#it was supposed to be a light read before bed

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

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It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

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thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[tashibum]

To Own, But Not To Share

Emperor Geta is buying a new sex slave. The auctioneer has a try before you buy scheme.

Emperor Geta x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, dubcon, sex slaves, slavery, buying people, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie. 4.6k words. Read on AO3

(I only saw Gladiator 2 because of Pedro Pascal, but then became obsessed with Emperor Geta as soon as I saw him. Only had horny thought since then 😂)

Watching the women before you be paraded out one by one terrified you. The auctioneer was as disgusting as the men in the crowd bidding. Through the bars of the cage you could see at least 100 men all there to see what sorts of slaves they could buy. Technically, your owners could use you for whatever they wanted, whether it be household chores or physical labour. But the auctioneer saw the crowd around him, and knew how to sell the women for the best profit. 

The first woman was brought out and stood still where she was placed. She was guided to turn around to show her body, then the auctioneer lifted up her threadbare toga to display her bare ass to the men. 

Her ass received a hard spank. “Not much jiggle, but you could fatten her up to your liking,” he explained. 

He then went down to kneel behind her. He pushed down on her back, encouraging her to arch it. With both his hands, he spread her cheeks apart. When he had savoured the view, he spat onto her hole. You saw the woman shiver at the sensation.

“Well would you look at that. A perfect puckered hole ready to be used,” the auctioneer teased. 

It was disgusting, but it was your life now. Your new owner would use you however he saw fit. 

The next girl was brought out. She was roughly pushed down onto her knees to kneel before the men. 

“Look at those lips,” he mused. The auctioneer pulled up his toga and presented his semi-hard cock. He handled his dick and bounced it against the poor woman’s lips, before forcing it inside.

You tried to look past the assault that was happening and into the crowd. Everyone moved forward to see the spectacle shown. The sunlight reflected on something and sent a beam of blinding light your way. Moving away from it, you squinted to try to find the source, and that was where you found the Emperor in his headdress. He was surrounded by men in armour, you supposed they were his guards. 

You knew you were going to be out next. And now you knew Emperor Geta would see you be defiled. The shame and embarrassment of someone of such aristocracy witnessing it, it made you want to curl up into a ball. But then the thought occurred that it might be a good thing. Out of all the men there to buy a slave, the Emperor would surely provide you with the best life. You would be fed and washed. You might even get a bed to sleep in. 

You pondered this as the highest bidder of the woman on the floor was now getting his dick sucked. 

“Would you like to continue with the purchase?” The auctioneer asked.

“Ah, yes,” the buyer replied, his hands grabbing his new slave’s greasy hair to force his cock further inside her mouth. 

You were next. Two men grabbed you by your arms to roughly guide you out of the cage towards the centre of the clearing. They were instructed to lift up your arms and remove your clothing.

The auctioneer stalked his way around your naked body slowly, checking you out. Your eyes searched for Emperor Geta’s, but not in the seductive way you imagined. Instead, you wanted someone to help you. The reality hit you hard that you were probably about to be raped, and would be for the rest of your life. 

“On all fours.” You were instructed, and slowly made your way down to rest your hands and knees on the cobbled brickwork. From this angle, the men could see your body from the side. Your breasts hanging, your bottom curved. 

The auctioneer went behind you and you heard him getting on his knees too, moving his tunic. Your eyes found Geta’s, and they stayed there as you were entered. You were not aroused, your sex had not produced anything to ease the intrusion. The pain from the friction made you drop your head. Your eyes now focused on your hands in front of you as you tried to ground yourself. 

“As you can see, she can handle a large cock,” the auctioneer boasted. 

Geta scoffed. He thought it was pathetic if the middle aged man truly thought he was well endowed. He knew he was bigger. 

“May I have a turn?” Geta asked, walking through the crowd towards you. The security team followed, but Geta made them stay with the crowd. 

The attack on you finally ended, and the man quickly withdrew himself from you. You winced at the sudden sharp friction. 

“Why, of-of course Emperor. It would be my pleasure,” the auctioneer stuttered and stood to the side.

“The pleasure will be mine,” he retorted and went to his knees. 

The most powerful man in Rome was directly behind your naked body, and you were extremely self-conscious about what he saw. The Emperors probably had maidens to keep their whores beautiful. They would be bathed, shaved and plucked to the leaders’ likings. 

You had not washed in weeks. 

The Emperor hiked up his long white tunic, now getting filth from the ground all over it, and stroked his cock to get fully erect. He then spat down onto it, stroked it to cover it all. You then heard him spit again. This time he spat into his hand and rubbed it over your entrance. He did not give you much, believing that you would be turned on by being with an Emperor. 

He collected your hair in his hand and yanked it. “Look at me,” he demanded. You knew better than to defy his orders. 

He guided his cock to you with his free hand, and stared deep into your eyes as he pushed the tip inside. He was bigger than the previous intrusion, and you were still dry inside. Your mouth opened and your head turned to face ahead again.

“Look at me!” He fumed. When he had you locked in eye contact again, he pushed the rest of his length inside you.

“Gods,” you quietly exclaimed. 

Geta smirked. This wasn’t just him having sex with a slave. He was showing off his power to everyone in the audience. Reinforcing the image of a powerful leader to his subjects. 

His hands moved to your hips to help him thrust inside you at a steady pace. You bit your lip and nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment that you were fine with this, not that he would have cared if you didn’t. Once your body had grown accustomed to his girth, you could feel pleasure start to grow. The intense eye contact you shared made you throb. 

“Tight, isn’t she?” The auctioneer encouraged, reminding you that despite only seeing Geta, you were not alone. The Emperor shot him a stare, displeased with the interruption. 

He soon returned his eyes back to you. He looked gorgeous this close up. You got to see the makeup surrounding his needy eyes. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. You wanted him to rub his nose against your shoulders as he caressed you. 

You let out a moan and quickly brought a hand to your mouth to stifle it. 

“Let them hear you. Show them what their Emperor is capable of,” he boasted. For your own dignity, or what dignity you had left, you would try to stay quiet until he was finished. 

Selfishly, you wanted to touch him. From this position of him taking you from behind, your hands had to remain on the ground to keep you steady. 

“Lay down,” you quietly requested. You didn’t want everyone to hear you, especially when things could go badly. No one tells Emperors Geta or Caracalla what to do. He could have you killed for speaking to him. You had heard rumours of them killing people for lesser crimes.

His thrusts slowed to a standstill. For a moment you expected to be hit, but he smiled mischievously. You were making him appear desired and lusted over. 

He laid down with his feet nearest the audience, this way you would block him from view as you rode him. You moved the front of his long tunic to his waist as you hovered on top of him. Your body had now coated you with juices, letting him slip inside so easily. Not knowing if he wanted a slave to touch him, you kept your hands on your thighs, helping you bounce on top of him. 

“Lay back and let her do all the work. A smart move, Emperor,” the auctioneer praised. You could make him a lot of money if you pleased the Emperor, he could pay much more than the rest of the men there to buy. 

Emperor Geta shook his head against the bricks. This wasn’t about letting you do the hard work, this was about pleasure. He could tell you were getting off, and believed beautiful creatures such as yourself deserved orgasms. 

He began to thrust his hips up into you shallowly, only slightly, to help you on your way. 

You wanted to moan and beg him to fuck you harder, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had to remind yourself that no matter the pleasure he gave you, you were just another slave to him. 

Your hand grabbed your breast, needing more stimulation. Like he could read your mind, his hands slowly touched your thighs, then moved upwards to caress your hips, stomach and ribs before moving your hand away and holding your breasts. He squeezed them before moving to your nipples to hold them between his thumbs and pointer fingers. You expected him to pinch them hard, but he softly tugged on them, causing you no pain whatsoever. 

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his clothed torso. If you were alone with him, you would shimmy your shoulders, resulting in your breasts swaying side to side for him, but you could still see the auctioneer in your peripheral vision. 

“How much for her?” Geta asked, his eyes not leaving you, enjoying the feel of your breasts and welcoming cunt. 

“4000 sesterces,” the auctioneer offered. It was higher than the usual price of a slave, but he knew the Emperor could afford it. 

“She is worth more than that,” Geta complained. 

He was talking about buying you, you shouldn’t have taken it as a compliment, but you did. The Emperor liked you. You kept repeating it in your head. 

He likes me. He likes me. He likes me. 

It made you ride him harder. You grinded back and forth on his cock, desperate for one of you to cum. You wanted him to buy you, to take you back to the palace and keep you. His cock was angled perfectly inside you, as though Venus herself sculpted you both to fit perfectly together.

His hands left your breasts to caress your hips and waist. The metal of his rings scratched your skin as he moved them, but you didn’t care as long as his fingers touched you. The gesture could almost be seen as romantic under different circumstances. 

In the past, you had made yourself peak when rubbing yourself, but you were about to climax with neither you or him touching your nub. When being penetrated before, you derived no pleasure from it. But something about his cock was different. It was like he found parts of you no one ever had before. It made you want to chase the feeling. 

You rode him even harder, desperate for that elusive end. You felt it nearing and did not stop until it hit you. 

And it hit you hard. 

You had not climaxed in a long while, so maybe that was why it was so intense. Or maybe it was the Emperor’s glorious length. Your movements slowed to small grinds as your body convulsed on top of him. Your physical reaction on the outside matching what was happening inside. Your walls clenched around him. Tight, hot and wet. That, matched with seeing your body shake caused the Emperor to reach his peak too. 

You saw his face tensed in pleasure. You felt his load shoot inside you. None of the other plebeians could claim that. 

You moved off him to sit between his legs. His cock still throbbed against his belly until you saw it turn flaccid. If he was alone with you, he would order you to clean him up with your tongue, but he would wait until he had you all to himself for that. 

You pulled your knees to your chest to try to cover yourself now that the act was over. Between your legs, Geta could see his spend leaking out of you and onto the brick below. 

He turned his head to the auctioneer, “25,000 sesterces,” he offered. The Emperor would pay more if his offer was rejected. He’d pay anything to have you with him.

The man approached him and shook his hand, “We have a deal, my lord.” He had just made his entire projected profit from the whole batch of women he had from you. 

Geta stood up and made himself look presentable again. “Have her taken back. Make the maidens wash and feed her,” he directed. 

You were taken and placed in a carriage. They did not pick up your tatty toga, so you journeyed to the palace naked, the Emperor’s seed drying on your inner thighs. 

You did not see him again when you entered the palace. You were in the slaves quarters, a large room filled with beds and dressing tables. You were given a simple toga upon entry, but told more lavish clothing awaited you. It was the first time being a slave you were given decent clothes. You were given soup and bread and ate it with the maids as none of the other women approached you. You assumed they were fellow sex slaves too. But you were puzzled as to why they would not introduce themselves to you. Surely they knew what you went through?

“Why are they all staring?” You asked.

“You are fresh meat. One more person to fight over the Emperors’ affections with.”

These other slaves saw you as competition. It made you wonder how nicely the Emperors treated their whores if they all wanted to be most favoured by them.

The next day you had two maidens bathe you in warm, soapy water. One of them focused on cleaning your hair and body, the other shaved and plucked hair from all over your body. It hurt, and you were terrified of the blade cutting you in your most intimate area, but this was how the Emperors wanted you. You had been told that you would join them today for your first day of work.

No matter how fancy and luxurious things were, this was your work. Your body had to look perfect as it was the only thing keeping you in the royal palace.

