. You tuck it into the waistband of your drawers with a soft but excited sigh, before going to clean yourself up and head home, with something for you to finally look forward to.

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Tagging people 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @strangerhands @admiralackbarssugarbaby