#just sits there with his mouth hanging open

[starkeysbabygirl]

⋆˚࿔ down for you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝜗𝜚 brothers bsf!rafe cameron x reader

𝜗𝜚 your brother questions the hickies on your neck and little does he know his best friend is the one who gave it to you👀

𝜗𝜚 cw: older!rafe (only by a few years), fingering, oral (female receiving), little bit of edging, praise, degrading names, fight between rafe and readers bro

𝜗𝜚 i’m cringing rn but hope ya’ll enjoy this😭

rafe cameron was knox’s best friend since high school. your older brother made sure you were off limits to any of his friends, they all knew they couldn’t even try any shit with you. you didn’t quite understand knox’s reason for it but it never bothered you…until rafe.

it wasn’t a surprise that you formed a little crush on rafe, but because he was off limits you had to bottle up your feelings. you still never failed to catch glimpses of him when he would come over and hang out with them when knox would let you. you couldn’t even deny, rafe was absolutely good looking, just your type. one thing both you and knox didn’t know was that rafe was harboring his own feelings for you too.

it only took so many years for the two of you to confess your feelings to one another and agree to keep it a secret from knox, rafe being the one to slip first. now things have started to get a bit serious a few months into the relationship.

you were sitting on the bed when you heard the front door close. you began to wonder if knox somehow got done with hockey practice early then the panic set in thinking of the worst case scenarios like knox catching rafe at the house after he already told knox he was busy and couldn’t come over. you knew knox would question it. you jump out of bed and slightly open the bedroom door. “knox?! is that you?”

no reply, just silence. the only thing you could hear were steps ascending the stairs. “i see you pretty girl.” rafe suddenly appears, peaking through the crack. “you goin’ to let me in? or am i gonna have to force my way in hmm?” he grins.

“maybe i want you to force your way in” you giggle, making rafe smirk. instead, you open the door and throw your arms around rafe and wrap your legs around his waist. “i was waiting for you, got worried that knox came home before you could get here. i missed you rafe.”

“i missed you too doll face. we got maybe an hour tops before your brother gets home. let me take care of you, yeah?” you nod and rafe walks towards the bed and lays you down. he hovers right above you, his mouth connecting with your neck as he starts sucking and licking right under your ear. you can’t help but moan, it felt too good. you were in the moment.

“wait! rafe, be careful you know knox could see this shit and he’d kill you if he finds out it was you!” you say inbetween giggling and moaning. by the time he comes up for air, you’re left with hickies on your neck. thankfully it should be an easy fix. your hair can hide the evidence along with some makeup. you don’t even want to think about coming up with some bullshit lie to your brother.

“yeah, yeah sweetheart i know but i just can’t help myself when it comes to you. you drive me fucking wild.” rafe slides his hand down underneath the oversized tee you’re wearing, touching the wet spot on your panties. “god damn, i love when you’re soaked and ready for me like a good girl. mmm, such a slut. just for me” he pushes your panties to the side and slips a finger into your pussy, slowly inserting a second, then a third. suddenly he curls his fingers and picks up speed hitting just the right spot.

“oh. fuck. shit. rafe more, faster, please!” you whimper as rafe rams his fingers in and out of you.

“tsk tsk, you’re already close to cumming aren’t you? not yet my pathetic, desperate, little whore. you cum when i’m ready for you to cum.” rafe groans in your ear. he pulls his fingers out of your glistening cunt and puts them right into his mouth, sucking on your juices. “fuck baby, the taste of your pussy has my cock rock hard.” rafe groans and you just can’t help but stare because he just ruined your orgasm but god was he sexy.

“you taste so fucking sweet y/n, why don’t you have a taste now yeah?” rafe shoves his fingers back into your wet pussy and out and smears your arousal all over your soft lips.

“open up y/n” you waste no time and open up for him as he works his fingers in and out of your mouth.

“rafeeee, seriously?! i was so close to cumming and you just do that?! hmph!” you exhale and roll your eyes.

“did you just roll your eyes at me? now you did it doll face..well, i guess i’ll just have to eat this attitude right out of you” he picks you up from the bed and throws your back against the wall. his hands strongly grip your upper thighs close to your waist to keep you from slipping in his hold. he spreads your legs wide open so that your pussy is right in front of his face ready for him to devour. “dinner is fucking served.” he exhales then goes in for it.

“oh rafe, fuck yesss! feels s’good. oh my god!! please don’t stop!” rafe ravages your clit, licking and sucking as if his life depended on it. your juices drip down his chin, making a complete mess.

“shiiiit, never tasted anything sweeter or as good as this fucking pussy baby. you gonna cum for me? i think it’s about time.” rafe licks a stripe up your slit, lightly biting and sucking at your clit and it sends shivers down your body. he knew what he was doing and you’ve never felt this sensation before.

damn him, he had you wrapped around his finger.

“fuuuuuck, fuck yes!!! keep doing that rafe, i’m gonna cum. fuck you’re so good with your fingers.” your legs shake and pussy contracts, your orgasm hitting you tenfold and rafe slurps it right up.

“you did so well y/n. now lets get you cleaned up, i better get out of here before knox comes home”

the next morning you tie your hair up into a ponytail completely oblivious to the fact you had three hickies somewhere under your ear. it slipped your mind as you threw on a tank top and some leggings and made your way downstairs to the kitchen. you spot rafe and knox sitting on the couch watching hockey.

“good morning!” you say a little too cheerfully, after the night you had it was expected.

“morning” rafe and knox say in unison.

“you sound awfully happy today.” knox comments.

rafe turns and looks at you with wide eyes trying to tell you without words that you had hickies on your neck and your brother was right there. he grabs his neck and quickly removes his hand when knox turns his head around to look at you. you didn’t catch what rafe was trying to tell you in time.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! WHAT IS THAT SHIT ON YOUR GOD DAMN NECK Y/N? WHO DID IT? TELL ME NOW I SWEAR TO GOD. DO I KNOW THE FUCKER?” knox bellows at the top of his lungs. you start to sweat and your legs almost give out, even rafe looks guilty when sweat starts to form on his forehead.

knox gets up from the couch and stalks towards you. “do you see this shit rafe? can you fucking believe the prick that did this to my little sister?” rafe chokes and just stares, stuck on the couch not knowing what to do or say. he just gave himself away.

“wait a minute…” knox looks from you to rafe, and it clicks. “you’ve got to be fucking joking. out of all the girls desperate to be with you….you go and choose my sister?” knox yells with disgust.

“look, knox… bro, um let me explain.” rafe says nervously as he carefully gets up from the couch. he knows how your brother is when it comes to you, and his anger sometimes gets the best of him.

knox steps towards rafe and throws a punch but rafe dodges it and grabs knox’s fist. “knox, listen! i fucking love her. i love y/n, she’s not just some girl to me. you know me, i would never hurt her. she’s everything to me.” rafe confesses.

“wait! what, you love me?” you walk towards rafe, standing between the two. “yes y/n, i love you. always have pretty girl.”

“oh rafe, i love you too! i love you so much!” you steal a kiss from him, even in front of your pissed off brother. you could care less.

“so what? you two like together or something?” knox cringes.

“yes, we are and you’re just going to have to deal with it. please? for my sake.” you can’t help but smile knowing knox is going to let it go, he just wants his little sister to be happy. he may hate it but he knows if anyone deserves you, it’s rafe cameron.

“fine but no funny business with me around. i really don’t like it but whatever. just don’t hurt her cameron or i’ll come after you, trust me you know i will. soo, deal?”

“won’t happen but whatever you say y/ln. deal” rafe smirks, knowing he doesn’t have to sneak around to come over anymore.

tagging a few mooties: @cameronsprincess @rafesthroatbaby @rafesheaven @cameronwillow

[saintwyfe]

࿐ ˚ . ✦ YOU'RE KILLING ME, JUDE! jude bellingham

summary. holidays are meant for reuniting with friends and family. your ex? i think that depends.

cw. crack, a thing or two of cursing. not proofread.

wc. 1283

your ex-boyfriend, jude, knew how to push your buttons. it didn’t help that you were next-door neighbors.

so, when you’re back home from uni for the holidays, he finds himself staring at your window, every now and again. accidentally, of course. your room isn’t pitch black, but dim enough to read the pages from a book on which your attention is anchored.

he catches himself staring for quite a long time. it’s not until his dad yells for him downstairs that his eyes divert. then, he jolts toward his closet, trying to find some clothing to slip on as beads of water drip down his back.

he scratches his arm as he finally makes it to the kitchen to find his dad. he doesn’t say anything when he realizes that his parents are sharing a laugh with a guest—your mother—at their kitchen island.

“jude!” your mother, helene, gasps when she realizes he’s standing a few feet away from them. her arms open as he walks closer to engulf her in a hug. “haven’t seen you in forever—how are you?”

he pulls away, a smile etching the corner of his lips as his hip nudges the corner of the island. his parents are looking at them, burgeoning excitement, as they watch them reunite. after all, it’s been a while since the two families have had a proper get-together. years, probably. 

“just football, y’know. always football.” he cocks his head as her fingers reach up to pinch his earlobe. 

“gosh, you and jobe get taller every time i see you two,” her head shakes in bewilderment, despite only getting to see him once, maybe twice a year. of course, they’d grow just a tiny bit every time.

he wraps around the kitchen to grab a glass of water from the fridge. and they’re… still staring when he turns around. “speaking of jobe, where is he?” he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes once he’s figured that he hasn’t seen his younger brother since noon.

helene’s finger points in the direction of her home, next door. “he’s over hanging out with nate [your brother!]. fifa, i think.”

he shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head. “figured he’d be doing that.” carefully placing the empty glass in the sink. “i’ll head over there, then—just to see if i can join.” 

“the door’s open. you’re fine to just walk in” helene waves goodbye and watches as he towards the front door.

giving the adults a quick goodbye, he slips some sandals on before walking a few steps next door. and of course, the only noise coming from the quiet house is upstairs, to the right. he follows the sound of the two boys yelling and cursing obscene things at each other. but, his body follows the door opposite nate’s, making a sharp turn toward your door. he stands before the door, leaning on the frame as he contemplates talking to you. after all, it’s true that he’d never gotten over his high school lover, the girl next door. but suddenly, the door opens, and his eyes widen in shock.

“what are y—” you stand in front of him, your voice slightly hoarse before he covers your mouth with his palm, redirecting the two of you into her room before shutting the door. thankfully, nate and jobe were still taunting each other in the other room, loud enough for no one in the house to hear the door shut. he locks the door shut, not pulling away his palm until you’re sitting on the corner of your bed, staring up at him with seething eyes as you try to tug his wrist away.

“if i let go, you’re not going to scream,” he mutters, his knee nudging the comforter next to your legs as he looks down at you with slight fear. you’re dumbfounded, tempted to bite the skin of his palm. shaking your head in confusion while furrowing your eyebrows, he slowly retreats his hand from your lips.

you wipe your lips, huffing as you scoot back on the bed. “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

he steps away a reasonable amount. “uh—my mom, she invited you over for dinner. i figured i’d come over and ask mys—”

“your mom has my number,” you interrupt him, giving him an annoyed look.

“doesn’t matter. it’s still nice to offer, y’know.” he retorts, giving you a smug look as he sassily crosses his arms. “clearly you don’t know anything about being nice, cursing your guests over. you haven’t changed a bit, y/n.”

you raise an eyebrow in confusion, humor… surprise? you didn’t know what to think. to scream, or to burst out laughing. “are you high?”

“what? am i high?” his jaw drops as he feigns offense. and this is when he goes off about how it was actually out of his kind nature to take time from his night to come over and offer dinner, and how your mom would be offended if she’d heard you tormenting him like this. you just stare for a few seconds as he rambles. then, you get the bright idea to lock his knees together and get the six-foot-one man onto your bed. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DO—” he shrieks, but your hand covers his lips before he can finish his thought. someone from across the hall has definitely heard, and your heart can’t help but race, though the door is locked. you breathily giggle as you look at the door for a few seconds, sitting on his lap, and meeting his eyes with a you better hope no one heard look. your lips hover to his ear, taunting him in the same way he did just a few minutes earlier.

“are you gonna scream?” you whisper in his ear, smiling cockily—in a way where he undoubtedly hears you smile in your words, despite not seeing your face. he doesn’t say anything the first time, but his hand reaches your thigh and grabs the skin tightly, slightly stinging. he pushes your buttons so easily, but you can’t help but chuckle as you lay atop your ex-boyfriend of two years.

your hand clutches his mouth a little tighter, more aggressively. “i’m not gonna let go. if you scream, we’re so fucked—you’re so fucked.” all he does is look at you with narrowing eyes. but, you cave in, trusting that he isn’t going to rat himself out this blatantly. you pull your palm away, and he retains a calm composure for about five seconds before letting out a loud screech.

your eyes widen. before you can think, your lips crash onto his, trying to shut him up. shit.

his hands reach up to caress the small of your waist, adjusting your hips to sit more comfortably on his lap. he knew what he was doing, but you can’t help but admire how much you’ve missed his lips.

but, as you’re kissing each other, a loud knock sounds at your door. 

“yo, are you good in there?” your brother, nate, asks.

your head is perked toward the direction of the door while jude stares at your lips, circling the skin of your waist. “i’m watching a show, sorry!” you can hear him shake his head and jobe giggling from across the hallway as they return to playing fifa. you look at jude in annoyance. 

“swear, you like to piss me off on purpose,” you scoff, glaring at him as you hover over his face. 

his fingers pull pieces of your hair behind your ear as he quietly chuckles. “can you do that thing again? where you kiss me like this?” 

and suddenly, you're flipped on your back, engulfed in a kiss with giggles cascading the room, and it feels like you're both 18 again.

author's note - hope you guys like this! haven't posted in literally over a year--i'm so sorry. i missed you all though!

[hoshifighting]

Hello, I love your blog! What do you think about this scenario, when jihoon finds out reader has very sensitive breasts and nipples and is able to have a nipple orgasm? But reader already knew that she can have it, but left it as a surprise for him. So he's just playing with reader's tits and it makes her more turned on, so he continues and it happens

woozi making reader cum just from nipple play

WARNINGS: smut, nipple play, a very shocked and turned on jihoon?, biting, licking, sucking, mention of penetrative sex, masturbation (f. receiving)

you’re lying with your boyfirend, all sprawled out and giggly, letting jihoon take his time playing with your body and your responses. his hands are warm, and surprisingly smooth, fingers slightly calloused.

“you’re so sensitive here,” he mutters, thumb swiping lazily over your nipple. the small, surprised gasp you let out makes him pause, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “what, didn’t think i’d notice?”

you bite your lip, playing coy. “maybe.”

he quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, and his other hand joins the party. his thumbs circle your nipples in slow flicks, and when you arch into his touch, he leans in close.

“this good?”

“mhm,” you hum, trying to keep it casual, but your body betrays you. your back arches, your breath hitches, and you’re doing everything not to outright moan.

he notices.

“huh.” he tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches your reaction. his fingers pinch and roll, just a little rougher, and when your thighs press together, his smirk widens. “wait… no way.”

you don’t respond, just close your eyes and let out the tiniest whimper. it’s enough to send his brain into overdrive.

“holy shit,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “is this… are you…?”

you peek at him through half-lidded eyes, the faintest, most mischievous smile on your lips as you grit out a bit sulky. “what do you think, woozi?”

his jaw drops. actually drops.

“you’re joking,” he says, voice shaky, but his hands don’t stop. his fingers start to work harder, and it's almost funny how far hes willing to concentrate, as if he’s testing a theory.

“oh my god, you’re not joking,” he breathes when your breathing gets heavier, your hips starting to shift like you’re chasing something.

“keep going,” you gasp, voice thin and desperate now, and that’s all the confirmation he wished.

his mouth joins in, lips latching onto one nipple while his hand works the other. he alternates between soft licks and firm sucks, and the combination is devastating.

“you’re actually gonna cum from this,” he mumbles against your skin, sounding both awestruck and ridiculously turned on. “fuck, you’re unreal.”

your hands fly to his hair, pushing him back to twirl his tongue around your sensitive and flushed bud, tugging as your body strains under him. “jihoon—oh my god, stop t-talking!”

he feels your thighs quiver, your hands tighten in his hair, he realizes that every flick of his tongue is pushing you closer to the border. his lips wrap around your nipple, sucking hard before switching to fast flicks of his tongue. his other hand rolls your neglected nipple between his fingers, pinching and twisting just enough to draw out the prettiest gasps from you.

your head falls back, mouth hanging open, and you’re gone. when it finally happens, your entire body tenses, thighs clenching, your hips lifting slightly off the bed as you moan, high-pitched and breathy.

jihoon’s eyes snap up to your face, his mouth still latched onto your breast as he watches the realization wash over you.

“oh my god,” he mumbles funnily around your nipple, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.

your chest heaves, your hands falling limply from his hair to rest on the bed. you’re flushed, your skin glistening, and your lips slightly parted as you try to catch your breath.

jihoon sits back on his knees, his chest rising and falling with his own labored breathing. “you actually…” his voice trails off, disbelief and arousal warring in his face.

you stay quiet, your head turned slightly to the side, as if avoiding his gaze.

“you just came… from that?” he asks, his tone somewhere between wonder and outright lust.

you nod, cheeks burning as you avoid looking directly at him. “yeah,” you mumble, so quiet he barely hears you.

his hand moves to your thigh, his grip firm as he slides his palm up, pausing when his fingers meet the wet heat between your pussy lips. “you’re not messing with me, right? this wasn’t, like, a coincidence?”