You quietly entered a grand hall filled with people. Over the other side you saw a large couch with the Emperors sat on it, surrounded by the slaves who wouldn’t give you the time of day. You found a chair by the door and sat down, thinking it would be for the best if they were not to see you. You didn’t want to cause tension, you would gladly let the other men and women shower them with touches if it meant it made your life easier. They might put on a show of acceptance in front of the Emperors, but in your quarters you feared segregation.

You kept looking up to see if anyone had spotted you, and in doing so, caught Geta’s gaze. You cursed yourself for not being more careful when stealing gazes their way. Geta pushed off the woman draped over him and gestured for you to come over.

“Come,” his voice bellowed out in the room. The woman who he pushed away did not seem happy, it made you nervous to make your way over there.

You wore a colourful dress made out of expensive fabric. Your hair had been combed and small braids had been added, tiny flowers placed precariously within the hairs.

He moved over slightly and patted a space between himself and the armrest for you to sit in. It was not a large space, you found yourself trying to shrink yourself to fit, bringing in your shoulders and crossing your legs tightly.

“There is no need for that,” Geta turned and said to you.

You realised that he wanted you to have to lean on him, practically sit on him. So you took on the role he wanted, you positioned yourself so your back rested on him, placed your head on his chest. His left hand held his wine, his right hand smoothed down your arm to your hand where his fingers traced patterns in your palm.

“So this is what you bought,” his brother noted from beside him. “25,000 sesterces is extortionate. You should have the auctioneer executed.”

“We are not short on money,” Geta argued back.

“She must be worth it,” Caracalla bickered.

“Worth every coin,” affirmed Geta.

He began to trace your neck with his nose, then his lips. His hot breath against your skin gave you goosebumps. It wasn’t long before he was placing wet kisses up and down the side of your neck. It was so sweet it made you forget your relationship with him was slave and master. You expected roughness and abuse from your owner, not kindness.

His kisses aroused you. You started to rub your thighs together for pleasure, wishing his hand would move from yours to beneath your dress.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered for his ears only.

He took a firm hold on your chin and brought you forward towards him, his lips claiming yours. If he did this with all the women, you could see why they fought over his affections. He made you feel wanted and adored.

He tasted like the fruit wine he had been drinking, amplified when his tongue went to yours. With your eyes shut, you couldn’t see the looks of contempt coming from the other concubines, like you were advancing on their territory.

You pulled your lips away from his and held his face in your hands, stroking his jawline with your thumbs. “Please, I want you.”

You naively thought he would take you somewhere alone, so were taken back when he put his wine on the floor by is feet and pulled you on top of him, making you sit with your back pressed against his chest. You would have sex with him in front of all these people, you tried to calm yourself with the thought that they do this all the time and no one cares. Or at least, no one had the bravery to share their concerns with the Emperors for fear of death. He pulled your dress up at the back for access, but left the front of your dress to cover yourselves. He pulled up his knee-length toga and slapped his cock against your wet sex. He did not need any time to prepare; kissing you had made him erect.

He did not give you any time to prepare either, good thing you didn’t need it. His cock slid through your folds, nudging your clit, before finding its home inside you.

You let out a quiet gasp, not wanting to make a scene.

“There is no need to refrain. Everyone here knows what we’re doing,” he comforted, speaking into your ear. “Show them you were worth the money.”

You moved your legs to kneel on the couch, making it easier to bounce on him. To anyone who looked over it was obvious you were riding his dick. Maybe that was what the Emperors liked. They got off on others’ humiliation.

Unlike when you rode him before, this time his hand went under your dress to where your bodies met. He felt your entrance stretch around him, then moved north to your clit. With your wetness, he began to rub. Lightly at first, but then with pressure in little circles. You wondered which whore taught him that.

“Emperor, I-“

“Yes,” he cut you off. “Explode on me. Feel rich with the pleasure I give you.”

When your orgasm hit, you shuddered and his cock slipped out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. His hand didn’t stop rubbing. Even when you closed your legs to take his hand away from the over-sensitive nub, he forced his hand back there to keep going.

With his hand coated in your slick, he gripped his cock and started to stroke himself. He must have already been near as he only had to work on himself for 20 seconds or so before he shot his load over his hand and the neat patch of hair on your mound. He brought his hand to your mouth, and you gladly cleaned it for him. Taking each finger into your mouth one by one, sucking them clean. If you really thought about it, him feeding you cum out of his hand should disgust you, but you would take any piece of him he offered you.

You turned and saw Caracalla smiling at you, impressed with the display.

“I want my go,” he expressed.

Geta looked at him silently. He knew exactly what his brother wanted, but did not want to grant it.

“What’s with the face brother? We share everything: Rome, the palace, power. You bought her with our money. We both own her. I want my turn!” he demanded.

Geta knew he had no real claim on you. He had nothing to argue back with, so begrudgingly had to let you go to him.

You didn’t want to though. You turned around on his lap to face him, your eyes pleading him to help you. He could see your hesitation and silently enjoyed it. He shared everything, he just wanted you for himself.

“It’s okay. Go,” he tried to comfort, but it did not give you any confidence.

You walked over to him on shaky legs before he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap. His hands went under your dress all the way to your breasts to squeeze them. Unlike his brother, he was harsh. He pinched your nipples then used them to shake your breasts. He leaned up to reach your neck with his mouth, but instead of his brother’s gentle kisses, Caracalla scraped his teeth on your skin, biting down now and then.

You turned towards Geta, but he didn’t see you. His gaze was set forwards, breathing heavily with his hand gripping his chalice so hard his fingertips turned white. He could not help you, so you surrendered yourself to Caracalla’s wants.

His hands went into your dress and two fingers quickly made their way inside you. After a minute of pumping fingers, he withdrew his hand to inspect it.

“All that cream for me,” he noted.

You wanted to slap him and tell him that your arousal was not for him. It was his brother that created that inside you. He was merely feeling his brother’s leftovers.

You looked over at Geta, but his eyes were still locked forwards, as though he was trying his hardest to avoid what was happening next to him.

You were pushed down, his cock spearing into you, and you knew you had no choice but to fuck him. You started to slowly move, and when Caracalla was unsatisfied with your performance, he grounded his feet and began to thrust up into you.

You held onto the back of the couch for support and looked at Geta again. This time, he looked back at you with sorry eyes.

You hoped Caracalla would reach his peak quickly to end your torture, but he seemed to have good stamina.

“He needs you to cum,” Geta stated, looking away from you again.

That would be an impossible feat. Why did Caracalla care about your pleasure? Why didn’t he just use your hole for his satisfaction like every other slave owner would?

Caracalla smiled at you; it made you feel sick.

“You came for him, but you struggle with me! Am I not worthy?” He roared.

“Of course you are worthy, my Emperor,” you placated.

You could try to fake your peak, but what if he knew? Would he kill you for it?

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he fucked you, giving Geta the chance to take ahold of your hand. He moved it to his mouth and gently kissed it. It was a kind gesture, but not helpful in your current predicament.

He placed your hand in one of his palms, and used his other hand to tap your palm. He did this, then looked at you, then looked at your crotch. At first you had no idea what he was insinuating. Then it clicked.

The motions he was doing on your hand. He wanted you to do it to your clit.

You unsteadily let go of the couch and led your other hand under your dress. Geta held your arm to keep you from slumping on his brother. He simply wanted you to tap for now. His tapping got faster, so yours did too. The tapping on your hand changed to slow circles. As two of your fingers circled your pearl, you were sure you were getting wetter because of it. Caracalla would think it was his doing, unaware of his brother’s silent communication with you.

Geta began to circle your palm so aggressively, you thought his fingernail would burrow into your skin. You rubbed your clit desperate to orgasm, and when it started, you let out a loud gasp to make sure Caracalla knew what was happening. Geta let go of your arm and your body fell forwards onto his brothers, further making him believe he had given you an intense climax.

Not giving yourself anytime to enjoy what Geta had given you, you got off him and went down onto your knees between his legs. You did not want him to shoot his seed inside you, he didn’t seem like the kind that would pull out and the thought of it made you wince.

You started to jerk his cock at a furious pace, desperate for this ordeal to be finally over. When he came, you directed his cock towards his belly, not to get any on you.

When he had finished, Geta took your arm and tugged you back to him, making you sit where you previously had been, between him and the armrest.

“Brother,” Caracalla started, “That was amazing. I thought she was going to stroke my cock clean off.”

Geta gave his brother a villainous smile as he normally would, but didn’t share his brother’s joy. He wrapped his arm over your shoulders, stroking your upper arm.

“Would you like some wine?” He asked, thinking it might relax you after what you had to do. You shook your head.

“Tea?” He offered. You were aware that if you kept declining him, it could be seen as rude, so you nodded and repeated tea to him. Tea would be easier to stomach than alcohol right now.

Geta raised his left hand and clicked twice to get the attention of a servant.

“Tea for the lady,” he requested, and a servant hurried off.

When they returned you sipped your tea and lamented on what your life had come to. Desiring one owner, and being repulsed by the other.

[ughdontbeboring]

Sweet boy

Feyd Rautha x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone)

Yours and Feyds son has a moment and you can’t help your reaction.

warnings none but fluff honestly lol

note: so this was NOT what I was supposed to be working on but I came across it in my notes and just couldn’t stop my fingers 😅 but this is inspired by one of my favorite Feyd arts of him as a child. I’m so upset I can’t find it or the artist. It’s like different drawings of him or his face as a child and he gives the meanest side eye lol so if yall know what im talking about please send it my way so i can tag the artist so others can see it.

If yall like it, love it or fucks with it please share and comment! I love talking to y’all about our mans.

I give no permission for my work to be used anywhere.

it’s fluff and short babe but it’s Feyd so you know 😭 @peggyao3 also again not what I’m supposed to be working on 🥲🥲🥲

x

x

⚔️

The day had been long and tedious but you would not trade it for anything when it dwindles down to become this kind of evening. One which you were lucky to say you had often when your husband wasn’t away for diplomatic purposes. Even then you usually all stayed together more often than not. 

The large tinted floor to ceiling windows on the right side of the dinning room allowing for a view of the planets setting white sun to shine its last bit of light on your blessed life. The tint allowed the room to stay bathed in all its natural colors. Your skins hue still vibrant against the elegant black dress that you had chosen for the day. 

You couldn’t wait to get back to your shared bedchambers and slip into nothing but your silk bed sheets and your husbands arms.

Your eyes drift back to the table you’re seated at with the two loves of your life. Years ago no one could have convinced you THIS would be your life and you’d be the HAPPIEST you’d ever been or could be. None of the of wise women of your home planet could have foretold this. Not even your own visions nor dreams could have conjured enough to convince you this was the life you wouldn’t only lead but love with every once of your being. 

But when you take in your husbands jewel blue eyes that are already watching and only soft for you, you smile happily before your eyes slowly land on the beautiful boy sitting before you and to Feyd’s right from the head of the table.  

And just as your heart swells with more love than either you and Feyd ever thought possible, a loud laugh erupts from deep within your chest. 

You slap a jeweled hand over your mouth to try and contain your laughing from the startled identical faces before you. 

You’re in a fit of giggles as you feel both your husband and son’s look of confusion and it only makes you laugh harder.

You miss your husband’s face of pure awe at the sight before him even if he is confused he can’t help but be in awe of the women he somehow convinced to love him as deeply as you do, full of joy.

