#perving on her ass lmao

[desirespeaks]

he grinned at her reply. playful. he liked that about her. not every babysitter was so accepting of his behaviour — much less swayed by his looks or his money. there had been more than a handfull of babysitters his lawyers had to pay off over the years. so much so they began begging him to make them sign non-disclosure agreements as part of their arrangement. but where was the fun in that ??

he gripped her waist casually as he peeked over her shoulder to eye the rest of the meal, acting as if touching her wasn't completely inappropriate. "you reckon?" he shot her another arrogant smirk as he stole something off the plate. if anyone were to walk in on the moment, they would assume they were a committed couple. except for the fact he had been home for more than twenty minutes and he hadn't even asked how the twins were — his mind on other matters. like the way her ass moved.

resting his own ass against the island behind him, he simply watched her body as it moved back and forth while she prepared their meals. he often wondered that if she could sense his gaze whenever he did eye her body; down her top, up her legs, just blatantly staring at her ass as she moved or walked. at first he did it when she wasn't looking, but ever since he began to push the lines of what was appropriate between them, he stopped caring. privately, he hoped his gaze violated her, made her feel watched or stalked like she was some kind of woodland prey and he was a hunter licking his lips, ready to kill and feed.

Did Celine ever picture herself taking on a job as a babysitter? No. Did she ever think she would cross the line, yearning for the father in question? Hell yes. So, when he asked her to stay late one night, she didn't even hesitate for one moment.

"Remind me to charge you extra for this," Celine playfully returned, taking a sip of the wine she had poured herself. If he was going to indulge, why wasn't she? "I made Teriyaki Steak. You'll love it." She allowed her gaze to linger on him as he inspected the food on the stove, her pulse quickening as she realised exactly how attracted she was to him.

[leviathanspain]

maneater

han lue x reader

synopsis: jealous han comes out to play when the new kid won’t stop staring at his girl

a/n: i struggled so hard to write this because all the times i tried i was extremely faded but i think it turned out okay lmao

the tool nearly fell out of his hand as you sauntered in. he bit his lip and watched as the tightest little miniskirt was wrapped around your hips, a big purse trailing behind you.

“who is that?” he tried to sound casual but sean knew he sounded awkward and probably desperate. but looking at her, he definitely was.

twinkie laughed, “don’t go near that. she’ll kill you.” he continued to work on his car but sean continued to shamelessly stare.

“she’d kill me? id like to see her try.” he smirked, and twinkie couldn’t hide his disgust, “down boy! besides, she’s with han. she was actually with him before he even knew he was with her. so, choose again.”

sean swallowed thickly, “with han? really?”

“really, what? i hear more talking than i hear fixing this car.” han walked up to the two and threw a chip in his mouth. sean chuckled slightly, “you can handle all that?”

twinkie nudged him, hoping he’d stop trying to provoke the boss.

han smirked, “yes, i can.” he kept it simple, knowing damn well he could.

sean nodded, “good. that’s good.” he focused on the car and swallowed thickly as he looked again at her. the heels she wore were not at all garage attire, of course if you weren’t working on a car but she was elbow deep in the hood of someone else’s car, her miniskirt getting even minier.

han looked at you and sighed, “stop staring before i rip those eyeballs out of your head.”

you finally set down the tools and smiled at one of your friends in the garage, “try it again. if it doesn’t work this time, i’ll see what else we can do.”

his hands were on your hips, pulling your skirt down. you turned around and smiled when you saw your boyfriend.

“hey babe.” you grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a deep kiss, “i’ve missed you.”

han smirked, “you saw me this morning.”

you shrugged, “it’s been a rough day. i missed my man.” you wrapped your hands around his neck and han chuckled slightly, “come on, don’t tempt the boys.”

you scoffed, “i can’t wear cute outfits for my man because everyone wants to be pervs.” you rolled your eyes and han laughed, “no, you can wear whatever you want.”

you played with the ends of his hair for a moment and smiled brightly, “this is why i love you.”

han hugged you and clapped your ass, “i’ll see you in a bit.”

twinkie and sean watched han and you for a minute. “crazy.” sean commented and twink gave him a look, “listen, i don’t know what lawless world you came from but here, that’s her man. not his girl, not his bitch, her man. she made it perfectly clear the second she set her sights on him.” twinkie had been here since the beginning. he knew that you two were perfect for each other.

han balanced you out just as you did him, and although you two argued a lot, it was mostly because the other cared too much.

sean shrugged, “if she lets her loyalty sway, she’s no one’s.”

you took a walk around the garage, talking to some of the workers and other people that han had let work on the cars. they all greeted you with smiles and laughter.

“hello boys.” you walked up to the green hulk monster that you knew must’ve belonged to one of the teenagers in there. and no surprise when you saw twinkie, “hello twink.”

he looked at you, “hey. how’s it going?”

sean looked at you and you laughed, “it’s going good. who’s this?” you raised your eyebrows at sean and he stuck a hand out, “sean boswell.”

you ignored the hand and nodded, “sean. interesting.”

you moved on from the two quickly and just as you were out of earshot, sean laughed to himself slightly, “wow.”

twinkie looked at sean as if he was crazy, “do you realize what that was?”

sean shook his head, “no. other than trying to play hard to get-“

“dude- listen to yourself. there is nothing to get! that is a whole woman who’s with someone else!” twinkie wouldve strained his voice had he kept going.

sean nodded, “yeah, yeah.” clearly not bothered enough, he kept working.

you found han and he looked at you, noticing a small smile on your face, “what’s up?”

you shrugged, “nothing. just that that new kid has a crush on me.”

han laughed, “everyone does.”

you nodded, “yeah. but it still makes me feel good. hot.” you moved to hug him and you leaned into his ear, “im feeling more than just hot. let’s go for a ride?”

han smirked, gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly, “i’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

his teeth trailed up your leg, your spine chilling just at the feeling. “fuck.” you whispered, watching his hand move to hike up your skirt. your panties had been discarded at the door, just your tight skirt left.

he smirked, and stood up, his hands unbuckling his jeans. quickly then, han was on top of you, your skirt pushed up roughly as his cock entered your cunt. you moaned at the intrusion, gripping his arm tightly, “fuck, han…” you moaned as he moved, his hips dragging in and out of you.

he fucked you like that for a good while. until you begged to ride him.

you had been in the middle of riding han when the door suddenly burst open. you turned just your head, your hips stilling and saw the two guys from earlier, twinkie and sean.

twinkie fell back faster than sean and han had to yell for him to get out. you looked down at han and laughed, a burst of laughter fell from your lips so quick that han just stared before laughing too.

“yeah, i think that killed his crush.” han grabbed your hips just as you started to move, still laughing.

[cherubfae]

𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔢𝔱 || {𝔩𝔢𝔬𝔫 𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔡𝔶, 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢}

what better way to test if your boyfriend can stay silent by sucking him off in the middle of a trial with a killer on the prowl? things do not go as planned.

tags: nsfw, smut, gn!afab! Resident Evil verse!reader, dubcon (just in case!!), descriptions of afab anatomy, degradation/namecalling (ghostie), forced blowjobs (ghostie), public acts of indecency, voyeurism (ghostie likes to watch), dry humping (Ghostie x reader), established relationship, slight ghostface x reader x leon, brief mentions of anal play, allusions to puppyboy!Leon, leon is a bit of a freak lmao he's def a closet perv, breeding kink (previous mentions about potentially having kids), Leon and reader are not good teammates x3, this got vulgar aaaaa

The Macmillan estate was vast, cluttered in useless machinery, old rusted tools, and many nooks and crannies for you and Leon to find a temporary safe haven in. The Ghostface had already successfully hooked an injured Meg, who had struggled enough to summon the Entity early, unfortunately, everyone knew they wouldn't make it in time to unhook her. Her sacrifice would soon be claimed by spindly inky spider-like legs. With one practically in the bag, the killer continued on his vicious pursuit of both Vittorio and Sable.

Crouched down into a squat with his back to the silent generator, Leon winces at the jingle of his belt, quickly unfastening the buckle and tugging down the zip. "Are you sure you can keep quiet?" The rookie teased. He looked smug, one dark brow raised, and his thumbs hooked into the loops of his uniform pants. The waistband of said pants sag around his hips, a sliver of skin revealed above his blue plaid boxers, looking oh so tantalizing.

Scoffing, you shoot him an incredulous look, unimpressed. "Leon, baby, every time one of the killers strikes you it sounds like you're practicing for a porno, you little masochist. This was your idea. Don't make me gag you." He knew full well you'd find whatever you could to shove in his mouth-- and he secretly hoped it would be the underwear you're currently wearing.

Whining, Leon's head dully thuds back against the generator. "Fuck, that doesn't sound half bad. Wanna try without first, baby, please. Promise I'll be your good boy." Giving you that signature grin you love so much, Leon easily swayed your opinion. He really was just like a puppy, always begging to be praised, and you were more than happy to oblige your boyfriend.

You missed all the toys you liked to use on him back home in Raccoon City. The way his ass stretched around the silver plug you oh so kindly fucked into him. Leon would just about die if any of his comrades ever found out that almost every night after his shift his partner was fucking his ass with a wolf-like tail butt plug or a pretty, glittery blue strap-on. He would never mention he had the ears, the studded collar, and the paw print gloves to match. All in an adoringly cute silvery-grey.

And when you weren't pounding into him? He had you folded in half beneath his strong body, ever so eager to prove just how much he's physically improved, humping into you in the deepest mating press possible. Never fully satisfied, much less satiated, unless you were dripping in his seed. He loveeeeed watching your hole clench with the absence of his dick, cum staining the sheets below. Like a doting, caring boyfriend, he'd push back all of his cum inside. You'd talked about it before. Maybe he wanted it to take this time.

You two were insatiable, like rabbits.

Now, trapped in this eternal purgatory, things were certainly no different. You two continued on as normal as you could in this hellscape. You thanked whatever god, probably the Entity, thank you were sent here with your boyfriend. True hell would be to never get to see one another again.

Deciding he is taking too long; you yank them down yourself. A gust of wind ripples across the ground, making the two of you shudder and huddle in even closer.

His erection is hard and hot, flushed red and thicker than your wrist, and visibly twitching in your grasp. You've barely touched him yet and already Leon gasps like he's close to cumming.

"Fuck, baby, need you. I need you, please." Leon begs, shuffling closer. He claims your mouth in a passionate kiss, parting with a heavy whine. Gently lowering you to rest between his legs, he parts your lips gently; always so sweet and kind to you. Tapping his cock against your lips, you open wide, tongue lolling out to lap at his tip. His moans are delicious and it's clear there was never any intention of him staying quiet. He'd already failed.

You take him in as far as you can go, swallowing around his head once he hits the back of your throat. His fingers curl around the back of your neck to keep you in place, idly toying with the ends of your hair. Too deep in your element, you fail to hear a rustling noise several feet away from you.

Leon, drunk on pleasure, snapped his head up. Through ashen blonde bangs he makes out the unmistakable shadowy outline of the Ghostface's shroud billowing in the wind. Although straining, he can hear the muffled, heavy breathing rasp from behind the killer's mask. Yet, the cloaked murderer makes no move to stop for the couple.

Narrowing his eyes, he watches Ghostface with confusion. Watches as the killer sheaths his knife into the ground with a dull thud. Despite the distance, Leon doesn't miss the jerking motion Ghostface does with his hand now between his crouched legs.

Leon's hand cards through your hair, stroking the silken strands lovingly. A gasp catches in his throat when your eyes tilt up, peering at him through your lashes, with your mouth full of his thick cock.

Smirking, he caressed your cheek. "We've got an audience, love. The Ghostface," he hummed. "But he's not trying to attack us. Guess he likes watching my pretty baby suck their boyfriend's dick." He gently taps your cheek, a signal to continue. "Whaddya say, wanna give him a better look? Want him to touch you? Yeah? Atta baby." Leon waves his hand. "Go ahead then, Mr. Ghostface. Do what you will."

Now you hear it. The uneven, raspy breathing. The crunching of heavy boots on dead grass, the cracking of twigs as the predator creeped ever closer. There was the undeniable scent of steel, of faint cologne, and the tang of copper. Blood.

Heat pools in your abdomen at the lewdness of this whole scenario. There was something undeniably sexy that both your boyfriend and some masked stranger, a serial killer, were getting off to such a display of indecency.

A gloved hand, sleek against your soft hair, roughly pushes your head down forcing you to take Leon to the back of your throat; Leon crying out in ecstasy. You gasp and gag, sputtering and coughing around the length, your nose buried in Leon's pubic hair. Unable to look to see what's happening, you do what you can to focus on pleasing your boyfriend. The strong hand on your hand is a heavy reminder that the roles have now been switched.

Something warm and hard pressed at your ass. It didn't take you too long to guess as to what it may be. A second later, you're being pushed tightly into Leon's chest, your hips harshly gripped between gloved hands as Ghostface drags his bare, flushed cock along the seam of your jean shorts. He's long and thick, that much is evident, with every drag of his cock along your clothed cunt. Precum clings to the light blue fabric, staining it.

Ghostface humps his cock at your backside like a mutt breeding a bitch. His larger frame has you caged between the two males, thighs pinning yours in place and gloved hands groping any skin he can touch. You yelp as Leon's cock falls out of your mouth with a wet pop. Spit and saliva connect the two. You wrap your hand around him, sticking out your tongue to lap at his head moaning low.

Slipping his hand beneath your waistband he alternates from grinding his gloved fingers along your slit and grabbing a handful of your tits. The texture was rough. It rubbed your skin raw, massaging your velvet walls in such a way that you saw stars. You didn't care how fucked out you looked anymore, you rode Danny's fingers eagerly.

"Suck his dick like a good little whore," came the raw, deep voice of the Ghostface. "You like your mouth being used as his little fuck hole, don't you, sweetheart?" Feigning sweetness, the killer cards his fingers through your hair. Tears prick your eyes, but fuck, it was so hot. It felt so fucking sexy to be used like this.

Gripping you at the scalp, Ghostface roughly forces you to bob your head up and down on Leon's cock. Your boyfriend frantically tries to give you some semblance of peace and security by gripping and massaging your shoulders with his warm hands. His eyes squeeze tight, rapidly inhaling and exhaling.

"F-fuck! I'm gonna cum!" Leon yelps, hips gyrating. Borderline fucking your throat with every hump of his hips to your face. He hoped you would forgive him. It felt too damn good to stop now.

Ghostface cackled, forcing you back down. His large hand greatly obscures the back of your neck. He holds you in place, all the while laughing at your tear-stained face desperately trying to swallow down all of the rookie's cum; white essence spilling out of your mouth as you're overfilled.

"Such a slutty, slutty little mess, hmm?" Ghostface grumbled. He yanks you off Leon's dick, forcing you to face him. Leon instinctively wraps his strong arms around your tummy. Ghostface kicks your legs apart to crouch between them. His leaking, bare cock now visible with his shroud hiked up to his waist. Long, hard and visibly throbbing for attention. He cups at your sex, mocking your pathetic whine. "Think you can fit two dicks in there, sweetheart? Whaddya say, rookie cop? Feel like sharing?" As if Leon had any choice.