“jihoon!” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “it’s not weird, okay? i’ve always been like this.”

he stares at you, his brain still trying to catch up with what just happened. his fingers move against you, feeling the slick and glossy proof of your orgasm, and he bites his lip. “are you kidding me? weird? this is… fuck, this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

your hips shift at his words, instinctively pressing into his hand, and that’s when he notices the subtle roll of your body, the way your legs fall open just a little wider, and how your gaze flicks down to the obvious strain in his sweatpants.

his cock twitches against his thigh, already achingly hard, and he can’t help but smirk. “you’re already thinking about it, aren’t you?”

you lift your head, your eyes narrowing at his cocky tone. “thinking about what?”

he leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “how good it’s gonna feel when I fuck you stupid.”

you shudder, and before you can answer, his lips find yours, stealing the breath from your lungs as he presses you into the mattress.

your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth as his hips grind against yours. his hands find your breasts again, fingers toying with your sensitive nipples, and your body jerks beneath him.

“so sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips moving down your neck, his tongue tracing a path to your collarbone. “i could make you come like that all night, couldn’t I?... you’ve been holding out on me,” he teases, biting lightly at the soft swell of your breast. “keeping secrets. you’re gonna have to make it up to me.” you don’t even get the chance to respond before his tongue is back on your nipple, his fingers slipping between your folds to find your gummy walls.

[mandosaur]

Morningstar (The Salesman / Reader)

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: The Salesman / Reader

Summary: Extreme graphic content warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Read at your own risk.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

Female reader is present during the first Russian Roulette scene.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, canon character death, explicit sexual content, gun play / gun violence, and gore. Dead dove; do not eat.

Word Count: 7,794

Estimated Reading Time: 28:20

At this point, it’s not much of a surprise just how low your threshold for what is normal and abnormal has fallen. Your walls have been forcibly brought down. What might have scared you years ago has become something mundane. You don’t even blink as you enter your apartment to find two people tied up and gagged.

The sound of the door opening makes everyone snap their heads towards you. You hesitate at the entrance, eyes taking in the scene before you.

Two men are tied up in your living room. One is young and covered in a sheen of sweat. He screams as he sees you and looks desperate. He seems to mouth, “Help,” over and over through the gag in his mouth. His hands reach out for you as if pleading with you to do something.

The second man sits opposite of him. He’s older, gruff, and his eyes are full of alarm. He moves his hands like he wants you to back off and he mouths at you to run. It seems he wants you to save yourself from whatever threat is in the room with them.

A low chuckle sounds from somewhere in the back of the room. Your attention is drawn to the man you missed upon your first entry. Understating floods you as he steps into the low light of the room.

“Ah, little star,” comes a cheery, bright voice, “you’re home early.”

In the low light of the living room, you can make him out. Your benefactor. He’s standing in his business suit in the middle of the two restrained men. He holds something up in his hand that glints in the lighting and sends a low shiver down your spine.

A gun.

You close the front door quickly behind you and latch it. A breath hitches in your throat and you drop your coat and bag by the hallway. You hope your neighbors haven’t seen anything yet because you’re not sure how you can explain this one.

The two men make a noise. The youngest is frantic, muffled words and pleas getting lost along the rubber gag, meanwhile his companion is straining against the rope that binds him trying to find a way out. You ignore the way the sight of them makes your stomach heave and instead focus on your benefactor.

He’s turned to you now with the gun still aimed at the ceiling. His smile is wide, too many white teeth, and his eyes have something glinting within their depths. You know that look well. He wears it every time he’s about to play one of his games.

You’ve known this man for years now. You met him when you were just a university student in your second year barely scraping by. He had met you on the subway and his too wide smile had shown razor sharp when he had offered you a red and blue piece of paper.

You’re not surprised at whatever scene you have just walked in on. Heaven knows he’s shown you worse.

“Friends of yours?” Your voice cracks on the last word and you awkwardly hang by the hallway unsure whether to approach or leave.

This happens sometimes. You’re not sure what shady business your benefactor is involved in, but sometimes it follows him home. You’ve grown used to him ordering you to leave when his friends in red show up or when a car pulls up front waiting silently for him to enter. Whenever that happens, he usually orders you to leave your apartment for a few hours until he sends you an all clear message. You’re not sure if your presence has inconvenienced him somehow, and, quite frankly, you don’t really want to know. Despite the way this man has twisted your perceptions of right from wrong, you aren’t too keen to watch whatever is about to happen with these men.

Your benefactor beckons you over with a single tilt of his head. He turns back to the men with a flourish. His voice is still bright, loud, and clear. He takes your interruption in stride as if it was insignificant.

“Come, little star, join me,” he orders.

Silently, you do.

The men grow quiet at the sight of you slotting yourself next to your benefactor. The youngest one sobs and squeezes his eyes shut at the realization that you are with him. The hope of escape evaporates as he sags and cries freely into his lap. The oldest clenches his fists tight and pins you down with an ice cold glare that sends a shiver down your spine.

You look away from them both and instead turn to your benefactor.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

He pushes you forward firmly with hand holding the gun. The cold metal stings as it presses against your back.

You swallow and extend your hands in front of yourself. You also know this one. You’ve played it with him on occasion although it’s usually when he’s feeling more playful in bed. It’s never really done with a weapon.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he calls out. Your hands move at the beat. At the end, your right becomes paper and your left a rock. He extends his own hand and you see he’s chosen scissors, “Minus one.”

Your right hand falls away leaving your rock. You tap his scissors once and he drops it obediently.

“Well done, little star,” he praises. His voice drops to that low, seductive murmur you like. Despite the situation at hand, you feel a little flutter of excitement singe through your blood.

“When you lose a round, you play a round of Russian roulette. I’m sure both of you are familiar with it. You take a gun and load a single bullet in the revolver. Then you spin it around until you don’t know where the bullet is. The losing player takes the weapon, presses it to their head, and pulls the trigger. It’s a game of a chance. Your odds of surviving are 1 and 6. Those are good odds, yes?” He spins the revolver and presses the gun to his head.

Your mouth grows dry with worry as he pulls the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

A breath releases from your lips slowly in relief. He shoots you a wink with his lips curled up at the corner. He enjoys the moments he can make your heart skip a beat in fear.

“Again.”

This time he sets the gun down and extends both his hands towards you. You do the same.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Your hands become two rocks. His left becomes a paper and his right another rock.

“Minus one.”

You jerk one hand behind your back and he beats you with his left. The revolver is spun again and he hands you the gun silently.

Fear clenches its cold fingers around your stomach. As always, your hand shakes when you take it from him. You’ve never been a fan of this game, but you don’t want to disappoint him. His eyes are watching your every movement, and you know he won’t tolerate disobedience. If there’s one thing he hates more than anything, it is when you cannot do as you are told.

You press the barrel of the weapon to your temple and pull the trigger before you can second guess yourself. Dying doesn’t scare you. Living without him is far more terrifying.

Click.

A breath of air passes through your lips. You don’t have time to register your relief before he takes the weapon back and gives it another mighty spin.

“See, gentlemen? 1 in 6. My darling and I have both survived,” he taps your shoulder indicating you to step back. You move behind him and press yourself to the wall.

The two men are still shaking. The youngest lets out a noise of pure terror as your benefactor hums and raises the gun. The eldest glares at you from beneath his dark eyebrows. Idly, you wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

Does he see another captor deriving sick amusement from the torture or perhaps just a bystander watching it all from behind his captor’s back? You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought.

The truth is, this dark and dangerous world evades you. You don’t really know what it all means. You’ve spent the last few years dancing across the edges of it but never truly venturing forth. Even now, you don’t really know what it is that is happening or who exactly your benefactor is besides a savior.

Two years ago, you were a college student in your second year with the weight of the world upon your shoulders. Your home life had always been poor, an indebted dead father and an absent, broke mother, but your studies were the area you excelled at. You had managed to win a full ride to one of the most prestigious universities in Korea. The world of poverty you were born in was slowly coloring into rose golds and glimmers at the prospect of more.

Then your world had ended.

In your second year, you lost your scholarship. The burden of all the expectations on your shoulders had broken you beneath their weight. You who had always had good grades had suddenly burned out. Your test scores began to slip and your marks lowered across the board. Emails began to flood your inbox from the academic board warning you that you were now on academic probation and your scholarship hung in the balance.

The stress of being unable to raise your grades made them drop lower. You were so scared to fail that you failed at a faster rate. Eventually, a single email had appeared warning you that you had lost your financial aid.

In a puff of smoke, everything was gone. Your university account was locked, you were dropped from your classes, and the university warned you’d have a month to pay for the tuition before you were permanently withdrawn from the registrar.

You hadn’t had the strength to tell your mother. She was always so fierce and stoic that you knew nothing but reproach would follow. She would berate you until you were in tears then disown you if she found out. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t have the funds to pay for it all off.

You were stuck. You had some savings but not nearly enough. Even the shitty part time jobs you had been able to find waitressing and working overnight hadn’t made a dent in the tuition. How could you possibly pay for a full degree with little to no savings?

The world had seemed so bleak then. You’d fallen into despair and waited until the moment it all came crashing down. When your mother called, you feigned still being a student all while rushing from place to place looking for a way to earn some cash.

And then your benefactor had found you.

Like the North Star, he’d shown the way for you. He had approached you after a long shift at work while you were dead tired. Your fingers had shook at the sight of your bank account still too low to make a dent on anything. Your rent, your loans, and everything else had eaten up what little you had managed to scrape by. The tuition was still too far away. You’d begun to sob quietly when he had cleared his throat and introduced himself.

To you then, you thought he cut a striking image. He was handsome, charming, and his too white teeth stretched into a smile. He had offered to play a game with you. Ddakji.

He offered you a choice. If you won, he’d pay you a sum. If you lost, you’d pay him back with your body.

While a part of you had grown weary, you were desperate enough to do it. The won he offered wasn’t a lot, but it could pay for a few textbooks or maybe a part of your loans to allow you more room to breathe. As for you paying him back, fine. He was handsome enough that you figured it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you ended up on your knees in some alleyway before him. The desperation had killed your pride a long time ago.

Without second guessing, you had taken the red slip of paper from him and played several rounds. During the game, it became apparent you were good. Really good. He never got a chance to win. You beat him at every round.

Every time you won, his charming gaze grew darker and darker. By the end, his eyes were pitch black and his smile was all sharp teeth and razor edges. Somehow, you had beat his challenge without even trying.

A card had emerged from his blazer pocket with an offer of a different game you could play. You had only glimpsed some shapes before he had suddenly snatched it back out of your hand. As if deciding otherwise, he took it back and offered you an alternative to the game. His pupils were blown wide and his fingers had snagged a strand of your hair to play with.

He had offered to be your benefactor. A star like you, he claimed, didn’t deserve to burn out. He had sat down then next to you and explained he knew who you were. Your name and information had left his mouth rapid fire.

He knew your name, what university you went to, and the exact amount needed to complete your studies. He knew you had lost your scholarship and how much your mother was banking on you graduating to elevate your socioeconomic standing. He also knew your rent was due soon and the window to enroll for classes for the next term was growing closer.

It was then he had presented a new offer. He’d be your benefactor. He’d pay for it all out of pocket. Your rent and bills would be paid, he’d pay for your tuition and even any further post grad studies if you wanted, and he’d give you the life of luxury a star like yourself deserved if only you agreed to be his. You were interesting, he claimed. No one had ever beaten his challenge before. He felt like you’d make a thrilling playmate.

Alarm bells had rung in your head then. Every nerve and neuron had fired all at once warning you of this man. No one offered all of the answers to your problems freely. His proposition was also chilly. You were not too dangerously naive. You knew just what kind of “playing” he meant just based off the way his eyes kept picking you apart-

But you were desperate. The weight of it all was suffocating. You didn’t know how to claw your way out of the hole you’d found yourself in, yet here was this handsome man offering you everything you could ever want.

You’d taken his offer. He had extended his hand and you had accepted it.

The very next day, your problems had all disappeared. An email had arrived from the university happily letting you know your tuition had been paid for in full and offering you to re-enroll in your previous courses. Your landlord had sent you a message thanking you for paying for the next year of rent in advance and been very shocked that you had even sent extra to cover utilities. Plus, a big delivery van had arrived in the afternoon bearing several packages. Textbooks for the new year, a new computer for homework assignments, and some nice clothes had been left on your doorstep all with a note from your benefactor.

By the time you had finished unpacking every gift, your doorbell had rung again and your benefactor was outside your doorstep waiting to collect on your end of the deal.

And you had paid him in full.

You’d welcomed him into your apartment with all it entailed. He was fascinating. A thrilling mystery and exciting to be with. It had started small. Little stolen moments here and there in your living room or bed. Then it had escalated.

He’d trained you to be his perfect companion. He decorated you in the clothing and jewelry he liked best. He taught you all the little games he liked to play. Games that made your eyes roll back in pleasure or teeth grit in pain.

Before you knew it, he owned you completely. You’d taken cruelty at his hand. Thanked him for the insults and kissed his hands after the beatings. You’d let him cut you with knives and lick the blood afterwords. You’d played Russian roulette until the gun clicked 5 times and he’d decided it was enough. All of it you’d done for him.

He was a drug. He took care of you at a time when you’d felt abandoned. A light in the darkness. The morning star burning bright.

In the time you’d been with him, he’d broken down your barriers. You’ve learned to take his cruelty and fashion it into love. A part of you yearns for him, aches at the very core of who you are to be his forever. He no longer scares you. You’ve take it all. Played Russian roulette until he’s grown bored, accepted the thought of dying by his hand, and learned to love his rough edges and manic phases as long as he lets you stay at his side.

Perhaps this is what this man sees now. A girl half his captor’s age standing pretty at his back somewhere between cowering and leaning forward into the abyss. Maybe that’s why his eyes grow full of hatred and he levels you with a glare that makes you shirk back into the shadows of the room.

Your benefactor continues after a brief pause.

“Your odds of dying are 1 in 6. Your odds of surviving are 5 and 6,” he calls out. He presses the barrel to his head and it clicks empty a third time. A shrill whistle leaves his lips.

The men cower.

“Shall we begin?” He motions for you to take a seat. You hop onto the table at the back where a record player sits. You turn it on and music floods the room adding a nice backdrop to the game.

Your benefactor shoots you a grin at the top of his shoulder before he takes his place between the two men.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men jump into action. The eldest raises his trembling hands. A rock and scissors. You raise an eyebrow as you see the youngest has been paralyzed with fear and hasn’t moved.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue disappointed. You wince. He hates when someone refuses to play.

“You didn’t play. You broke the rules for the first round,” he comments and raises his hand, “Disqualified.”

Muffled shrieks sound from the two men as the gun is pointed at the disqualified player. You bite the inside of your cheek and press your legs together in anticipation. A spark of arousal ignites within your blood. You like this side of him, you realize. It is terrible and twisted but oh so thrilling. Your arms prickle with gooseflesh and your fingers cinch around your clothing wishing desperately you could wrap them around him.

A click of the gun echoes followed by screams from within the gag. Empty.

A silence descends as the younger man hyperventilates. The older man sags against his chair in relief.

Your benefactor offers the gun for you to spin. His eyes are ablaze with excitement. He loves this and he knows you love that he loves it. He can see through you in a way no one can or ever will again.

You spin the barrel for him and the game continues.

The second round, the younger man wins. The eldest screams open mouthed as the barrel is pressed to his temple.

Another click.

You watch with mild interest as your benefactor dabs at the sweat gathering on the oldest man.

“Don’t be so nervous,” he reassures, “Like I said, your odds of survival are 5 in 6.”

You recognize those words. He’d said the same thing to you the first time you’d played the game with him.

He’d introduced you to it early on in your arrangement. You’d sobbed and screamed every time he’d pressed the gun to your forehead. You’d thought him crazy then, absolutely insane, and you’d begged him not to kill you.

He’d licked your tears and groaned at the sight of you so afraid. Danger excited him but fear drove him mad. He’d grown even more aroused with your terror. He’d pressed the gun to your head again and again ordering you to remain still and repeated the odds as if numbers had meant anything to you then.

You’d played ten rounds miraculously surviving each one. When he’d finally had his fill, he’d set the gun down and taken you again. That time, you couldn’t deny that the boneless feeling of the adrenaline crash after such a big fright wasn’t thrilling.

You hated the damn game. It scared you and made you want to faint. Every time you waited for that click felt like torture, but you liked the after. Liked the relief of survival and the way he grew even more excited at your reactions.

You bet he’s excited now. With his back to you, you can’t tell, but you suspect he’s straining against his pants.

It’s not the danger that gets him going, you know. It’s the fear.

And panic runs rampant in this room. It dances around the edges and leaves a hazy sheen. You clench your thighs together again and suppress the urge to make a sound. Perhaps you’re a little too much like him. You briefly wonder if you’ve always been this way, if maybe his presence unlocked some hidden recess of your mind you always buried beneath propriety and morality, or if he has corrupted you to the core and damned your soul through his proximity.

“Let’s play again,” he calls out. He spins the barrel again and his wrist snaps up. He moves like an announcer to a game show. Movements sharp and crisp.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men move.

“Minus one.”

Click

Another scream. The youngest squeezes his eyes shut as the gun is moved away from him.

A weary sigh leaves your benefactor’s lips. You recognize the boredom that descends over him. He’s a man of extremes that flicker faster than light. One moment he can be terribly excited and the next terribly bored.

Now, it seems he’s grown uninterested. He moves away and towards the table with the rest of the bullets lined neatly in a row.

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?” He directs the question at you.

“Hm,” you make a noncommittal noise.

You know what’s coming. Your fingers snag the bullets one by one and extend them towards him.

This is the part of the game you absolutely hate. Russian roulette is terrifying enough with the odds of 1 and 6, but 5 in 6?

The one time he had ever wanted to play it with you, you had adamantly refused. You’d cried and begged him not to terrified at the thought of dying in such a twisted way. He’d watched you cry for over an hour amused as you’d pleaded with him on your knees not to make you.

In the end, he had relented. He’d taken your face in his hands and kissed you humming that he had changed his mind. His voice had been nonchalant as he had remarked that it was better if your pretty brains didn’t end up splattered on the wall after all, and that had been it. He’d abandoned the hope of the game and never brought it up again. You’d played Russian roulette normally from then on when he felt adventurous, sometimes without spinning the barrel every round, but that was the extent of it. He’d never pressed for a more extreme version.