You wipe at the tears that have started to spill as you catch Feyd soft questioning eyes.

“I-I’m sorry but he looked just like you with his little evil side eye” you reveal in between laughs. 

Feyd looks on proudly at your son who’s looking between the both of you with his face scrunched up not fully understanding or liking the attention and laughs at his expense. 

Your son had just gave the most evil side eye to the servant who put the extra vegetables on his plate at your request. And all you could see was Feyd. They looked almost identical already and in that moment it was your husband who was a 5 year old boy not wanting to eat the food before him. 

And for all the reasons in the world it made your heart happy. 

“Looking just like your father” you say again as you control your laughing. You can feel the pride rolling of off both of them. “A grumpy baby”. 

“What?!” Your husband yells in disbelief, the fork and meat hanging mid air the same time your son yells his own defense.

“Mother I AM NOT A BABY!” His little voice rages before you with no true anger. 

“Don’t raise your voice at your mother” Feyd scolds quickly.

Your all smiles though. This was all you ever needed. 

“Yes you are, you are my baby always” You tell him as you take in his little face, the beautiful child you both created. The best of both of you. 

He huffs and crosses his little arms across his chest. The angry face he’s trying to pull off is completely identical to his father’s. You could draw it in your sleep the amount of times you’ve seen it over the years.

“Come here” you call to him softly as you push your chair back slightly. 

“No” he says trying to stand his ground that he is not a baby.

“Do not tell your mother no” Feyd scolds again watching the two of you go back and forth with eyes full of love.  if your husband continues on this path and your sure he will, none of your children will ever tell you no or misbehave with you. Feyd has spoiled you almost rotten, your son has received the same attention from his father. The amount of times he’s done wrong and Feyd has come to his defense, you too but you always stress the he can’t be quick to anger.

He had nothing of yours physically expect for you spiced blue eyes, which you weren’t sure how long they last so blue without a constant exposure to spiced air. You were born to parents who were born to parents and so on and so on for as long as you could say who had been born to and live with spice exposure. It was literally apart of your blood. So it made you happy that was the one thing that couldn’t escape your son who spent most of his time on Giedi Prime. So it made you sad to think about the fact that he could loose it one day but you tried to make frequent enough trips to your home planet to help him keep his Fremen feature and traits. 

Feyd allowed him to be born on Arrakis much to a lot of displeasure from some of Giedi Prime. You just couldn’t see giving birth here and raising a child here almost full time, you needed your people, your culture to be apart of his life. Plus you both knew it was the only way for your son to be accepted, he needed to embrace both half’s of who he was if he was going to make a great change one day. Greater change than even you and Feyds union.

It was worth noting all of the people who were displeased with your birthing choice weren’t around anymore to speak on it. 

His personality? It was 60/40 usually, him always leaning towards his father’s ways of behavior especially right now. Right now he was 100% his father’s child. 

“Come here my sweet boy” you call again. 

“Mother I am not a sweet boy! I’m brave and scary�� He says as he makes his way around the back of Feyd towards you, very slowly. The posture straight in his small body. 

You pull him in quickly once he is in arms reach. Your hands hold his little precious face gently as you plant kisses all over. You can feel his posture slowly start to loosen.

“Yes you are, you may not be sweet to others that is yet to be seen but you will always be sweet to your mother yes?” You ask softly as you stare into his deep eyes that mirror yours. 

You hear a small but confident “Yes, always Mother” as all the fight leaves him and he snuggles into your body embracing you back fully. His little arms reaching around your neck and squeezing tightly. Your eyes tear a little and you know it’s just your hormones. You have a couple weeks before your due it’s still been an emotional roller coaster everyday. 

You’re so wrapped up in your little boy in your arms you don’t notice your husband. Feyd is over the moon seeing his child get the love he never received. Seeing his wife who he adores more than anything loving their child, his child, a child that looks and acts just like him regardless of what he may have done wrong that day. Your love for him was unconditional. 

He loves to see you showering him with love and care even on his bad days when he’s throwing a tantrum. 

This was everything Feyd never knew he wanted and needed. 

He’d burn everything down to protect this, their little growing family. 

⚔️

[hannamoon143]

Don‘t drown in your own mind

bang chan x Writer! Fem reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: anxiety, description of anxiety/panic attack, crying, self doubt, insecurities, mention of depression, mentions of slight bad eating habits, slight cursing

Masterlist

You were laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling. It was like this for days now. Or maybe weeks? Time felt so irrelevant. Everday you were going to work, coming home, laying down, then you stared blankly at your wall for a few hours until you fell asleep. This, these days were horrible. You couldn‘t name the feeling, but a lonelines mixed with emptiness was just taking in your whole mind and heart. Nothing really happened that made you feel like this. It was just a never ending circle. When you got up for work you weren‘t thinking mostly. Almost automatically you got up, dressed, and ate a small breakfast. Your job was okay.It wasn‘t exactly what you wanted, but for the first it was a not too hard job, and the payment was good too. You always wanted to be an author, as long as you can remember. So you‘ll probably stay at this job a little longer, and someday make writing your mainjob, as an author. That was the plan at least. But right now, everything was harder. When you were coming home, you were always so tired that you didn‘t have the energy to do anything else anymore. That was probably also why your apartment looked like a mess. But you weren‘t able to stop it. You just didn‘t know how to stand up, clean everything, maybe go out, do something after work. All of this felt so far away.

Writing had been always an escape for you though. Poetry and literature was something you could describe your feelings with, like you could never in direct words. But these days your mind was blank. When you read others poetry and works, it somehow didn‘t reach you. And when you tried writing something yourself, again, this horrible emptiness in your mind. And when you couldn‘t even do the one thing that always brought you relief and comfort, what did you have left?

Somedays, you wanted to cry. You were waking up with not only the familiar exhausting emptiness, but also a heavy feeling in your chest. On these days everything seemed even a bit harder than on the other days. When people at work yelled at you, they were a tick louder on these days. People accidentally bumping into you, hurt a bit more. You weren‘t able to concentrate on work, just trying not to cry or yell at someone, the only light being the end of the day, when you could go home. But when you finally were going through your apartment door, the weary tireness came over you again. It was a horrible feeling. Not being able to do anything, not even being able to cry, when it‘s everything you had wanted to do the whole day. But you were still awake for hours. You had always wondered how people with depression were able to stand up, and do what they were supposed to do every single day. This was probably kinda what it felt like.

Oh but there was one thing you hadn‘t thought about. How dared you to think chan wouldn‘t notice? Chan is a protector. He always tries to protect everyone around him, be it from mean people, things, or their own minds. Oh and you? You were his ultimate softspot. He would give the moon to you if you asked him to. So of course he noticed when it got that time again. He noticed by the way you would zone out and sometimes not reply to his calls, and when you did, you mumbled a few responeses and just hang up all of a sudden,saying you‘d go to sleep.By the way you would need a bit longer to text back. And how you tried to smile when you were meeting up, but it never reached your tired eyes. And you didn’t write as much anymore. Sometimes before, you would randomly come into his studio at night, and just sit next to him, and while he was working on some tracks, you would write a few lines, be it about him, about your fellings or maybe a story you wanted to write down. He could tell by all the little things, your eyes, your voice, your body language.

He knew.

And what he learned about you was, that you weren‘t one to just talk about it, or reach out for help. Even if you wanted to, you couldn‘t. You simply didn‘t know how to talk about everything sometimes. Simple words seemed to not fit for the feeling. That was why he knew how important your random quotings were, or when you‘d show him your latest writings. And the worst thing was you always thought you were a bother. Of course chan had told you a million times that you weren‘t. He tried to reassure you ine very way possible. And somewhere you knew that he would never lie to you. But for some reason your brain didn‘t want to accept that. You often got brushed off as being lazy, not useful, and some kind of burden in your past. How could you be able to not think that when so many other people did? But the weird thing was, he knew. Chan always knew.

At some early point in your relationship you discovered that you shared a habit that was a bit uncommon. Often when your own words weren‘t enough, you expressed your feelings in quotes or song lyrics. It was a simple thing do do but to chan and you it meant so much. When you didn‘t know each other for that long, he discovered your love for writing and literature, so at some point he also started to really like it. And it was you who got more engulfed into music because of him. You were like puzzle tiles, matching and showing each other new ways and things.

But lately you even stopped doing that. Not randomly sending him lyrics, or poems anymore, you just wanted to share, or that made you think of him, or that you liked because they fit your situations. That was when he knew that it was really getting like that again. And never ever, was he going to let you hurt, and feel like that all alone. Not when he also knew about earlier phases in your life. So he planned how to get you out of the house, to make you do something that you‘d also really enjoy. He thought about what to say to you, and how to approach you at all. But all these thoughts just disappeared when he got a noification on his phone. He opened it. There was no context, and no hello, just this:

„Maybe it‘s time to say goodbye, cause i‘m getting pretty fucking tired“

Chan didn‘t even have to think. You showed him this song (Tired-beabadoobee) once, and said it was one of your favorites. He stated that it made him feel depressed, but you just giggled at that.

But at this lyrics, chan didn‘t think twice before he took his coat and car keys.

This day had just been horrible. Already when waking up, you felt a bit heavier than usual. Every task was a bit harder, and the thought of food made you nauseous. At work someone that you considered a friend had started telling people things about you, and then they also yelled at you for „Being a unproductive worker, and you are draggig everyone here down with your depressing ass attituted. It would be better if you weren‘t here.“ That had hit you hard. U didn‘t really care what other people said usually, but this stung. In the past weeks it was hard to even get up, but you tried so hard to do everything you were supposed to. Maybe you didn‘t talk as much with your co-workers then, but only because you couldn‘t have taken it… And then this small last sentence. „It would be better if you weren‘t here.“ You had heard this sentence so often in your life. Your „friends“ in school. Your parents. Your family. Teachers, colleagues, fans of chan. You had heard it too often. At some point you started to believe them. That was until chan came. He got you out of that dark hole, and he made you realize that all these people were wrong. But now you weren‘t so sure anymore.

To this day, you were always afraid of hearing chan say these words. You knew he never would say such things to anyone, but the thought was always somewhere in the back of your mind.

Now you were here again. The words of your co worker echoed in you mind. What if chan also hated your „Depressing attitude“? What if you were too much for him? You would understand that he didn‘t want to be with someone like you. You were always kind of messed up. So who said all those people in your life weren‘t right? Maybe everyone‘s life would be better if you weren‘t here…

You started blasting music through your airpods. It was the only thing somehow keeping you stable. Then the song played. Tired. A song you had listened to when you were at your lowest, it somehow being able to comfort and pain you at the same time. You didn‘t know what you were thinking, probably you just weren‘t thinking at all, but you sent chan a message. Absimently you typed in the songtext you knew without even hearing it. Then you let your phone fall.

Suddenly it seemed like those weeks of tiredness, emptiness and numbness were like washed away. A deep sob wracked your body. At the same time it felt relieving, but it was also pained. And then another one. And then tears started falling and your sobs mixed with the sound of your vent playlist. The words first quietly replayed in your mind „It would be better if you weren‘t here…“ But then, it changed. Your thoughts got louder and you didn‘t know what to do. Everything was too much right now, too overwhelming. The world was cruel, and so were people. But who said all cruel things were wrong? You fell down to your knees, wrapping your arms around your upper body. Your chest felt tight, and your breath was only coming out in choked sobs, while warm tears kept trailing down your cheeks. It was a stark contrast to the coldness in your mind. The airpods were still in your ears. You didn‘t hear the front door opening, and chan kicking off his shoes.