Collecting the cum trickling down your chin, Ghostface pushes two leather-clad fingers into your mouth. The digits press down on your tongue, noisily slurping on them. Red eyes, as red as blood, stare down at your wanton expression with faux kindness. There is only sadistic mockery in his tone. "Show us your hole, then, sweets. I think it's time I deserved a treat. I'll go easy on ya. I'd hate to make Kennedy pissy." He hissed, his hand going to his cock, jerking himself directly over you. "Unless you'd rather be hooked?"

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[thelastofhyde]

the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

read on ao3. series masterlist. next chapter.

Distaste is not new in the life of Joel Miller.

In particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. He is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. The years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

If anything, he’s made himself more empty.

Rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. Discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. Lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

An apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. Joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. The man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that Miller guys passed between cowardly members of FEDRA and the keep away from Mr Miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

This plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. Somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become deadweight.

“So that’s all I am to ya, huh? Dead-fucking-weight?” His brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving Joel to do what Joel does best: endure.

Somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the deadweight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

She was an exception, his Tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. They’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

She never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. Contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging Joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

Which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of Tess’ foot against his shin.

“... And then,” Frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. With a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, Bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “Otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. We were finding paw-prints for days!”

Joel's unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. As if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the German Shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“Which means I was cleaning paw-prints for days.” Bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

Frank is quick to shush him.

“I’m sorry, again, Bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “I’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

There you sit, parallel to him.

The sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. It hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

You catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

The threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which Joel can account for, mouth too keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. The battle ends swiftly as you surrender to Bill’s hardened stare, and Frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and Tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“You, sit. No one should have to clean up the food they made.”

They get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

Silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and smothering you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun behind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

Being alone, with you, is something Joel’s never mastered. The affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

Were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

Something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. The dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

Just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

The ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and Joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. He’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

The pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never-ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“He likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

As if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in Joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. Standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and Joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

To envy a creature that licks its own shit off its ass is a new low for Joel.

“Thinkin’ he might like ya more, Sol.” The nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“Most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

He takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and Tess have made.

“You’ve got a whole load in common, you know? I think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“How the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” There he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. It helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“Well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. He’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “And have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

He’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

Discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘S easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. Doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

With you as its protector.

He doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. He watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. Your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

Survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

But I could keep you safe.

He toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. It’s not the first time he’s thought it. Truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

His memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just Bill, Frank and you. A few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night Joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was Frank who’d prompted the question. “Where were you all when... this started?” Tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’d never meet.

He never imagined her working in a bank.

Bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “Was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” He’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. She was barely out of school. “I knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” Frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

Joel had always been a good listener. Being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. Years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. All this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to Frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of Bill.

But you weren’t smiling.

He watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

The desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for Joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. With each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. He’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“You’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “Those we remember never truly die!”). He’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘Could keep you safe. There, then, the thought did cross his mind.

He’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-Could fix it, you know. I’m good with my hands.”

He almost chokes on his own breath.

I'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. And he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“What?” The question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. In the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

The mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face Joel once more.

He sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“Your watch, it’s broken.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “Don’t need ya to fix it.”

You pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. Confusion.

“Don’t you want to know the time?” You ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and Joel Miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“I don’t keep it for the time.”

You smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

The German Shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to Joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

He’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. Nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. It’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“Ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” You’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “I’ve never heard any of the Joel Miller backstory, this should be-”

“I get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

Nature falls silent.

Skies grow dull.

You juggle sadness.

There’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of Tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. The dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

Joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“Sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. Only, the gates have been shut in his face and Joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “But you’re wrong. I don’t like everyone.”

“‘S that so.” His eyes roll. The hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal Joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“Yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “I don’t like you, Joel.”

The hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

We’re staying, for tonight. Tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the QZ for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

The nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading Bill and Frank- mostly Frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. If only Joel could remember which door leads to yours.

The two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

Tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a FEDRA agent’s wife, you whisper that Frank and Bill had been fighting again recently. The memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of Tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly Bill and Frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

At some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. At another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-N’t tell me you’re a virgin.

The words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

A protest rings true in his head and his ears.

Was gonna say. Knew you were young, but not that young.

It’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“God, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. It was alright, I guess. I just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

He’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. A groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping Tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

Neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“Not much to miss?! Sweet Christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” He’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken Tess. Each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. There’s no need to bother opening his eyes, Joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “I’d give up a hand for some head!”

You must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of Tess’ renewed shock fills the room. He wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

Late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“It bores me!”

“It bores you!?”

The couch beneath Joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp Tess gives. The last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

The crueler part of his mind replays your voice, I don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

You like Tess. Love her, even. It’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out Finally someone with a pair of boobs, I’m bored of the sight of my own. Joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

Maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“Must not have been doin’ ya right,” The bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. Joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. You’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. It’s oddly endearing that you think no one has noticed. Because he has, he always notices the little details that surround you. “This fella of yours.”

Joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

He does so, regardless.

“Well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “We were each others firsts.”

“That’s no excuse! Trust I left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time I went down.” Tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights Joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while Tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. No discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

You scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “What, are you offering your services?”

tThis he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which Tess has raised you to heaven on while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘As sure as I am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you I like my women a little older than you.”

He knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the QZ. It should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. But he can’t, and he won’t.

And you’re the one to blame.

You, with the glow of a thousand suns. You, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. You, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

His own self being the first he’d need fight.

Joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. Sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

The next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

He’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. Some small, meaningless little things, that ripple Joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. Others, tsunamis. Big, angry, all imposing. They’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

Amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. But the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. They catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. In the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

The currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

This evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. He reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. The gentle, barely-there croon of a Sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. Across from him is Tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. Snoring comes from below him, where Joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

You take up no space of this room.

Neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. Languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

There are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

He should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. A good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

He could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. Perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure Frank wouldn’t mind. Bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the QZ.

He would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. He imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. Skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Those words stop him from trying.

He tells himself it’s for the best.

With a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. He swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. The door’s already half-opened, and Joel nearly thanks Christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. The darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

The refrigerator.

It’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. A subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly Joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

Keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

She never lived long enough to get either.

He catches something move beneath the artificial light. Cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“Why aren’t ya sleepin’?” The words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

Beneath the light, you shrug. “Could ask you the same thing, Texas.”

He curses Tess for teaching you such a nickname.

He curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

You’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. Whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, Joel remains unaware.

He grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. The door behind him closes over and gives the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“I asked first.” You laugh, at him. Full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. The corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. He hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you. Bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘S so funny, huh?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. Perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “Just never heard the Joel Miller say something so childish. You’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

You make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. A fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. Uncouth and unbothered, Joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“You know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” You call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. The thirst does not budge. He hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

By the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“iIm making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “Make sure you take some with you when you leave. Tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

Would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? Four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his Tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. He’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Of course you would do the same. Not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. Nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. Patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. All words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. They violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over Joel’s entire persona.

He straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. The sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. His hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of Tess and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what Joel hears.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. You’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

And, suddenly, Joel’s angry. At you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. The fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

Only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

A hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving Joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. Without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise Joel gifts you.

You may leave your marks emotionally, but Joel’s will always be physical.

“Why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “Don’t ya like me?”

If not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “Why do you care?”

He scoffs, “I don’t.”

“Hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody Tess was playing in the living room. “Sure sounds like you do.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

Joel knows he cares. It’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to Bill and Frank’s.

What Joel doesn’t know is why he cares. There’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. He’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

Maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

Instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

Not one bit.

Joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. His feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. His chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

He inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“For the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘S just like how I sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. No part of him should ever be compared to you. “I don’t like ya either.”

He’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

The knife never ceases its movement. Back and forth, back and forth. Chop, chop, chop. Blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. It’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding Joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. Perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

The hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“That’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

It’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“You only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. His wandering touch halts. “A little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what I think.”

This strikes a nerve. Fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. The realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “D’ya know what I think?”

Even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“No, unlike you I don’t care what you think about-” Joel tugs on your hair once more.

“I think you’re a brat. A silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” You could. He’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. Knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“You’re hurting me,” you whine, Joel growls.

Animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. His gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

Your dress- red, a colour Joel Miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“You like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“No, I don’-” Dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “Joel.”

He retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. Whoever Joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“Heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and Tess. The blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ Talkin’ bout your past.”

He doesn’t specify.

He doesn’t need to.

You give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“Tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. His hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. Near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “I wouldn’t.”

You say nothing. Joel pulls harder.

“Too bad I’m-” You cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. With a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, Joel watches you like a hawk. The twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. The want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “Too bad I’m not offering you the chance.”

Joel Miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. With notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“Who said anything about an offer?”

The descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

A part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

The other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. You’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

Smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs that seem longer than any tree in the Amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the Himalayas. Arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

Your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. Perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, Joel knows how to read people. And, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

Joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

You breathe in, you breathe out.

One knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. He revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

Inhale, exhale.

Your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“Hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the Texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. All he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. With the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “Don’t move.”

Where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

Lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. One flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. A wet patch, your wetness. The stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

Curiosity gets the better of him- one day, Joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers digging themselves into the waistband of your panties and around the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

In and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

The lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. A heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. He makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

Delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. There’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. Joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. He wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. He thinks it must hurt.

His fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“Ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. Though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in Joel’s peripheral vision.

“Shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “People are tryin’ to sleep.”

You scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “Tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘S that an invitation to see how loud I can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. This, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “Or a challenge?”

“It’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. Asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

As coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some Playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. So he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. He awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

It’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“You’re drippin’,” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. The view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘S actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. Is it 'cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

He can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

But first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. Much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. Perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

Cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for Joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. Soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

Rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

It happens so suddenly, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of Tess. He wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. Joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

So he does the same.

Working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. He breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

Two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“So now you shut up. ‘S the matter, huh?” He’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “Am I too borin’ for ya?”

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever- Oh!”

A tongue meets skin.

The knife clatters onto the counter.

You lurch forward.

His hand pulls you back.

“Tess was right, ya know?” He can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. He pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. Three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “That boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

The common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better-, if you’d just let him.

‘Could keep ya satisfied.

That’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. He’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“Is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? What ya need is a man, a man like me!” The softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension. God, it’s never sounded sweet, and Joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“Well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. He imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “But if ya insist.”

Diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. The tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

Licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

He’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by experience that only comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. You’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

He’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

What a perfect excuse you are, for Joel to remaster the arts of lust.

It’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. It’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. It’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever remaining days he shall possess on his knees before you.

And all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar-sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

His only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

Hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

Burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. It does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“N- Ah,” You can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “No, don’t, not there.”

Next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

Sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip out every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. The sound of whatever record Tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

And, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

His eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within Bill and Frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. There’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time Tess tells him they’re due a visit.

Except, the oven door is made of glass.

Glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. You, with a hand gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

And then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

The image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“D’ya touch yourself, Sol?” You don’t answer him, but that’s okay. In a sweet change of pace, Joel Miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “Yeah, bet ya do. Late at night, right? Once you’re all alone in bed. Ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

You back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. Becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

Fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “Let me do the honours this time though.”

You don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. He imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

He’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

You’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. Your expression, he can’t quite read. Not sad, not happy, not mad.

Your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

The discomfort of trekking back to the QZ will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“Joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. Hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. Legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

He swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. Strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. He’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“That,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “Shouldn’t have happened.”

Joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

People once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. As sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. Not today, however, and Joel Miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

It chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. There’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

That dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

He cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “No, not again. My back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, Joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the German Shepherd’s head. It whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. A scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “Not so bad, are ya? Huh?” Never in a million years did Joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and Tess had set out for their routinely visit to the Bill and Frank’s. Never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

He hears you before he sees you.

“You planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, Texas?”

He tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

The world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

So instead, it sends you.

Peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than UV rays could ever be. He’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. A few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. At the very least, he considers, I’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

The smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. When he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. He does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. Upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“Thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. You’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “Won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

A queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. He’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “No problem, thanks... for feeding Tess and I.”

“No worries!” You’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. He can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “Oh, actually, that’s why I came out here, I was looking for Tess-” Of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “Hold on!”

You shoot off back inside so quickly that Otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. With an idle pet to his head as you pass by, Joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. In your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“I wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and Joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. He can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “I know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“Why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

Pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

You show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him. “There should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

It’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and Joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

So he tries again, louder.

“Why don’t ya like me?”

“And I’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for Tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “Winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

He grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "Answer me." Like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"For someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. You don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “You sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"Answer the damn question, girl.”

“Or, what?” You’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “You gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

Had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. Truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. Perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

Instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

Joel says nothing.

“How about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and Bill make.” Inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. Clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “You get me something, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

He grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “What d’ya want? ‘Cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. I ain’t messing with none of Bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“A dress.”

“A dress?” The statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“Yes, and don’t look at me like that!” It’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “I need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

Unaware he’d even began to lean closer, Joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“Joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

Neither of you dare to break eye contact. Again, his name is yelled. This time, he manages to identify Tess as the owner of the voice. Habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of Tess or you.

His feet remain glued to the ground.

Tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “Think you might be needed inside, macho man. Your missus is calling.”

“She ain’t my-”

“You two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” Tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

Only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does Joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. In her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. You approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“I should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. He decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “Go check on the food, before it burns.”

You’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

Tess and him hit the road by noon. Earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. The bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun breaking through the clouds and heating the world with its rays. He walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from Tess and wracking his brain for answers.

Answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. Answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the QZ. Answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven Bill’s created. Answers to why you don’t like him.

I don’t like you, Joel.

It motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. If he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but Tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

Till then, he needs to find a dress.

[soft-mafia]

Tuesday [Buggy x Reader]

warnings: fem reader, nsfw, smut, rough sex, Buggy being a perv(kind of), risky dry humping, fingering, straight up porn I’m ngl to you, barely proof read

a/n: I’m SO sorry for my absence😭I was kind of caught up in my own life(and my own head) and I completely forgot to write lmao. I hope you guys enjoy this one though!!

“Listen.. Y/n. We’re both adults here so I’m not gonna beat around the bush. Sleep with me for just one night, and in return I’ll let you have days off every Tuesday.”

• When Buggy came to Y/n with the proposition, he was obviously nervous, but still trying to act “cool” and macho. He didn’t want to seem like too much of a creep coming to the only female member on his crew with an offer like this.

• Buggy would be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about Y/n. Especially when she wore those skimpy outfits on hot days.. that would lead him into spending hours in his quarters, vigorously rubbing one out to the thought of grabbing her by the waist and dry humping her on the deck.

• So if she were to reject him, it would make things extremely awkward. Buggy was already regretting his decision.

• Y/n on the other hand was ecstatic, she got to have sex with her handsome captain, and getting days off in return? Count her in.

• And so, that one night turned into several nights. Y/n had snuck out of the crew’s quarters every night, tip toeing past sleeping pirates until she made it to Buggy’s cabin for another evening of fun.

• The first time Y/n had snuck back into Buggy’s room— she had tripped over a sea of empty beer bottles. The first night she slept with him, Buggy made sure to clean up all the mess so she wouldn’t find out how much of a slob he was, but after that night the mess just started to accumulate again.. Y/n had walked in on Buggy, half hunched over his bed only wearing his boxers, about to get some shut eye. When he saw Y/n trip over his mess he screamed out like he had seen a ghost.

• Eventually, Y/n had just migrated to living in Buggy’s quarters with him. Of course, not without sly comments and occasional wolf whistles every time someone caught her walking out of his room.