Except now.

Whatever these men have done, he does not care if they live or die. This is purely for his entertainment. It’s all one big game.

“Let’s reverse the odds, shall we?” He takes the bullets from you and loads them one by one except for the last one.

The men beg and plead for mercy. Your benefactor ignores them as if they haven’t said anything.

“Your odds of death are now 5 and 6. Your odds of living are 1 and 6. Let’s continue,” He doesn’t wait for them to agree. He takes his place at the front and looks towards you expectantly, “Darling?”

With a jolt, you realize he’s giving you the honors. You clear your throat and straighten up.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” you call out. You’ve done it a thousand times before, “Minus one.”

A tie.

You blink and the game continues. Over and over, the men tie. Eventually, you get bored of referring the game.

And then the tie breaks.

The men choose different options. It’s a win-lose situation. You and your benefactor lock eyes just as the song on the record hits its crescendo.

The eldest is going to win. You’re certain of it. All he needs is to move his hand with the scissors back. The youngest could win too, but he looks too scared to piece together the fact that victory is so close.

Deciding to close out the game, you call out one final command.

“Minus one.”

The youngest screams and the eldest closes his eyes. You lean forward to see who’s won and then raise your eyebrows.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“Too bad, you didn’t take one away. Disqualified.”

It happens before you even have time to blink. The gun is raised forward and a tiny scream escapes your mouth.

Bang

Blood and viscera splash on your carpet and walls. The youngest lets out his loudest scream yet and descends into tinier little screams of pure terror. Your benefactor hums and straightens. Before him, you can see the eldest has died.

5 in 6.

The record ceases its playing and you pause waiting for any indication that someone has overheard. Thankfully, your walls are pretty thick and your neighbor moved out last week. You suspect this is why your home was chosen as the venue for this little game.

Your benefactor hums and removes the remaining bullets from the gun, all but one. He wipes the blood from the barrel and hums a song under his breath.

“Congratulations, you’ve won,” he remarks to the other man.

The man is bent over his chair in agony still screaming. Whoever this man is, he was important. You know he has sacrificed himself for him. Briefly, you wonder who they are.

Bile floods your mouth at the sight of his corpse and you force yourself to look away. Instead, you focus on your benefactor. His fingers trace down your face and you see there’s some blood that stains them. You suspect some of the blood is on your cheeks and hair likely from the splatter.

“Thank you for the assist, little star. You’ve always been very good at this game,” he murmurs. He leans towards you and you adjust yourself to accommodate him. Your legs open for him to slot himself between them and your hands go to the lapels of his jacket.

He presses his mouth firmly against yours. You meet his kiss with a burning intensity. Your fingers card through his hair and his hand goes to the back of your head to press you closer. His teeth snag on your bottom lip and copper fills your mouth. A pained squeak leaves you before he swallows it down and pushes you closer.

It’s a while before he draws back. Your lungs burn and you’re sure your mouth is swollen. This close to him, you can feel something press against your core. He’s hard. The game has given him an edge of excitement. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Good girl,” he praises. His fingers swipe at your bleeding bottom lip. He licks at the blood on his index finger and meets your eyes as it comes away clean. His pupils are blown wide with lust. You imagine you look the same.

He knows what that praise does to you. You hold him close as he leans forward. His hands grip your thighs and he yanks you until you are leaning over the edge of the table. Your legs hang limply before he helps wrap them around his waist.

He is hard. He’s straining against the front of his pants and you automatically tip your hips up in anticipation. A gasp leaves you just as a growl resounds from the back of his throat.

He presses his mouth against a pulse point in your neck and bites down just as hips roll again.

“Did my little star enjoy the game? Is that why you’re so eager now? Hm,” he murmurs it against your skin and his lips tickle.

It’s embarrassing to admit it out loud. You close your eyes as his fingers slip beneath your skirt. They slip underneath your panties and find your excitement already beginning to gather.

He chuckles underneath his breath and offers them to you.

“See that? Taste yourself,” he orders.

You take his fingers in your mouth and swipe your tongue along his digits. The taste of you is sharp and raw. You can feel your core clench against nothing in anticipation.

He forces his fingers back into your throat. You protest as he hits the very back and tries to get you to gag. Your hand goes to his wrist to try to shove him off and he smacks it away.

“Ah, ah, all the way.”

The feeling of your gag reflex being suppressed makes your eyes water. You squeeze your thumbs hoping that old wives tale works.

He likes teasing you like this. His favorite thing in the world is when you cry. He often does whatever he can to get tears to pool at the corner of your eyes. Nothing gets him off quite like it.

A sound registers behind you both. It’s the man from earlier. You’ve completely forgotten about his existence too drunk on the feeling of lust.

The man is bent over with pure repulsion and disgust written on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s gagging. You don’t know whether it’s because of the gory sight of his friend in front of him or from your display.

Either way, your benefactor withdraws his fingers from your mouth giving you a chance to breathe. He tilts your head towards him and you meet his eyes. His eyes are pure black, lust clear as day, and he stares at the thin string of saliva that follows his fingers as he withdraws them.

“Ah, ah, don’t look at him. Look at me, little star. Eyes on me.”

You do.

Your heart is a humming bird in your chest and the way your core is clenching around nothing is uncomfortable. Desperately, you want him. Audience or not, you need him in that very moment or you feel like you will die.

“Please,” the plea leaves your lips before you can think. Your mouth moves to his neck to find a nice spot to sink your teeth into. His skin tastes like salty sweat and copper. He has blood specks all over him. You trace them with your tongue and the taste leaves you reeling.

He backs away a little and something cold presses to your mouth. The gun.

Your breath hitches in nervousness as he motions for you to open your mouth.

“Why don’t we show our guest how we play Russian roulette, hm? Teach him how it’s done?” He smirks and moves the gun further into your mouth.

Fear courses through your veins. The gun tastes of gunpowder and blood. You’d gag in revulsion if you weren’t already gagging from the feeling of it pressing against your throat.

“Put on a show, little star,” he urges, “Show our guest how we play our games.”

You know what he wants. You close your eyes and move your tongue around the barrel swirling and licking at the cold metal. You imagine your mouth wrapped around him and suck your cheeks in the way you would him. It’s vile and dirty and oh so tempting.

With him pressed so close, you swear you can feel him twitch against your core. Still, you continue. Obscene sounds fill the room as you lick and suck alternating between the two in a rhythm that you know would drive him crazy.

Click

The gun clicks empty. You realize with a flash of fear that he has pulled the trigger. So distracted by your actions, you had forgotten you were playing a deadly game.

He mistakes your momentary lapse in attention for fearlessness. He withdraws the gun and puts it in his own mouth tasting your saliva.

Click

It’s empty for him too. He pulls it out and uses it to trace down the front of your blouse. You feel your heart pound against your ribcage as it moves lower and lower.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. The gun traces down and underneath your shirt. The metal kisses the skin and he sinks his teeth right into your neck leaving an ugly mark you’ll see tomorrow in the mirror.

You sigh against him and move your fingers to his front. He lets out a pleased grunt as you slip your fingers into his pants and trace the shape of him. You want him so badly and aren’t above begging.

Still, he isn’t quite done.

He moves the gun down to in between your legs and the metal teases your entrance. He swipes it back and forth a few times teasing you. You moan against it and roll your hips expertly trying to get any sort of relief from the tension.

There’s a coil in your stomach ready to burst. The anxiety from the loaded weapon combines with your arousal creating a dizzying mixture. He’s gotten you hooked on the feeling of danger. He once promised he’d ruin you and by God has he. You’re too far from grace now. You’re so wrecked and damned that you doubt Satan would even want your soul now.

He’s absolutely ruined you for all men. How on earth could any man give you any sort of pleasure now? How could you want anyone else now that you have tasted him and found heaven in the stars he makes you see when he brings you over the edge?

You know what he likes. You want to bring him pleasure, so you move yourself against the damn weapon meeting his thrusts of it.

It isn’t enough, you want him not the damn thing. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and meet his eyes. Both of gazes burn with lust.

He’s panting against you, you realize. Both of your shallow breaths are mingling. He’s as turned on as you are. Still, he doesn’t give in. He wants to show you off, show off the control he has over you.

You won’t run. You won’t scream. You won’t cry or beg. You’ll take the scraps he gives you and obediently play his game. If he tells you to play with him, you will and you’ll thank him for it.

His hands shake as he moves the weapon against you. He’s reaching his limit. You groan out his name, his real name only you are allowed to use, and close your eyes.

“Please, please, please, I need you,” you beg. The weapon provides some friction but it’s not enough. You want more. You want him to take you. Nothing else compares to the feeling of him deep within you. No other man or your fingers could ever make you feel the way he does.

Click

The gun clicks empty again. With a shock, you realize he’s pulled the trigger while it’s inside you. Horror floods your system and you hide your face into the crook of his neck.

He’s pulled the trigger 3 times without spinning the barrel. That’s 3 times either of you could have died. Some more bile climbs up your throat and some of those alarm bells ring again. You had thought he’d gotten rid of your self preservation long ago but every once in a while those pesky instincts swim back to the surface.

For a brief second, you imagine saving yourself. You imagine shoving him off you and bolting. Maybe you’d make it to the door while he gathers his bearings. With the gun only loaded once, he might not be able to shoot you in time.

You could flee into the night and disappear. There’s enough cash in the jewelry you’re wearing to escape. Either you disappear from Korea entirely and forget all about this dangerous incubus in between your legs, or you go to the police station and reveal everything you know. Either choice would let you be free of him. You could run now and save what’s left of you-

But the thought disappears the moment you hear the sound of his zipper.

He’s set the gun down on the table beside you now and is freeing himself from his pants. Your mind goes blank with the promise of pleasure and all thoughts of salvation evaporate.

You widen your legs and move your garments to the side allowing him access. With how aroused you are, he slips in with ease.

The stretch of him makes you sigh. You dig your fingers into his coat and hook your legs together welcoming him in deeper. He wastes no time burying himself to the hilt.

The table rattles and bangs against the floor as he thrusts into you hard. He’s close to his own limit. His eyes are closing shut and the tempo he sets is brutal. You cry out and arch your back at the feeling of him pounding into you.

Whether it’s the game or you, he is close. He’s been close this entire time. You know neither of you will last long.

You meet his thrusts with a roll of your hips and your back arches. Pornographic sounds leave your mouth and you hear his own hisses and grunts in your ear. He’s so, so close. He’s unraveling with every deep, hard thrust.

“Yes, that’s it, little star, yes,” he bites into your ear and increases the force of his thrusts. The table bangs against the wall and you’re sure the damn thing will break from the force. Fuck, he’s going so hard. You can feel the tip of him kiss your cervix with every thrust. Tears well at the corner of your eyes and you squeak at the impact of his every move.

“Please,” you babble. Your vocabulary has been reduced to that one word. You move your leg just up a little and he hooks his hand around your thigh and bring it up higher. The new angle has him hitting a spot deep inside that no one but him has ever managed to find before. You feel yourself begin to shake as stars dance before your vision.

“I’m going to-so tight-“

He bites into your neck and you feel sharp pain. When he moves his head, you can see blood in his mouth. It stains the skin of his lips and runs down the side of your blouse. You know you’ll look ghastly by the time it’s all done. You’ll be covered in bruises and bite marks, but it will all have been worth it once you hit your peak.

“Fuck! You were fucking made for me, fuck,” he swears again. His hips begin to stutter. You know he’s close and your own mouth opens in a silent scream. He hits a spot in you that has your vision flashing white. Your mind blanks of all thought as you arch into him and dig your nails into the back of his neck.

“Daddy,” you gasp.

That word drives him mad. He grips you impossibly tighter and all but folds you over as he looms over you. His thrusts increase into a force that has the wood of the table creaking and splintering. You cry out in pain and pleasure as he begins to falter. His eyes roll back into his head and he groans.

“Fuck-darling-I’m going to,” he bruises your cervix as he begins to fall apart. He’s all but breaking down before you, “Call me that again-fuck.”

You’re about to hit your peak. He’s so deep inside you that he’s all you can think of. Unimaginable pleasure fills you and you babble.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy-“

In the end, that’s what does him in. With a final, guttural sound, he buries himself all the way in and falls apart. His eyes are rolled back and he spills into you. It’s burning hot and painful. You hit your own peak right after and your vision turns white. A burst of feedback fills your ears and you’re boneless.

He rides out his climax making you hiss at the overstimulation. Finally, he stills.

Quiet fills the room except for your shared breaths. The man behind you is shaking and looking away horrified by the display. You must look absolutely wrecked to him. A vile display of psychopaths covered in blood and feet away from a corpse.

You don’t care. No one could ever understand the pleasure that comes from damnation. You don’t mind being perceived as something hideous if only the man before you finds beauty in your darkness as you’ve been able to love the monstrous thing that lurks within him.

The cold barrel of the gun presses against the underside of your chin. A forceful kiss is pressed against your mouth and you meet its intensity and fervor with your own.

“Beg me,” he orders. His voice is gruff, husky with his release, but commanding all the same.

You don’t have to feign the fear in your voice.

“Please don’t,” you gasp, “We’ve played enough rounds.”

You tremble as he presses the gun deeper into your chin. His mouth is curled up in a lazy smirk satisfied and satiated. You’re not afraid as you regard him through the misty tears spilling from your eyes.

He leans forward and licks them one by one collecting the salt on his tongue. The sound that leaves his mouth at the taste is infernal.

He takes your offering of tears and accepts the sacrifice. A trade for your life.

Silently, he moves the gun away and aims at the ceiling.

Bang.

Plaster rains from the ceiling as the bullet goes flying. You scream in terror at the realization that he could have killed you. Some of the haze of pleasure dissipates leaving behind the terror that you feel every waking moment at his hand.

The man before you screams and begins to sob. Full blown hysteria follows and he begins to beg in earnest again pleading to be freed.

Your benefactor tosses the gun down at the ground bored and offers you one final kiss before he withdraws. He slips out of you and you make a sound at the feeling of emptiness. He’s left you feeling hollow and already you ache to have him again. You’re an insatiable thing ruined by his hand.

He zips himself back up and uses his hand to fix his hair. There’s sweat on his face and he moves away to gather himself again. You slide off the table on shaky legs and feel his spend run down your leg.

The table is broken now and you narrowly manage to move before it falls on one side and breaks. You both ignore the noise of the record player shattering as you take a moment to breathe.

In through your nose and out through your mouth. You ignore the scent of gun powder and the way your shoes squelch with the blood on the floor. Your hands adjust your skirt and blouse with shaky fingers.

“You should feel lucky,” your benefactor snaps his fingers, “You survived and you got a nice show out of it too. No one plays this game like my little star, but you managed to beat the odds.”

He’s speaking to the man. The man is still full body trembling and sobbing. He looks so pitiful with tears running down his face and snot dripping from his nose. You look away and make a face at the feeling of more spend running down. You’ll need to clean yourself up.

Your benefactor straightens up and you feel jealous at the way he can always look so put together. If it weren’t for the little specks of blood on his face, you would never be able to tell he was so ragged moments ago. You’re sure you must look like a mess with your clothing in disarray and the bruises already forming on your skin.

He scoops the gun again and offers it to your mouth. You know what he wants. It’s a ritual.

You kiss the barrel as a thanks for letting you live another day then his fingers for introducing you to something so wicked. The corners of his mouth twitch up in a smirk.

“Good girl.”

He slings the thing in his jacket pocket and scoops the bullets into his hand. Nodding his head, he dismisses you.

“Now go clean yourself up, little star. I’ve still got some business with our guest. I’m going to be out late tonight,” he calls out.

You don’t need to be told twice. You move on still shaky legs and whisper out a declaration of love. Like always, it goes unanswered. Shrieks sound from the man as he is hefted out of the chair as if weighing nothing and dragged off into the night.

You watch your benefactor disappear out the door carrying the man out into the chilly air.

You never see him again.

[littlelamy]

𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓼𝓴𝓼 𝓳𝓳 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓮𝓻

credits to @parfaitsinsatiable for the photos 🥰 and @rafesplaymate for inspo 🤭💗

The night wrapped the world in its fervent, pulsating energy that buzzed against the skin. JJ lounged like sin itself, the golden tips of his tousled blond hair gleaming under the last blush of the setting sun. His battered lawn chair creaked beneath him, a half-empty beer dangling lazily from his fingers. When you approached, his eyes flicked upward, a slow smirk tugging at his lips—hungry, cocky, and just shy of dangerous.

“Got a minute?” you murmured, halting within arm’s reach. Your sundress swayed around your thighs, teasing glimpses of soft skin with each shift of the breeze. His eyes swept lower, a flicker of heat sparking in his gaze before it returned to your face.

“Depends,” he drawled, voice heavy with mischief. “What’s the catch?”

You arched a brow, stepping closer, your perfume wafting between you like a promise. “You trust me, don’t you?” The words slipped from your lips honey-sweet, but with a razor-sharp edge that made him sit up a little straighter.

“Not even a little,” he shot back, though his grin widened, his tongue brushing the corner of his mouth. “What’s this about?”

Leaning down, you let your lips hover near his ear, the heat of your breath ghosting over his skin. “I need your help,” you whispered, low and silken, the kind of tone meant to tangle thoughts and dissolve resistance. “With something only you can do.”

His cocky demeanor faltered, intrigue darkening the blue of his eyes. “What kind of something?”

You let a small, calculated pause hang between you, biting your lower lip just enough to draw his gaze. “I want you to take pictures of me,” you said, your voice dropping into a whisper that left no room for misunderstanding.

“Pictures?” He blinked, straightening in his chair. “What, like for your Instagram?”

“Not quite.” You let the words linger, watching his brows knit as realization crept in. Then, with deliberate slowness, you ran your hands down your hips, drawing attention to the way the fabric clung to your curves. “Something raw. Something... sensual.”

His jaw dropped, and for a moment, he just stared, torn between disbelief and the unmistakable pull of desire. “You’re fucking with me,” he finally muttered, though the words lacked conviction.