The first thing he heard were loud, pained sobs. They were shattering his heart. He quickly took off shoes and coat and rushed into the livingroom, where you were kneeling down, your upper body bent forwards, and while you were clutching to your own body, choking sobs were filling the air. He ran over to you, sitting on the floor next to you. He took your airpods out immediately and just wrapped his arms around you, starting to mumble comforting words into your hair. He knew the only thing that could calm your anxiety and panic right now, was physical touch, and someone telling you that it was okay, just giving you the comfort you really needed. So he tried not to cry himself, as he rocked you in his arms, slowly releasing your own arms from your trembling body, until you were entirely leaning onto him, sobbing. He mumbled quiet reassureances, and laid your hand on his chest, reminding you to breathe. You were trying your best to follow his breaths, his entire presence already bringing you big comfort. After a while, you were only lightly crying in his arms anymore, but he was relieved, that the anxiety attack and the panic was gone now. You finally managed to get something out. „It would be easier if i wasn‘t here. For you, and everyone else.“

Chan was shocked at that. Did you really think that? That you were even thinking such a thing, made him so sad. You were one of the most loving, hard working people he knew, and he wanted to beat up everyone who would ever made you think something like this. „Oh dear…“ he wrapped his arms a bit tighter around you, placing his chin on your head while stroking your back gently. „Whoever told you that is wrong. A life without you would be way harder to be honest. Who would send me memes of myself? Who would comfort me when i am frustrated because i can‘t finish a track? Who would be there to love and care for me? And i can tell you for sure, your real friends and family think the same. And no matter who, if anybody makes you think otherwise, they are wronger than wrong. I love you sooo much, and i know life can be tough, but i for sure know one thing. Life would be hard and boring without you. Please darling, don‘t ever try to leave me okay? If you feel like this again, overwhelmed, tired, like you don‘t belong here, then come to me. Tell me how you feel, let‘s write something together, also if your works will be hundred times better than mine, or let me just cuddle and comfort you, but don‘t suffer alone please. Call me across the ocean before you drown in your own mind. I‘d swim ever meter to come to you.“

He placed a kiss on your forehead. You were slightly crying again, but this time different than before. He was talking so genuine, and nothing he was saying sounded like a lie or just empty words to please someone. He meant every single thing he said. You looked at him, and a small smile stealed it‘s way on your lips. And that was the most beautiful thing chan ever saw. He wanted to keep it in his heart forever. He smiled back and pulled you against his warm chest again. Maybe from now on, the empty days, that just randomly came, wouldn‘t be as empty and exhausting anymore. Because chan would catch you when you‘d fall, listen to you, even when you didn‘t exactly know how to express yourself. He would be there, no matter what. And he would make sure you‘d never feel like your existence was a burden for anyone ever again.

World was cruel, yes. But chan was a rock in a big ocean, to hold onto whenever you felt like you were drowning.

Taglist: @0omillo0 @lina-linny @onementally-unstabel-kid @darqlys

[louiseolivier]

Late Night Confessions

Read below or on AO3

fix-it fic. hurt Tommy. Very PG-13 rated. nothing crazy. Edited because I forgot a v brief sex description. 😬

Buck didn’t hear his phone ringing the first or second time it happened. He was deep enough in sleep that it may have filtered into his dreams, but any memory of those dissipated when his phone began ringing a third time. This time, the sound pulled him from sleep, but it probably had more to do with the fact that someone was also banging on his door. 

Because the phone was closest and he was still groggy, he answered it first, pushing himself into a seated position. “Hello?”

“Buck? I’m outside, man. You need to let me in.” 

Eddie. The feeling of disappointment was automatic. 10 weeks on, and he still had hope for another voice. Buck swung his feet over the side of the bed, eyes still closed, still half asleep. Awareness was slow going, but eventually, the questions started coming. Why was Eddie calling him? Why was he at the front door? What time was it anyway? Buck cracked an eye open. The loft was dark sans the ambient light coming from the buildings outside. It was the middle of the night, and Eddie was at his front door. Fear and nausea bubbled up in his chest, afraid of what he was about to ask. “Christopher?”

“Tommy,” Eddie corrected a waver in his voice. 

Buck was out of bed and tripping down the stairs. He slipped halfway down, caught himself on the banister, and slid on his ass the last few steps. Adrenaline was pumping, so he didn’t notice how hard he hit his tailbone or the scrape on his forearm that was pooling pinpricks of blood.

He opened the door, and Eddie walked in. Eddie pulled Buck’s hoodie off the coat rack Tommy hung for him and tossed it to Buck. “I forgot your key. I don’t suppose you have any of his clothes or the key to his place?” Eddie asked. 

Buck put on the hoodie and sat in a kitchen chair to put on the shoes Eddie tossed him. “I don’t,” Buck lied. He didn’t have a key, but he did have one of Tommy’s flannels, and the pajama pants Buck was wearing were Tommy’s, too. Those, along with a bottle of body wash that Buck sniffed to masturbate or cry to (sometimes it happened at the same time), never made it into the box back to Tommy. 

“That’s okay. I’m sure there’s a key with his possessions. We can get it from the hospital when we get there. Where’s your wallet and keys?”

“Dresser upstairs.” Buck shoved his foot into his shoe and called after Eddie. “He’s going to be okay?” He hated how much his voice cracked.

“He’ll live.” Eddie jogged down the stairs and opened the door, waiting for Buck to finish dressing. “He was conscious when they brought him in. The woman I talked to didn’t have a lot of details. He was in a car accident and was still in imaging when she called. Ready?”

Buck nodded, walked to the door, and pocketed the wallet and his phone that Eddie handed him. He called the elevator while Eddie locked the door behind him and asked, “How’d you find out?”

The elevator door dinged open. They got on, and Eddie said, “I’m his emergency contact.”

“Oh,” Buck said and blinked back the tears that started to sting. 

&&&&&&&&&

A teenager ran a red light and t-boned Tommy’s truck. Against the odds, the kid wasn’t drunk, just not paying attention. The driver’s side door crumpled into Tommy’s thigh, and a malfunctioning airbag meant Tommy’s head knocked against the side window before it was deployed. The glass cracked and embedded into his right temple. He had a concussion, and they were keeping an eye out for swelling. No fractures to his femur, but he had moderate bruising to his thigh and was being monitored in case they needed to drain the hematoma. All of it together meant Tommy was going to be grounded and on crutches for a month or two.  

Buck listened to the doctor and Eddie discuss how lucky Tommy was, and how it could have been so much worse. He bounced on his soles, wanting to escape into Tommy’s room. He was less than 50 feet away, but he was terrified of being stopped, of being told he was no longer on the list and, therefore, must be excluded. 

Eddie caught his eye and nodded towards the room and that was all the permission Buck needed. He slinked behind the doctor, avoided eye contact with the nurses, and slipped inside Tommy’s room to find that Tommy wasn’t alone. 

The man sitting next to Tommy’s bed was lean, with a long face and tan skin. He was probably around Tommy’s age and had soft brown eyes that watched Tommy worriedly. That was until Buck interrupted his vigil. The man looked up in surprise, but then a resigned understanding crossed his face. “You’re Buck,” he said quietly.

Buck nodded. “And you're...”

A sad grin crossed his face. “A placeholder.”

“Sorry?” Buck said with a shake of his head. 

“Don’t mind me, I'm being maudlin. I’m Mateo. Or Matt. He’s called me both. Although, I doubt he’s mentioned me at all.”

The name did ring a bell, and Buck quickly flipped through the rolodex of information he collected about Tommy—a sadly thin collection. One of the things he realized during their time apart was Buck barely knew anything about Tommy’s past. The person he was before he met Buck. He’d give an anecdote about the army or his childhood, hints of who he was under Gerrard, but never enough to tell the whole story. Buck hit a crisis point on whether he knew Tommy at all. The cool and confident guy he fell for crumbled when Buck suggested they move in together. Was it all a facade? What depths of trauma was Tommy hiding? 

10 weeks was a long time, and the conclusion Buck settled on was that the kind, tender man who showed up for him was real. That his surface cynicism was real, but so was the covert romantic. In the end, Tommy loved him. Or at least he was close. Close enough that Buck scared him so bad he bolted. And in that time, instead of being soured by the arms-length Tommy held him at, Buck had only become even more certain that Tommy was his best chance for happiness. Maddie promised the universe would send him someone, but the fact was, it already happened, and Buck wasn’t giving up. 

He had thought the ball was in Tommy’s court. He made the mess, and as soon as Tommy pulled his head from his ass, he’d be back at Buck’s door ready to explain. But standing there, after a close call, and with a man who seemed half in love with his ex, Buck realized he would have to take the reins and lead them back to each other. There was no other ending he’d accept. 

Mateo blinked at him expectantly, and Buck suddenly remembered a scorching day in July. It was after the 4th, and they were staying at Tommy’s because, despite the blackout curtains and the building's A/C, his one-story bungalow consistently stayed five degrees cooler than Buck’s loft. They sat on either end of Tommy’s couch, legs tangled, while a Dodgers game played, volume low on the TV, and Buck was giving Tommy an internet quiz on where to vacation based on his favorite desserts. 

Tommy picked a lemon tart over a chocolate gateau, and Buck was questioning whether he should ever let that man inside his body ever again when Tommy’s phone pinged with a text message. Tommy picked up his phone, and his face morphed from mild interest into a scrunchy smile of pleasure. He chuckled and started to type. Another message came through because Tommy’s eyes widened, and a high “Hello!” popped out. 

“What?” Buck asked with a hesitant smile. 

“I just got a dick pic.” Tommy chuckled, shook his head, and continued to type. 

“What?! Let me see.” Buck was on his knees, shuffling between Tommy’s legs. He still had a smile plastered on, but it was more strained than amused. 

“No,” Tommy said and looked a little shocked that Buck even asked. 

“Seriously?” Buck reached out, but Tommy moved his phone away.

“This isn’t a random dick, Evan. I know this guy. Look, I get it if you’re weirded out. I’m deleting the picture.” Buck sat back on his heels and watched Tommy tap his phone. “There. Gone.” Tommy flashed Buck the screen long enough to show only text bubbles, but not long enough for him to read them.  

“Who is he? Ex-boyfriend?”

“Mateo? No. K, I told him I’m off the market, so no more surprise penises.” Tommy tossed the phone onto the coffee table and wrapped his massive hands around Buck’s waist. “There’s only one dick I’m interested in.” He pulled Buck flush against him and proceeded to kiss him into oblivion. 

Even back then, there was a part of Buck that knew he was being distracted, a tactic to keep him from digging deeper, but the larger implication wasn’t something that even crossed his mind until after Tommy was gone. It infuriated him.

“You texted him,” Buck told the other man. He moved to Tommy’s other side, desperate to touch but not wanting to overstep while this new wrinkle blinked sad eyes up at him. “Back in July,” he added. The lighting was dim, but Buck was pretty sure he saw pink creep into Mateo’s cheeks and neck. “He didn’t show me if-if that’s what you were wondering.”

“It crossed my mind,” Mateo said, his eyes not quite meeting Buck’s.

“Were you with him?” Buck asked. 