• This night wasn’t different than the other nights, Buggy was on top of Y/n, his hairy chest pressed against her back, cock buried deep inside of her as she moaned into the pillow. Buggy was grunting and huffing like a boar, booze-scented breath fanned over the back of Y/n’s head as he slammed his hips back and forth.

• Buggy was not a gentle lover in the slightest, he was rough and took what he wanted; the first night they had sex was probably the roughest; he had bent her in half on his bed, holding her ankles down as he plowed her. It was far from what Y/n always fantasized but she was seeing stars never the less.

“Mmm.. C-Captain..!” Y/n gasped, almost getting choked on her own breath as Buggy detached his cock to hit her cervix, she titled her head back and let out a loud moan. “Yeah.. that’s right. You’re Captain’s little fuck toy, huh?” Buggy snickered behind grit teeth, sliding one of his hands down her back to give her ass a firm slap, “My little whore.” He grunted, thrusting his cock in and out at a rough pace, making her pussy spasm.

Y/n could barely keep her eyes open, her entire body trembling underneath her rough captain; she loved every part of it. They both came, Buggy, deep inside of her, and Y/n, around his cock and onto the mattress. They were both panting heavily— Buggy felt like he was about to have a heart attack. “Oh fuck-” he groaned before rolling over and flopping on his back, his long hair sprawled out around him, he glanced over at Y/n, a shivering mess curled up at his side, “You ok, Y/n?” He asked gently, the first few nights he had just stared in concern, too afraid and too awkward to speak up, but he was slowly working on his aftercare skills.

Y/n nodded, leaning into him as the musky scent she grew to love invaded her nose. She wrapped an arm around his torso, across his broad chest. “I’m just glad tomorrow is Tuesday.” She giggled.

The next day, Y/n was enjoying her day off; by being a nuisance to Buggy, sitting on the arm rest of his throne, letting her legs rest over his lap. “It’s like you’re trying to get me riled up.” Buggy said through a smirk, rubbing up and down Y/n’s leg. “Of course not, I’m just trying to spend time with my Captain. Is that wrong?” Y/n giggled, playing with one of the braids in Buggy’s hair that was dangling out the side of his hat.

“Hmmm. Nothing wrong with that.” Buggy mumbled, his smirk growing as he palmed the growing bulge in his pants, “Why don’t you slide down on my lap, here?” He glanced up at Y/n, patting his thigh. Of course she noticed his boner, and thank god that the rest of his crew were out doing something off of the ship. She slowly moved down to sit on his lap, right on his hard crotch. She felt a small chill run down her spine when she heard him groan under his breath. He put one hand on her hip, squeezing it firmly, “That’s right, baby.” He leaned forward, wrapping both arms around her waist now as he began to move his hips underneath her.

“Mm.. captain..” Y/n held onto Buggy’s forearms, grinding her ass against his clothed dick as it rubbed against her pussy through her pants. Buggy chuckled, “Funny how this was supposed to be a one time thing,” He licked a stripe along the shell of Y/n’s ear, “And now you’re here, rubbing your sweet ass on my cock. You must really love getting attention from this dirty old clown, huh?” He whispered in her ear, followed by a dry chuckle.

Y/n bit her bottom lip, whimpering softly, “It feels so good..” she breathed out, her legs trembling as she squeezed them together. Buggy swiftly spread them apart again, his fingers moving down between her legs, slithering beneath the hem of her pants to get into her panties. “Holy shit you’re fucking sopping.” He laughed, slipping two fingers into her easily, making her mewl and arch her back; he moved his fingers out and up to rub circles into her clit as he continued to grind against her ass.

“That’s good.. yeah, lemme hear those little noises.” Buggy grinned widely, then grunted as his abdomen clenched, the friction getting him so close to cumming, urging him to rub her clit faster. Y/n’s thighs were trembling, fingers digging into Buggy’s hairy arm as her hips struggled to keep up with him. They were both panting, moaning and groaning together.

Y/n put her hand over where Buggy’s hand was inside of her pants, pressing his palm against her pussy further so she could grind on it. “Damn you’re really loving me, huh?” Buggy laughed, then groaned before burying his mouth against Y/n’s back, squeezing his eyes shut as he came right into his boxers, knuckle deep inside of her spasming cunt. Y/n made a mess of his fingers as she came around them, purring like a kitten.

Buggy breathed heavily, he was seeing stars for a moment before he leaned back against his throne, Y/n was still riding out her orgasm on his palm, before he slid his hand away to lick at her juices. Y/n moved so that she was sitting on one of his thighs, wrapping an arm around his neck and leaning against his chest.

“Hey.. uh- Y/n.” Buggy croaked out, wiping his saliva off on his pants, “Why do you keep.. yknow, doing this with me.” He asked her, wrapping an arm around her.

Y/n looked away, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought, “I..” she didn’t know why she was afraid to just tell him that she always liked him, he’s fucked her so many times already, but she couldn’t stop herself from blushing and stumbling on her words. “Am I making you feel like you need to do this?” Buggy asked, starting to panic slightly, feeling like he was abusing his position and being a dirty creep towards the only girl on his crew, “I swear I didn’t mean to pressure you into doing anything!”

“No, Captain! You didn’t pressure me into doing anything. I really like spending time with you.” Y/n looked back up at Buggy, “I really like you.”

Buggy’s eyes widened, he then looked away. Oh.. well, that explains why she was so eager to accept my offer in the first place. “Really?” He said in slight disbelief, his voice cracking unintentionally. “Yes really!” Y/n frowned at him, “Do you think I’d even be doing this if I didn’t? You’re the handsomest pirate I’ve ever seen!”

Buggy didn’t know if that inflated his ego, or confused him even more— She thinks I’m handsome?! “Really?” He said again, his pitch getting higher. “You’re so insecure.” Y/n mumbled, giggling quietly as she looked away. “HEY!! I’M NOT INSECURE!! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO YOUR CAPTAIN!!” Buggy shouted, grabbing both of Y/n’s shoulders and shaking her.

“STOP SHAKING ME!!”

[chaostroberry1]

Hey how are you? I was wondering if you could have some headcanons for Hermes, Poseidon, Apollo and Loki with a goddess of sadness. She is the tallest of all the goddesses there, measuring almost three meters, she always has a melancholic aura and a quite sensitive, solitary and serious personality but she is kind to the most intimate people in her circle. She adores humanity and used to have a human husband before he tragically died. She is one of the strongest goddesses, when she cries she makes her sadness infect others, making them cry too and feel her pain (it is based on blue diamond from Steven Universe but I don't know if you know her. You don't need to add any more her if she is not to your taste). I'm sorry if it was a bit long, in advance please and thank you!

Oooh the pretty lady?? Im a bit familiar with her. I did my research on Google, I hope I didn't get anything wrong 😭 I'm also not sure if this is an "× reader" or not, so I'm very sorry. You may chat me again if it isn't what you asked for♥

°•Apollo+Hermes+Loki+Poseidon W a goddess of sadness!reader•°

Loki

- Loki and you are literally polar opposites. You both are so different, yet you both ended up being close to each other.

- he's very curious as to why you're so gloomy and emotional. But you are the goddess of sadness, you live up to your title. Literally.

- whenever he pulls pranks or Snickers at jokes, he's always looking towards you and pointing a finger at whoever was unlucky enough to be his target— thinking you'd instantly feel better.

- no, you actually got gloomier.

- but I think he'd take a liking to you. Opposites attract pretty well if I do say so myself. Atleast he has someone (not really) willing to listen to him.

- and about your height, I bet he'd use his floating ability to float towards your face, so he could talk to you more , and os that you don't have to bend down a little to hear him. And yes, he will ignore the fact that you are uncomfortable or not.

- he just yaps and talks about anything basically. Even if you are very quiet. you talk sometimes, only when you really feel like it.

- seeing how you can make people cry just because YOU are crying... its probably super amusing to him. Even if he's also there shedding tears.

-i bet he'd try to make you cry near the unbreakable ones like Thor, Poseidon, Odin, and so on. Just for the fun of it. A little experiment to make sure you're really that strong.

Apollo

- this guy is the perfect ladies man. He knows how to entertain you, he knows how to stop your thoughts from going elsewhere (or maybe stopping you from thinking about something sad. Or else everyone will get affected with your sadness plague.)

- even with your tall height, he still knows how to take care of you. He will find ways. Like when you visit his place, he will make sure you have enough room in the pool of water. He'd also dismiss the nymphs who are staring at your tall figure.

- if y'all are in a relationship, then he's willing to make you atleast a little bit happy. Seeing you cry for the first time was so heartbreaking to see, until it started happening more often.

- well, he learned to embrace it. And now, whenever you cry, he'll just come up to you with his arms open. (Like the "where my hug at?" Typa pose.) and he'll approach you slowly like--

"darling, darling, no need to cry. Let's look to the bright side!"

-- before he makes a tiny lil ball of light in his hands w his photokinesis. If not, he himself would probably blind someone with his light, just to make his statement clear to you. Lmao 😭

- he actually really likes it when you have to bend down a little so you can hear him better. Gives him a better look at your neck, or your chest. And maybe cus he likes the position you're in. (Perv ass)

Hermes

- he's already used to this. But I'm sure he'd find joy in watching your power do its thing to those around you. watching people—especially the most cold blooded gods—cry because of you, is incredible.

- he'd give you praises on your power, and how delightful it was to have such a goddess existing in the realm of divine beings. He'd serve you food and tea, ones that are extra big because of your size and height. Like I can imagine this man carrying a huge ass cup just for you to sip some tea or smth.

- I know you both gossip. He'd be whispering all the stuff he has to know on that day's tea, and you just quietly listen and softly giving your feedback. Y'all would do it in front of the other gods too lmao 😭😭

- your aura combined with his, it's a peculiar combo. But its certainly calming, with his personality and yours, it leaves a weird feeling in the room whenever you two are close.

- you both are pretty chill together tho.

- if you guys were in a relationship, he'd be so understanding and supportive of you. When you enter a battle, he'd probably be behind holding light sticks or something with that small smile he always has.

Poseidon

- now him. He likes your presence. Cus it reminds him a bit of hades. Not the crying part, but more of the calm demeanor you have. You are very soft spoken and it doesn't annoy him.

- you and hades are his only exceptions. Your aura is comforting in a way that soothes his nerves. He's also seen and even felt the sadness you've carried on your shoulders all those years after you beloved died, as well as the burden of other things.

- so he can quite understand you. It must really be difficult dealing with such feelings he learned that after he felt the pain you buried deep into your body when you cried.

- you both are also a peculiar duo combo. I just know most of the gods there ship you both. Loki was the one making the scenerios and fanfics (he's such an ass)

- Poseidon acts like he doesn't care, or is irritated. But in all reality, he doesn't seem to mind. He likes you a lot.

- he's pretty quick to slice someone who makes you cry. He just uses the excuse that he doesn't want to shed tears and all because showing weakness is weak af. But in reality he actually just doesn't want anyone fuckin w you.

- like imagine him saying that showing such weak emotions as a god is pathetic, before seeing you and quickly saying "unless it's completely necessary".

[deep-fried-egg]

Billie Eilish perv head cannons !!!!!!

Ooh!!! Well the woman already seems like a bit of a perv so this'll be easy

She probably gives you a loooooot of hugs, I mean you just think she's a touchy person! But no. She just wants to feel your boobs against hers lmao. She just loves it, can you blame her?

Also she "accidentally" touches your ass as she passes you. But it's okay because that's Billie Eilish dude. She apologizes for it but wow. It honestly felt nice to finally touch your ass. She was staring at it for a while.

She also mentions how nice your body looks but like... In an uncomfortable way. But again it doesn't matter because it's Billie Eilish

[mimasroom2]

Poolside fun ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა

I went to the pool today and I was UNASHAMEDLY checking out this HOTTTTT mom. Like guys if you saw her omg. So that’s where this idea came from😇 I feel like I keep writing the same thing every time it’s just build up and then Ellie fingering you LMAO but it’s a classic. Wanted to make a more relaxed fic, I always end up adding plot. Started as headcanons but then it got too long.

C/w: Smut lol. Ellie is older in this one but reader is 19. Also Ellie is lowkey a perv…. like imagine if a man was doing this..🤢 it’s okay tho it’s Ellie so it’s automatically hot😜 Ellie the cougar LMFAO RAWWWWRRRRR. Mommy kink😞

W/c: 1.1k (I PROMISE IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT)

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

You’re not really shy changing in front of people, especially if they’re strangers. I mean ur never gonna see them again. You still turn away from people and face the corner. You’re not like… walking around with ur pussy out for everyone to see😭

Ellie feels soooo lucky she decided to come to the pool today. She was debating not to, but when she saw your bare tits in the locker room she knew she was staying. She tried so hard to be discreet, so she waited a couple minutes until she followed you out into the pools (she set a timer LMAO). When she left the locker room she was pretending to decide which area to go to first, but she was really scanning for you and your sexy black swimsuit.

You decide to go into the main pool first and swim a few laps since you haven’t gone swimming in awhile. Ellie discreetly watches you from the next pool over and tries to gauge if you’re an extrovert or introvert so she knows how to best approach you. She decides you’re probably an introvert, so she thinks it’s best to keep her distance for awhile.

You see a bunch of kids and parents going down a tall ass water slide and ur like “why not” so you go get in line. Ellie is WAY TOO prideful to go down the slide, so she just sits on a bench and pretends to stretch until she sees you come out the bottom. You’re all smiling and giggling as you fall into the water, and she thinks it’s adorable.

OH YEAH! She’s wearing a black swim top sports bra type deal,,, and swim shorts that have dinos on them (the pic I included)

You finally see her as you get out of the water.

You have to do a double take because DAYUM she is hawttttt. She’s standing there all cool crossing her arms AND HER TATTOO OMGGG the pool is not the only thing that’s wet.

You decide to spend some time in the hot tub. There’s not a lot of people but the jets and everything drown the other conversations out, so you close your eyes and relax. You’re a couple minutes into your spa time when you feel someone’s thigh up against yours. You open your eyes and HOLY SHIT it’s the hot masc you swear was following you around.

She actually grins at you, “Sorry. Did I scare yah?”

You guys end up just making small talk about the pool and stuff. She says her name is Ellie. Turns out she’s a huge ass gym rat and likes to come in here to wind down (or.. at least that’s what she said.)

“You got a girlfriend?” You’re actually honestly shocked at how direct she is, so you stutter a little but end up saying ‘no’.

“Shit.. with a body like that I’m surprised no one’s snatched you up.” She looks you up and down and you swear your face would get hot if you weren’t already in a hot tub.

“How old are you anyway?” You ask and uhhh! Let’s just say you did NOT expect her to say 25. Good thing your cut off for milfs is 27😇

Her eyes widen and she fucking laughs when you say you’re 19. You try testing the waters (heh) and playfully splash her to which she pretends to be offended.

She makes you tell her more about yourself and when she thinks you’re not looking, she stares right at ur cleavage. You swear you see a fucking glimmer in her eye when you say you haven’t had a girlfriend in awhile. She may as well have giant lights that say ‘POUND TOWN’ behind her😭

You remark that the hot tub is getting to be too much and you’re probably gonna get out soon but you really don’t want to leave her

“I guess the hot tub isn’t the only thing that’s hot in here.” She knows it’s fucking cheesy and stupid but she smirks anyway.