You laughed—a soft, teasing sound that had him shifting in his seat. “Dead serious,” you said, stepping forward until the space between you was a whisper. The neckline of your dress dipped as you folded your arms, pressing your chest forward ever so slightly. His eyes flickered downward before snapping back up, the tips of his ears turning a satisfying shade of red.

“It’s for a magazine,” you continued, your voice steady, dripping with daring. “An amateur feature. I need someone who can make me look... unforgettable.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as if trying to ground himself. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re scared,” you taunted, letting the corner of your mouth curl into a wicked grin. “Come on, JJ. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Don’t tell me you’re not dying to see what’s underneath.”

He groaned, the sound low and guttural, raking a hand over his face. “Fuck, princess. Fine. But if this gets me killed—”

“It’ll be worth it,” you cut in, already turning to walk away. The sway of your hips, the whisper of your dress brushing against your thighs—it was an invitation he couldn’t refuse.

The air in the bedroom was molten, heavy with the charged tension between you and JJ. His camera hung from his neck, momentarily forgotten as his eyes roamed your body, drinking in the sight of you sprawled across the bed. The sheets beneath you clung to your curves, the faint sheen of sweat on your skin catching the soft light you’d set up just right.

You arched your back, letting your legs fall open slightly, enough to tempt but not enough to reveal everything. The barest glimmer of slickness was visible between your thighs, and you caught the way JJ’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the camera in his hands trembling just enough to betray him.

“Focus, JJ,” you teased, your voice low, throaty, the kind of tone that crawled under the skin and settled in the gut. “You’re supposed to be the professional here.”

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as if to clear it, lifting the camera to his face. But the viewfinder didn’t hide the way his hands shook, the way his breaths came faster, harsher.

You adjusted your pose, running a hand over your stomach, up to your breast, fingers brushing your nipple until it hardened visibly. “Come on,” you whispered, your voice dropping to a sultry purr. “You can’t capture this kind of heat just by watching.”

“Y/N,” he growled, his voice strained. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” You bit your lip, shifting your hips slightly, letting your thighs part further. The faint scent of your arousal reached him, and his breath hitched audibly. “I thought you were supposed to direct me. Tell me what to do.”

His grip on the camera tightened. “I... Fuck. Fine. Arch your back more. Turn your head—yeah, like that.”

You obeyed, but the look in your eyes as you glanced back at him wasn’t submission. It was challenge, fire, daring him to go further. You trailed your fingers down your body again, letting them slip between your thighs this time, brushing over your clit with the lightest touch that had you shivering.

“JJ,” you murmured, your gaze locking on his. “Come here.”

He hesitated, his jaw tight, the camera nearly slipping from his fingers. “This isn’t—”

“Do you trust me?” you interrupted, throwing his own words back at him. When he didn’t move, you pushed yourself up slightly, propped on one elbow, your fingers still teasing slow, lazy circles over your swollen clit. “Come on. I know you want to. Don’t make me beg.”

Something in him snapped. He set the camera down, his movements jerky, almost frantic as he crossed the small distance to the bed. His hands hovered uncertainly over your thighs, his eyes darting to your face for permission, for some sign he wasn’t stepping over a line.

You tilted your hips up slightly, pressing your hand against his, guiding him. “Here,” you whispered, breath catching as his fingers brushed against your slick folds. “Rub me, JJ. Right here.”

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, his fingers finding your clit, tentative at first, then firmer as he watched your reaction. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he circled the sensitive nub, his touch unsure but oh so eager.

“That’s it,” you breathed, your hand gripping his wrist, urging him to keep going. “Don’t stop. Just like that.”

His free hand gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white as he worked you with an intensity that left no doubt how badly he wanted you. His breaths were ragged, his eyes glued to the way your hips bucked against his hand, your arousal coating his fingers.

“Jesus, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough and reverent. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You let out a low, throaty laugh, your eyes half-lidded as you met his gaze. “This is what you do to me, JJ. Now keep going. Don’t you dare stop until I’m shaking.”

JJ’s fingers moved with growing confidence, the pads of them slick and gliding over your clit with an addictive rhythm that sent sparks shooting through your core. Your breaths grew heavier, more ragged, a soft gasp escaping every time he hit just the right spot. He watched you intently, his face flushed, lips parted as though he could feel every tremor coursing through your body.

"Faster," you whimpered, your hips arching off the bed, chasing the pressure that built steadily inside you. "Don't hold back, JJ. Give it to me."

His jaw clenched, a curse slipping past his lips as he obeyed, his thumb pressing against your clit now, working it in small, precise circles. He slid his other hand up your thigh, gripping the soft flesh as though to anchor himself. The room filled with the slick, obscene sounds of his fingers against you and your increasingly desperate moans.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he muttered, his voice rough, almost hoarse. "Completely spread out, soaking wet for me. Christ, pretty girl, you're gonna kill me."

Your body tightened, the coil inside you winding so tightly it was almost unbearable. You reached out, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him closer until his face was just inches from yours. His breath mingled with yours, hot and heavy, and the raw hunger in his eyes was almost enough to tip you over the edge.

"Then die happy," you murmured, your voice trembling but still commanding, your nails digging into his arm as his fingers worked you harder, faster, dragging you to the brink. "Make me cum, JJ. Make me scream your fucking name."

And he did.

Your orgasm tore through you, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that left you crying out, your back arching violently off the bed. "Fuck, JJ! Oh my god!" Your thighs clenched around his hand, trapping him there as your body shook, wave after wave crashing over you. You were vaguely aware of his low groan, his fingers still moving, drawing out every last tremor until you were a trembling, breathless mess beneath him.

When the intensity finally subsided, you slumped back against the bed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin flushed and glowing. JJ sat back on his heels, staring down at his slick fingers like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. His gaze shifted to you, his expression torn between awe and pure, unfiltered desire.

You reached out, catching his wrist and bringing his hand to your lips. Without breaking eye contact, you licked his fingers clean, tasting yourself on him, watching as his pupils blew wide with lust.

"Your turn," you whispered, your voice still shaky but dripping with mischief. "I think it's only fair I get to make you scream next."

part 2: coming soon

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah

[mochacoda]

[teaser] too nice | hjs

Pairing: Hong Joshua x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Joshua Hong is nice. Too nice. He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. The answer is, no. Problem is, he's your coworker and your neighbor.

Content: Fluff | Coworkers to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: slightly insecure reader, totally inspired by the Youngji chocolate milk grandchildren interview, lots of elevators, lots of tension, a bit of drinking, mutual pining, "sweetheart" as a petname, gentleman agenda indeed, except he goes a bit mad at the end, seungkwan is a comedic genius, woozi is the wingman of the year, konglish w/ context clues, reader is scared of loud noises, no "y/n"

Word Count: 9.9K

Full Version: January 8

Monday

Joshua Hong is nice. Really nice. He opens the door for you every morning walking into work. He insists that he carries heavy file boxes from your boss’ office to your desk. He buys you coffee from the cafe down the street, knowing that the instant machine is almost always broken. Whenever he passes you in the hallway, he always smiles and mouths “fighting!” He notices when your enthusiastic mask slips and your tiredness peaks through. He tells you not to work so hard, and asks if you’ve been sleeping well. 

He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. 

But the answer is, no. 

“He’s just like that. He’s nice to everyone. Get a grip.”

You sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror hanging above your vanity. You’ve been absentmindedly rubbing moisturizer on your cheeks for the last three minutes, at least, thinking about your coworker. How have you gotten to the point of talking to yourself in attempts to rationalize the thoughts of him clouding your mind?

All of a sudden, your alarm rings. You jolt upright, reminded that you have to leave your tiny apartment and head over to your equally small office cubicle. 

You quickly stand up from your vanity chair, then walk over to your closet to grab a jacket. Relying on muscle memory, your hand moves toward the hook it always lies on, only to swipe at air. 

The one and only winter coat you own isn’t there. 

You groan, remembering that you’d put it in the laundry bin after staining it with beer over the weekend, at that disastrous company “bonding” event. You look down at the taupe sweater you’re wearing, pinching the material to guess if it’d be warm enough. It’s barely a centimeter of fabric. 

Glancing at the time on your phone, you decide that the thin sweater would just have to do. 

You turn back to the mirror to do one last check of your appearance, when something catches your eye. Sitting on your bedside table is the plushie Joshua had won for you at the arcade. The bunny stares back at you innocently. You’d placed it there last night before crashing out on your bed, fatigued from the chaos of the company outing—or, more specifically, the secondhand embarrassment recalling your attempts at trying to be normal around Joshua.  

You shake your head roughly. You could cringe at yourself on the way to work. Grabbing your work bag and shoving your shoes on, you rush over to the door. 

Squaring your shoulders, you open it and walk out. And for a moment, as you’re turning your key to lock the door, you think that you’ll be alone for the commute to work for once. 

But then you hear a familiar voice.

“Good morning!” 

You tense, heart beginning to race, then turn around with a weak smile.

“Hi, Joshua.” 

Somehow, you’re not only coworkers with your crush, but also next door neighbors. 

“Hey,” he says, then takes a sharp breath. “It’s pretty cold today. Is that sweater going to be warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding eye contact as you drop your keys into your bag. “It can’t be that cold.” 

You adjust the bag strap on your shoulder and walk toward the elevator on your floor, pressing the down button. It immediately opens.

“You sure?” 

You nod as the two of you walk inside the elevator. 

Hoping he’ll stop pushing you on your lack of a coat, you ask, “Did you look into the McKinley and Lee file yet?”

“Come on, it’s not even 9am and you’re already attacking me with work!” Joshua dramatically clutches his chest, then lightly punches your arm. “What’d we say about 워라���, huh?”

You feel your face getting hot, your right hand reflexively going up to where he’d touched your left arm. Was it always this toasty in the elevator?

Meeting his eyes for the first time today, you say, “Yeah, yeah, work-life balance. You’re right.”

His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle into bright crescent moons. You find yourself smiling back at him, despite having tried so hard to avoid his stupidly sweet gaze.  

“I’m just teasin’, you know?” he says, leaning casually against the steel walls of the small elevator.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble again, rubbing the handle of your bag and tapping your foot to give yourself something else to focus on, suddenly aware that the two of you were alone. 

God, could the elevator move any slower? Fidgeting with the loose threads of your sweater, you were on the verge of melting from being near his vicinity for so long. 

Ever since Joshua Hong had arrived two months ago as a transfer from the Seoul branch, you haven’t gone a day without running into him. It was HR’s fault, really. The Human Resources department had placed him in yours, and also gave him the company-funded apartment next door to you. 

He’d spent so much time around you that, if you didn’t see the people who regularly flocked to him, you’d think you were his only friend in the States. It was, and still is, ridiculous. His constant presence has meant that you are constantly aware of yourself. Of how you’re breathing too loud, and how your heart is beating too fast, and how you were in too much of a rush to do your hair and makeup this morning. He makes you care more than usual about how well you perform at work, and, worse, he makes you think about how happy and funny you appear to be. 

The way he teases you for being nervous (although that’s only because he’s around practically all the time) and the way he always notices when you aren’t feeling well—it’s as if he sees right through you. Yes, he sees right through you, and it’s incredibly scary knowing he could confront you at any time—maybe even in this elevator—and say that he’s known all along that you’ve had feelings for him. And what’s worse is that you know he’d be polite with his rejection. He’d be a gentleman, carefully letting you down with—

“Hello? Hellooo?” Joshua says, waving his hand in front of your face.

You jump, blinking rapidly. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he says gently.

“Oh,” you reply lamely. 

He gestures with his hand for you to walk out of the elevator first. Inside the lobby, he walks by your side. As the two of you approach the door, he reaches it first, and opens it for you to head outside. 

You’re immediately hit with a blast of winter and harsh winds. Your arms instinctively tighten around your stomach, trying to prevent the cold air from rushing up your sweater. 

Joshua turns to you, brows furrowed. His eyes glance over your sweater again, and you can tell he’s about to say something. Certain it’s an I told you so, you quickly say, “Before you start, I’m fine. It’s really not that cold, and the bus is coming soon anyway.”

You march forward toward the crosswalk before the bus stop, knowing he’s following behind you. Once you reach the start of the white lines, you slow down to a stop, waiting for the signal to change. 

Still behind you, Joshua says, “거기 있어봐.” 

“왜?” Though confused, you listen to his request to stay where you are. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling somewhat awkward just standing with your back turned to him. 

He doesn’t answer your question why, but you hear a shuffle and the sound of fabric rustling. Then you feel a warm coat draped over your shoulders. 

You turn back to face Joshua with a start, opening your mouth to protest.

But before you can get a word out, he takes his pointer finger and lightly presses it against your lips. 

“Shh,” he says with a smile. “Tomorrow, wear a jacket, okay?” He pats the top of your head. 

Speechless, you barely bring yourself to nod, then remember to shut your jaw. Let’s just survive this bus ride, you tell yourself. God, it was unfair how nice he was. It only made it harder for you to believe he was like this with everyone—or to stop hoping that, somehow, you might be the exception. 

hi hoped u liked it :) full version coming out soon

[notenoughgauze]

Throne

MDNI SMUT WARNING AHEAD

He was completely and utterly in love with you. His heart bursts at the mere sight of you. He can’t handle the way your pretty eyes shine up at him when he talks. When he’s alone in his room, he takes the time to imagine you fully. When you say you’re going to take a shower, he imagines stripping and joining you. His mind is owned by you and only you. Good lord and your lips. So kissable it drives him up the walls. He wants to mark his taste along the plush skin. 

You destroyed his very self  with your beauty. He feels like he only could ever exist with you around. When you’re gone, he feels lonely and mopes about the whole house, waiting for you to come back from whatever it is you’ve been doing. He wants nothing more than to keep you in bed and enjoy touches for the whole day, why couldn’t you just do that? Just stay with him! One day is all he asks with those sweet little puppy eyes. He can’t believe it when it finally works and you spend the whole day off with him in bed, just touching,  kissing, and fucking deep and slow. 

“Just give me one taste, just one please baby.” he cries to you, begging to have you sit on his face sometime during the fuckfest you’ve allowed. You’re hesitant, why wouldn’t you be? He just keeps insisting, pleading for your cunt to envelop him completely. Finally when you straddle his face, thick thighs nearly crush his head. You falter, considering if he’d allow you to just hover. You’re afraid to smother him, but of course that's just what he wants. When you take too long, he pulls you down, hands splayed out across your ass and gripping the soft fat tightly, urging you to continue. 

His cock is against his tummy and so hard it looks almost painful. Yet he’s moaning like he could cum just from the taste of you. He wanted to be the throne the pretty goddess sits on to rule. He needed more. Needed everything you would give him. How could you say no to such a sweet display? You give in, letting him have all of you and he takes that opportunity to show you why you’re with him still. He sucks and licks to his heart’s content. Slurping up any juices that come from you. His face is covered in you. God does he love it. He;s engulfed in you fully and he can’t get enough of it. 

Finally he gets that cry, that whine that makes his cock twitch. “I-I’m close.” You scream out, rocking your hips back and forth against him. He feels drunk from it all, working 10x harder to get you to release all over him. To look up and see your eyes roll back in pleasure and your mouth hang open in a silent moan. Of course, he couldn’t help but spill all over himself from the anticipation, moaning into your pussy and sending you over the edge right along with him. His cum coats his tummy, and his cock twitches as it releases everything so pent up. He drinks down your godly nectar and you pull off of him in overstimulation. 

He cleans you both up with a washcloth near the nightstand. He whispers sweet nothings about how he loves you and you did so fucking good for him. That you’re all his and him yours. 

[fragrantdream]

prince xavier

The rustling leaves of the weeping willow shelter you from the sun and the gentle afternoon breeze. You sit beneath the magnificent tree with your legs crossed and head leant back against its’ trunk. The sun starts to waver in the sky, its light turning from bright white to a much more comfortable orange. You can’t help but fall into the clutches of a light sleep while you wait, but after a while the tranquillity of the gardens is interrupted by a restless presence. Opening your eyes, you look up to see Xavier standing before you, the loose white fabric of his undershirt billowing around him like a halo, and his skin tanned rather strongly in of the dwindling days of summer. He smiles down at the disorientated look on your face, admiring the way you look up at him in awe. 

“Have you been well?” Xavier asks with a smirk, sitting beside you comfortably.  

“I should stand to greet you.” You aren’t sure who is watching you, so you do just that. You bow, trying to greet the future king with the proper protocol.  He chuckles at the sight of you standing before him with your clothes stained by the dampness of the ground – a leaf hangs from your shoulder. He stands and returns the bow mockingly, before reaching out and picking up the leaf between his fingers to let it flutter to the ground. 

“Nobody is watching.” Xavier silently hopes that he’s right, and that his minders hadn’t followed him into the woods. He grips your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, which forces you to smile despite your anxiety. You know you aren’t permitted to see him, and you let the fear of being caught flicker over you for a second before the feeling of his head nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck makes you forget. You both stand still for a moment, taking the moment as it is – beautiful, and fleeting. Birds and bugs begin to chirp louder as the sun continues to set, the air growing colder. Naturally, and as you have many times before, you lay side by side for a while to silently watch the stars as they appear. It’s easy to lose track of time chatting about the upcoming winter, and anything else that comes to mind. You eventually light the oil lantern he’d hidden in the trunk of the willow months ago when you’d first met in this meadow. It is the only way you’re able to stay out just a bit longer past sunset. 

You look over at Xavier, now illuminated by the warm glow of the fire with an arm resting behind his head, eyes trained on you as you lay back down beside him. His hands grasp yours tightly, and he pulls them to his lips where he kissed them, before letting them rest on his chest over his heart. Even after all this time, he was yet to kiss you, so although foreign the action was not undesired. Propping your head up on your elbow you look down at him, and he’s surprised you’ve let go of his hand and wonders if he’s done something wrong. You start to think about how it wasn’t long before he’d no longer be your prince, but rather, a king. He’d be betrothed, and running the country. You wonder how much he might change when that happens though you quickly dismiss your doubts because it’s Xavier, and he has a habit of handling anything life throws at him. You find yourself lost in the sentimentality of the moment and lean down to press a kiss to his lips, certain that his father the king would be disgusted at the thought of his son being touched by a commoner. He winds his hand behind your head and sits up, and you quickly realise he wants to kiss you too – you both slowly test the waters, and relish in the feeling after so many years of imagining it. The feeling is completely different from those daydreams, yet it is a thousand times better at the same time. 