“I was,” Mateo answered and lifted his right hand to show his pinky and ring finger splinted and taped together. “I got lucky.”

“Are you two fucking?” Buck hated how thin his voice sounded. He knew the answer, but he craved the pain of confirmation. 

“Yes, but it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m his designated rebound.”

“10 weeks is pretty long for a rebound,” Buck bit out. His rebound was a pretty, petite redhead who bounced on his dick and moaned like a porn star. It was fun in the moment, but when she left, Buck wanted to scour himself with a Brillo pad. His next hook-up was a man who had a passing resemblance to Tommy. Buck had thought he’d be able to purge whatever residual feelings he had left and come out on the other side with a clean slate. It didn’t work out. Again, the sex was fun, but after, Buck locked himself in his bathroom until the guy left. After that, he went back to baking and since picked up cake decorating. He was getting pretty damn good at that too.

“It’s only been three, actually. I was seeing someone up ‘til then. Like back in July, he was seeing you when I called.” Still gazing at Tommy, Mateo said, “He loves you, but there came a point where protecting himself overrode that. Funny, since usually he’s the one who gets left.” His head snapped up to look at Buck, and he pointedly asked, “Do you love him? I’m assuming you do since you’re here, but I need to know.”

Buck nodded, unwilling to say those words to anyone until Tommy heard them first. 

“Good. Tommy and I have been doing this dance for five years, and his walking away from you tore him to ribbons in a way no one else has. And I was around for the Chester debacle. He’s stubborn, more broken than he lets on, and he’s VERY good at compartmentalizing. But I can promise you, you won’t regret giving him a second chance. You’re going to have to be willing to fight for it, though. Like I said, he’s stubborn.”

“I’m ready,” Buck promised. “I’m so fucking angry at him for putting us in this situation, but I get it. I do. I just want him back.”    

Mateo stood. He bent over Tommy, the fingers of his good hand carding through Tommy’s curls, and he bumped their noses together. Softly, he said, “I hope to god I never see you again.” He chuckled deep in his chest and kissed the corner of Tommy’s mouth. Mateo moved to the door but paused long enough to squeeze Buck’s forearm. “If he asks, tell him I left because he’s better off in your hands, and he knows that.” Mateo gave Tommy one last look and then exited the room. 

Surreal was how Buck felt, but he buried it and sat in the chair next to Tommy. He took Tommy’s hand in his and let himself fully feel for the first time since Eddie came banging at his door. He let the tears form and fall and pressed Tommy’s slack hand against his cheek. His anger still simmered somewhere low in his belly, but relief won out. Even the idea of a second chance could have been snuffed out in an instant if the accident had gone differently, and Buck cried tears of joy that was not the case. 

“You get 24 hours,” he told Tommy. “Once they release you, you get 24 hours of me doting on you, deferring to you, but after that? Holy shit, are we going to have it out. Because, seriously, how dare you make unilateral decisions for me. Especially since we both know they’re bullshit. After that, we should give ourselves a month to just be. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed waking up with you and watching all the dumb movies you think I need to watch, and just how easy it used to be. I think we deserve that reprieve because it’s going to get real hard after that. I’m going to tell you about Daniel and my parents and my exes, and you’re going to do the same even though I know you’re going to fight me on it. We need to talk about all the hard shit we avoided the first six months of our relationship. Like how much I hate basketball,” Buck ended with a chuckle. 

The door swished open, and Eddie stepped inside. “Any change?”

“No, he’s still asleep.”

Eddie stepped up to the bed and held Tommy’s ankle. “The doctor said he was acting agitated, so they gave him a sedative. Said it should wear off in another hour. I talked to the night duty nurse. She said you can stay as long as you're quiet and your presence doesn’t upset him, but you need to be gone by shift change.”

Buck nodded and gave Eddie a watery thin, “Thank you.” He cleared his throat and added, “I’m glad you let him depend on you.”

“That man is his own worst enemy, but he needed someone to be in his corner, and, well, I needed someone to care for. Even if that only meant drinking beer, eating fast food, and watching whatever sport was on TV.”

“Did you know about Mateo?”

Eddie looked behind him at the closed door, then back at Buck. “Is that who left?” Buck nodded, and Eddie said, “I have no idea who he is or what he means to Tommy. Is he going to be a problem?”

“No.”

Eddie nodded and patted Tommy’s ankle. “I should probably go. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow, but text me if anything changes. Okay?”

“Yeah. Hey, Eddie? Thank you. Thank you for including me.”

“You know, I almost didn’t. I don’t know what the answer is, Buck. I’ve watched the two of you act like smitten kittens that look at each other like the other hangs the moon. On the flip side, he crushed your heart and his own because...he loves you? Because your relationship falling apart was inevitable? Just as a warning, I don’t think he’s ready. But I also know your powers of persuasion and your need to at least confront him since he left. And to be fair, I cheated on my girlfriend and traumatized my son because I wanted to live the fantasy with a clone of my wife, so I have no room to judge.”

Buck kissed the back of Tommy’s hand before placing it on the bed. He got up and embraced Eddie tightly, thanking his friend again for giving him the opportunity for another chance, even if Eddie was dubious of their reconciliation.

Eddie chuckled and said, “Honestly, at this point, good luck. Either you guys figure it out, or you don’t. Just know, if it falls apart again, you’re getting me in the divorce.” 

Buck grinned, gave Eddie one last squeeze, and pushed him away. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With Eddie gone, Buck flipped the chair around to watch Tommy’s face head-on. He brushed the curls on Tommy’s head before sitting down and clasping their hands together. “I love you,” Buck told him. “I’ll tell you again when you wake up, and every morning we’re together. I’ll keep telling you even after you finally accept it to be true because you’re not just my last, Tommy. You’re my only.” 

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 15 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The familiar sensation of teleportation washed over you as you stepped into the sanctuary of your bedroom, nestled deep within the tranquil garden you called home. The soft hum of magic dissipated as you collapsed onto the plush sheets of your bed, your body sinking into the comfort, though your mind remained anything but at ease.

Your children—your loyal butterflies—fluttered around you, their tiny wings glowing faintly in the dim light. They hovered closer, sensing your turmoil, their small efforts to soothe you proving futile. One even landed gently on your forehead, a silent gesture of comfort, but the irritation within you refused to be quelled.

You groaned, pressing your palm to your face. How can Jinwoo be this tactless?

Your mind reeled, replaying the earlier interaction that had left you seething. For someone with such absurdly high perception stats, he was alarmingly dense when it came to anything outside of battle. The man who could detect an enemy’s movement down to the faintest twitch somehow couldn’t read the room to save his life. It was infuriating.

You let out a sigh, memories of past pages of various manhwas flooding your mind. There was always this recurring trope among protagonists—ridiculously talented in combat but utterly clueless when it came to basic human interaction. You recalled all the times in the manhwa when Jinwoo’s obliviousness had made you want to reach into the pages and shake him. Back then, it had been frustrating in an endearing way. But now? Now that you were living in this world, dealing with the flesh-and-blood Jinwoo, it was infinitely worse.

Your thoughts strayed to that infamous scene—the one where Jinwoo missed every single obvious hint that Cha Hae-In wanted to join his guild because she liked him. That moment hadn’t happened yet in this timeline, and you silently thanked the heavens for small mercies.

You rolled onto your side, one hand absently reaching out to pat Red, the oldest of your butterflies and your right-hand. Red perched on your palm, its wings pulsing faintly, “It’s all right.”

“No, Red, it’s not all right,” you muttered, your voice laced with frustration. “Out of the two of us, I’m supposed to be the recluse,” you grumbled. “For heaven’s sake!”

The irony was not lost on you. You were the one who had spent years isolated in the system’s trials, cut off from the world. Yet here you were, the one seemingly more adept at navigating social interactions than Jinwoo.

The butterfly fluttered its wings again, this time with a slight tilt as if to mock you gently. You let out a huff. Your frustration still simmered beneath the surface, refusing to fully dissipate.

You sat up abruptly, your gaze distant as you stared into the void of your room. The soft glow of the garden lights seeped in through the window, bathing the space in an ethereal glow. You let out a slow breath, trying to steady your thoughts.

There was no time to dwell on Jinwoo’s shortcomings. You had pressing matters to attend to. Better to focus on something productive than stew in your frustrations. A flick of your wrist summoned a plane ticket into your hand, the parchment shimmering briefly before solidifying.

“Just in case,” you murmured to yourself, slipping the ticket into your pocket. Though teleportation was your preferred method of travel, it wouldn’t hurt to have a mundane backup plan.

Your gaze softened as you looked around at your butterflies, each of them settling on nearby surfaces, their glowing forms creating a comforting ambiance. Red crawled closer to your shoulder, its small form vibrating faintly in silent encouragement.

Your hand rose to stroke Red’s wings absentmindedly. “I can’t save everyone,” you whispered, the words heavy with resignation. “But I’ll sure as hell try.”

---

Thomas Andre stood near the bustling entrance of Incheon International Airport, his massive frame towering over the steady flow of travelers. The hum of hurried footsteps and overhead announcements filled the air as his assistant—Laura’s insistence—handled the final details of their arrival. He shifted his weight, a slight frown pulling at his lips.

He was here on business, an important discussion with the chairman of South Korea’s Hunter Association about a certain reckless guild member of his.

Thomas Andre wasn’t a man easily surprised. As the head of the Scavenger Guild and one of the world’s most powerful Hunters, he was accustomed to the extraordinary. His sheer physical size alone intimidated most people before they could muster the courage to act unpredictably around him.

Yet here he was, caught off guard by something as mundane as a stranger bumping into him.

The collision barely registered to Thomas—hardly more than a tap against his solid frame—but the person who had stumbled into him nearly fell flat on their face. Instinctively, he reached out and caught them with one hand, gripping their gloved arm firmly to steady them. His brows furrowed as he glanced down. It was a woman—small, almost fragile-looking compared to him. She remained frozen in place for a moment, her eyes obscured by the brim of her hat, the lower half of her face covered by a black and white mask, and Thomas noted how light she felt in his grip, like a feather caught in a breeze.

“You all right there, Little Miss?” His deep voice rumbled with mild amusement.

The woman’s head snapped up at his words, her wide, panicked eyes locking onto his.

And then it hit him.

A sudden, overwhelming urge crashed into him like a tidal wave. It gripped his very core, making his knees threaten to buckle. The instinct to kneel, to bow before this stranger, clawed at his willpower. Something ancient and primal whispered in his mind, demanding submission. His veins felt like they were on fire as he fought the compulsion, his muscles straining under the pressure.

The woman quickly stepped back from his grasp, bowing her head in a hurried apology. “Thank you for catching me,” she said, tone clear and polite, her English flawless. “I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

Her voice was soft, warm, and soothing—a stark contrast to the chaotic storm raging inside him.

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and hurried away, her pace brisk as she disappeared into the throng of travelers.

Thomas stood frozen, his chest heaving slightly as the overwhelming sensation dissipated as quickly as it had come. His hand, still trembling slightly, clenched into a fist. He turned his gaze toward the direction the woman had gone, catching a brief glance of her looking back at him. Her eyes flickered toward his fist, almost as if she could see the struggle he had just endured.

And then she was gone.

“What the hell was that?” Thomas muttered under his breath.

He replayed the moment in his mind and tried to recall the woman’s face, but his memory was hazy. The warm aura that radiated from her felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It wasn’t oppressive or intimidating—it was calming, yet it carried an undeniable weight.