You genuinely cannot hear her over the jets “What?” You scoot closer to her.

“I guess the hot tub isn’t- fuck.. just come with me. Okay, darlin’?” She stands up and waves at you to come with her.

You follow her into the locker room and there’s HELLA people so you’re all ‘really this is where we’re gonna do it?’ She walks out of the locker room and looks you up and down before she opens one of the massage rooms. She tells you she swiped the key from a worker who was clocking out :0. So she opens it and everything and WOW is this straight out of your fantasies.

“Take this off.” She closes and locks the door. You turn around to face her and start peeling off the wet swimsuit from your body. She leans against the door and watches you.

Once it’s finally off Ellie walks up to you and starts unashamedly grabbing your tits. You bite your lip, trying not to make any noise at the most basic contact. She looks into your eyes and then smashes her lips against yours, reaching down to rub your pussy. You moan and she slips her tongue inside your mouth. It almost makes you feel disgusting, with how vulgar this whole situation is. She’s sucking on your tongue while she continues palming you.

She leads your body over to the little massage bed. “Already so wet just from that, huh?” She smirks and slowly spreads your legs open.

“Not my fault you’re experienced and hot- oh fuck mmmh”

“Whoever said it was a fault?” She says and swift pushes two fingers into you without warning. You arch your back and start breathing even heavier, even though she’s going so slow. She has her head close to your pussy and is basically staring at how her fingers look going in and out as she’s fucking you. “Stretch you out nice n good.”

“Fuck.. please Ellie gimme more..” she makes eye contact and glares at you. She definitely doesn’t want you talking over her.

She speeds up her pace, until her fingers are slamming inside you over and over again. Part of you wants to tell her to stop so that it can last longer. Your moans start becoming more audible, and both hands are gripping the soft blanket beneath you.

“Come on. Mama’s got yah.” You never thought you’d find a mommy kink so attractive, but you feel yourself fucking clench around her fingers. When she can tell you’re about to cum, she puts her lips around your clit and starts to suck on it, you scream and whimper until your orgasm arrives. You let out guttural moans, and you couldn’t even care if other people at the gym can hear you with how much you needed this.

“Cmon, let’s get yah back in the hot tub so you can properly wind down.���

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #26] January, Still

warnings: anyone familiar with bd will see the header image and know exactly which chapter we're on lmao, the tie chapter!!!! starluvrs are their lovely awkward selves, dominant jk, oc is tied to.... a pull-up bar? jk is a perv who just likes looking at her lol, kissing is banned!! the word 'baby' is not!! titty worship, titty sucking, fingering, oral (f receiving), clit spitting, babe likes it messy <3, nose nudging, finger sucking (f), gentle kook <3, bratty oc, ass eating (f receiving (minimal tbh (big sad for jk))), prone bone, unprotected sex, he finishes on her ass!! lovely lovely lovely... until the red witch is mentioned!!! argument!! heightened emotions!! the introduction of the cu ajummas!!! big pouty ending :( fluff, smut, angst

wc: 11k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

If there's one thing you've learned about Jeon Jeongguk in your time, it's that he's a giggler .

In all situations, of any severity, it's not uncommon to see his nose scrunching with dimples in his cheeks, as he presses his lips together to keep them quiet.

Standing at the end of his bed in a pair of boxers, hair dishevelled and the sheen of your glitter sparkling on his skin in the low light of his lamp, he is, again, giggling.

There's something about Jeongguk's laugh - the way it always sounds different and yet entirely 'him', how he stutters for breath and the way his eyes will squeeze together, little puffs beneath them, nose scrunched like a bunny - that always gets you laughing, too.

In bars, in coffee shops, in the gym - wherever he is, the ambient sound of happiness will surely follow.

You echo it back; join in with him. A melody not unique in composition, but wholly yours nonetheless.

Laughter comes easily with him, in the place of awkwardness or uncertainty.

The uncertainty, at the moment, comes in the form of decision-making. Not a good, nor a bad one - the bad decision is already in progress - but a simply inconsequential one.

In either hand, he holds up a tie; one black, one a mixture of blue and purple paisleys.

"Black is sexier," you consider out loud, and Jeongguk thinks the thought you're putting into the decision-making is ridiculous - but he's also a little nervous so he's letting you take your time. Smiling, because it's more fun than succumbing to the nerves.

"Sexier," he nods in agreement. "But it is also my funeral tie."

Your face contorts with mild disgust, a stunted mumble of objection catching in your throat.

"We are not using your funeral tie," you whisper-shout.

Cross-legged on his bed, there's a glow to you. It's probably the post-sex aura radiating, but Jeongguk thinks you look right at home in his sheets. Thinks that maybe it'd be nice for you to stay the night. He's not sure if you will, yet. Hasn't asked. Probably won't.

It's not that he doesn't want to ask. Just knows that things between the pair of you aren't as simple as they feel.

Yet simplicity bubbles around you both as he giggles (again) and tosses the black tie down onto the floor. Will put it away later. For now, he's getting back onto his bed with you, sitting opposite, mirroring you. "Yeah, that's probably a good shout."

Taking his tie from his hands, you run your fingers over the pattern; feel the ridges, how smooth it is, tug it a little to test out the structural integrity of the woven threads.

"So..." you say somewhat apprehensively. It's like both of you are slightly malfunctioning. Sex in and of itself is not new to either of you. Sex with one another? Again, tried and tested. Happy customers all round. There's no need for tension.

"So..." he repeats back in exactly the same tone.

When your gaze drops to your hands, and the tie that's in them, some of the hair tucked behind your ear falls loose. Jeongguk thinks he should push it back, but doesn't. Is trying to wise up to what you deem intimate, and knows that it would likely count towards it.

"Why are we so terrible at this?" you ask with a smile as you look back up towards him. He's like a mirror in the way he reflects your expression, eyes sparkling as if he has tiny little disco balls in them.

"Fuck knows," he shrugs, forgetting himself, and reaching over to tuck the hair back. Just felt right. He'll probably lament it later. "How'd you wanna do this?"

Jeongguk's headboard is flat and upholstered. There are no bedknobs to tie any wrists to. It perhaps would have been better done at your place, but there's no reason why it can't be done at yours another time.

The only real alternative is just binding your wrists together behind your back or above your head. Both are fine with you, but are also things you've done before. You wanna spice it up a little.

Glancing around his room for an alternative, your eyes land on the pull-up bar above his door. You tilt your head, considering possibilities, and Jeongguk follows your gaze. Clocks what you're looking at. Feels a throbbing pump of blood going directly to his cock. Gets a little plumper.

"Yeah?" he questions, knowing exactly where your thoughts are going. "There?"

You nod. "Yeah. There. I think. Maybe. I don't know. What do you think?"

"What's this then, huh?" Jeongguk grins, nudging your knee a little. "Nerves? From our resident Disco Ball?"

"Oh, piss off," you laugh, nudging him right back, unfolding your legs as you hop off his bed and look him directly in the eye. You pull his shirt over your head. Let it drop to the floor. Don't drop your gaze - but he does drop his jaw a little. Nerves? Please. You hold up his tie. "Now are you gonna put me in my place, or should I put you in yours?"

If there's one thing Jeongguk likes, it's a challenge - and the way you're looking at him? Brows a little raised? A smirk on your lips? You're the human embodiment of a challenge, and the one thing Jeongguk likes more than a challenge? 

Winning .

He stands. Says nothing as he comes to tower in front of you, stiff in his underwear, nodding ever so gently as he looks down at you, bottom lip beneath his teeth. His hand skirts up your waist. Strokes. Squeezes.

Guiding you slowly to his door, Jeongguk worries about Jimin coming home unannounced. There'll be no explaining this away.

Still, he wants to fuck you more than he wants to worry about Jimin getting an eyeful.

He positions you where he wants you. Knows it's gonna force you on your tiptoes. Kind of thinks it serves you right for challenging him.

Jeongguk jokes with you, repeatedly making sure you're okay as he ties your wrists together above your head, and then secures the rest of the tie around the pull-up bar. It's perfect.

His knots are tight, thanks to a grandfather who was keen on teaching him the law of the land when he was younger, but he knows how to get you out of them quickly if needs be. He's surprised he's not really used them before in the bedroom.

Standing back to admire his handiwork, the way you look at him is unlike anything he's ever seen before; wanting, needy, restrained.

Nudging his nose up against yours, Jeongguk is reminded of his own desires. Wonders if you'll let him indulge him again. Knows that he'll have to ask.

"What's the rule on kissing?" he husks against your lips.

You smile. Shake your head, and let your nose nudge up against his. "You only get one vulnerability at a time. Either I'm tied up, with no kisses, or I'm untied with kisses. Your choice."

"You're so fucking mean," he says softly, pulling back with a teasing groan.

Jeongguk looks at you now there's a little distance; down, then up. Smirks.

Doesn't look away as he pulls his desk chair out and spins it to face you. Doesn't look away when sinks down into it. Doesn't look away as he slouches into a recline, legs spread, a hand resting by his crotch as his elbow is propped up on the arm of the chair.

Tongue toying with his lip ring, he looks like a fucking asshole. Arrogant . 

God, he's worthy of it, though. 

If you looked like him, you'd probably be a wanker. Toned abs, strong arms, darling eyes full of cosmic entities. He's equal parts saint and sinner, and the way he's looking at you? As if he's deciding whether or not he wants to drag you down to hell or lift you up to the heavens has you apprehensive.

The music hums from Jeongguk's speaker, and you're thankful for it, 'cause you're sure you're breathing far heavier than you should be. Lips a little pouted, resting ajar, the way your eyes don't drop from his gets him all hot and bothered, too - he's just better at hiding it than you are.

"Are you just gonna stare at me all night?" You question, a little attitude in your voice.

Jeongguk's lips curve upwards. "Maybe."

You go to bite back, but notice the way he's palming his crotch beneath his boxers. They're black, so obscure the hardening length within them, but you know him. Know exactly what he's gripping onto.

"Looking at me gets you hard, huh?" You tease.

Eyes dancing over your body, finding his favourite parts and then finding new ones, Jeongguk feels an overwhelming sense of contentment.

But he simply smirks, instead. Plays it cool. "Maybe - but let's not pretend like I don't get you wet."

With a roll of your eyes, painfully aware how exposed you are, you press your thighs together. The trepidation - anticipation - of what's to come has you excited. Nipples hard, pussy wet. Denying it is a blatant lie, but Jeongguk enjoys the thrill of your chase.

"You're cute, Gguk, but not that cute. Don't oversell yourself."

He laughs now. Stands. Walks towards you; brooding and dark in gaze. Tilts his head.

You expect his hand to dip; to spread your legs and first out how much of a dirty little liar you are.

But he doesn't.

He nudges his nose against yours, smirk present. You're not entirely steady on your feet, the restrictive nature of the position you're in unbalancing you. He senses this. Lets his fingers trail up your hips and stroke against the curve of your waist.

Pulling back slightly, dark eyes on yours in the shrouded gloaming of his bedroom, Jeongguk grips your waist a little tighter.

"You're so mean to me," he simpers, trailing one of his hands further up. He ghosts your chest, and secures it by your neck, thumb stroking over your jaw and onto your cheek. He angles you to face him. You've never wanted to touch him more, the tie keeping you bound away from him your new worst enemy. "You really think I'm that hideous, huh?"

Oh, he's sin . Jet black hair and eyes to match, warm skin and sculpted muscles, artwork embedded in his skin, just like his touch is embedded in yours.

"Repulsive," you simply nod. He smirks.

"Shame," he husks. You half think he might kiss you. He doesn't. "I think you're gorgeous."

It's just sex. Just sex. Just thinking with his cock. Doesn't mean it - oh, but what a nice fantasy to indulge in. Maybe he does mean it.

"Hmm?" he teases when you fail to formulate a response. "Did you hear me, B? Hear what I said?"

You nod. "I heard."

"What did I say?"

"I'm gorgeous."

He nods. "Yeah. You are. So fucking hot. Get me so hard," he grits, gripping his cock over his boxers.

Intrusive, is the thought that wonders if Jeongguk is like this with other people.

You wonder if he showered Jiyeong in compliments; if Hayun received such heavy words of adoration. It's not an idea you want to entertain but you can't seem to help yourself.

And so, vulnerable and a little shy, you edge back. Feel a little stupid being so bare for him. Want control over the situation, but you can't get it. Not when your wrists are bound above your head, kept firmly in place thanks to the knots tied by Jeongguk.

He notices the slight shift, but doesn't realise why. Tilts his head. "Tell me what you want."

You look him in the eyes, a little unsure of yourself. He can sense your nerves. Understands something's not quite right. Draws you closer to him.

The warmth of his skin on yours soothes the cold sweat of comparison. 

"Go on," he encourages. "Tell me, baby."

You nudge your nose up against his. Know that raising your worries about other girls will only make things awkward. Of course, Jeongguk would rather know your discomforts, but you don't think they're worth sharing.

So instead, you just say, "want you to make me feel good."

It's a simple answer, but you really do mean it. You think it will distract your brain.

Jeongguk nods. Presses a kiss against your jaw. Lingers. Repeats, just an inch lower, on your throat. Trails down. Is firm with his pressure, tongue wet, teeth grazing. You moan into his touch; one of his hands pulling your waist closer, the other firmly keeping your neck where he wants it.

Amorous in his display of desire, Jeongguk wants you to know how badly he wants you. Kisses with intent. Breaks from it only when he has to. Mumbles against your skin. Tells you how hard he is. How much he wants to fuck you.

Shameless and brazen, Jeongguk pulls away for just a moment. Looks at you, eyes dark, chest heavy as his heart beats beneath his ribs. Darts his gaze from your eyes to your lips.

You mirror him. Chest heaving, the pressure of his touch lingers on your throat. His hands massage your chest. Thumbs stroke over your nipples. He squeezes. Asks, "Can I?"

Mewling ever so slightly, desperate for more, you nod. "Please."

The second his lips come into contact with your chest - delivering pretty kisses, until his tongue swirls around your nipple - your head leans back.

He smiles when you moan, the movement of his lips so subtle but so heavenly, and strokes his hands up and down your body - waist, hips - until he settles on supporting your tits. He squeezes. Toys. Plays. Makes sure the nipple that isn't in his mouth is still getting attention.

There's something about your moans and the way you can't seem to hold them in whenever he's sucking on your tits that just really excites him. Gets his cock twitching a little harder. Makes him deepen the pressure with which he's sucking on your nipple.

He switches sides. Lets a long, flat, wet, lick of his tongue tease you before swirling around the hardened bud. He's gentle in how he sucks, now. Short. Quick. Feathery. Like little kisses, again and again and again.

The sensation has you pressing your legs together as wetness seeps from your pussy onto your inner thighs. All you want is to put your hands in his hair; keep him fixed in position.

But you can't. You're restricted. Forbidden from touching him. Makes you whimper as he builds momentum, moving from side to side, teasing you, stimulating you in a way that you can't ever remember feeling before. It's too much but also not enough. You want him in your cunt; fingers, cock, whatever. You don't care. Just need something. Anything.

"Fuck me," you beg; hushed in the darkness of sin. "Please."

Jeongguk eases up on his teasing, and looks at you with unadulterated hedonism. He's so hard in underwear; precum pooling at his tip. He wants to fuck himself into you so badly, feel your hot walls clamping around in, but knows as soon as he's inside you he's gonna cum. Is so horny he thinks he might die.