Xavier opens his mouth first with a loud exhale that tickles your face and sends shivers down your spine and neck. You both straighten up and readjust for a moment while he moves his open mouth against your lips, waiting for you respond, and you cave in an instant and open your mouth to fully taste him. The remnants of wine and fruit from his lunch linger in his mouth, and the tastes are richer than anything you’d ever had access too before. He whines slightly at the feeling becoming enthralled with your mouth and softly guiding you to lean back against the now dewy grass. You follow his lead, stretching your legs beneath him as he straddles you, lips never leaving your own. This doesn’t last long however before he pulls away, asking if you’re okay as he lays himself atop your body and guides your legs to wrap around his waist. You nod in an instant, hastily pulling him back to you. This pulls forth more prominent groans from his throat as his lips venture to press open-mouthed kissed to your jawline. You open your eyes for a second to watch him move to your neck, before immediately scrunching them back closed when you feel him sucking on your skin. Unsure of what to do with your hands you reach down to grip at his hair, though he grabs hold of your wrist before you get the chance to tug.  

“I must be presentable for dinner with my father tonight.” Xavier reminds you, and you let out a breathless laugh at the thought. He tightly clasps both of your hands together above your head between one of his own, fingers cold yet strong whilst holding you in place. He kisses your upper arm, letting out a sigh and opening his eyes to look at you below him, already completely wrecked. There is something wild and unfamiliar in his expression, even with only half of his face visible in the light of the nearby oil lamp as it grows dimmer over time. He reluctantly lets go of your wrists to feel your waist and chest, imparting only the softest of touches before moving your arms over his shoulders. You run your hands over his upper back and grip onto the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling it up slightly to feel the buttery skin of his lower back. 

You are interrupted by the sound of Xavier's name being shouted from the woods, and quickly reach for the lamp to extinguish it, breaths heavy and eyes wide. He shushes you while standing and offering you a hand to help you up, before guiding you behind the great tree. He adjusts himself and calls out a haphazard “I’m coming now”, before reluctantly walking towards the clearing. He makes it over to his minders but turns back, telling them he’d forgotten something after falling asleep. They dismiss him with a sigh, arms folded and posture trying but failing to intimidate him. He rushes back to the tree and grabs hold of the brass handle of the oil lamp. When he is certain he is out of view, he hooks it between your trembling fingers to leave it with you. 

“Please find your way home safely in the dark.” You press another kiss to his lips as a thank you, hoping that he’d hurry back to his minders before he gets in trouble, though as the crown prince you suppose he is always in trouble. He smiles in return. 

“I love you.” Xavier turns and begins walking back before you can respond, hoping you managed to hear him over the sound of the crickets. 

[quokkaholic]

Give Me Face l.f

Warnings: fluff, little angst, slightly suggestive, bi besties to ??, alcohol consumption, kissin and touchin, cussing duh

Synopsis: You have been really down lately, your best friend Felix notices and wants to go out to the club to snap you out of her slump. The club is filled with hot people and some jealousy ensues.

Song recommendation: MADRE by Young Miko and Villano Antillano

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

You’ve been rotting in bed all day and have no plan on moving for the rest of the night, that is, until you get a message out of the blue that Felix is on his way over. Flinging the covers off, you start frantically picking up the place. Your apartment is such a wreck you don’t even want your best friend to see it in this state, so instead of brushing your hair or changing the clothes you’ve been wearing for the past two days, you are shoving shit in your closet and shoddily loading the dishwasher. Before you even get the chance to pick up the food wrappers and takeout bags, Felix is opening the door with his spare key. He stands there in the doorway taking in the scene before tilting his head to the side and giving you a sympathetic look.

“Oh baby” he coos and closes the door behind him before opening his arms for a hug, and you immediately oblige. He mimics your tight squeeze as you nuzzle your face into his neck taking in his familiar scent: clean and floral with a touch of amber and musk.

“What are you doing here Lixie?”

“You’ve been slow to respond the past week and haven’t attended a single group hang in like a month. Come on girl, you think as your best friend I don’t know your signs that you’re down?”

You can’t help but grip tighter at his words. You are so lucky to have such a considerate and caring person as a best friend.

“Plus I have your location and saw you haven’t gone anywhere besides work and McDonalds in like 3 weeks. What's going on, babe?”

You spill your guts to him about problems at work and in your love life. Ever since you and your partner split 5 months ago, you have only had shitty dates and situationships, and the loneliness is now setting in. You know isolating yourself from your friends only makes the pain worse, but for some reason, it is just instinct when you start feeling bad to pull away. Luckily, Felix can always see through your bullshit.

“Y/nn, we need to get you out of this apartment. We need to get you out of your head too. Tonight we are going out! Don’t even try to fight me on this. Let's get ready.” He states, rushing back to your room. You follow quickly in toe, but when you get there, its too late, hes already pulling open your closet door.

“Felix no!” As the words leave your mouth, the mound of questionably clean clothes fall around his feet, and the room is filled with his sweet laughter and a few happy claps. You both rummage through your wardrobe looking for things to wear, trying on countless items making an even bigger mess than you began with. He lands on an outfit; after looking at himself in the full length mirror that hangs on the closet door, he turns to get your approval.

“How do I look?” He asks. You admire him for a moment. Felix looks so good in everything he wears, but there's something about seeing him in your clothes that makes your heart flutter.

“Honestly, cunt” He chuckles at your response then continues searching your drawers to help you with your look. His searching persists, tossing out options until finally finds what he’s been looking for, a sexy but elegant tank top you’ve had forever. With the shirt in hand, he strides over to where you sit on the bed surrounded by failed prospective outfits.

“I’ve always loved this one on you. Arms up” He instructs and slips the shirt over your head. You’ve always been comfortable around each other, being dressed by him just feels like second nature. There might’ve been some slight tension at first, but he has always so gracefully ridden the line between making you feel sexy and beautiful but also respected and appreciated. That is just one of the million reasons you love him. The love you feel for Felix is so deep, and your relationship is so special to you. You’re constantly pushing your romantic feelings down in the name of preserving what you have, too scared to take the risk of losing it. After pulling the shirt down and smoothing you the wrinkles, he offers you his hand to help you off the bed.

“Spin for me” he commands and you do just that. This wouldn’t be the first time you played dress up with him styling and you modeling for him.

“Stunning, y/n. Truly” He compliments, eyes raking over your form then landing intensely on your own. You don't give yourself time to feel the coyness rising up your spine, turning to your vanity and flicking on the light.

“Makeup time!”

You quickly style your hair in a way to keep it off your face and neck because you know you'll be sweating later and go to the kitchen to pour some pregame drinks for you both. You turn on some confidence boosting ‘feeling myself’ type of music and scoot next to Felix to share the mirror. Before starting your makeup, you order your ride to be there to pick you both up in an hour. You pass products back and forth and bounce along to the music occasionally using the brushes as microphones to sing along. He has already finished his makeup and is picking up clothes trying to undo the disaster you two created earlier.

“Lixie, will you do my eyeliner?”

He immediately drops what he was doing to aid you; his hands are gentle but firm as he cups your chin and tilts your head up. You feel your drink start to hit you as you hand him the black liner and stare up getting lost in the freckles peppering his cheekbones that he intentionally leaves uncovered and his sweet but alluring brown eyes.

“You gotta close your eyes, love” unable to think of an excuse, you just default to apologizing.

“Shit, sorry” You mumble as you lightly close your eyes so as to not create any creases giving him a smooth working surface. When you feel him lightly using his fingers to smudge the edges to match the smoky look of his own makeup, you know it’s safe to open your eyes again. When you do, you see Felix has lent down to get a closer look at his work. His eyes immediately snap to yours, and his smudging finger slowly drags down your cheek. It's as if you were both in a trance for a moment, and when you snap out of it simultaneously, you turn your head to look in the mirror and Felix shoots back up straight.

“I need another drink,” he says, heading back to the kitchen.

Your ride picks you guys up in front of your building, and drops you off not 10 minutes later at the club you and your friends used to frequent a few years ago. Felix is not a big club guy, really only going when you invite him, but when you do go out together, it is always a night to remember. Tonight was will be no exception.

The club is packed and bumping. Music blaring, lights flashing, and the smell of sweat and perfume think in the air. While you’re surrounded by strangers, the atmosphere is familiar and welcoming. You immediately open a tab at the counter close to the main dancefloor as that is where you plan to spend most of your night. It’s not that you need to be drunk in order to dance, but it definitely helps the “get out of your head” thing that Felix prescribed. You and Felix are quick to find a corner of the dancefloor to lay claim to and start dancing separately for now, but that won’t last. Felix gets very touchy when he drinks, yet another thing you love about him. You are both quick to down your drinks in order to free up your hands to dance. Taking the empty cup from your hand, he leaves you to toss them in the garbage with intent to return quickly. You dance by yourself for a minute, feeling the rhythm flow through you and bass thumping in your chest, arms raised in the air and occasionally caressing down your body in the most stereotypical club dance fashion.

A song or two later, you realize Felix hasn’t returned. It doesn’t take long scanning the crowd to find him still by the trash can being held there by a stunning creature of a man chatting and lightly brushing Felix’s arm with his hand. Felix is giggling at the man's words flashing his perfect pearly smile. The beat leaves your body and your movements slow coming to a halt for you to stare. Felix is such an angel in appearance and personality, it's surprising there isn’t a line forming to simply get a second of his time. While you feel that's what he deserves, you’re so glad it's just the one guy, but still, Felix is yours your best friend. This is your night with him.

When Felix’s eyes meet yours from across the room, his feet move without thinking carrying him to you while a genuine, playful grin spreads across his face biting his bottom lip. As he approaches, his steps become more rhythmic and he holds his hands out to you. Instead of remaining hand in hand to dance, he uses his grasp to spin you around, back to him. His hands grip your hips, and he helps you once again find the rhythm. Together, you start slow, rolling side to side on every other beat. Felix allows his hands to roam up and down your sides every now and again squeezing or sliding to your stomach to hold you back against him. When a faster tempo song comes on next, one of his hands slides up you back to rest on your shoulder, and he pulls you back into his chest and his lips graze the shell of your ear. You only get a few seconds to listen to his heavy breathing before you feel slight pressure pushing you to lean forward creating more direct contact of your ass on his front. Again his hands find your hips, this time less to guide you and more just to hold on as you grind back into him. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan that sounded a lot like Felix, but in the noisy environment, there's no way to be sure, and you sure as hell aren’t going to turn around to ask him.

This continues for a few songs, until the DJ turns plays a song neither of you are vibing to. You let Felix know you're going to run to the bathroom. Typically he would accompany you, but neither of you want to lose your spot. The line to the ladies room is surprisingly short, but the bathroom itself is unsurprisingly filthy. Two clogged toilets, a soapless hand rinse, and an obligatory drunk mirror selfie later you are ready to head back to Felix. Luckily you were prepared and brought your hand sanitizer with you. Trudging across the sticky floor and pushing through the building crowd, you finally make it back to the dance floor, but to your chagrin, someone is in your spot. An actual sex siren of a person is dancing next to Felix as they go back and forth speaking into each other ears behind cupped hands. Yet another party interested in your man. You're done being mad about it; you are ready to be sad about it, but instead of letting the rain clouds drown your fun, you decide its time for another drink. You find an empty spot to lean against the bar and wait for the bartender’s attention. When they finally approach, you graciously request another cocktail, but when they ask for the name on the tab the person next to you speaks up.

“Whatever she’s getting, put it on mine” The woman hands her card to the tender before turning to you.

“Are you sure?” you question, was your gloom written all over your face? She must’ve pitied you. She had been standing there the whole time, but you are just now noticing how handsome she is. She says nothing in response but holds eye contact and nods. Even if it was out of pity, you’ll always take a free drink. You thank her with a big grin.

“You have such a beautiful smile,” she says with a pleasant and sincere look. Oh. This isn't pity. She asks for your number; you maintain flirty banter waiting for your drinks, but once they arrive, you have to get back to Felix. This night is about spending time with your best friend not finding a rebound.

“You wanna dance?” She asks, gesturing back to the rolling crowd of bodies.

“Actually, I have to get ba…” You couldn’t finish refusing her offer as a hand grips the wrist of the hand not holding your new drink. Felix has his back to you dragging you back to the dancefloor. He forfeited your spot in order to steal you back. While you get pulled around, you chug your drink and toss the cup in a passing waste bin. When he finds an empty area, he stops and turns to you.

There is no playfulness left in his gaze, just a sultry glint as he drags his fingers across your collarbones and down your arm to your hand. Unlike the way he gripped your wrist, the way he intertwines your fingers can only be described as intimate. His touch is warm and bold as he spins around and raises your joined hands pulling you against his back. Just like he did to you earlier, you grip his waist and roll your hips with his. All inhibitions out the window. Your bodies moving as one, eyes closed, feeling his body on yours. The countless strangers fade away, and it's like it's just the two of you. Felix leans back into you dropping his head back onto your shoulder swaying his hips side to side. You think he’s saying something, but you can’t make out his words. You just let out a sound of agreement into his ear to appease him not wanting to stop dancing to try to figure it out. Despite your efforts to keep him grinding, Felix raises his head and turns to face you and throws his arms around your neck crossing his wrists in the back. You stand with your feet staggered with his to be as close as possible as you continue to dance together. Before you can really process, Felix is pressing his full and glossy lips to yours. His lips are salty from sweat but also sweet from his drink and lip oil and oh so rousing, causing your stomach to flip. Unlike other makeout sessions you’ve seen throughout the night, this one isn’t rough and needy, but passionate and sensual. The rhythm of the kiss matches the dance matches the song. You, again, are transported out of the club to somewhere just you and Felix can occupy made of your love and connection and desire. This isn’t the first time you’ve kissed Felix, but this kiss stands apart. It isn't the normal drunk kiss you share with your friends, it's so much more, fueled by fiery desire and years of longing. The kiss ends too soon as Felix leans his head on his upper arm that rests on your shoulder so his lips are inline with your ear. He whispers to you,

“Be mine y/n, please” He almost begs before placing a soft kiss to your earlobe and continuing,

“Be with me”

You don’t give a verbal answer but grab his flushed cheeks with both hands and peck his face with kisses before a final powerful one on the lips. Resting his forehead on yours, you’re both smiling so hard your cheek start to cramp. Thankfully, you both kept your drinking under control, perfectly walking the edge between tipsy and drunk, or you’d be scared this was an intoxicated dream or misremebrance. Felix already has his phone out ordering a ride to a nearby 24 hour diner to stave off your hangovers and chat about what the future has in store.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

A.n- thanks for reading :) I’m posting this on my lunch break lol.

-mo🪩

Masterlist

[luvhaos]

how about “ i like you. a lot. like a lot, a lot” and joshua :)

joshua hong x reader 𖦹 word count: 853 2025 drabble dialogue game — open

content: drunk! joshua, pining, light angst and fluff

You’re on the ninth episode of the show you’re binging on Netflix when your phone rings. You glance at the screen, see Seungcheol’s contact photo, and you answer. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, sounding more than a little exasperated. “I’m sorry to call you so late but Chan, Joshua, and I went out tonight and Shua’s pretty tipsy. He keeps asking for you.” 

Your heart stutters and suddenly, you’re more alert. You sit up, Seungcheol continues over the phone, “I need to take Chan home and he lives in the opposite direction of Joshua, and—”

“You need me to get Joshua home safe.”

“Yeah. Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Cheol, I’m on my way. Just send me a pin.”

“Thanks.” After he hangs up, you see the pin and you pull on some jeans and a thick sweater. They’re at a bar on the other side of the city so you call a car to take you there. When you arrive, you squeeze through the crush of bodies until you find them at a table towards the back, the three of them cramped into the corner. 

Seungcheol’s busy trying to get Chan to put his coat on but Joshua spots you. His face breaks into a smile, eyes curving into crescent moons and mouth opening to show a toothy grin. He cheers your name, reaching a hand out for you. You offer him yours and Joshua pulls you into him, burying his face in your stomach and wrapping his arms around you. “Wow,” you say to Seungcheol. “Seems like you all had a wild night.”

He chuckles, finally managing to zip up Chan’s coat for him. “Thanks again for coming.”

“Always happy to help.” You pat Joshua’s head, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Come on, Shua, let’s get you home.”

“Okay,” he says, and you’re glad that he can stand and get his coat on on his own. You bid goodbye to Seungcheol and Chan, and you take Joshua’s outside for some fresh air while you wait for the Uber you called. 

Joshua slings an arm around your shoulder, leaning against you. It’s unfair, you think, that underneath these yellow streetlights, Joshua still looks so handsome — all tousled hair and pink lips that stretch into a warm, drunken smile. 

Your face is on fire at this point and you’re glad when the car arrives. Joshua, even though he’s tipsy, he opens the door for you and you climb in first. He follows easily and the car pulls onto the road. You’re looking out the window, watching the neighborhood bleed into the next. You chance a peeks over at Joshua, he’s staring with a tilted head. “You okay, Joshua?”

He hums, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

You laugh lightly and Joshua says, “No, really, you don’t even know.” He shuffles closer and asks, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” you murmur. 

Joshua whispers into your ear, “I like you.”

You try to keep your tone even when you answer with, “I like you too, Joshua.”

“No,” he says. “ I like you. A lot. Like a lot, a lot.”

Your heart is in your throat and all you can reply with is, “You’re drunk, Joshua.”

He frowns. “But it’s true.”