A healer class? It was the only explanation that made sense. Her aura had been faint, almost unnoticeable, but undeniably soothing. Perhaps she was a low-ranked Hunter, though something about her didn’t quite fit that profile.

“Mr. Andre?” His assistant’s voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. “The car is ready.”

“Yeah,” Thomas grunted, shaking off the lingering unease. He took one last glance toward the direction she had gone before following his assistant. “Let’s go.”

But even as he walked away, the memory of those comforting yet commanding eyes lingered in his mind. He didn’t know who she was, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t going to forget that encounter anytime soon.

---

The air in the Sung family's apartment was tense. Jinah ducked beneath the window frame, peering cautiously through the blinds as the reporters gathered below. Their relentless pursuit had only grown worse, swarming the building in hopes of catching a glimpse of Korea's strongest Hunter and prying into his personal life.

"Seriously, Oppa, they're still here!" Jinah whispered harshly, ducking back to avoid being seen.

Jinwoo sighed and stood, rolling his shoulders. "I'll just shoo them off—"

Jinah whipped around, cutting him off. "No! Don’t. You’ve already gotten trashed online enough as it is."

His confusion was evident as he frowned. "Trashed? For what? I didn’t even do anything!"

Jinah groaned, exasperated. Did her brother really not understand why he was the talk of every social media platform? She was about to explain when your voice suddenly cut through the tension like a blade.

"It's because you left without paying any attention to the reporters last time, you fool," you said sharply from the doorway.

Jinah turned to see you standing there, your arms full of neatly stacked items. Her immediate reaction was relief—finally, someone who could articulate what she was feeling—but it quickly shifted to curiosity. She noticed the unusual sharpness in your tone and, to her surprise, her usually unbothered brother flinched.

"When did you get in here?" Jinah asked, confused but grateful for the interruption.

You offered her a warm smile, instantly replacing the tension with your characteristic kindness. "Hello, Jinah. It’s nice to see you again. I’m so sorry for intruding so suddenly. I just wanted to drop off these souvenirs I promised from my last trip with your Brother."

Jinah’s eyes sparkled at the mention of souvenirs, and she eagerly reached for the neatly arranged stack as you set it on the table. She began rifling through the items—a selection of high-quality medical books, some incredibly appetizing meals wrapped up beautifully, and a set of clothes that looked both stylish and perfectly tailored to her preferences.

"Did you make these clothes yourself?" Jinah asked in awe, feeling the soft yet durable fabric between her fingers.

You chuckled lightly. "I did. I thought you might like them."

Jinah leaped at you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Unnie! You’re the best!"

Caught off guard, you stumbled slightly but quickly steadied yourself, returning her hug with a laugh. "Woah there! Careful!"

As Jinah nestled closer, she noticed something unusual. "Unnie, did you just come back from the beach?"

"Hmm?" You tilted your head, momentarily puzzled, before replying, "Oh, I was on an island in Japan for a business trip. There was an urgent international order for a particular batch of flowers I had to handle personally."

Jinah hummed in understanding, but her curiosity was quickly piqued by the expression on her brother’s face. Jinwoo, who had been watching the entire interaction in silence, now stood stiffly, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

"(Name)—" Jinwoo started, his voice low and uncertain.

You didn’t even let him finish. Turning only halfway to glance at him, you spoke with chilling finality, "I’m still mad at you. So shut it."

Jinah’s eyes widened, and she instinctively stepped back, letting go of you. She quickly pieced together that her brother must have done something incredibly dumb to earn your ire. She sighed internally, wondering: What now, Oppa?

"I'm here for someone else today," you said, your tone softening slightly as you looked at Jinah.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted the moment, and Jinwoo moved to answer it. Jinah watched him open the door to reveal a boy about her age, wearing a large backpack and looking pitifully disheveled.

"Who’s that, Oppa?" Jinah asked, peering around her brother.

---

Jinho stood in the doorway, his head bowed slightly in embarrassment as he glanced nervously between Jinwoo and the unfamiliar girl behind him.

‘She’s really pretty…’ he thought briefly before shaking his head. Now was not the time.

"I—uh, Hyung-nim, I’ve been kicked out," Jinho mumbled, his voice filled with genuine regret and self-pity. He shifted awkwardly, gripping the straps of his backpack. "Can I… stay here for a while?"

Jinwoo’s answer was immediate. The door slammed shut in Jinho’s face.

"Hyung-nim!" Jinho called out, panicking. But before he could knock again, your voice cut through the tension once more. Sharper. Colder.

"Jinwoo. Open. The. Door."

Even Jinho, standing outside, felt a shiver run down his spine. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Jinwoo standing stiffly like a child caught misbehaving. You stepped forward, your expression instantly softening as you looked at Jinho.

"Jinho," you said warmly, your voice filled with kindness, "You can stay in the spare room at my shop for a while until you get back on your feet."

Jinho’s eyes filled with gratitude, and he nearly lunged forward to hug you but stopped when he noticed the chilling shift in your demeanor. The warmth you’d shown him was gone, replaced by a saccharine-sweet smile directed at Jinwoo.

"I’ll leave now to escort Jinho," you said curtly, your gaze locking with Jinwoo’s.

You gently ushered Jinho out of the apartment, turning back only to bid Jinah a cheerful goodbye. But the cold glare you leveled at Jinwoo lingered for a moment longer, sending a clear message before you turned and left.

---

Jinwoo stared at the closed door, utterly at a loss. Your anger, though more subdued, still burned bright. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

Jinah watched him from the couch, her arms crossed. "What did you do, Oppa?"

"I don’t know," Jinwoo muttered, his frustration mounting.

His thoughts drifted to the dinner he’d planned as a peace offering. But now, he wasn’t even sure you’d agree to go with him, let alone accompany him back to the Demon Castle. For the first time in a long time, Jinwoo felt completely out of his depth.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [15/11/2024] -

[sweetimpurity]

I think I'll keep you:

c.ai bot drop

a/n (please read!): Hiya! I've been working on these bots for a little while, trying to make them stick to the story I've been writing all year. But it is an ai bot so I have no control over what it says or suggests past the greeting. It might not stick to the story exactly. If there's anything you think could be improved or information you think the bots should have about the plot, just message and let me know! I hope you guys have fun kiss kiss!! 😘🍬

These can all be found on my profile: sweetimpurity 💓

I think I'll keep you

Miguel has no interest in a relationship. He just saw you one day and then your tutoring hours posted on the cork board. He knew he had to have you for one night. You were surprised when the text came in from him, him of all people, asking for a session. But he quickly got you on your knees and then in his bed. This one night would turn into much more.

“Oh, god…” You pant and whine, your head leaning to the side to rest on his head.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good…” He curses through a heavy breath against your neck. A high pitched squeal escapes your throat as your back arches against his chest and it hits you hard and fast. Your squeals turn into cries of his name, how good he feels.

He doesn't know what's come over him. He doesn't form attachments like this. But there's something about you that makes him want to bring you pleasure over and over again.

You’re babbling and thrashing in his arms and Miguel smiles, finally getting what he wants. Hearing your sweet innocent voice whining out the dirtiest things. You're a soft warm mess as he chases his own release.

He holds you tightly against him as you both stop moving and start panting to catch your breath. You’re glad he’s still holding you because if he let go, you’d surely face plant into the mattress. Your head rests back on his shoulder and he places small kisses on your skin as he snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, breathing deep and sighing out in relief.

“Will you be mine?” He asks softly and kisses your cheek. “Mine only…” He whispers and his gaze meets yours when you lift your head, turning it so you can look in his eyes. His finger strokes your cheek softly and it’s like he’s looking at the sun. He can try to close his eyes but the memory of you will always be seared into his mind.

“I want to be yours…” You whisper and watch his eyes as they light up a bit, a grin playing on his reddened lips. “Good. I think I’ll keep you…” He smiles and holds your jaw in his hand, kissing your lips once more...

I think I'll keep you 2

You've been gone only three days and he's losing his mind. Everything was so good before you decided to go home for the weekend. Miguel had you every night he wanted, every morning too. Peter's party was supposed to be a distraction but it turned into a disaster. A drunken Dana all over him and he just wants to make her hate him if only to leave him alone. He doesn't want her. He wants you back to campus.

Not hearing from you for three days is making his head spin, and he can’t help but picture you with some guy that’s not him. He throws Dana on the bed, pulling her by the ankles and grabbing her face. Could she handle him if she tried? The answer is no.

“You really like to get on my nerves, don’t you?” He seethes. But even Dana loves the attention.

Ding!

His red hot rage is interrupted by his phone going off. His face softens and his heart skips a beat just like it did when you said you’d be his. He can’t control that feeling. Miguel picks up his phone, seeing your name pop up and his eyes dart around the screen reading it.

{{user}}: “Came back early :)”

“Coming now” He texts right back.

He sighs audibly, a mix of relief and frustration at the same time. “What is it?” Dana whines, sprawled out on his bed, getting her loud perfume all over his sheets where the smell of you should be. “Get out.” He demands, stepping back and going to put on his jacket again to go. “What?! Are you serious?” She scoffs, sitting up on his bed.

"Yes! GET OUT!!" He shouts, making her flinch. She scurries off, out of his dorm fighting back tears. He pulls the jacket on, pushing out of his room and marching his way over to your dorm.

I think I'll keep you 3

Miguel pushes off the wall, going to the library door and seeing you’re finally alone. His heart thumps in his chest. Clenching his swollen bruised hand in his pocket. He sighs and forces himself to walk inside.

You suddenly look up. Stopping him in his tracks. And it’s like he feels like he’s doing something wrong. He told you, you were never supposed to happen for him. That what happened between you for an entire month was a mistake. To not let your messy feelings ruin everything. It’s been four days. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. And now he’s here. You look away first. Back down to your laptop to continue typing. And he continues walking, stopping at the edge of the table across from you.

“I need to talk to you.” He speaks, towering over the table. Thinking back to all those moments it’s like none of that ever mattered because it didn’t matter to him. How can you trust him again when he treated you like he wanted you and then told you, you were never supposed to happen. And you gave him your body, your heart everyday for a month already.

“I’m busy right now.” You say softly, keeping your eyes locked on your laptop screen. While this time away from him has been hell and you’ve been heartbroken over this, he’s also been a total dick.

He’s been trying all week to find you. To talk to you. Trying to find sneaky ways so that he doesn't have to beg for your attention. He wants things back the way they were. He wants you back in his bed. He doesn’t know what he feels.

He walks around the table. You don’t look up, not even sparing him a glance. Glaring at your laptop screen and seeing his movement in your peripherals. He silently walks to the seat right next to you. Slipping down into it to sit beside you. His hands shoved back into his pockets.

"{{user}}… hey...” He says gently, trying to get your attention. Turning in his chair slightly to face you more. He can see your anger, he can feel it too.

“I’m not talking to you.” You say without looking at him.

“Well I’m talking to you…”

I think I'll keep you 4

“...his hand, he’s been having swelling and bruising for a few days now…” You explain kindly to the receptionist once you’re both in the waiting room, standing at the front desk. Miguel standing a bit like a lost puppy behind you, listening to you talk to the receptionist there.

“Alright, the doctor can take a look once she’s done with another patient. If you can just fill out these forms and have a seat, it should be about 30 minutes.” She smiles and hands you a clipboard and a pen.