Thing is, he doesn't want this to be over. Wants to fuck you endlessly.

You get him so hard. So firm, and thick. Fat . His cock is never redder , never angrier , never leakier , than it is when he's with you. You make him wanna commit sins all in pursuit of an unholy feeling that somehow feels like heaven on earth.

He's gonna die, and it's gonna be all your fault. He knows this. Knows that fucking you is such a bad decision. Knows that he's struggling to separate how good the sex is from how he's feeling.

But desire is dictating his actions now, and you're begging him. You want this as much as he does.

"You want me to fuck you, huh?" He grits as he pushes his middle finger between your soaked folds. Even he's surprised by how fucking wet you are. Smirks to himself. "Fucking hell, B. You do want it, don't you?" You whimper. "Tell me what you want. Go on. Tell me, baby."

Oh, the dreaded B word. Has your head all fuzzy and tummy all ticklish. Makes you feel all sorts of strange; worries you about what the fuck is happening between you both.

And yet your eyes stay wide and wanting, lips all pouty. His finger strokes between your folds. Isn't aiming for your clit, nor entrance, just teasing. You raise to your tiptoes, fingers grabbing onto the materials of the tie. He's so fucking mean in the best of ways.

"Huh, baby?" he teases again.

"Fuck me," you rasp, because it's all you can manage as he sinks his finger into your entrance. The muscle in your torso tense immediately, the feeling of him entering you both satisfying and yet not enough. "More."

With a lazy smile on his lips, and heavy-lidded eyes looking down on you, Jeongguk pushes a second finger into your soaked hole. "That better?"

You nod. Whine. Chest heaves. "I wanna touch you, too."

He laughs ever so sinfully, lustful in the way he licks his lips. Swallows. Breathes a relieved sigh; and if he's just started breathing again after a minute of holding it.

And then, he shakes his head. He raises his spare arm, and you're confronted with a sight reserved for only the luckiest of girlies - of which right now? You most definitely are.

The muscles in his torso move beneath his skin; tense. Tight. He's sculpted in such a way that you can't believe he's human, the curve of the socket connecting his arm to his body seemingly just as alluring as the rest of him. A small stripe of hair covers the skin, a little damp, the heat of desire forcing him to work up a sweat - not that you mind. Not in the slightest. 

If anything, it just makes you feel even crazier for how badly you want him. He extends his arm upwards and clasps his large hand around both of your wrists.

The position keeps him just inches or so from you.

He thinks it's too far.

So, he closes it. 

Sinks his lips back beneath your jaw. Licks. Trails to your earlobe. Sucks. Nibbles.

God, you'd do anything to touch him. Your body writhes, any sense of balance lost and entirely depending on him. His hand is so close to your fingers, and you're dying to lace yours with his. The restriction makes it impossible. You whine.

"Let me touch you."

He smiles. Shakes his head ever so gently, keeping his lips locked on your neck. Kisses. Says, "No."

And so you bring out the big guns. "Please, Koo."

He pulls away. Looks you dead in the eye. Says, "Don't call me that. I'll fucking cum in my pants if you call me that."

You pout. Tease him, now. "Don't call you what, Koo?"

Oh god, he's gonna die .

Decides you need a little death first, though, so ignores your taunts and drops to his knees. Buries his face in your cunt. Wastes no time.

He knows how much you struggle to formulate sentences when he's eating your pussy, so thinks it's the safest bet to shut you up. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder for better access, and licks thick slow stripes between your folds. Flicks against your clit. Massages. Sucks.

"Fuck."

Oh, he's pleased . Loves how much you enjoy his mouth. Could eat your pussy for days. Wishes you'd let him do it; just eat you for hours.

Although when he thinks about it, he's got you tied up. He can do exactly that.

But then... an idea brews.

If you were to say that men can't multitask, Jeongguk would take great offence. This, right now? Prime example. He's got leaking on his tongue, pussy wet and plump from arousal, but is also thinking about other ways to get you coming undone. If anything, he's got, like, the biggest brain ever. Very sexy of him.

His tongue toys with your clit, flicking, before his lips press a pretty kiss against it. You need your hands in his hair. Need to hold him close. Need his nose nudging up against you as he dips down to your entrance.

He's got a hand gripping your ass, keeping the leg hooked over his shoulder in place, while the other reaches to massage your breasts. He alternates between them, keeping his mouth busy delivering pleasure to your pussy.

The pressure of his lip ring is almost impossible to feel thanks to the sheer amount of ecstasy you're in, but every now and again, you notice it. It mostly occurs when he's sucking on your clit, and it makes your legs so weak. Gets your pussy leaking so much. Has you whining. Whimpering.

Jeongguk fucking loves it; the way you sound, the way you taste, the way you feel.

His adoration of your anatomy makes it so hard for him to stop. He doesn't want you to cum yet, wants to wait it out - but fuck. He's gotta have it. Gotta steal this orgasm from you. Needs it.

As he sucks on your clit, the hand that had been keeping your leg steady creeps down to your soaked entrance. Doesn't fuck about. Wastes no time sinking two of his fingers into you. The fullness catches you off guard. Almost has you losing your balance.

"Untie me," you moan, desperate for your hands in his hair.

Still sucking on your clit, he shakes his head and pulls away, releasing your sensitive bud from his lips with a pouty squeak. 

"You know the word, B" he reminds you, looking up for the first time in a while. He doesn't think he's ever seen your eyes so wide, lips so pouty. Your chest is heaving, his fingers scissoring inside you. "Say chess."

You wanna whine. Wanna tell him he's mean - but he feels so good. His nose glistens in the low light, drenched in your pussy and his own spit. Chin, too. God, he's pretty, you think. So fucking pretty. Belongs between your legs. Keeps pushing his fingers into you. Gets you moaning.

For all the times Jeongguk has claimed to be an ass guy, he's somehow entranced by the way your tits look from this angle. So round, and tell proportioned, and - fuck - he wouldn't mind sucking on them again. He's got a plan of action, though. Can't let himself get distracted.

"No?" he teases. "No chess?"

You glare at him. "Fuck you."

He laughs. Shakes his head. "Not yet, baby. Gonna make you cum first."

If he doesn't stop calling you baby you're gonna fall in love with him. It's just science. How the brain works. You've never been good at science, but it seems like a plausible hypothesis.

It's exactly why you need your hands free, so you can keep his mouth on your pussy to stop it from saying shit that makes your tummy feel funny.

But then you realise you do have leverage. You have legs - one of which is hooked over his shoulder. You alter its position slightly; hook it further around his back. Pull him in closer.

He laughs. "Needy, aren't you, baby?"

"Gguk," you whine.

Yes , you are needy. Yes , you want him. Yes , you wanna cum - but fuck !

He makes it so hard to just let yourself. You wanna fight . Wanna prove that you aren't weak. Prove that you have just as much control over the situation as he does.

But then his tongue licks between your folds and swirls around your clit. He retracts. Teases, once more, with his tongue. Flicks against your bud. Kisses.

He pulls back, again. Looks at the mess all over your pussy. Grunts in approval. And then? He spits .

"Fuck."

Jeongguk delves back in. Spreads his spit with his tongue. Laps against you like a thirsty dog drinking from a puddle. Doesn't stop. Keeps fucking his fingers into you.

The sensation of pleasure charging through your body is electric. It builds and builds - and then he's sucking again. 

It's too much . Too good . Gets your toes pointing. Your leg clamps behind his back, keeping him in position, as the walls of your pussy do the same to his fingers.

Your whines echo in the room, Jeongguk holding your hip to keep you steady with his spare hand as you begin to shake. Wants to speak. Wants to encourage you. Knows he can't pull away. Doesn't wanna ruin your orgasm.

Instead, he hums as he sucks, lips vibrating. You're almost fucking crying from how good it feels. Moaning his name, cursing to the high heavens, breaths velvety as you whine.

"There," you can barely manage. "There. Gguk, I'm gonna - fuck. Gonna cum."

You don't need to tell him. He knows. Hums again. Yeah, baby. I got you.

The build of electricity reaches capacity. The voltage is too high. Gets you shaking - trembling - as you writhe in position. Your balance is totally gone, Jeongguk is entirely responsible for keeping you in position as your walls throb around his fingers. He keeps his mouth on your cunt, not wanting to part from it, until your body jolts from the overstimulation. He's fucked around with you enough to know when you're spent. Know this is it.

He pulls away slowly. Is gentle as he withdraws his fingers from you. Kisses your thighs as he holds your hips to keep you steady. Gets to his feet gradually, leaving kisses all the way up your body; below and above your belly button, between your ribs, sternum, above the heart of yours that is beating a mile a minute. Stops only when he reaches your lips. 

Instead, he nudges his nose against yours. It's still wet from your pussy, though his chin mostly left the stain of you on your own skin as he journeyed up it.

And then, delicately, he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. Smiles. "Hey."

As you reply with a small, giggly, exhausted 'hey', he stands up straighter, and presses a kiss against your forehead.

"You good?" he asks.

Nodding, you mumble a response for him. You're so spent. Looks so pretty, eyes glassy, skin sparkly. He's got a hand on your throat, stroking gently, but keeps the other one away. It's covered in your pussy, and he doesn't wanna dirty you - but as you notice it, your lips part. His lip ring? Does the thing

Eyes wide on his, you move your gaze between them and his hand. Don't wanna speak yet - still a little giggly - but want him to know you wanna clean him up. He gets the message pretty easily. Brings his fingers to your lips. Presses his own lips together as yours part.

"Christ," he curses as he watches you suck on his fingers. Can't believe you haven't sucked him off yet. Knows he'll die when it eventually happens.

Jeongguk lifts his spare hand. Fiddles with the knots keeping your arms above your head. They ache. You're pretty sure there's no blood left in your hands. He sort of realises they'll be sore, so doesn't let them fall.

He keeps them bound around the wrist and lowers them gently. Keeps your arms straight, and loops them over his head, your elbows resting on his shoulders for a little extra support. Finally withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and strokes your arms with both of his hands.

"You okay?" he checks again.

"Think my arms are gonna fall off," you pout, but he just smiles. "I mean it. So mean."

"Always couldda said chess," he reminds you - and he's right.

"Didn't wanna."

"Well, then it's your fault if your arms fall off."

"Would you still fuck me?" you hum. "If my arms fell off?"

Jeongguk furrows his brows and shakes his head with a little confusion - but not denial. Instead, he says, "I'd miss your hands - and your wrists - but, yeah? Course I would."

He can't see a reality or version of you he wouldn't wanna fuck. It's the curse of knowing how good your pussy is; hates he can't have it forever, so will bury himself in it as often as he can while he still can.

The certainty of his answer makes you feel all fuzzy. You put it down to the orgasm.

He reaches behind his head to fiddle with the knots around your wrists and loosens them for you. As you pull your hands back around, he rubs at your wrists, making sure you can move them okay. Worries that maybe he tied you up a little too tightly. Tosses the tie on his bed so can be fully present.

Gentle with you when he needs to be, Jeongguk really is the best person to help you through your issues. He's attentive and careful, conscious of your needs while never making you feel like he's sacrificing his own.

The truth of the matter is that he never is. 

The biggest turn-on for Jeongguk is having a partner who enjoys what he does. He likes praise. Likes compliments. Feels fulfilled when a partner cums, and even more so when they give him that look after he's done. The same one you're giving him right now.

Almost as if you know what he needs, you smile and whisper, "thank you."

"What for?" he whispers back, a little obtuse but wanting clarity.

You run your hands up his chest, and settle them by the base of his neck. It's so nice to touch him again. "For making me feel good. You always make me feel so good."

"Yeah?" He asks with a teasing smile, keeping you talking because he can't stop thinking about how much he wants to kiss you. Doesn't realise he's looking at your lips.

"Mhmm," you nod, not noticing his eyes - mainly because you're looking at his lips, too.

The space between you both is so minimal that it would take the smallest of movements to sink into one another. You wanna kiss him so badly, but know that it's unwise to make a habit of it - so you pull away.

He regretfully lets you go. Watches as you walk to the bed, and kneel onto it. Lowering yourself into position, Jeongguk lets a smirk linger on his lips.

Face down, ass up, you're a fucking vixen - and the way you hold your hands behind your back? Encouraging him to tie your wrists again? God . You're a deviant. Hellish. So fucking hot Jeongguk can barely control himself.

Slow as he gets himself into position, Jeongguk grazes the curve of your ass with his fingers. Looks down on you like a man possessed.

"Sure?" he asks. Knows you came hard. Worries this won't actually be all that great for you.

"Do me a favour?" you hum into his sheets.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and fuck me."

Jeongguk exhales a stunted laugh, the smile on his lips fond as he shakes his head. "You've such a way with words."

"You should see what else this mouth can do," you tease, not looking back at him. Hearing the swipe of the tie being lifted from his sheets, your walls clench . It would be embarrassing how easy it is for him to turn you on, if it wasn't for how much you know Jeongguk likes it.

Fingers clasping around your wrists, Jeongguk takes his time. The fabric is smooth and silky, but there are marks from where it dented your skin before. He doesn't secure you as tightly, but is still firm as he knots the fabric together. Hands secured by the small of your back, Jeongguk knows he isn't gonna last long.

There's a soft sound of cotton against skin; Jeongguk ridding himself of his underwear. You can picture it - how hard his cock is, the slight wobble as he moves, prick firm and standing to attention. You imagine how tight his balls must be, and how leaky his pretty head is, precum seeping from his tip.

Expecting to feel him enter you, you relax your body. Sink into the downward position with a curved arch to your back.

Instead, Jeongguk sinks a single finger into you. Mumbles to himself. "Still so fuckin' wet."

He withdraws. Strokes the supple skin of your ass. Spanks it softly. You squeak quietly, satisfaction lacing your tone, all pleased and purry. Jeongguk might die.

Still, he's determined to take his time. Crouches behind you. Anyone else and you'd probably feel a little insecure, but you know how weak Jeongguk is for ass in all capacities. It's hard to feel shy when he drools at the fucking sight of it. It's not just your ass though. He's pretty sure he's never liked another pussy more. It's just right for him; in how it feels, and how it looks. Exactly the kind of cunt that makes his dreams wet, cock hard.

He licks a thick slow stripe up your folds. Drags his tongue from your clit to your entrance - and then sinks it into your hole. Holds onto your thighs as he gets as deep as his tongue will allow him, stroking at your walls. His nose presses against your perineum, and - fuck .

You'll let him do it, you decide. If he asks to eat your ass, you'll let him. Won't say no.

But the most cursed thing of all? You want it. The anticipation, the knowledge that he wants it, god, it just makes you want it so badly.

So badly, that you have no control when you say, quite out of the blue, "higher."

It's a single word that could be interpreted in many different ways, but he knows. His tongue is still in your cunt, but he knows you're asking for his tongue to be higher.

And so he does it.

He withdraws from your creamy hole and flicks his tongue upwards. Teases your perineum. Gets you moaning even harder than you had been before. Kisses. Moves to your thigh, so he can sink his teeth in a little.

And then, with one slow, flat lick, Jeongguk drags his tongue from your clit, up your folds and past your entrance, until his wet tongue is on your tight muscle. He doesn't press down. Just licks. Spits. Spreads it with his tongue. Gets you feeling all sort of fucked up. He mumbles a groan of satisfaction against you. Is barely even eating your ass. Not like he knows can. Not how wants to. He's saving that. Will eat your ass properly, one day.