“Joshua…”

His shoulders slump, and he shifts away slightly, gazing at you with sad eyes. “Why don’t you believe me?” Then, he adds: “Let me down now, then. If you don’t like me in the same way, say it now — it won’t hurt as much.”

You want to tell him everything you feel about him, how he brightens up every room he walks in, how you love his laugh, how you don’t know what a world without him would be like and that you don’t want to know. 

But you can’t right now, not when he’s drunk. Not when he doesn’t fully know the gravity of what he’s saying. 

“Tell me tomorrow,” you say and he lifts his head to meet your stare. “If you still feel the same way about me that you do now, tell me tomorrow and I’ll tell you how much I like you tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The Uber rumbles to a halt and you usher Joshua out of the car. He clumsily opens the door to the complex, and you guide him into the elevator and towards his apartment. In front of his door, he says, “I’m going to call tomorrow.” He holds out his hand, pinky extended. “Promise.”

You wrap your own pinky around his. “Promise. Good night, Joshua.”

“Good night.” He enters his apartment, the door clicking softly behind him. You text Seungcheol that you got Joshua home and he tells you that he’ll pay for your car back to your apartment. 

You get back home, your chest unbearably tight. As you lay down, you brace yourself for the inevitable disappointment of tomorrow and the heartbreak that will accompany it. 

The next morning, you’re woken up by your phone’s ringtone. Sleepily, you answer it without even checking who’s calling. “Hello?”

“Hi.” It’s Joshua. “I promised I’d call. And I still really, really like you.”

[yurozo]

holidays headcanons (resident evil)

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐ characters: chris, leon, jill, claire, rebecca, carlos, luis, ada, wesker warnings: mentions of alcohol, some swearing.

a/n: i know this is late but all the recent love for the restaurant au inspired me!! check that one out here! love u pookies and i hope you had a great holidays <3 if you want me to cover anyone else, or have any other suggestions for au's please let me know! └─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

chris redfield:

this man comes for one reason and one reason alone: the food. you best believe chris redfield is grabbing two plates piled sky-high and scarfing it down before the rest have even served themselves. because of a particular incident involving leon and a nerf gun, chris has been banished to the kids table for the foreseeable future. he gets to sit there with (baby) sherry in a shitty little plastic barbie chair that claire bought off amazon-- the legs are bowing under his weight and are clearly destined to snap during some point in the night. as for the games, chris takes no part in it. why? he's stone cold passed out in the lazyboy. i'm talking full on snoring, scratching at his chest, mouth open, and drooling asleep. nothing is waking that man up from his food coma, other than literally firing a gun three inches away from his ears.

as for you, chris softens a little bit. he'll reluctantly indulge whatever you want to do, even if he's grumbling about it a little the whole time. this man is a practical gift giver, unless claire gets involved and gets you something indulgent in chris' name. if it were up to chris alone, he's replacing whatever you have that's worn down or unusable. he just wants to see you comfortable and stress-free, and he really doesn't have the mind for other things.

leon kennedy:

respectfully, he's the typical white dad of the group. he eats a good amount of mashed potatoes and roast beef, downs a couple whiskeys, and he's out for the count. there's been a couple occasions that he's gotten a little too rowdy, and relentlessly barraged the dinner table with whatever one-liners or borderline traumatic stories that come to his mind. he's fine, he swears, it really was funny that time he almost got blown up.

god forbid sherry grows up and starts bringing partners around the place, leon takes it upon themselves to act like her personal bodyguard. he'll sit in an armchair and stare daggers at them every time they so much as touch her, and it takes a while for him to warm up to them. for the games, do NOT ask that man to play charades. honestly, it will just be embarrassing for the both of you.

leon really does try his best when it comes to you. his gifts are usually something you eyed while out with him somewhere, which he very sneakily bought while you weren't looking. however, he's downright terrible at hiding it for you if he buys it ahead of time. you have to just act surprised and loving about the whole thing, and leon's putty in your hands. there's always a hand around your waist when you're in the vicinity, and leon loves to brag about your title in casual conversations. (eg. "yeah, my wife/husband is a pretty good cook. it's no big deal")

jill valentine:

jill's been banned from helping in the kitchen for five years. it's not her fault, honestly, she got a little too distracted sharing war stories with the others that she forgot the yorkshires were still in the oven. she'll happily eat everything though, or bring a store-bought dessert if need be. every single year, she takes photos of chris passed out in the armchair until she can make a photo album to gift him. there's a framed photo of chris mid-fall after the barbie chair finally gave way that's hanging above the fireplace, courtesy of her. also likes to take lil sips of leons whiskey when he's not looking since he always brings the good stuff.

she claims that she doesn't get into the games, but she gets super intense about charades to the point that everyone's reluctant to team up with her. she's shouting answers like there's a ticking bomb that will go off when the time runs out, and she'll scold you if she thinks your acting performance wasn't oscar worthy. she's flinging around a beer can during the whole thing and nearly soaking everyone in the vicinity.

when you start coming around for the holidays, jill visibly relaxes. she can let a lot of her guard down, and everyone likes to give her shit about how lovesick and happy she becomes. she's also a victim of the practical gift giving trait, but occasionally she likes to buy you something just because she thinks you would look nice in it. but there's always an extra gift at home that she won't let you open in front of the others, she has to maintain some sort of dignity.

claire redfield:

her and rebecca are the only reasons this tradition goes on for as long as it does. rebecca does most of the logistics, claire is the one who keeps that ship running while it's happening. the two of them are such a scary pair when they want shit done, that everyone else just has to follow along. claire is the one that banished chris to the kids table, but still lingers around to keep an eye on sherry and make sure she's eating enough. when sherry's old enough to bring partners around, she's the welcoming one, and will secretly jab leon in the ribs whenever he starts acting up.

claire likes to experiment with the games every single year, usually after incidents or fights break out. white elephant got banned after four different people just bought gift cards to the gun store (im assuming this exists there, im canadian). she's shaking the box of names aggressively at anyone who tries to get away, and will tip chris right out of that damn chair. they rarely get to be together with all the missions, so help her god they're going to enjoy it.

you're the first person claire actually brings around. sure, she's had relationships, but bringing you around to family christmas is a big deal. and don't worry, everyone else will tell you just how much of a big deal it is. you're the first person she tells everything too, and on the drive there, she's giving you a full run down on what she thinks of everyone (claire has very strong opinions). for gifts, she loves to buy you things. her favourite gifts are outfits either you can wear on her motorcycle, or matching clothes she painted herself.

rebecca chambers:

the holidays are a stressful time for her. not only does she have to cook for the most ravenous group of people that definitely do not cook for themselves enough, but she has to make sure they don't kill each other during it. despite that, dinner is always amazing, and the desserts are just to die for. she takes a special pride in her desserts, and if a couple extra supplements sneak themselves into the dinner, she definitely does not know anything about that. one of the few things that gets her through the holidays is the extra sweet hot chocolate and egg nog concoction that she makes for herself. leon tried it one time by accident and nearly gagged at just how sweet it was.

rebecca is very into the games and gifts section. it's the one time she gets to sit down and relax a little bit, and she does love how intense everyone gets about the whole thing. she's just happy that everyone can get together, and maybe relax after everything that's happened. despite her enthusiasm and smarts, she is downright terrible at charades. her answers are always way too complex for the minute they have to guess whatever she's miming. how the hell is anyone supposed to guess t-011 from hand gestures?

rebecca is by far the best gift giver out of the bunch. whatever she buys you is well-thought out, personal, and helpful. she likes to have you hang around the kitchen while she cooks, and will always feed you little spoonfuls under the guise of taste-testing. really, she just wants to make sure you eat, especially before chris can get his grubby little hands on the entrees.

luis sera:

leon invited him a total of one time, and luis had just become a permanent fixture of the whole thing. you best believe luis is bringing a karaoke machine and performing bad renditions of holiday music complete with an improvised choreography. he tried to bring leon into it one time, and nearly got roundhoused so hard that rebecca had to take them both out like misbehaving dogs. despite that, he always brings around a home-cooked entree to dinner, which rebecca appreciated greatly. luis also has the tendency to spin great tales about what he did during the year, which are definitely all lies.

in part two of the party, luis likes to be a little tipsy for the whole thing. who can blame him, he likes a party. just don't get him talking about his work, he'll talk about it for hours with increasingly complicated language that only rebecca can understand. like her too, he also gets really into the games section. luis is mentally keeping track of the stores, and will argue with anyone that tries to get the one up on him. i mean, he really deserved the point on the last one, so what if he buffs the numbers a little?

luis love to brag about you to all the others, you're his lovely partner and somehow agreed to date him, how could he not? his gifts for you are always a little extravagant, because he wants everyone else to know just what a good boyfriend he is. you're also the reason why he got chewed out over pda during the holidays. luis is just not the kind of man that can keep his hands off you, it's the season of romance.

carlos oliveira:

he's the one person who rebecca allows in the kitchen. carlos is always willing to help, and he'll even do it with a cheesy little apron on. it just makes his ass look nice, and these people deserve a treat on the holidays. god forbid carlos, leon, and jill are sitting together for dinner. they're throwing around the worst jokes known to man, and cackling loudly the whole time, especially if they're a couple beers deep. he's used to a big family, so this kind of gathering is right in his element. he makes sure there's enough food and drink for everyone, even if he's next to chris in eating it all.

another victim of getting too into the games. he likes to have fun and joke around, so he's definitely energetic, but doesn't take it too seriously. carlos is ultimately there to have a good time, and if a pretty woman is telling him to play, he's definitely not going to say no. he's relaxing back in his chair, beer in hand, yelling out suggestions and laughing loudly.

for you, he's just happy to bring you around and show you a good time. you don't have to worry about a damn thing during the holidays, carlos is doing everything so you can just lay back and enjoy the festivities. your drink is empty? carlos is already up and heading to the fridge. you want more dessert? there's another plate already in your hands.

ada wong:

no one really knows the reason she's here. people suspect she found out the location through her own means and just started showing up. or that wesker invited her for insurance reasons. she'll offer to help in the kitchen, and they always turn her down because she's definitely overdressed and they don't want to risk her getting dirty. during the dinner, she just like to witness the inevitable trash fire, or chatting quietly with luis about whatever work drama happening with him.

she's not playing any games. don't ask her. ada will give you a mean glare until you leave her alone. she wants to sit there and watch the wreckage and drink her little drink, she is not playing charades even if there's a gun to her head. get her to gossip though? she will happily engage in telling you dirty secrets about everyone else ( no one can figure out how the hell she knows these things).

ada's rigging the whole thing so you win. she wants to see you happy, and you'll be even happier when you see what she's got you. again, there's no way to tell exactly how she knows what you wanted, but you can be sure you're getting it. and it's in a pretty box, carefully put together and wrapped with a red bow. there's also a mistletoe in her pocket, for when she can finally get you alone.

albert wesker:

no one knows who invited him. no one knows where he is the whole time (he's in the bedroom, pointedly avoiding everyone else). he'll come down to dinner, eat his food, say nothing, and go back upstairs. he's also not going to engage in any sort of ugly sweater tradition, he's wearing all black, and god help anyone who tries to get him to wear anything else. wesker will speak up about his open disdain for chris, but it's quickly shut down by rebecca before he can start a fight.

he doesn't really come around all that often. he prefers to do his work, have his own celebration, and pretend all these people don't exist. after certain events, he becomes a bit of an unspoken topic amongst everyone else-- just a person that used to come around thats' been replaced by their new family.

the only way he'll do anything for the holidays is if you're there. yes, he's going to complain and say he has better things to do, and he would much rather have your own private celebration, but he'll reluctantly do it if you bother him enough. he's giving you his present in private and away from prying eyes, because that relationship is just between you two, not these other people unworthy of even looking at you. whatever you tell him you want, he'll buy. money's no object for him, and anything that will make you happy while he works on other things.

[izurelia]

MIDNIGHT RAIN

p a r t 1

wc: 937

warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst

•••

it was the first day of summer, school had ended about three hours ago, and all you had done was sit on the doc in your backyard. as you let the wind blow through your long blonde hair, you took in the true beauty of the outerbanks. but your thoughts were interrupted by a call.

you picked up your phone and read the caller id: rafe ���. you quickly clicked the green button on your phone.

"hey, what's up?"

"are you coming with us?"

"coming where, exactly?" you laughed as you swayed your feet on the edge of the doc.

"to the boneyard, obviously. dont tell me you forgot, we've been talking about this all day!" there's a faint hum in the back ground of music and a running car.

"also me and kelce are already here, we're gonna pick top up on the way back."

"seriously rafe! i'm not ready im on the doc right now." you say as you quickly stand up, walking back to your house.

"well hurry up princess, we don't have all night." and with that he hung up, causing you to let out a groan as you walked back to your house.

•••

after about 15 minutes you were dressed and ready, wearing a short jean skirt and a red lacey tube top paired with birkenstocks. you quickly made your way over to the car and opened the passenger door, throwing your purse onto the car floor.

"the fuck are you wearing?" rafe turns to you, giving you a disgusted look.

"whats wrong with it? it's cute." you say, furrowing your eyebrows. rafe's mouth slightly drops, looking at you as if you were the most stupid person on earth.

"whats wrong with it? it looks like your wearing a fucken' napkin!" he slightly yells. "you're not goin' out like that." he turns the car off, waiting for you to get out and change.

you scoff and stare at him in disbelief. "i'm not changing rafe, it's already seven! can we please just go!"

"y'know what- fine. but your wearin' this." he takes his jacket from the backseat and shoves it into your chest. you reluctantly take the jacket, rolling your eyes at him and turn to face out the window.

rafe sighs, feeling sorry for yelling. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to yell, okay? you want aux?" he holds the cord up for you even though you weren't facing him.

"no."

he furrows his eyebrows, confused. "come on, baby. you always want aux." he places his hand on your bare thigh. you turn to face him, seeing the sorry look on his face and giving in. 

you try to compress the smile creeping through your lips, but it's almost impossible. "fine." you give in, reaching for the cord and plugging it into your phone.

"knew you couldn't stay mad at me for too long." he smirks, kissing your cheek as you choose a song.

•••

during the party you distanced yourself from rafe, mostly hanging out with sarah and some of your shared friends.

the group of girls talking about boyfriends, crushes, ect. you mostly stayed quiet though. you had never had a boyfriend. yes, you had kissed people and you weren't a virgin. but the boys never stayed around long enough. you didn't know why. you always thought it was something you did.

"so scarlett, you and rafe together?" your friend lucy asked with a smirk on her face as she raised her eyebrows up and down, eliciting a few laughs from the group. "no, no. we're just friends." you smiled sweetly at her, though she didn't seem to believe you.

"you sure? cause the way he looks at you... god i would die for a man to look at me that way." she sighs turning to look at rafe who was engaged in a conversation with topper and kelce.

"yeah, im sure."

•••

after a few more hours the party started to die down, you met with rafe so that he could drive you home. "hey." he greeted you, wrapping and arm around your shoulder. you smiled up at him, relaxing under his touch.

"why don't you spend the night at mine? it pretty late and i don't want to wake up your mom." he suggested, already knowing what your answer was.

"yeah, i'm fine with that." it was normal for you to spend the night at tanney hill, whether you were with sarah or rafe, you were constantly there.

when you arrived at the house you made your way up to rafe's room, throwing yourself onto his king size bed. you immediately melted into his navy sheets, his cologne embracing you. he threw an old t-shirt at you, telling you to get changed.

you made your way into his bathroom, changing then taking off your mascara. you went back into his room and climbed into bed next to him, snuggling into his embrace.

your head rested on his soft-but-hard chest and your legs became tangled with his. he loved this. these moments where it was just you and him. he may not be able to have you as his girlfriend, but he got to have you as his bestfriend. and he dreamed of the day you gave in, letting him have you as truly his.

you quickly drifted into sleep as rafe placed a kiss on the top of your head and snapped a quick photo, one that he'll probably post later. mostly to remind all the boys on the island who you really belonged to.

~

a/n: i did not proof read one bit!! next chapter coming soon...!

[yoursinisforgiven]

STARLIGHT ──

pairing: elias x reader (barista) 

cw: smut, afab reader, voyeurism(?), oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, reader is slightly paranoid, potentially non–cannon aspects (i don't know how long they were in the safehouse for), reader is wearing sweatpants.

 you are responsible for your own media consumption 

"Do you think they watch me while I pee?"

The question shattered the quiet, bizarre and unfiltered, hanging in the air like a challenge. Elias froze, his hand suspended mid-reach over the boiling pot on the stove. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, dark eyes narrowing in confusion. His brow furrowed as he studied your face, searching for the faintest hint of humor. But when he found none—just the deadpan seriousness etched into your expression—his lips twitched, and his composure cracked.

A rich, sudden laugh burst from him, echoing in the small kitchen and making the cabinets tremble.

You groaned, dragging your hand down your face as you swung your legs to sit cross-legged on the cool surface of the kitchen island directly behind him. “I’m serious, you know,” you muttered, but the way your lips trembled at the edges betrayed you.

Elias shook his head, still chuckling, and turned back to the stove. His hand found the spoon again, lazily stirring the simmering broth. “That’s got to be the weirdest thing you’ve ever said,” he teased, his voice light with amusement. He glanced at you over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth still twitching with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, but even as you did, the corners of your lips betrayed you. His laughter was infuriatingly infectious. A reluctant giggle escaped, despite your best efforts to smother it with your hand.

“It’s not funny,” you insisted, though your voice wavered with a hint of mirth. But deep down, it wasn’t funny at all.

It had been bothering you for weeks now—the uneasy feeling of eyes on you. The idea of cameras hidden in the corners of your space, their tiny lenses capturing every private moment, was enough to make your skin crawl. You hadn’t even pinpointed exactly where they were installed; that was the worst part. The not knowing.

Your gaze darted instinctively toward the corner of the kitchen ceiling, where the light cast a faint shadow. Nothing. At least, nothing visible. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

“I don’t think they’d put one in the bathroom,” Elias said, reaching for the pack of ramen noodles beside him. You watched his hands as he worked—strong, veined, precise. He tore the plastic open with ease, the faint crinkle of the wrapper sharp in the quiet.