“Thank you. And could he please get some ice or something?” You smile and ask. The woman nods politely and going to grab an ice pack from the other room. You both start walking over to the waiting room area, looking over the form in your hands. Taking a seat by the fish tank and settling in to wait a little while. Miguel sits right beside you, running the good hand through his dampened hair from the rain. He glances down at the form in your lap. Then up at the side of your face. Wanting to reach out and touch your skin. Kiss your cheek. Remembering what it feels like to melt into your arms. Thinking of all the ways he can beg for, earn your forgiveness. Just as he’s about to speak-

“Here you go…” The receptionist is there, an ice pack outstretched for him to take, breaking him out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, taking the ice pack and setting it over his hand. “Thank you.” He smiles gently. Watching the woman walk away.

He feels like shit. Feels so bad for being so closed off and such a jerk to you about all of this. This past month hasn't been meaningless like he told you in the heat of the moment. It's meant something he just doesn't know how to say it. It's hard for him to put his feelings into words. For you it seems so easy, why can't he just be like you?

He looks back, watching you write down his name on the form. Thinking he can probably do this himself. Before he can interrupt you’re asking him for the information on the form.

I think I'll keep you 5

When the athletic door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him.

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is {{user}}… {{user}} this is Miguel”

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?” Peter asks you.

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends.

[direwolfblackrose]

I read it in just under 4 hours, but to be fair every once in a while I would stand up, do a little walk to calm down and then get back to it.

It's a good book.

"Hi, I bought your book and read it in two hours!" remains one of the most flattering and terrifying messages you can send me.

Who are you people? What old god did you sell your soul to that you can read that fast? That's 500 pages! I mean, good job, but holy shit.

[bluemoondelight]

Oh you guys are not ready for the "Wade and Logan comforting each other through their nightmares" fic that I'm writing rn.

[cryptic-rainfall]

I don't know what to do with mysellllfffffffffg, every night I would read dracula once I got into bed (great way to wind down before sleeping) but now that dracula is over I'm at a loss. what am I supposed to do now, read fanfiction?

[hella1975]

i love when you make your environment absolutely perfect to Get Shit Done like i had a nap i ate food and made coffee i put the big light on i got in comfy clothes i made sure i was warm enough i got all my stuff out. and then executive dysfunction goes 'watch this!' and you get nothing done forever and ever

[anaalnathrakhs]

...i'm starting to wonder if i wasn't actually pretty often failed by the adults in my life as a young kid tbh.

[rafeysbunny]

‧₊˚ ⋅ i'll show you, rafe cameron

stepbro!rafe x fem!reader

masterlist

synopsis. in which your stepbrother kindly offers to show you porn for the first time.

warnings. stepbro!rafe, innocent!reader (but she's not an airhead), virgin!reader, smut, fingering, rafe putting in just the tip, oral sex (fem receiving), rafe licks his own creampie.

word count. 4k.

author's note. idea by @matts1andonly. english isn't my first language so there might be spelling mistakes, don't hold it against me. enjoy!

it's past midnight when you finally slide out of your bedroom without making a sound. you have been waiting patiently for your mom and ward to go to bed so you can do this without risking getting caught. wheezie is already asleep too, sarah is out with john b somewhere, and rafe left the house earlier, not telling anyone where to, so you know he's going to arrive late, as always.

it's the perfect moment.

rafe's room is down the hallway, so you make your way there quietly not to wake anyone, your barefoot feet making soft footstep sounds when you walk. once there, you open the door as carefully as you possibly can, knowing it creaks every time it gets open. this time, thanks to god, it does not.

you manage to sneak into the dormitory unnoticed, then shut the door behind you. the place is dark, only a faint glimmer of moonlight coming in through his curtains, but you want to lay low, so you don't turn on the lights. by all means, the dim lighting is enough for you to spot what you're looking for.

rafe's mac, laying there on his desk.

what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.

and that's why you have decided that it is a good idea to break into your stepbrother's bedroom and borrow his laptop, since yours broke last week, to watch porn in it for the first time.

well, now that you hear it out loud, it probably sounded better in your head. anyways...

you stroll towards the desk with languid steps and sit down on rafe's chair, small hands reaching hesitantly to open the laptop. you turn it on and the screen light illuminates your pretty face right away. you swear your fingers are shaking a little bit as you open up the browser and type 'porn videos' on the search bar.

somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. either way, you don't back out. you click the enter button and, after just a few seconds, a million search results pop up. honestly, you don't know where to start, so you click on the first one, which redirects you to a website called pornhub.

the home page is full of videos, the first thing to catch your attention being the obscene thumbnails of each one of them. your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. you read some of the titles as you bite your lip nervously, realising most of them contain the word 'stepsister' in them, and you wonder if that is the only content posted on this page.

how innocent of you not to know that the website is making recommendations based on your stepbro's most searched tag.

before things escalate further, you spot rafe's airpods max sitting there on the desk and decide to grab them, connecting them to the laptop and putting them on —this way you can make sure no one overhears anything. after that, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through the page, during which you discover that there's a ton of categories to choose from.

how are you supposed to know which one to pick?

you are so invested in your little research, headphones canceling the noise, that you don't hear neither rafe opening the front door nor him walking up the stairs and, surely, don't notice him standing behind you until he speaks. and it's too late by then.

"the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" he blurts, complete and utterly shocked to see his naive stepsister fuckin' watching pornhub.

well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.

you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way rafe just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.

"i– this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guy– well, i... i uhm– i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class and– listen, i know this is silly, but..."

"jesus christ, baby, slow down, 'kay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.

the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire; you have never been this embarrassed before.

"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why you are in his room, in the middle of the night, and watching porn on his laptop.

you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. rafe's very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.

"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."

"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.

if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.

honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it. yeez, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is; there's no chance rafe's letting you near any other man but him.

"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.

it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.

"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.

there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.

"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle —unlike rafe, "that's what big brothers are for, aren't they?"

he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you. then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way; you cannot deny that.

"you, uhm, being my stepbrother is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.

"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"

your first mistake is, probably, trusting rafe cameron. "yeah, i do, but..."

"that's why 'm perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give ya' all the advice you need."

to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. you don't have any male friends, and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, rafe is a guy; he knows better what guys like, right?

"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.

"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."

only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.

god, he's been wanting you for months now; he can't believe this is happening.

"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on his bed.

he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.

he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.

your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.

he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, sis," he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."

"it's just– this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.

the actress is beautiful; she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.

the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate —at least that's what the title says.

"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."

"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.

your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.

you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.

as opposed to you, rafe's pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation —he's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.

you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.

rafe soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.

he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.

"you– you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.

rafe notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.

"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."

his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.

your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your stepbrother offering to show you.

rafe's fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."

you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.

"it's throbbing, rafe..." you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"

rafe's fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.

"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.

your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.

taking your moan as an invitation, rafe carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.

"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.

you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your parents or wheezie. rafe notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.

he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.

he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"

you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply; you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, rafe slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.

"so fuckin' tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.

withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.

rafe works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.

after a few experimental pokes, rafe's fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.

"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.

you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.

rafe leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.

"rafe," you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.

heaven help him. hearing you, his stepsister, moan his name like that makes rafe's hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.

and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your stepbrother's hand. rafe continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.

"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.

you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.

"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"

"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.

"such a good girl," he praises.

at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.

he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.

suddenly, realization hits you. this is your stepbrother for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?

he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.

"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "i'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."

you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?

it's just the tip.

"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.

rafe flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.

"rafe," you whimper.

rafe's eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.

he can't fucking take this anymore.

with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"jesus, fuck." he grunts.

your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slided the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from rafe as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.

"gonna– might just nut already, shit" rafe mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."

your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further —which nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.

you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.

this is the fastest rafe has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.

you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.

"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response. "hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"

you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.

after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

summary: the world crumbled before you could experience the touch of another. Joel does his best to keep you innocent for as long as he can.

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x afab virgin!reader.

warnings: 18+ mdni. established, undefined relationship. PUSSY RUBBING. fluids galore. just the tip. perv!joel. unspecified age gap. fingering. dirty talk. overstimulation. male masturbation. FEELS. Joel is a conflicted old man. reader is able bodied. no Ellie. w.c. 2.9k

an: i watched a porn clip and instantly went rabid thinking about jackson!joel.

-> follow up to a glimpse of heaven but it's not necessary to read the first part.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Like most of Jackson, the house you share with Joel is quiet and calm when night falls. Rain softly patters against the window as you lie in bed, wide awake. Another night of fruitless sleep under your belt.

You huff irritatedly, your hand collapsing against the mattress as you bitterly kick your bedspread onto the floor. Your oversized shirt clings to your body, your skin dewy from the exertion, and you're close to crying. Your limbs are wrought and overworked after hours of touching yourself with no orgasm to show for it.

Your hand won't cut it; it isn't enough. It can't reach all those sensitive spots that make you float among the stars.

Warmth pools in your abdomen as you think of one that's the perfect size.

A hazy hue of yellow light pours under your bedroom door as it spills from the room across the hall.

Joel.

It takes a long time to get to know someone, but they tend to meld with your soul once you do in one way or another.

From the start, Joel was intimidating. He was so frayed around the edges that you were afraid he'd completely unravel in the middle of your journey. He didn't seem to care for your company as the two of you traveled across the plains to Jackson, hesitation poisoning every fiber of your being, but you kept on with the strange man since no one else was willing to trek across the states. You desperately needed a new life, a fresh start away from the Boston QZ, and Jackson sounded like the perfect spot.

Over time, Joel opened up, conversing little by little as you drove for miles across the now barren US. Usually, after you had a close call with raiders or the lone gunman, he'd go silent, the weight of protecting someone other than himself sinking further into his soul, consuming that much further.

What you never expected was for him to be your first touch.

Sweltering tension slowly grew like a wildfire. Catching each other's curious stares, lingering fingers, and salacious banter until, one night, he slid a cautious hand into your panties. He claimed your untouched sex when you confessed over a roaring fire and a bottle of whiskey that you'd never been with another. His weathered hands were gentle as he sunk his fingers into your core, watching with rabid fascination as you came for the first time, gasping from his touch.

The following day, as he drove you across the interstate with the sun slowly rising, he made sure you knew that wouldn't happen again. "I'm much too old. Don't wanna waste your time with a mean ol' grump like me."

You didn't bring it up again.

One month after settling into Jackson, picking bedrooms, and deciding who would do which chores, Joel had his first taste of you.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

You chewed your dinner slowly in the modestly sized dining room across from Joel. You were so lost in thought that he was concerned enough to ask what was wrong.

"What does it mean when a man eats you out?" you naively pondered, causing him to choke on his veggies.

Joel had never looked so red before as he took a long drink of whiskey. You instantly apologized, explaining that you overheard a group of women conversing while you tended the communal garden.

He raised a hand, curbing your frantic rambles. "S'ok. Figured you'd be learnin' things. Just didn' think I'd be the one you'd ask."

"But I trust you."

His jaw twitched at your words.  

Later that night, Joel fell to his knees at the edge of your bed and tossed your legs over his broad shoulders. "Never tasted a pussy so sweet," he mumbled against your glistening folds as you ran your fingers through his graying curls. You came multiple times on his tongue, grinding his whiskered jaw while he hungrily lapped at your soaked folds like he was dying of thirst.