He pulls away. Smirks when your moans sound all whiney.

"Fuckin' love your ass," he husks as he stands behind you and lines his cock up with your entrance. Spits down, and watches as it trails over your asshole and down to the tip of his cock. Resting his thumb against the puckered muscle, Jeongguk puts a little pressure on it. He's not gonna penetrate it, but he is gonna think about it.

Just wants you to see how good it can feel; have you imagining how much better it could feel if he did toy with your ass like he wants to.

He sinks his cock into you slowly. It's a miracle you can stretch enough for his girth, but Jeongguk's correct when he thinks that your pussy is made for him. The fit is just right. Snug and warm, all wet and wanting, it's like coming home.

It's so comfortable. Exactly what he needs to come undone, and as his hips buck against your ass, his hand gripping the tie around your wrists, he knows it won't take long. Your pussy strokes him to perfection; and he wants it to. Wants you to make him cum. Wants to return the orgasm he took from you.

He pushes into you, deeper, deeper, until he's mewling. "God, you feel so fucking good."

You wanna encourage him but all you can do is moan. You're still sensitive from earlier and know that It won't take much to get you cumming again - and when his spare hand comes around the front of your body to toy with your clit? You're a goner.

His name lingers in the back of your throat as you whine. He's delirious. Keeps fucking himself into you because he's building and building and is so close to reaching his climax. Can feel everything. The clamping of your walls, the wetness of your cunt seeping around the base of cock, god it's all so good.

"Cum for me again, B," he encourages. "Let me feel you."

Hypnotic in the way his commands have you doing exactly what asks of you, your body unravels like a tie coming loose - but it's not at all. You're fixed in position and it makes you cum even harder.

The pressure of your orgasm around his thick length has Jeongguk cursing. He's there. Can't hold back. Pulls out only cause he feels like he has to, and continues jerking himself over your ass until he erupts with thick spurts of cum.

He paints your hands with his orgasm, every last drop being spent on you. It soaks into his tie, but he doesn't give a fuck. Squeezes his shaft to make sure sure the evidence of his pleasure is all yours. Watches as a white bead gathers at his slit, the final dregs of his cum all yours.

He collapses beside you on his back, a hand over his chest, lungs heaving beneath his ribs. Stares at the birds. Wonders how the fuck he got here.

Your body copies his, your chest and tummy now flat against his sheets, arms still bound behind you. Just as whimpery as Jeongguk is breathless, you can't imagine ever having a better fuck than that. Eyes closed, your lips settle into a pleased smile.

"Fuck," you sigh.

"Again?" Jeongguk jokes. "Don't think I'm ready, B."

You laugh and shake your header further into his sheets. "Think I'll need a few days."

This amuses Jeongguk, mostly because he knows he'll probably wake up with a boner, and you'll probably end up with it in your cunt. Just makes sense.

"You okay?" he asks as he turns to face you. The pleasant hum you nod is ethereal, as if you've just been blessed by an angel, not fucked like a devil. He reaches over to undo the tie, and doesn't care about the fact he gets covered in his own cum. Just tosses the tie to the floor and wipes his hands on his sheets. Will sort it out later.

Flexing your fingers, you turn to rest on your side - again, not giving a shit about the small puddle of cum on your back. Whatever. It's his problem.

"Thanks," you smile.

"For which part?"

"Untying me," you confirm, then adding, "and for tying me up, actually. And the sex. Now that I think about it, especially the sex."

You could listen to Jeongguk's post-sex laugh for hours. It's so breathy and light, free of all stress. A world away from the mood he was in when you arrived, you're so pleased to have Jeongguk back. Happy to exist with, and happy that he seems happy, too.

Reaching over, you push some strands of hair back from his face. He looks sleepy. "Tired?"

He nods, and closes his eyes.

"Sleep?" You suggest.

Again, he nods.

"Where should I sleep?"

He shrugs.

"Here?" You ask.

He nods. You're secretly pleased.

"Am I taking the bed or the floor?"

He pouts. Thinks you don't need to ask. "Bed."

"And you on the floor?" you grin, pleased with how his lips purse, brows scowl, at such a suggestion.

"No," he huffs. "Me. Bed."

"Both bed?"

"Both bed."

Who are you to object when he's all pouty and sleepy, face squishy and dewy in the comedown of a fuck that was way too good to be a fluke?

You're staying.

The pair of you clean yourselves up. Brush your teeth together and grab a glass of water to share. Boundaries seem to be null and void these days. You sleep in his shirt, and he in his boxers, as if that's a totally normal occurrence for a pair of besties. You don't think it's that odd.

As he tries to sleep, Jeongguk questions the morality of what's going on between you. Wonders how healthy it could be, knowing full well the road you're embarking upon rarely ends well.

He thinks he's in a good spot with Hayun, now. Went for coffee with her last week to make sure she wasn't mad at him for the way he spoke to her in the club. She apologised. She explained herself. Said it felt weird to have been replaced. She knows she only has herself to blame, but it still stings.

You've put a lot of trust in Jeongguk. He never wants to hurt you in the way that Hayun hurt him. Never wants to cross those lines, and yet he knows how intimate you think sharing a bed is. The lines are already a little blurry.

If you want to keep things platonic, then outside of the sex, it should be platonic.

He sighs. Stares up at the birds. Doesn't know what the fuck to do.

And so as much as he'd like to, he doesn't hold you in the night. Doesn't shuffle in closer, or rest his arm over your hip like he knows would feel far more natural to him than turning over and away from you.

He showers with you in the morning. Fucks you again, 'cause he remembers that without the sex, it's entirely romantic to share such an intimate space with another person. Makes you both breakfast as a thank you for dinner the night before.

Hair waving around his features, a flannel shirt hanging over his broad shoulders and light jeans hiding away just how toned his thighs are, he's every bit the heartthrob as he insists you leave the dishes.

Your hair is pinned up, and just as dishevelled as his is, but he likes it. You're still in one of his shirts, but it's a smaller one. Fits you better. Is still baggy on you, but he'd watched on as you had tucked the back hem of the shirt up beneath the strap of your bra where it fastens shut.

Was confused at first, but is well aware of how fantastic your ass looks in the jeans you're wearing thanks to the shirt not getting in the way, now.

Large enough that the excess fabric reaches the waistband of your pants, the shirt billows ever so slightly. Untucked at the front, Jeongguk wonders what kind of magic women must hold. He's seen girls wear shirts like this before. Just had no idea how they did it. Thinks maybe he shouldn't know the secrets of womanhood, but likes learning about you, so doesn't think about it too hard.

The shirt is from a concert he went to with Tae while he'd been at uni, and it just reminds him of those days. It's why he never wears it. Reminds him of the early days with Hayun, when there had still been the promise of something great.

You're redefining it, though. Making it brand new. Not changing his past, per se, but altering the way it impacts his future.

"Promise me you won't study too hard?" You plead as you get your shoes on to leave.

He refuses.

"Jimin's keeping tabs on you for me," you tell him. "If you go more than 4 hours without a break, he'll text me and I'll show up and force you to."

"Oh yeah?" Jeongguk entertains your threat. "How so?"

"Dunno," you shrug with raised brows, standing straight now your laces are tied. Tote bag over your shoulder, loose waves framing your face, Jeongguk wonders how many people will give you second glances on your walk to the subway station.

So much so, he doesn't really realise he's putting on his shoes, too.

"Oh?" you hum. "Going out?"

He pauses. Realises. Plays it cool. "Need to get some stuff from the shop. Will come with."

Jeongguk counts four middle-aged men, one girl in her twenties and three teenage boys who look at you a bit too long for his liking. He's not territorial, and especially not over you, but he's very recently fucked you. Maybe he is a little possessive. Sue him . He just doesn't like sharing. It's been well-established.

And in fact, it only gets further established the next weekend, when he picks a sticky note off the wall and reads it aloud: " threesome ."

It's his handwriting, and he definitely did put it up there, but he still looks at it with such shock he can't believe either of you would suggest such a thing.

"Good job Jimin's home," you deadpan. "Will make this a lot easier."

"What! No! Byeol!" And then he whispers, but also kind of shouts when he says, "You're not fucking Jimin again."

"Oh, so you can?" you retaliate, face straight, because you're trying to appear deadly serious. He's falling for it. "But I can't? That's not fair, Jeongguk."

"Wait- What?" He exasperated. "I'm not fucking him either! Neither of us are - Christ Alive. We're not fucking Jimin."

"But it makes sense!"

"We," he signals between you both, eyes struck with horror. "Are NOT fucking Jimin."

"But-"

"Byeol!"

"Koo," you pout, and he thinks if he doesn't die, then maybe he'll just kill you instead. "What if I want it?"

You absolutely do not want it - but you do want to keep winding him up. It's so easy when he's in moods like these, a little stressed and fuse far shorter than usual.

"I- Byeol," he sighs. That's fucking name. Always weakens him. You're a menace, he thinks. "That is beyond the point."

"Please," you pout even more. God he hates how cute you look. So much harder to stand his ground. "Would be so hot."

"How?!" He pushes his head back in disgust. "How would me and Jimin fucking be hot in any way shape or form."

You smirk. "Really want me to answer that?"

"Absolutely not."

And so that sticky note is placed to the side; one to revisit when Jeongguk is less stressed and you're less hellbent on insisting it should be with Jimin.

You know that a threeway with Jimin would probably be fine, but don't wanna risk anything that could impact their friendship. A neutral third party is needed, and as far as you're aware, Jeongguk's preference is girls. It makes sense for you both to seek out someone together that won't impact your daily lives.

You'd rather bring another girl into the mix. Think another guy could maybe give Jeongguk a complex. He's already stated before that he doesn't wanna be cucked, and watching another guy fuck you might make him feel that way. Mutual comfort is needed - plus who doesn't love a good pair of tits?

If he's still spewing bullshit about being an ass guy after watching you play with another girl's tits? Then he'll forever be a liar.

You've also had two mildly disappointing shags with Jimin. You don't need to add a third. Reckon that maybe seeing how well Jeongguk fucks could give Jimin a complex, too.

The topic of conversation comes up again after the next sticky note - spooning sex - is completed. It was ideal because you could remain incredibly quiet given that Jimin is in the apartment, but is also secretly one of your favourite positions. One that always makes you feel so incredibly safe. And the way Jeongguk hugs you afterwards? Doesn't leave you? Presses his torso to your back, not caring for the fact it was where he finished? Oh, god, he's a dream.

"Sorry for being so defensive about it all," he mumbles into your hair. Loves the way it smells, today. Thinks you might have gotten a new shampoo. Doesn't ask cause he doesn't wanna be a weirdo.

"I was only winding you up," you admit. "I don't think it should be with Jimin."

"No?" he confirms, a weight lifting from his chest.

"No."

"Good," he whispers. "It shouldn't be someone we know. I'm no good at sharing."

A laugh catches in your throat. Hardly news.

"I'm not yours," you remind him.

"I know," he says softly. Presses a kiss against your hair. Squeezes you tighter. "Placebo though, init. Sometimes when we're fucking, it feels like you are."

He's not wrong - but it doesn't mean it's right . Both of you know that sex is just sex.

The birds above you watch on with great curiosity. None of them have dropped in quite some time. It's almost as if they're waiting. As if they know something neither of you don't.

You don't think it's safe to indulge in such thoughts. And so you change the topic. Divert feeling of the heart elsewhere.

"Have you spoken to Hayun lately?"

Jeongguk is silent. Doesn't let you go immediately, but eventually rolls onto this back. You stay positioned just as you were; avoidant of his eyes.

"Do you really wanna know?"

You shrug. "As the girl you just fucked? Not really, no. As your friend? Yeah."

It's an answer he can't fault. He's so fucking nosey when it comes to Seokjin but never forces you to talk. Knows that if you started talking about him now, he'd find it incredibly... saddening? Hurtful? He's not sure. Just wouldn't like it.

But you're asking . You want to know.

"Uh, yeah," he admits. "We're fine. She like, apologised for being difficult on New Years, so I sorta buried the hatchet. No point crying over spilt milk."

You nod. 

Feels like the hatchet is in your back, now.

The full details of their argument was never disclosed to you, but it doesn't matter. She was still awful to you. You're never gonna like her. Refuse to play nicely.

Sitting up, you reach down for Jeongguk's shirt to wipe off your back. Would get a tissue or something, but sometimes he has to deal with his own messes, and think that maybe this is one he should have to clean up.

He knew you didn't want to know. Is frustrated with himself for not listening to his gut. Should never have fucking said anything. You grab your underwear and pull them on, hiding yourself away from him as you do so.

"B..." he says quietly, not really sure what he's supposed to do.

"What?" you snap a little, even though you don't mean to. 

It's not fair for you to be mad at him. 

They've got a shared history that runs deep. He was never gonna cut her off, and you never would have wanted him to. All you want, really, is his happiness and - regretfully - she seems to be a big source of it. Not that you've actually seen any evidence of this.

"C'mon," he pleads, as you cover yourself up as you scan the room looking for your bra. It's somehow by the window, so you get out of Jeongguk's bed and head towards it. Don't turn around. Don't wanna look at him with anything you deem to be intimate exposed. "You asked ."

"Well, I shouldn't have," you say quickly, and that's when you realise how fucking mean you're being.

You asked for honesty. You can't punish him for it.

Pushing your hands back through your hair, you sigh. Don't wanna face him, but know you have to. Clasp your bra together for the sake of a little dignity.

"Look," you groan, tilting your head back. Sort of feels like you might cry, and when you turn to face him? Oh, god. It's even worse. Jeongguk watches you with such pain embedded in his features that you can feel his hurt. "She's your friend. I get that. You can talk to me about her... I just..."

Jeongguk considers staying silent, but you can't formulate your words.

"It's just that sometimes when we fuck, it feels like I'm yours," he offers, repeating his earlier thoughts back to you, switching the roles around.

And all you can do is nod. "Yeah. Sometimes it does."

You drop your gaze. Sniff. Apologise. 

Jeongguk's out of his bed, underwear quickly pulled back on, and in front of you within a second.

"Hey," he shushes you, pulling you in for a hug. "B, c'mon. Don't get all soft on me. What's happened to little miss bad bitch? Hey? Where is she?"

God, he's too fucking nice . Skin warm, heart thumping steadily in his chest, he's so soothing. He rubs your arms as he holds you tight. You don't really cry, but it sort of feels like you will at any given moment.

Eventually, you just shrug. "I think maybe I'm bad at sharing, too."

"You're not sharing," he says, and really hopes you know he means it. "And hey, I've seen your ex's name on your phone notifications before. You can't be mad about me being okay with Hayun if you're still okay with him."

And then you realise he doesn't get it. He thinks you're jealous .

You pull away. You look at him with confusion all over your contorted features. "Sorry?"

Now is not the time to say 'forgiven', but he considers it. You look pissed .

"Huh?" Is all he can manage.

"I don't give a shit about you being okay with exes," you exclaim, affronted by the mere suggestion. "Like... I... What ? You could be the best man at their weddings for all I care! We're not together - but you're my friend , and Hayun fucking dickhead to me."

"I know we're not together," he retaliates, defensive now because it seems like you're gunning for him. "But she's my friend, too. I can't throw away years of friendship just because she was mean when she was drunk. Everyone says shit they don't mean when they're drunk."