Your gaze lingered longer than you intended. The veins on his hands seemed to map out a path your thoughts were far too eager to follow. A flush crept up your neck, spreading quickly to your cheeks as unwelcome thoughts clouded your mind. You bit your lip, willing yourself to think about something—anything—else.

“Y–yeah,” you stammered when you realized he’d turned to look at you, his brow furrowed slightly in concern.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head as he dropped the noodles into the boiling water. The bubbling hiss filled the space between you.

You nodded quickly, brushing off the heat rising to your face. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

He arched a brow but didn’t press. Instead, he focused on his makeshift culinary project, reaching for a cutting board and pulling out a small assortment of ingredients from the fridge—an egg, a lone spring onion, some leftover chicken, and a handful of mushrooms.

Elias had a way of turning even instant ramen into something borderline gourmet. You watched as he moved with practiced ease, cracking the egg into a separate bowl to whisk it lightly before pouring it into the pot, swirling the liquid into ribbons of gold. The aroma of the broth, rich with spices and his added touch, began to fill the kitchen.

“It doesn’t bother you—not even a little bit?” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Elias glanced up, his hand pausing mid-chop. “The cameras?” he asked, his voice calm but curious.

You nodded.

He shrugged, returning to his task. “I mean, of course, it’s weird. But it’s a safety precaution, you know? Necessary evil.”

“Necessary evil,” you repeated bitterly, shaking your head. “We have no privacy, Elias. None. Do you even think about that?”

He glanced at you again, this time with a little more seriousness. “I do. But what’s the alternative? No cameras, no security, and we’re sitting ducks. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the alternative.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, sure, until it’s not. Imagine your dad watching us. Like when we’re… kissing.”

Your voice faltered at the end, the words awkward and uncertain, but they landed like a weight between you.

Elias’s knife stopped mid-slice, and he looked up fully this time, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “My dad?” he repeated, and for a moment, the absurdity of it hung there. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, a laugh broke free.

“Elias!” you hissed, mortified, flinging a dish towel at him in a fit of embarrassment. He caught it effortlessly, his reflexes frustratingly quick, and tossed it onto the counter with a smug grin.

But then it happened again—the heat you’d managed to bury earlier came rushing back, spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. You clenched your fists, willing yourself to get a grip, but the way he looked at you, equal parts teasing and unbothered, made it impossible.

“Alright, alright,” he said, a touch of mischief lacing his voice. “Here—come taste this.”

Your stomach flipped at the invitation, a mix of anticipation and frustration bubbling within you. He was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he? Pushing your buttons, drawing out every ounce of awkwardness for his amusement.

Reluctantly, you slid off the counter, your bare feet padding against the cool tile as you approached him. He didn’t move away, forcing you to step closer than you normally would, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm.

You glanced at the steaming pot, watching as he dipped a spoon into the broth. The rich, savory aroma wafted upward, and despite your frustration with him, your mouth watered. He held the spoon carefully, lifting it toward you.

“Blow on it first,” he murmured, his voice low, almost intimate.

You did as he said, exhaling softly over the liquid, the small act suddenly feeling more charged than it should have. You opened your mouth slightly, ready to take the spoon from him, but he didn’t hand it over. Instead, he guided it to your lips himself, the edge of the spoon brushing against them lightly.

Your breath hitched as he held it there, watching you with a focus that felt almost deliberate, as though he was daring you to look away. Slowly, you tasted the broth, savoring the warmth and the complex mix of spices that danced across your tongue.

The world seemed to shrink in that moment—just the two of you, the scent of spices thick in the air, and the spoon pressed lightly to your lips. You tasted the broth, its savory warmth coating your tongue, but it was impossible to focus on the flavor. Not when Elias was watching you like that.

His gaze was steady, intense, with a hint of something unreadable in the depths of his dark eyes. He held the spoon there just a beat too long, letting you savor the moment—or maybe savoring it himself.

“Well?” he asked finally, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

“It’s… good,” you managed, the words catching slightly in your throat.

A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Good?” he repeated, raising a brow as he set the spoon aside. “That’s all you’ve got? After all that effort?”

You rolled your eyes, desperate to break the tension that had thickened around you like the steam rising from the pot. “It’s great, okay? Five stars, chef. Now stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked innocently, though the playful glint in his eyes betrayed him.

“Like you know exactly what you’re doing,” you muttered, stepping back to put some distance between you. But the warmth of his presence lingered, leaving you feeling oddly exposed.

Elias chuckled, his voice low and teasing as he turned back to the stove. “Maybe I do,” he said casually, stirring the pot once more.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you refused to let him see how easily he affected you. Instead, you grabbed a nearby glass of water, holding it tightly as if it could somehow ground you.

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he shot back, not even bothering to look at you this time.

The words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your cheeks, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Elias had a way of disarming you, of pulling you into his orbit no matter how hard you tried to resist.

You weren’t sure if you hated it—or secretly craved it.

 ──

Surely, you should have expected this—maybe not so quickly, but it was inevitable. The way the air between you and Elias had been charged lately, crackling like a storm about to break, it was only a matter of time.

What began as a tentative brush of lips had deepened into something far more consuming. The small pecks, sweet and fleeting, had grown more frequent, evolving into kisses that were slow and deliberate, igniting sparks with every touch.

You’d blame Elias later for being too hands-on, his fingers tracing possessive paths along your waist, your back, and the curve of your neck. But if you were honest with yourself, you had most definitely started it. You were the one who had leaned in first, drawn to him like gravity, your restraint crumbling under the weight of his presence.

Now, pressed against the kitchen counter, his body so close it blurred the lines of where you ended and he began, the world outside the moment felt inconsequential. His hands were steady yet unyielding, one resting at the small of your back, the other tangling in your hair as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

Your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, your mind a haze of heat and want, as the deep, sensual rhythm of the kiss pulled you under like a riptide. You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin as he paused, only to return with more fervor, lips parting to draw you deeper into him.

It was intoxicating, the way he kissed you—not hurried, but thorough, like he was savoring every second, every inch of you. And for a moment, you let yourself forget everything else. The cameras. The unease. The suffocating sense of always being watched.

But the moment was fleeting, and reality crept back in like an unwelcome shadow.

You broke away suddenly, your chest rising and falling with shallow, breathless gasps. “The cameras,” you whispered, barely audible, your forehead resting against his.

Elias’s eyes opened slowly, dark and smoldering, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes as if reluctant to leave the moment behind. His hand slipped from your hair to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek in a soothing motion.

“I don’t care,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, a stark contrast to the gentle way he held you.

“Well, I care,” you replied, your voice trembling as you pushed lightly against his chest to create space between you. The warmth of his body lingered, and you hated how much you missed it already.

Elias sighed deeply, the weight of your unease pressing between you like a barrier he wanted to shatter. Reluctantly, he stepped back, giving you space, though his touch lingered. His fingers trailed down your arm, slow and deliberate, until they rested lightly against your wrist. The contact was intimate, grounding, his thumb brushing faint circles over your skin.

“There aren’t any cameras in the bathroom,” he murmured, his voice low, the intimacy of the statement laced with both reassurance and a hint of something else.

The way he said it—his tone warm and inviting, almost coaxing—sent a shiver down your spine. His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching for a flicker of trust, or perhaps permission, to break through the walls of your hesitation.

You wanted to believe him. You did believe him. But the weight of the paranoia that had followed you for days made it hard to fully let go.

“Come on,” he said softly, his fingers curling slightly around your wrist, urging you forward. “I’ll show you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Show me?”

“Yeah.” His lips curved into a faint, teasing smile, though his gaze remained steady, steady enough to make your heart stutter. “I’ll prove it to you. No cameras. No one watching.”

For a moment, you hesitated, caught between lingering doubt and the quiet certainty in his voice. But then, his hand shifted, intertwining with yours in a way that felt both reassuring and possessive, and you found yourself nodding.

Elias led you out of the kitchen and down the hall, the tension in the air thickening with every step. The faint hum of the house seemed amplified in the silence, your senses heightened by his proximity.

When you reached the bathroom door, he paused, turning to face you. His free hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch deliberate and lingering. “Trust me,” he said again, his voice just above a whisper, the words wrapping around you like a promise.

You nodded again, though your heart raced as he pushed the door open and stepped inside, pulling you with him.

The bathroom was dimly lit, the soft glow from the overhead light casting shadows that danced along the tiles. The space was small, the closeness between you and Elias now impossible to ignore. He let go of your hand only to reach for the light switch, turning it off to leave the room bathed in a softer, more intimate glow from the nightlight plugged into the wall.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to echo in the confined space. “No cameras. Just you and me.”

Your eyes scanned the room, your nerves still on edge, but you found nothing out of place. No blinking lights, no ominous lenses peering out from hidden corners. Slowly, the knot in your chest began to loosen.

Elias stepped closer, his presence commanding yet gentle. His hand found your waist, his fingers pressing lightly against your skin through the fabric of your shirt. “Still don’t believe me?” he asked, his tone teasing but his eyes holding a darker intensity.

“I believe you,” you whispered, though your voice was barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

“Good.” His hand slid up, grazing the curve of your side, his touch igniting a heat that had nothing to do with fear. His other hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “Then stop thinking about anything else.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours, slow and deliberate, his kiss stealing the breath from your lungs. This kiss was different—deeper, more deliberate, as if he was determined to banish every last trace of doubt from your mind.

The cool tiles of the wall pressed against your back as he guided you gently but firmly, his hands steady and possessive. Every touch, every movement, felt like a silent reassurance, a promise that in this moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you.

Your fingers found their way to his hair, threading through the dark strands as you pulled him closer, the tension between you unraveling into something far more intoxicating. The world beyond the bathroom faded into nothingness, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the quiet hum of his breath against your skin, and the undeniable pull that kept drawing you back to him.

You pulled away, your breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as you tried to steady yourself. The warmth of Elias’s hands still lingered on your skin, and the ache inside you only grew stronger, urging you forward. Almost without thinking, your hands moved to his belt, fingers trembling with anticipation as you reached for the buckle.

Before you could undo it, Elias’s hand shot out, wrapping gently but firmly around your wrist. His touch wasn’t rough, but it stopped you in your tracks, his thumb brushing soft, deliberate circles against your pulse.

“No,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, tinged with the faintest trace of humor. He leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath sending shivers racing down your spine. “I don’t want my first time with you to be in the bathroom of a safehouse.”

His words were lighthearted, but the underlying sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten.

The ache in you only deepened at his restraint, the tension between what you wanted and what he was holding back crackling like static in the air. “Elias,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as the need in you grew impossible to ignore. “I need you—please.”

The raw vulnerability in your voice made his jaw tighten, his grip on your wrist flexing as though he was fighting an internal battle. He shook his head, his expression softening but remaining resolute. “Not like this,” he said, his words firm but laced with tenderness, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

Before you could protest, he shifted, his hands finding their way to your thighs. With a strength that was both effortless and grounding, he lifted you, his grip secure as he settled you onto the cool surface of the bathroom sink. The motion was fluid, deliberate, and it left you breathless all over again.

Elias stepped closer, his hips pressing lightly between your knees as his hands rested on either side of you, caging you in without feeling suffocating. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, yet filled with a quiet intensity that made your pulse race.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave as his fingers brushed the bare skin of your thigh. “You think I don’t want you? That I don’t feel it too?”

His words sent a rush of heat through you, and your hands instinctively reached for him, gripping the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer.

“Then why—”

“Because,” he interrupted softly, his thumb tracing a line up your thigh, the smallest touch enough to set your nerves alight, “you deserve better than this. Better than rushed moments in places like this.”

His lips found your jaw, pressing soft, lingering kisses as he moved slowly toward your ear. “When I have you,” he whispered, his voice a husky promise that sent a shiver down your spine, “it’s going to be somewhere we both remember. Somewhere I can take my time with you.”

His restraint only made the tension between you more unbearable, every word, every touch leaving you wanting more. You tilted your head back against the mirror, your body arching toward him instinctively, craving the closeness he was so carefully controlling.

“Elias…” you breathed, your voice trembling with frustration and longing.

“Patience,” he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing against your pulse in a way that made you dizzy. “You’ll thank me later.”

His hands slid to your waist, holding you steady as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were smoldering, filled with a mix of desire and restraint that left you completely undone.

“I want you to remember this for the right reasons,” he said softly, his fingers tightening just slightly on your hips. “And I want to remember the way you look at me without having to think about who’s watching.”

His words left you speechless, and for a moment, the ache inside you was tempered by the weight of his honesty. You nodded slowly, your hands relaxing their grip on his shirt as you let his words settle over you.

Elias leaned in, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your lips, filled with a tenderness that made your heartache in a completely different way. “Not here,” he said again, his voice a quiet vow. “But soon. I promise.” 

Despite his words, the ache inside you refused to be ignored, your need pushing you past hesitation. You reached for his hand, your fingers curling around his wrist, guiding it with a slow, deliberate motion. The moment his fingers slipped through your sweatpants, brushing against the sensitive skin beneath, a shiver rippled through you, your breath hitching audibly.

Elias stilled, his body tensing as his hand rested against your covered core, damp with arousal. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, your heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, he didn’t move, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours. There was a question there, unspoken but unmistakable, a flicker of concern mixed with the storm of desire in his gaze.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words brushing against the tension between you like a match against kindling.

You nodded, unable to speak, your lips parted as you struggled to steady your breathing. “I need this,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice trembling with both vulnerability and resolve.

His jaw tightened, his restraint hanging by a thread as his gaze remained locked on yours. Slowly, his fingers began to move, exploring with a tentative, feather-light touch that made your entire body tense in anticipation. The first deliberate graze of his fingers against you drew a soft gasp from your lips, your back arching slightly against the cool edge of the counter.

Elias swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he watched your reactions closely. His fingers continued their explorations, mapping out the curves and planes of your body with a touch that was both gentle and purposeful. He could feel the heat emanating from your core, the dampness of your arousal soaking through the thin fabric of your panties.

"Fuck, you're so wet," Elias groaned, his voice strained with desire.

His words sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, and you couldn't help but rock your hips forward, seeking more of his touch. Elias's eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched your needy movements.

Unable to resist any longer, Elias hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pants and tugged them down your legs, exposing your glistening sex to the cool air of the bathroom. He let out a low whistle of appreciation, his gaze zeroing in on your most intimate area.

"God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your slick folds, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. "I can't believe you're mine."

Before you could respond, Elias leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep into your mouth to stroke along yours. At the same time, he pushed a finger inside your tight, dripping heat, his thumb circling your clit with a steady, deliberate pressure.

You cried out into the kiss, your hips bucking off the counter as you tried to take his finger deeper. Elias matched your movements, pumping his digit in and out of your clenching sex as he drank down your moans and whimpers.

He quickly added a second finger, then a third, stretching you and filling you in a way that made stars explode behind your eyelids. His touch was relentless, his fingers curling to stroke that special spot inside you with each thrust, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion.

Your body convulsed, back arching sharply as a powerful orgasm ripped through you."Elias!" you cried out, voice echoing off the bathroom walls as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your inner walls clamped down around his plunging fingers, fluttering and squeezing as you gushed your release.

Elias groaned, feeling your essence gush out and coat his hand as he worked you through the aftershocks. He continued to stroke your G-spot, drawing out your climax until the last possible second. "That's it, baby." he praised, his voice rough with arousal.

As your orgasm began to subside, Elias slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. He made a show of licking them clean, his tongue swirling around each digit to savor your tangy essence. "Sweet." he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

Before you could come down fully, Elias knelt between your trembling thighs. He looked up at you with a wicked grin, his hands gripping your knees.

Elias's hands slid up the backs of your thighs, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pushed them further apart, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. He leaned in, his breath hot and heavy against your glistening sex, making your body ache with anticipation.

Without warning, he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, sending a bolt of intense pleasure shooting through your core.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as your fingers tightened their grip in his hair, holding him in place. Elias simply groaned in response, the vibrations of his approval resonating deep within your very being. His hands slid up to grip your hips, his thumbs digging into the curves of your waist as he pulled you harder against his face.

Elias's tongue was relentless, swirling and flicking over your sensitive bud with a skill that left you breathless. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, teasing flicks, pushing you closer to the edge with each pass. His lips sealed around your entrance, and he delved his tongue deep inside your dripping heat, fucking you with the slick muscle as he drank down your arousal.

Your head fell back against the mirror, your chest heaving with each ragged breath as Elias devoured you. The cool glass pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the scorching heat radiating from your core. Your breasts rose and fell with each gasping inhale, nipples pebbled and straining against the thin fabric of your shirt.

Elias seemed determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body, his mouth and tongue working in tandem to unravel you completely. He edged you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, your thighs beginning to quake and quiver around his head.

"E-Elias," you panted, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears. "Don't stop...please don't stop."

As if spurred on by your desperate plea, Elias doubled his efforts, sucking and licking with a fervor that stole the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened, gripping his hair almost painfully as the coil within you wound tighter and tighter.

With a final, hard suck to your clit, combined with a deep thrust of his tongue, Elias sent you careening over the edge. Your body

Elias could feel your body tensing, your thighs clamping around his head as your climax approached. He could taste your essence flowing, coating his lips and chin as he worked you through the intense pleasure. His tongue continued its relentless assault, pushing you closer to the edge with each flick and swirl.

He could hear your ragged breaths, your desperate moans and cries filling the bathroom as he brought you to the brink. The sound of your pleasure was the sweetest music to his ears, spurring him on to bring you to the pinnacle of ecstasy.

Elias's hands slid up your body, cupping and squeezing the soft swells of your breasts. He could feel your heart pounding beneath his palms, matching the frantic rhythm of your breathing. He could sense your body's anticipation, the way it ached and throbbed with a need only he could fulfill.

He could taste the changes in your arousal, the way your juices flowed more freely as your climax neared. He could feel your inner walls fluttering, clenching around nothing as they yearned to be filled. He could hear the catch in your throat, the silent scream that built as he pushed you to the precipice.