You didn't bring it up again.

It's warmer in Jackson now. The sun hangs longer in the sky. Snow boots and jackets are stowed away until the next freeze.

You slink from the warmth of your bed and pad sockless across the hall. Lightening flickers brightly under the starry sky. The night rain storm slowly whirls through the city, soaking everything in its path.

Joel's door is open. A soft smile tugs at your lips; it's his way of saying he's still up. He keeps it ajar while he reads before rolling onto his side and bidding goodnight to the world.

Three soft knocks alert Joel from the guitar-building manual he's currently reading. Dread clouds his mind for a moment, wondering why you'd be knocking on his door at this time of night, but he takes a deep breath and grounds himself in the softness of his bed.

"Yeah?" he calls out. His tone is rough around the edges after a long day on patrol.

You poke your head around the door with a timid smirk. He looks at you over his reading glasses before marking his spot and laying his book on the side table.

You don't say anything as you stride into his room. He notices your oversized shirt swaying at your knees before you climb into his bed and curl against his side like a cat. 

He drapes an arm around your shoulder, unconsciously pulling you closer.

"'Nother bad dream?" he questions with a low rumble.

You shake your head. "Can't sleep."

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his shoulder and feel him nod, understanding the endless struggle for a night of peaceful sleep. It's improved since moving to Jackson, but the dreams never end.

Silence fills the bedroom except for the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof. Joel leans against the headboard, sighs through his nose, and lets his thoughts drift. He's content to sit with you in his arms for as long as possible, even if that makes him selfish.

He wonders if you hope to find someone to settle down with, someone less ridged and mentally maimed, someone less him.

The thought drives a stake through his heart.

He'd be crazy to say he didn't love being around you. Your laugh and lopsided smile took the first brick out of his impenetrable fortress when you spied a deer and her calf frolicking in an open field in Kansas. From then on, it became easier for him to let his walls down.

When you came to him with those big doe eyes and urges about wanting to know what it's like to be touched and desired, he gave in each time despite his reasoning.

He would masturbate each time after getting his hands on you, also thinking about the early days when he'd catch glimpses of you changing or the time he first saw you naked while showering at the YMCA. 

He's still trying to figure out what to make of you. Friends? Lovers? He certainly didn't mean to fall head over heels. Love had no place in his heart, but he'd be a fool to say he wasn't extremely fond of you.

"Can you make me feel good again?" your lithe voice broke the silence.

Joel stops breathing. Your question doused him like a cold bucket of water. He knew this would come back and haunt him.

His hand curls tight around your shoulder as he wrestles with the devil on his shoulder. "Told ya we shouldn't keep doin' this, Sweetheart," he reasons, trying not to break your heart.

"But I can't make myself feel as good as when you've done it. I've tried!" You whine, burying your face into his chest.

"S'not that I don't wanna," he admits, soothing your soft cries. "S'just, you're too precious to do that wit' someone like me."

You lift your head and brazenly brush your lips against the exposed skin of his collarbone, earning a low groan as he curls a large hand around the back of your neck. He tugs you away from his skin, your lips still forming a tight 'O', and pins you with a stern gaze.

"Joel, it hurts." Your watery eyes and trembling bottom lip are his downfall.

"Lay back, Sweetheart, and spread your legs," he orders with a husky tone.

You don't make a noise; too afraid he'll stop if you do. Your cunt beats against the gusset of your panties as you lay on your back, spreading and bending both legs at the knee, just like he taught you.

A warm breath fans down your face as he shifts down your body before kneeling between your legs and tracing teasing fingers over your covered mound. His nails lightly scratch along the worn cotton, making you suck in a frantic breath. He slips a practiced hand beneath the crotch of your panties and deftly explores your folds, gently rubbing small circles on your clit after wetting his fingers with the arousal that's pouring from your cunt.

"Oh, she's achin' real bad, huh?" he groans as your opening clenches beneath his wandering touch.

"Joel, please, I need-" You gasp, hips wantonly grinding against his hand, desperate for any type of friction.

The muscles in his jaw ache. It's only natural you'd be wanting more.

Before he thinks twice, Joel draws his cock out from his sweatpants. Your stomach cramps at the sight as it smacks against his belly; he's massive.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs like a solid, dangerous threat. It weeps from the dusky tip, shiny liquid dripping from the crown as he squeezes his hand around the girthy base peppered with dark gray, wiry hair.

"Got somethin' that'll make you feel good, sweet girl." he grits, tapping his cock against the covered crux of your pussy. It thwaps devastatingly against your clit, forcing a gasp from your lips as mind-numbing pleasure races up your spine and leaves you staring dumbly up at him.

"S'that what you need? Need my cock to keep 'er from achin so bad'?" his cock is searing as it lies in wait atop your panty-clad mound. You swear you can feel his blood pumping steadily into his shaft.

He cautiously thrusts his hips, sliding his length along your cotton-covered mound. Your slick arousal seeps thru the material, wetting the thin cotton and creating a sensuous touch as he glides along your cunt.

He shoves your shirt up over your chest, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He licks his lips, "Such'a beauty."

Your cheeks flame at his words. Having such a man say things about you makes you lightheaded.

Joel groans as your panties practically are now see-through from your combined fluids staining the cotton, "Oh, baby." You whine at his pet name. "I got ya. Keep those legs open, just like I taught ya. S'good girl."

He keeps a steady pace, sawing back and forth over your extremely soaked mound. Your puffy pussy lips stick to the soaked cotton, leaving nothing to Joel's imagination. He glides easily along your slit, your juices smoothing his path until your arching your back and chanting his name like a prayer.

Watching you orgasm under his touch is enough to drive him wild. He throws all sense of logic out the window. He's okay with being selfish again.

"Let's get these off, yeah." He hooks two fingers under the elastic and slides your panties off before his words register in your euphoric haze. "Feel even better without 'em."

He swallows hard at the sight laid out before him. The sheets splay and curve around your naked body, making you look like an ethereal being sent to test his limits.

"Gonna give 'er a kiss, Sweetheart," his deep timbre vibrates your body as he draws close and touches the bulbous tip of his cock to your exposed folds. Blood rushes to your cunt instantly, bordering on the edge of pain. You cry out from the intense contact, and arousal slips freely down your crack as he traces his cockhead up and down your soaked slit.

"How's she feel?" He anchors his head, looking down at you from under his lashes.

"S'nice," you half whisper, half moan. The wanton bliss slowly consumes you the more he rubs against your sticky folds, keeping a hand locked around his girthy base, his crown glistening with your combined arousal.

Your eyes tear open, back arching like a bow, when he cants his hips and taps his cock square in the center of your cunt.

"M'not gonna fuck you, sweet girl, wanna keep you whole," he declares, holding true to his word despite the overwhelming need to claim you.

He can't be the one to sully you. "Ain' much left'a this world that's as sweet n' pure as you."

Your core quivers as his dusky, throbbing crown glides along your glistening seam. He tentatively explores uncharted areas, brows furrowed with concentration, fighting with inner demons who want to claim, corrupt, and mold you for only his touch.

His name leaves your lips with a mess of desperate, frustrated moans, "Please, Joel."

He snaps out of his haze. He's done almost everything he can to keep you safe and protected in this new way of life. He'll be damned if he doesn't grant you anything you ask for.

"S'hurtin' somethin' fierce, huh?" He grunts, angling his hips until his cock lines up with your fluttering hole. "Bet she needs somethin' big'er than fingers to ease 'er throbbin'."

His cock catches on your opening, forcing a hiss through his clenched teeth. As tight as you are, he can't stop from pushing into your warmth. He blocks out any sense of reasoning that's shouting from the back of his mind as he slowly nudges his cock into your weeping, inviting hole.

Joel goes brain-dumb momentarily, watching in immoral awe as your core ever so slowly swallows his fat tip and breaches your quivering hole, forcing a raspy whine from your throat.

So warm, safe, and wet.

Joel's never felt anything like you. He wants to bury himself, slide his cock as deep as he can, claim every inch, endlessly fill you with his cum, and keep you only for him.

You frantically reach for him, hands clutching the air as he rubs a callous thumb over your clit while keeping a steady hold on the base of his cock.

"S'all she's gonna get," he states, returning to his senses and hissing when your cunt tightens. "S'just the tip."

A soft begging whine bubbles from your lips as you extend your arms, needing something solid to hold before latching onto his wrists.

Your hips move on their own, desperate to feel his length completely shunted in your velvet warmth, but brute hands envelop your hips and pin them to the bed.

He shakes his head, salt and pepper curls fraying across his forehead. "Don' be greedy now." He tuts, narrowing his gaze down at you.

A garbled mess of nonsense tumbles from your lips as your fingernails dig into his muscular, hairy forearms.

"I know. S'big, huh?" He lands a solemn thumb on your clit, rubbing tender circles around the tiny bud. "Stay wit' me, sweet girl. Wanna feel you come on my cock."

Your mind spins. It's all too much, and yet, not enough. Your head tosses from side to side, and you're frantic to survive, breathing hard and fast, waiting for the drop to come and, at the same time, never wanting it to come.

"Don't I deserve it? Keepin' you safe all this time." Joel muses, stroking his cock in time with his teasing thumb. His eyes never leave where he's splitting you open. He's barely penetrating you, but it's enough to know if he had, you'd be struggling to take him.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Let go f'me," he urges, his touch growing faster. Severe, tightly drawn circles tease you closer to the edge.

Your stomach flips. A heaviness settles in your throat, your heart lodging in the tight confines, your blood pumping faster and faster. A lithe whine slithers free, escaping into the dimly lit room and burrows into Joel's mind.

His jaw clenches, and a dark growl rumbles from his chest, "Thatta' girl. Make'a fuckin' mess'a me."

Your dripping hole quivers and throbs around his swollen tip as you come with a silent scream, body locking taut, trying its best to engulf his length entirely.

Joel curses, jerking his length with long, steady tugs and rubbing his weeping, cream-covered tip around your soaked folds before his spine goes straight, and he yanks his cock from your core, curling in on himself and spilling his seed all over your belly with a deep, gravelly moan.

You sag into his sheets, spent with a shiny thin layer of dew and white ropes of spend painted across your abdomen.

"Shit." Joel curses, breathing heavily as he holds himself by his hands, which press into the mattress by your head, keeping you locked beneath him.

You hold his studious gaze. His dark eyes ruminate, tinged with mood, as his gaze drills down into your very core, threatening to demolish your soul. You resign that this was nothing special. Just another night you won't talk about again.  

Joel eases off of you with a grunt, his bones aching from the tension despite the brief, pleasurable relief, and tucks his cock back away into his sweatpants. He shuffles to the bathroom momentarily before returning with a damp washcloth.

He wipes the cloth over your belly and between your thighs, cleaning the combined arousal from your skin before chucking the rag into the hamper with a sigh.

"I know," you mutter, grimacing as you roll onto your side and sit up, tugging your shirt down. "I won't mention it again."

A solid, warm hand on your shoulder stops your retreat. "Stay," Joel whispers with soft, yearning eyes. "I wan' you to stay, sweet girl."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[mostly-imagines]

So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing. 

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply. 

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears. 

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe. 

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead. 

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.” 

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement. 

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance. 

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.  

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that. 

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.    

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now. 

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support. 

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place. 

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance. 

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!” 

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it. 

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.   

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.   

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor. 

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him. 

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.  

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.    

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.