"Oh fuck off," you say with a little too much gusto. You really don't want to fight - but he's being so fucking obtuse. "She didn't seem to care about throwing away your friendship when she screwed you about! When has she ever done anything remotely friendly?"

Jeongguk rarely looks mad. Rarely looks angry.

But his eyes are black, now.

Your 'welcome' is about to be outstayed and you damn well know it. You grab the dress you had been wearing - one you knew would get him all horny and excited because you were looking forward to hooking up with him again - and pull it over your head.

He mirrors you. Pulls on a pair of sweats. Scoffs.

"I lived a life before I knew you, B. She's got a good five or six years on you. Just because you've not seen any of the good doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

You've got to be kidding me. Your blood is boiling; sizzling up in your veins. ' A good five or six years on you'.

Prick.

The way you laugh is scornful. "You sound like a fucking kid who believes in fairies."

"Maybe I do," he seethes back. "But at least she's making an effort to fix our friendship. What about you? You're still texting your ex. The fuck is Seokjin doing, huh? Other than running off after using you for a quick f-"

He stops himself. Realises just how awful he's being. Looks down. Exhales. Shakes his head.

You're frozen, mouth ajar. Not once has Jeongguk ever been so careless in the way he addresses the Seokjin situation. Never once has he ever made it seem like it's your fault... but he is, now.

Jeongguk fucked himself into you half an hour ago. Whispered shit about how perfect you are for him. And now he's tearing apart your character just to defend some girl who fucked him over for sport.

"What the fuck are we doing?" he asks quietly. Shame washes over him. Good . "Why the fuck are we arguing like this?"

Silence echoes around his room. It's so loud it feels like your ears will bleed. Neither of you enjoy this. Neither of you want to back down, though, either. You're cursed to let it play out.

"Because sometimes when we fuck, it feels like we belong to each other," you say quietly, echoing the sentiment you both felt earlier. "But we don't, and it's pretty clear that there's someone else at the top of your priority list."

"B," he says, with genuine pain in his voice.

You shake your head. Shrug. Lie, when you say. "It's fine. You're not top of mine, either."

He reaches for your hand as you push past him, but you shake him off. Don't wanna stay. Don't wanna look at him. Don't wanna do anything with him.

Jimin's in the kitchen. Sort of looks at you with horror, as fresh, silent tears roll down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your palm, heading towards the door.

You need to put your shoes on, so just say, "please don't ask, Jimin."

He doesn't need to. Heard it all. Is furious with Jeongguk for defending fucking Hayun, yet again. Thought that progress had been made, but apparently not.

"Sorry about him," he just says.

You shrug. Look at Jimin. He can't distinguish your glitter from your tears. "Don't be. Sorry for the noise."

Jimin shakes his head. "Don't be."

Knowing better than to get involved in Jeongguk's disputes, he simply nods. Sends you a text after you leave telling you to check in when you get home so that he knows you're okay. Is aware you'd normally text Jeongguk letting him know, but doubts you'd fancy doing it, now. Waits for a moment, until he hears something smash in Jeongguk's room. Sighs. "Boys."

Rummaging through one of the cabinets for plasters, knowing that Jeongguk most likely needs them, Jimin has no fear as he approaches Jeongguk's room. Knows his frustrations would never be taken out on another person, but has come home to Jeongguk repairing one of his display cases after a particularly bad fight with Hayun once before.

This seems less intense, and yet Jimin can't help but feel like this one is also so much worse. Far more detrimental.

He doesn't knock. Walks straight in to find Jeongguk sitting on the floor against his bed, arms tight around his knees, head down. As predicted, one of the display cases has shattered. He doesn't know how , doesn't really know why Jeongguk thought it would be a good use of energy, but does know that his knuckles are bleeding.

The bed is unmade, and the air is slightly musty but also sweet. Jimin's incredibly familiar with the lingering scent of sex, and knows exactly what will have preceded the argument.

"So," he stays, tossing plasters down to Jeongguk's lap, and taking a seat on Jeongguk's desk chair. Spins lightly. Tries to remain ambivalent. "Still gonna pretend like you're not fucking?"

"Jimin," Jeongguk growls. Doesn't wanna fucking talk about it.

"DB would never do the shit to you that Hayun did to you," he just shrugs. Thinks Jeongguk is in need of some cold hard truths.

"Don't wanna hear it."

"I don't care if you're fucking her or not-"

"Can you shut the fuck up?"

"-but she's done more to help you in the last, what? Eight months? Than any of us could have done for you. She really cares , and if you throw away your friendship with her for the sake of Hay-"

"Oh well, why don't you fuck her, again?" Jeongguk snaps.

Jimin grates his jaw, but doesn't interrupt. Wants to hear what Jeongguk has to say for himself. Kid's clearly hurting, so fuck it. Fine . He'll let him get it all out.

"Third time lucky, right?" He sneers, not looking over at Jimin while he chews him out. " You fuck her again, and you deal with how much she cares , and all her fucking glitter and everything she fucking does for you. Let her hold you to this unreachable standard of being fucking perfect. You can be the one that disappoints her. You can be the one who fucks up. You can be the one that hurts her. You can."

Deep down, in his heart of hearts, Jimin knows that all of Jeongguk's little rant is projection. Rolls his eyes at how much of a baby he's being.

"A little bit of glitter seems like an easy compromise for someone who adores you," Jimin says softly, and that's when Jeongguk finally chokes out a pained sob that he'd been holding in. He doesn't understand why his brain is making him be so fucking mean. He loves your disco ball eyes. "So no, I won't fuck her again, Gguk. And nor should you until you figure this mess out."

Jimin stands up to leave, knowing that Jeongguk needs a little space to breathe. Reminds him, "Hayun's taken, Gguk. She made her choice. Made it over and over again. Fucked you ov-"

"She's single," Jeongguk's voice croaks. He's quiet. Sniffs. Heads all a mess. It's part of the reason he's been pouring himself into his studies. Doesn't know how to cope with it all. "S'why she was here for new years. Is looking for an apartment in the city. Asked me to help next week."

Jimin doesn't know what to fucking say.

A heaviness resides in chest, crushing down on his heart. It hurts.

For Jeongguk, his heart aches.

"Gguk..."

"I don't know what to fucking do."

And though the answer is clear for Jimin, the waters are muddy for Jeongguk. Can't see the sea nor the shore. It's all just murky. Dark. Scary. Out of reach and yet all-consuming; like a tidal wave towering above him, sure to crash down.

"Anyway," Jeongguk sniffs back the tears that reside in his eyes. Shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Got an exam to study for."

For once, Jimin doesn't object. Leaves him be. Texts Yoongi. Code Red. Hayun's single.

Yoongi replies almost immediately.

Fuck. Off. Really?!

It's funny - you think the exact same thing as you get off the subway by your apartment, only to see Tae and Danbi getting on board. Not unusual. You'd say hey, normally.

But it's not normal, not today. Not when Nabi and Hayun are with them, too.

Nabi catches your gaze. Smiles. Waves. You really do like her, just hate the fact that Hayun is her best fucking friend - and why is she still here?! Why can't she just go back to her fucking boyfriend and go live her best life in Seoul? Why does she need to be down here in the city you call home?

She's overstayed her welcome - and as she follows Nabi's smile, she falters when her eyes land on you, just before the carriage rolls away. Pursing her lips, they settle into a smile. Dead behind the eyes, though.

Danbi is facing away from you, so doesn't even notice. She's your best friend - but she's been so busy with Tae and you so busy with Gguk that it feels like you've barely seen her recently.

It feels like you're losing everything you love into the abyss that Hayun is.

"Fucking witch," you scathe to yourself, earning you a confused look from the ajumma beside you. "Sorry. Not you."

She laughs a little. Points to her eyes, then yours. "So pretty," she says, and you know she's talking about your glitter and - oh, you don't mean to be such a mess, but you just can't help yourself when you start blubbering all over again.

Before you know it, you're sat with a gaggle of old women outside the CU, crying over Jeongguk while they give you fucking advice. It's all so mortifying. One of them rushes in and gets you some tissues for your mascara, while another insists on a slice of cake.

All dressed in mismatched florals and gilets, with perms to rival poodles, they're happily talking about your drama because "Eunyeon divorced her husband six years ago and there's only so many times we can hear about his new girlfriend" - although the latest scandal is that he's now seducing the lady who works in the tailor shop around the corner from your apartment. It's why the gaggle of gals are here - they wanted to scope her out.

Instead, they're now cooing over a picture of Jeongguk, agreeing how handsome he is.

"Men like him were made to break hearts," one of them sighs, which earns her a swat against the arm from a friend.

"Oh, shush, Minsu," one of them tuts. Squeezes your hand. " You were made to break hearts too."

They all agree. Nod.

"If I were your age, and I looked like you, I'd have a new boyfriend every week!" Jinnae, the lady who first complimented you and invited you to her gossip session, says.

"I don't even want a boyfriend," you whine. "I just wanted to get over my ex."

This is a fatal error on your part, for they then demand to see Seokjin, too - and if there's one thing Seokjin does better than any other man, it's winning the hearts of women beyond a certain age.

You half think Minsu might have a heart attack when she sees him.

"Men didn't look like this back in my day," she sighs after she's caught her breath. "Oh, honey. I feel sorry for you. I really do."

The pity party continues until one of them notices Eunyeon - the jilted wife - across the road. They make for a speedy escape. Can't be caught spying. Insist you join them for tea next week. Given the fact you've lost both Jeongguk and Danbi to the devil incarnate, what other plans could you possibly have?

When you finally arrive home, you sigh. Kick your shoes off. Get changed, and head straight for the shower. Need to wash Jeongguk off your skin.

And as you take off your necklace and rest the bird by your sink, you can't help but feel disappointed in Jeongguk. A little used.

You've been using one another, granted, that's never been a secret - but you've helped each other. Progressing as people. Healing . Now? Just feels like he was biding his time until Hayun was interested in him again.

Sinking down the wall of your shower, you sit with your knees to your chest, holding them tightly.

Just like Jeongguk still is, in his bedroom, right where you left him.

Your phones both vibrate at the same time - his on his desk, yours by the sink. It's the big group chat. The one with everyone - except Hayun (thank God).

The Usual Suspects [MYG, JJK...(+8)]

Yoongi : May 6th.

Namjoon :... What of it?

Yoongi : You're busy.

Namjoon :...?

Jimin : It's like 4 months away???

Yoongi : So? Keep it free.

Taehyung : ???!!!!!!

Seoyeon : what my darling husband-to-be means to say, is..... save the date!!!

Seoyeon : we've booked our venue!!!!!

Jimin : oh, holy shit

Nabi : AHHHHHHHHHH

Jeongguk : FINALLY!!!!

You : stop, i'll cry omg

Seoyeon : the venue is small - we'll tell you more about it when we see you next, but it means no plus ones :(

Yoongi : You're all single losers anyways...

Taehyung : Ahem.

Yoongi : It's been two weeks.

Danbi : Still counts x

And even though today has proved to you that even the purest of hearts can become weaponised, true love still exists; and what an honour it is to witness it.

Maybe one day, you'll get to experience it.

For now, you'll tuck the bird necklace in your jewellery box and ignore Jeongguk when he finally texts. You've muted your chat. Still check it constantly. Just in case.

You wait all night.

He doesn't text.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[crimsonxcloverr]

there’s so many talented people in this fandom, dale would think highly of us. i know, i yap about it all the time, but it’s so fucking true. even if you don’t draw or write, dale would think you’re hot shit for loving him in the first place. we’re all so cool. i love it.

ANYWAYS! also pls ignore mistakes, this was a random post LMAO

writers- dale would definitely buy you journals and pens from the family owned store nearby. he’d be very supportive and tell you how he thinks you should get your work published, throwing a little fit if you tell him they aren’t worthy enough for publication. he’d force you to sit on the mattress and push yourself to write whatever it is you desire while he worked on his dolls. i feel like once in a blue moon he’d allow you to write at his work table. he would definitely come cuddle with you and lay next you while you worked, help you figure out what to write next if you end up with writers block! he’d give you so much love and support, rub your shoulders and such while you take a break. you want a snack or drink while taking a break? both? dale has it covered. he also keeps all your finished work tucked away safely on the massive media shelf against the basement steps. you know exactly what shelf i’m talking about. and don’t get me started on the nsfw stories or writing about him in general! WHEW! his ears will turn red and he’d blush, which is comically noticeable due to his pale skin. but then he’ll either have you read it out loud while he fucks you or while he jerks off. regardless of the style of writing, he would be so, so, so excited about sharing your work with the world. he’d even encourage ruth to read them as well, who would also enjoy your writing btw, minus the nsfw stuff. i think dale would be so inspired by your work, he may even dabble in writing himself. even if it’s just diary entries or stories about The Man Downstairs.

artists (fanart included, AU) - man, oh man! dale would be gawking over your shoulder impatiently waiting for your art to be finished. he would definitely have a collage of your art all around the basement. he’d even beg ruth to frame some of your art for upstairs (digital, he’d print your art out). of course, he’d be so supportive, probably adding his own little touches himself and smiling for your approval. this man would definitely pick you up some paints and brushes/markers and pens from the hardware store. he’d also deliver you drinks and snacks if needed. and if you’re busting your ass too much or being to critical, he’d tell you to take a break, rub your shoulders and tell you to come back to it. but don’t you dare touch his paints or paint brushes! not even his pencils or pens he uses for his codes! those are his and he’d definitely make that quite clear. for digital fanart, he’d probably be so confused on how the hell any of it works. he would sit and watch, definitely asking you a million questions on how the technology works cause he’s ✨an old fart✨. you’d help him make his own fanart of him and Satan at some point, which he begged for over and over. or being the perv he is, he’d probably make you draw something hot. you rubbing his cock or something. but if your device ever decided to take a shit, he’d do all he could to help you figure it out. he’d probably nag ruth for her disability check to pay for a new device. goddamn it dale. even if it was something minor like an ipad charger, pen too, he’s got it covered!

supporters in general- you just loving on him is enough. he’d admire you regardless, artist or not. the way you spend time with him and give him the love he deserves makes him feel so, so good. he’s YOUR number one fan! he’d definitely peek over at you while working on his dolls just to steal glances and take in all your beauty. he would treat YOU like a work of art, making you model naked for him while taking polaroids of you. not just to jerk off to, but he finds you immensely ethereal. his slender fingers would trail down your body as if you were a marble statue of a greek goddess. he would cup your face and just stare at you, admiring your beauty and wondering why you’d want someone like him? he’s so flattered, he could burst. although… sometimes he gets him hard when he randomly thinks about you. he’d mind his own business, working on a doll, then need to adjust himself cause he thought about your tits or pussy/ass the night before. also, don’t ever be mean to yourself in front of him. he’s scary. not in a “i’m gonna hurt you” type of way, but an authoritative “don’t say that again” way. he’d look at you from under his eyebrows, telling you not to say anything mean about yourself again. he’d make you feel better by playing guitar or singing a song in his karaoke machine. IM CERTAIN HE HAS ONE BTW! or you guys would take turns getting each other dolled up, squeeze each other into corsets, and having a little concert downstairs while blasting T.Rex. or if you were having some sort of mental health episode, he’d run you a bath and bathe you. he’d even lotion you up and help you get dressed, brush your teeth too. he’d suffer the atrocious sounds of meditation music so you could relax, unwind while he loved on you. and if you needed space? he’d give you just that, but would definitely keep an eye on you to make sure you’re safe. he’d eat meals with you if you asked him to. you probably wouldn’t even need to ask him. he’d just bring the food down and eat, telling you how much he loves you and appreciates you.

overall, i think dale would be flattered with all the love and support we’ve given him. giving us the support he’s never gotten <3

[whatevermakesyoubreak]

🔪❤️‍🔥 a few (lot) of my personal illumi sfw/nsfw headcanons:

> these are strictly regarding my illumi x oc [ft. hisoka and chrollo] fic, sic infit, (which is essentially succession ft. the zoldyck’s & a bit of a romcom starring illumi), so yes— some of these will be ooc & a few of them include lira so if u don’t like her, keep scrolling idk.