With a final, hard suck to your clit, combined with a deep thrust of his tongue, Elias sent you hurtling into oblivion. Your body convulsed, back arching sharply as your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tidal wave. He could feel your essence gushing, flooding his mouth and chin as he worked you through the intense contractions.

Elias groaned against your sex, the vibrations prolonging your pleasure as he savored the taste of your release. He continued to lap and suck, helping you ride out each crest and wave until your body went limp, spent and sated. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening with your arousal as he gazed up at you with a look of pure satisfaction.

Elias helped you down from the counter gently, his hands steady and firm as your legs still trembled, the remnants of your climax still rippling through you. He didn’t let go, his arm securely around your waist as his other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb sweeping across your cheek as though he was memorizing every detail of you. He wiped away a stray tear—one you hadn’t even noticed had fallen—and his gaze softened with concern.

“Are you okay?” His voice was tender, a deep, genuine concern lacing his words, as his hazel eyes searched your face, trying to read every emotion.

You could barely find your voice, your breath still catching in the aftermath. You nodded, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips as you looked up at him, still trying to gather yourself. “Yeah, I’m good,” you whispered, the words almost foreign after everything that had just passed between you.

Elias’s eyes softened, relief washing over his features. “Good,” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, warmth radiating from his expression. He took a slow breath, then his eyes met yours again. “That was… incredible. You are incredible.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with sincerity. His forehead gently rested against yours, both of you taking a moment to just breathe, to ground yourselves in this shared moment of intimacy. It felt like time had slowed, the world outside the bathroom fading away as you focused solely on each other.

“I’ve never felt anything like that before,” Elias whispered, his voice raw and vulnerable. His fingers slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his touch careful, as though he feared breaking the delicate moment. He tangled his fingers gently in your hair, tilting your head back slightly.

You leaned into his touch, your body still humming with the remnants of your pleasure. 

Elias’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. His thumb traced a slow, tender path along the nape of your neck, his gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me this means something to you,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper, his words carrying the weight of everything he was feeling. “Tell me I’m not the only one who feels this—this connection. This isn’t just some fleeting thing for you, is it?”

You could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he searched your face for reassurance. Your heart ached for him, for the tenderness he was offering, for how much this moment meant to him. “No,” you whispered softly, your hands resting on his chest, steadying yourself. “It means everything to me. You mean everything to me, Elias.”

He let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling with a mixture of relief and disbelief. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Because I’ve never wanted anything more than I want this. Than I want you.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, a rush of emotion overwhelming you. You lifted your hand to his cheek, cupping his face gently, grounding him in the same way he had grounded you. “I’m sure,” you whispered, the words firm and full of truth. I’m not scared of it. I don’t want to fight it.”

His lips parted, as though he wanted to speak, but instead, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, as though that simple act could convey everything he was feeling. The kiss was slow, deliberate, full of unspoken emotions. There was no urgency, just a connection that felt eternal, bound in the silence between you both.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours once again. His breath mingled with yours, slow and steady, as if savoring the moment. His voice was soft, but the weight of his words hung heavily in the air. “You mean everything to me,” he whispered, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. “I need you to know that.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You mean everything to me too,” you replied, your voice thick with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

And then, slowly, gently, your souls began to dance as one.

The world around you faded into a soft blur, each touch, each whisper, pulling you deeper into a place where time no longer mattered. The air felt thick with something sacred, something so intimate that words couldn’t even begin to define it. Every brush of Elias’s fingers against your skin, every soft sigh between your lips, carried an unspoken promise—a bond woven from years of unacknowledged longing, finally coming to life.

──

author's note: jonah's fic is next!

[forgottxen]

sunny side up 🍳

small blurb of one of cherry and chris dates, no warnings, reader referred to as 'Cherry',

౨ৎ wc: 710 (proofread by me) 😈

send in asks about them pls!

more of them here!

-

At the diner, Chris fidgeted with his hoodie while anxiously awaiting Cherry. It was probably their fifth date so far, or so he thought he kind of lost track. Every Friday they would meet for breakfast at the diner they met at. Cherry would always come in every day for her daily coffee, but Fridays were special. This was their spot to talk and hang out. It was much more convenient to Cherry, as the diner wasn’t a very far walk from her apartment. Chris, on the other hand, had to have Matt drive him or take an Uber, which is more so the Uber lately since Matt grew annoyed with waking up early. Their breakfast consisted of Chris ordering the usual waffles (he had to change it up) and Cherry ordering her sunny-side-up eggs and coffee. They would sit at the booth for hours just talking as the day passed them by, by the time they realized how long they had been there Cherry had already drunk four cups of coffee and Chris was practically chugging Pepsi. After they had paid, which Chris always insisted he would pay for their breakfast, Cherry would give him a small kiss on the cheek for a ‘thank you’ and they would say their goodbyes and go their separate ways. Chris would then have Matt pick him up or simply call a ride share and when he got home, he was love-struck, replaying every moment back in his head and cherishing it. 

The bell on the diner door dinged and Chris looked up to see Cherry walk inside, a bright smile on her face. She walked over and slid into the booth. “Sorry, I couldn’t decide on an outfit,” she says as she sets her purse down beside her and looks at him. Chris, captivated by her beauty, studied her features—her pretty eyes, lips painted with her favorite lipstick, and stylish hair—finding her beautiful. “It’s okay, I’ll always wait for you,” he replied as he watched a soft smile spread on her lips. The waiter comes over and hands them their drinks, already knowing what they have every time they come. She tells them their food will come out shortly. “So how’s your classes?” Chris starts trying to start the conversation by taking a sip of his Pepsi. Inspired by writing, Cherry decided to take some college writing classes, although her major was her focus. “They are going great, much more interesting than the other classes I’m taking.” She jokes as she takes a sip of her coffee.

Not long after, their food came, and happy chatter filled the air as they ate. Open sugar packets splayed out on the table as Cherry continuously put sugar in her coffee. Listening to Chris talk about his day, they always listened to each other, sometimes her more than him, as he was quite the talker. “Mmh,” she hums in response as she stirs in the sugar in the coffee with a small spoon. “So then I passed the test,” he says as he smiles and takes a bite of his waffles. Cherry dropped her spoon, her jaw dropping slightly as he had been talking about getting his license for the past few weeks. “You passed the test?” she questions as she looks at him, a smile spreading across her face. Trying to hold in a soft giggle, Chris nods, his mouth full of food. “Chris, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you,” she says softly as she reaches over and ruffles his brunette hair. Chris gulps as he feels her hand tangling through his soft locks, his cheeks completely flushed as he looks at her through his lashes. She notices and pulls back as she awkwardly rubs the back of her neck, not meeting his gaze.

They weren’t exactly a thing yet, just going on dates, but somehow things always seemed to get awkward. Chris cleared his throat as he sat up a little taller in the booth, his eyes meeting hers as he chuckled softly. “Maybe I can pick you up sometime,” he suggests, trying to clear the air of the awkward silence. Cherry smiles at him as she meets his gaze, a slight blush creeping up on her cheeks. “I would love that.”

-

dividers by: @strangergraphics

tag list: @itsmaddielouis , @oliviasthatgirl , @scorpio1205 , @submattenthusiast , @brianna-grace12

[echo-goes-mmm]

Poker (Oneshot)

My Writing Masterpost

Warnings: implied forced prostitution, off screen murder, drugs mentions

Jack Fish was late.

Damien tapped his zippo twice on the table. He lit up, inhaling deep.

The bar was non-smoking, but exceptions were made at 2 am. Exceptions were always made for him, because he was boss and the family was doing very well. Aside from a few thorns in his side.

Like Jack Fish.

“He’ll be here, boss,” said Lorenzo from his left. “I swear.”

Damien hummed.

The cig wasn’t particularly satisfying, and he put it out. No point in stinking up Chip’s bar if he wasn’t enjoying it.

“Time, Ed?”

The man to his right glanced at his watch. “Two thirty.”

Damien gritted his teeth.

“If he isn’t here in fifteen minutes, find him and shoot him.”

“Yessir.”

___________________

The door opened, and the three men looked up from their cards.

Jack Fish swaggered into the bar, a pretty little thing on his arm.

“I didn’t say you could bring a plus one,” Damien drawled. He tapped his lighter on the table.

“Aw, he won’t say nothing,” grinned Fish. His teeth were yellow. “Right, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart smiled weakly, and the dim light made his split lip look like a smear and his bruises dark as plum.

“Fine.”

It wasn’t, but Fish didn’t need to know what kind of trouble he was in just yet. Ed checked the time again.

“Want a drink?” Damien offered, gesturing to Chip wiping down the bar.

“Just a beer,” he said, plopping into a chair.

It was the last one left at the table, and Jack didn’t pull another one over for his rent boy. Ass.

The prostitute ended up sitting at his feet. It would be cute if he was a puppy, but he was no dog. Just had been kicked like one.

“What kind?” Chip asked, exasperated. “We have-”

“Doesn’t matter,” shrugged Fish. He turned to Damien. “So about the docks-”

“Deal the cards, Izzy,” interrupted Damien. Lorenzo shuffled the deck, and Fish deflated. 

“Buy in starts at a hundred,” Ed informed Jack.

It was going to be a long night.

___________________

Three games and five beers in, and Jack Fish was out of money and more nervous than a cat at the vet.

“Chip, a lemon drop martini if you would.” Izzy Lorenzo and Ed looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

Jack laughed nervously. “Never thought you were a cocktail man,” he said.

Damien let the comment hang in the air. 

“Why’s that?” he said, casually picking out a cigarette from the case. Chip placed the frosty martini glass in front of him.

Fish eyed him as he lit up. “Nothing,” he said. “Nevermind.”

Ed raised, tossing another bill into the pile.

Jack shifted. He glanced at his cards. He wanted to win, convinced that he could impress Damien if he did.

He was a dead man the moment he agreed to the meeting.

“Well?” said Lorenzo. 

Jack’s face split into a smug grin. “I’ll bet my boy. Why not?”

Damien was not impressed.

___________________

Smoke swirled around the bar, and Emile couldn’t help but cough. Mr. Fish kicked him underneath the table, his brogues catching his already bruised rib.

Emile winced, but kept quiet.

Damien fucking Kelly was less than two feet away, and it was his smoke he was coughing at.

Emile didn’t feel like getting shot tonight. Today? Hard to know.

“What are you doing with my girls?” Kelly asked, breaking the silence.

“...What?” Mr. Fish said.

“The girls on 51st. What do you think you’re doing?” He sounded angry. They were so dead.

Emile covered his mouth with his hands, hoping Kelly had forgotten he was here.

“I thought we were here to talk business-”

“We are. My business.”

They argued, and Mr. Fish kept digging a deeper hole. Tears pricked at the corners of Emile’s eyes.

Two of the men stood, pulling pistols. 

They escorted Mr. Fish out back. There was a gunshot, and Emile let out a sob.

The last chair scraped back against the hardwood.

Damien Kelly, the scariest man in the city, stared down at him. 

“I won’t tell-”

“Get up.”

Emile stood up, shaking. “I’ll do anything,” he offered weakly. “Any service you want, anytime-”

Kelly shoved him by the shoulder, towards the bar. “I know. Sit.”

Emile sat at the bar. 

“Have a drink,” Kelly said.

The man at the bar, Chip maybe, placed a full glass of something in front of him.

Kelly left for a moment, and Emile didn’t really have a choice, did he?

The cocktail was sweet and fizzy, and barely tasted like vodka.

He stared down at the empty glass. 

“Who won the game?” he asked Chip, quiet.

Chip knew what he meant immediately. “Mr. Kelly.”

Emile asked for another drink.

___________________

The car ride was silent.

Mr. Kelly had a driver, and Emile wondered where they were going. The car weaved through downtown, the yellow streetlights reflecting off the shiny windows of the ritzy apartment lobbies and hotels.

They stopped at a tall, dark building, all glass and steel and a doorman.

He didn’t acknowledge them, even as Mr. Kelly handed him a wad of bills that Emile was pretty sure added up into the triple digits.

The button on the elevator had a ridiculously high number on it, and Emile wished he was drunk enough to not care.

___________________

The escort was a tiny thing, and Damien was sure he could span the boy’s waist with his hands.

“You use drugs to get that skinny or it is just having sleep for dinner that does it?” he said flippantly, sitting heavy on his couch.

“W-what?” the boy said, trembling.

Bad start.

“Drugs,” Damien repeated anyway. He cocked his head. “Heroin?” he guessed.

“No, I- I just can’t afford much food.”

Damn.

Damien lit a cig, and the boy looked away, wincing. 

He put out the light. He probably shouldn’t be smoking anyway. It was just hard as hell to quit.

Damien eyed the stack of takeout menus on his side table.

“Pizza?” he offered.

The kid’s head snapped towards him. A pause.

“You can get pizza at this hour?” he said, only half joking, because his eyes were as wide as saucers.

“You can get anything in this city with enough cash.”

Bad joke. The rent boy knew that already. He was an anything.

___________________

The pizza was hot and greasy, with pepperoni and mushrooms and parmesan.

It was perfect, but the offer of food and a bottled lemonade from the fridge made him even more uneasy.

Emile wiped the grease off on the tiny pair of shorts he was wearing (at Mr. Fish orders).

Mr. Kelly lounged on the couch.

“Aren’t you-” started Emile. 

“Aren’t I what?”

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” he asked, feeling pathetic and stupid. 

“You want that?” Kelly said, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

Emile sat dumbfounded.

“But you won poker.”

“And? Do you want that?”

A pause.

“N-no.”

“Good.”

Kelly’s head fell back against the couch. “Shower’s down the hall,” he said. “Clean up and take a nap or something.”

Emile decided to push his luck. “Then what?”

“D’you mean, then what? Don’t you have a shit apartment to go to?”

Emile debated with himself. “I lived with Mr. Fish,” he admitted. “He- he didn’t let me keep any money-”

___________________

“Well shit, kid. What’s your name?”

Kelly stood from the couch, grabbing the second-to-last slice of pizza.

Damn him. His future, sober self, was going to be so annoyed. But he was a sucker for cute boys with a sob story.

“Emile.”

“House rules. No one comes in, you don’t tell anyone where you’re staying, and keep takeout orders to a limit of four a week.”

“Wh- what?”

God, he was tired. Curse Jack Fish for being a tardy ass.

“Just go shower.”

___________________

The boy kept after himself, but he didn’t leave. Even when Damien pressed wads of hundreds into his palms, or told him to clean the kitchen though it wasn’t dirty.

Damien found out that he didn’t really mind the company after all.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff

[emma23]

Three sides, one heart :

Marc/ Steven/ Jake x reader

If you’d like to support me, feel free to check this out 💕

https://ko-fi.com/settings?tab=profile

The warm scent of cinnamon and coffee filled the air as you leaned back on your couch, your feet tucked under a blanket. Across the room, Steven fumbled with a book he’d been trying to read all day, his brow furrowed as he absentmindedly adjusted his glasses.

“You’ve read the same page five times,” you teased, watching his lips twitch in amusement as he looked up.

“Have I?” he asked, glancing at the book like it had betrayed him.

You nodded. “Pretty sure the protagonist isn’t supposed to spend three chapters introducing themselves.”

Steven chuckled, setting the book aside. “Maybe I’m distracted.” His soft, curious gaze met yours, and your heart gave a little flip. He always had a way of making you feel seen, like nothing else in the world mattered.

“You know, it’s nice having a quiet evening,” you said, stretching. “No chaos. Just us.”

Steven smiled nervously, his fingers twitching as if debating whether to say something. “Well, about that…”

Before you could ask, his body tensed as his posture shifted slightly. That familiar flicker crossed Steven’s eyes—a slight roll of his neck, the drop of his shoulders—and suddenly, you were looking at Marc.

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You couldn’t let Steven finish his quiet moment?”

Marc shrugged unapologetically, grabbing a bottle of water from the coffee table. “He’s had plenty of quiet moments today. I needed a break.”

“You are so considerate,” you deadpanned, earning a smirk from him.

“I do what I can,” Marc replied, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you a beat too long.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.” He leaned back, his gaze softening just slightly. “It’s just… I don’t know how you deal with all of this. Us.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, that familiar shift happened again. A slight tightening of the jaw, a flicker of something sharper in the eyes.

“Don’t get all sappy, Marc,” Jake said, his accent cutting through the calm. He adjusted his jacket and looked at you, his dark gaze filled with something unreadable. “She handles it because she wants to. Right, cariño?”

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. “And here I thought tonight was going to be peaceful.”

Hours later, the room had grown quieter. Steven had re-emerged, and the two of you were sitting side by side on the couch, a documentary about ancient Egypt playing softly in the background. He was gesturing excitedly at the screen, explaining some minor historical inaccuracy, when you caught it—that look.

Steven’s eyes flicked to yours, then briefly down to your lips before darting back up. Your breath hitched slightly as he froze, realizing you’d noticed.

“What is it?” you asked softly, though you already knew the answer.

“I—nothing,” he stammered, but his gaze betrayed him.

The air grew heavier as you leaned in slightly, testing the waters. “Steven…”

Before he could reply, you felt it again—that shift. This time, Marc was there, his expression far more confident than Steven’s but no less intense.

“Don’t stop,” Marc murmured, his voice low.

Your heart raced as you searched his face, but the moment didn’t last long. Another blink, and now Jake was there, his smirk sharper, more daring.

“You’ve got all of us hanging on by a thread, muñeca,” Jake said, leaning closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

The kiss that followed was everything—clumsy and sweet when Steven took the lead, firm and passionate when Marc took over, and utterly consuming when Jake finally claimed his moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and laughing, you shook your head. “You know, dating three men in one body should come with a manual.”

Steven adjusted his glasses nervously. “Maybe I could write one?”

Marc snorted. “Step one: Avoid Jake.”

“Step two,” Jake interjected, smirking, “let me show you how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “Step three: I need more wine.”