- actually has the most unhinged sense of humor. sassy as FUCK but it’s hard to tell because he speaks as if he’s being completely serious. he finds a lot of things funny— especially things he shouldn’t— but just doesn’t express it unless he absolutely cannot keep a straight face anymore. (we all remember his goddamn sea lion laughing face, right?)

- is actually quite dense when it comes to anything besides assassination. not at all stupid, just… dense.

- however, illumi is a man with a plan if nothing else. he rarely if ever will go into a situation with no preparation, research, etc.

- he likes movies! all genres too— anything from thrillers, comedy, art house, classics, horror, romantic comedies, dramas, foreign films, etc— he likes them all, but only if they meet his standards. (i.e, he hates slasher films because he finds them unrealistic, some films are too artsy for him, and he has trouble understanding some romantic dramas). his favorite series is the Hellraiser series— he took lots of inspiration from Pinhead. (the movie him and Lira were watching in chapter 2 was Requiem For A Dream!)

- this motherfucker has a DIRTY mouth. i firmly believe that he cannot form a single thought without there being some form of profanity involved. however, he doesn’t express this unless he feels comfortable around someone, i.e, Lira, Hisoka, his family. he’s a master of code switching when around upper-class people, but goddamn— Kikyo should’ve been washing his mouth out with soap instead of stringing him up tbh.

- that dirty mouth of his carries over to… other areas as well. says the FOULEST, FILTHIEST and NASTIEST things during sex & you wouldn’t expect it at ALL.

- hair pulling and boobs. that is all.

- switch. enough said.

- speaking of sex, he’s hung like a fucking horse & knows it.

- also, that stoic, inexpressive & unemotional exterior of his? yeah, that shatters like glass the second this man gets horny. like he fully gets stuuupid cock/pussydrunk. he can’t even think properly anymore. he’s feral— slurring his words, drooling, begging— you name it, all while saying the filthiest shit. once he’s there, he’s there. y’all don’t wanna hear me you just wanna dance, but he’s a mess. he’s so repressed otherwise there’s no alternative than but to be the epitome of actual depravity.

- when he subs, he is a big baby, whiny, brat boy who wants to be used, bullied, and to also be told how pretty he is. he wants it messy too— as filthy and depraved as possible. he’s a fucking perv lowkey.

- when he doms, he doms— but not in your average ways— he definitely likes manhandling his partner as well as when there’s a considerable size difference (like Lira’s short ass lmao), because he likes the literal primal feeling of control it gives him.

- contrary to popular belief, i think he’d enjoy a bit of attitude as well from his partner— just so he could condescend the fuck out of them— of course. “what happened to, ‘more Illu,’ and, ‘please, Illu?’ I thought you wanted me like this...” could be considered a brat tamer?? maybe??

- as i said, he’s a huge dirty talker, but he’s more patronizing and condescending than outright derogatory. he’s also surprisingly good with giving praise, but if HE’S getting praised? gg’s goodnight & goodbye— that man is now officially whipped.

- he has an oral fixation & is an absolute MUNCH/THROAT GOAT. and he’s sloppppyyyyy with it too omg. (this is literally canon, cuz why tf was he licking those needles???)

- simultaneously has a breeding kink and is TERRIFIED to knock someone up before marriage. oh, illumi.

- a true bisexual, and has no preference. it truly depends on the person for him.

- mommy issues & daddy issues. like… bad. like… the enmeshment and parentification are real with this one.

- genuinely hates his father but can’t admit it to himself. he won’t even allow himself to think that way. it would literally make his brain explode from the cognitive dissonance.

- fairly indifferent towards his mother, but subconsciously latches on to any sort of nurturing/female care he can get due to never receiving it as a child. this shows heavily in the speed of development with his relationship with Lira.

- even though he does not like his father, he appreciates how his father and mother’s relationship functions. he ultimately respects women— perhaps to the point of putting them on a pedestal.

- i think he’s actually a bit of a romantic in the way he wants to do everything regarding his partner(s), especially with how badly he wants children and a family of his own— it’s just very very verrrryyyyy repressed & tainted with darkness and possession. but, once he loves, he loves for life. in his own illumi way, of course.

- he’s a heavy drinker. he’s not an alcoholic, but he definitely drinks more than he should, especially after jobs. prefers scotch on the rocks to anything else, but absolutely will not turn down a fruity/sweet drink either. someone please give this man a pina colada.

- drunk illumi is a menace to society, and he has to consume quite a bit of liquor in order to get there— hence why it rarely happens— but once he’s inebriated, that man is the most unfiltered and clingy bastard there is. there is nothing keeping him from speaking his mind at this point and it’s either offensive or hilarious depending on who u are.

- eats like an amusement park raccoon when he’s away from home. literally no idea how he’s so strong when his diet is 80% sugar, 10% booze, and 10% grease.

- doesn’t actually spend that much time on his hair. uses very high-quality products, but otherwise, he’s just genetically blessed. he can let that shit air dry.

- he DOES care about his hair though— when Lira singed the ends, he was PISSED. he also cares a lot about the rest of his appearance. he likes being called pretty— why wouldn’t he keep up with his looks?

- he likes when she braids his hair. sometimes they wear matching twin french or dutch braids while training. Kalluto is lowkey jealous because his hair is too short to join in.

- he has a skill for applying makeup & wigs on himself and others. before he mastered his abilities, he used to disguise himself the old fashioned way.

- he secretly really wants to dress Lira up like his own personal doll, i.e, do her makeup, hair, pick her outfit, etc. not for any weird control reasons, but genuinely because he thinks she’d be cute. he values his life too much to ever tell her this.

- illumi is actually not the best at hand-to-hand combat. he’s an assassin, not a fighter. his job is to kill, not win. by no means is he unskilled, but when compared to others who ARE masterful close quarters combatants, i.e, Lira, he is only above average. (only ‘above average’ like that’s supposed to be bad lmao)

- has an eidetic memory & pretends to forget things in order to catch people in lies.

- is actually not as socially inept or awkward as he comes off. he’s had to do his fair share of seduction and deception in his line of work, so he knows how to charm people to an extent if he really wants to.

- however… his version of flirting with someone he actually likes is staring at them very hard from across a room. he thinks this is him being obvious btw.

- he likes to watch the clouds in his spare time. literally for no reason. he just finds it relaxing. he also likes the sun, contrary to his appearance.

- he does a lot of things for no reason, tbh. he feels rather lost without having someone to assassinate, due to any drastic sort of individuality being discouraged during his upbringing and never really having developed a hobby, so besides stalking Killua, occasionally entertaining Hisoka, and before he met Lira, he tended to do random things in his spare time on a whim.

- he doesn’t like the ocean, snow, or rain, particularly because he hates being cold and wet at the same time. kind of like a cat. has heated bathroom floors for this reason.

- he doesn’t kill for pleasure. he lacks the sadistic tendencies that people like Hisoka, Lira, & Kalluto have. he simply kills because it’s his job, he likes money, & he sees it as his duty as a Zoldyck.

- he is actually a lot more rational and compassionate than he lets on. compassionate may be the wrong word— he just tries to give his targets quick deaths and doesn’t prefer to see anyone suffer unless they’ve angered him. he also won’t kill anyone if he deems it pointless or isn’t getting paid.

- however— he will do anything, and i mean ANYTHING to get what he wants. very machiavellian in nature when he’s focused.

- he doesn’t consider Lira or Hisoka to be distractions even though they quite literally are. he’s a hypocrite, but we all love him for it.

- his love language is gift giving. he will buy someone he cares about anything they look at for more than two seconds.

- he also values quality time. he will follow Lira around like a cat just saying and doing nothing, only wanting to be around her.

- he wants to get married. like, actually married, not just killing-contract married.

- he also wants children. plural.

- scorpio sun, capricorn rising, cancer moon. (ooooh that moon/rising opposition SHOWS)

- can be somewhat traditional when it comes to gender roles, which is rather ironic given his choice in partner(s). he believes it’s the man’s job to protect and provide, and has no issue doing so, even if it’s done in the most deranged ways.

- he cannot remember the majority of his childhood, only bits here and there.

- ptsd? more like P! T! S! D!

- he likes people that can get under his skin. he enjoys banter.

- notices everything, and i mean EVERYTHING. he is extremely observant, but quietly and carefully holds on to the information/patterns he sees— just in case he needs to use that information against someone.

- he has EXPENSIVE taste— forget designer, i’m talking custom made couture and shit like that. designer to him is like loungewear.

- he actually prefers dogs to cats. he wouldn’t be opposed to having a smaller dog of his own one day, but can’t currently because Mike would eat it. he doesn’t hate cats, however, he just doesn’t like how they all seem to want to play with his hair.

- actually, i think he rather likes all animals. not in a Lira-esque “i love animals because it’s fun to imagine what they’d look like with no skin,” type of way, but actually likes them.

- while he likes most animals, he has an irrational hatred of birds. literally zero reason for this. maybe jealousy?

- he values usefulness and patience in his partners and also finds their homicidal tendencies exasperating, especially Lira’s. he does not want a weak partner, nor a victim.

- when it comes to his relationships, he is very very possessive, to the point where it should be scary. however, Lira is also insane and just finds it sweet.

- while obsessive and possessive, he has absolutely no interest in abusing his partner in any way. the thought itself disgusts him. he didn’t see his father do that to his mother outside of training, so why would he ever do that to his own partner?

- when it comes to his partner, he wants to see them happy and safe, not insecure and miserable. like, he saw Lira get insecure ONE time and almost self-destructed and proceeded to basically glitch in order to change her mood.

- he would rather be alone than with someone who didn’t meet his standards.

- he’s either really good at communication or really fucking bad. no in-between.

- he’s not a big cuddler— he’s the type to just lay his entire body weight on top of someone— but just because it feels nice to him. he doesn’t really care if he’s smothering the other person— if he chose them, they should be strong enough for him, right? he does make an exception occasionally and allows Lira to hold him, but that’s typically for access to her boobs… so. he prefers having her sit in his lap, or alternatively, sitting in Hisoka’s lap himself.

- his hair moves on its own a lot— not only when he’s angry, but also whenever he’s feeling anything intense, i.e. lust, euphoria, etc. it can range from the way it whips around when he’s bloodlusted to just stirring as if he’s standing in a gentle breeze.

- hates wearing shirts at home. he’s in expensive lounge pants and nothing else— maybe a tank top and crewneck sweatshirt if he absolutely has to— but other than that? shirtless lumi always.

[youngbloodlisk]

parade day - enhypen bias x reader, fluff

the bias isn't actually in it all that much, but just like trust me lol

applicable for any enha member, no name stated, though if you feel it's a bit ooc for your member of choice to say certain things feel free to alter it a little in your own mind to make it fit better!

I shiver, feeling like an ice block from the inside out, despite the amount of layers on my body and the hot drink in my gloved hands.

I breathe out air warmer than my surroundings, granting me the appearance of a steam cloud coming from my mouth.

As I take a drink from my paper cup, I can't help but wonder to myself why Thanksgiving has to be in November. And why parades have to be outdoors. And why I had to be here so early in the morning just to stand here for hours.

Then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Not just a generic vibration, but the custom vibration that he set for himself on my phone. 'So I always know it's him before I even look.'

⁃ how's the crowd

He's such an ass. He's currently inside, waiting for the staff to tell him to go out and board the float. Inside. He's inside. In the heat.

⁃ cold, dick. how's the nice warm heated building 🤩

⁃ lovely, thank you.

⁃ no but fr ur not too cold right? you have jackets on?

⁃ i can send someone to u with my jacket if u need it

⁃ did you get the drink u said u we're gonna get?

⁃ yes yes yes I have jackets I have my drink im fine lmao

He might be kind of an ass but he's so sweet.

⁃ ok good.

⁃ only a few hours!

⁃ after we pass by the main part you can leave baby

⁃ ik you said you were gonna wait around for me but you don't have to

⁃ I don't need you freezing your ass off

⁃ THAT would be tragic. r.i.p. ass

I can't help but roll my eyes.

⁃ you're such a perv

⁃ woah rude!

Instead of responding, I slide my phone back into my pocket. I don't really have anything else to say at the moment. If I tell him straight up that I WILL be waiting until the end of the parade for him, he'll just whine about how I don't have to.

And now I stand. And wait...

And I waited for about 5 hours. We had to be here at 4:30 in the morning, both for him to get where he needed to go with his members and for me to get an absolutely prime spot in the crowd. The parade didn't actually start until about 9:30.

It's not every day that your boyfriend performs in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Longest five hours of my life, but whatever. He better not mess up the choreography after all this shit or I'm gonna be pissed.

Not really, it would actually be pretty funny. But the point is- this is pretty exhausting. Especially since I'm here all by myself.

Other members have partners, but they either couldn't come out for the parade or they don't like me. Not kidding, they seriously just don't like me that much. But that's okay! I don't particularly like them either. Anyways, all that resulted in me being here alone, without anybody to talk to to pass time.

But whatever. Whatever! It's over. The agonizingly boring five hours is over, and the parade is finally starting.

The float I'm really here for is a few floats and balloons back, but the parade feels like it moves quickly, so it doesn't seem to take very long at all.

The big Baby Shark float approaches and I see him already trying to find me in the crowd.

"Excuse me, could my daughter stand in front of you? Just for this performance?" A woman asks from behind me. I look next to her and see a young girl, probably about 10 or 11, holding a picket with my boyfriend's face on it.

She looks like this is the best day of her life. She isn't even looking at me, like she doesn't even care if she has the best view of the group. Just being here and seeing them is enough to fill her with pure joy.

"Of course! Of course she can!"

"Oh, thank you so much." She prompts her daughter to move forward as I scoot back a bit to make room for her. "She loves these boys, she's been talking about it for days. Thank you."

"It's no problem at all." I turn my attention to the young girl. "Is he your favorite?" I point to her picket.

She nods, excitedly.

"He's so pretty."

"He really is. He's my favorite too."

I look up again, seeing that he's still trying to find me. I wave with all my might, willing him to spot me, and soon enough he does. As soon as I have his attention, I frantically point to the girl who is now holding her picket up and waving at him. He leans down a bit to indicate that he's changed his attention to her as he smiles, waves at her, and sends a hand heart in her direction.

She squeals and jumps up and down.

"He saw me!! He saw me!! Mama, he saw me!! He gave me a heart!"

The cute little girl continues to freak out, making me worry slightly that she might just explode, as the float stops and the guys climb down, getting ready to perform.

There was some benefit to getting here so early. The performances are all directly in front of me (and this little girl, who I feel some level of community with at the moment.)

The hosts finish up their introductory stuff about the float, the movie, and the group, and the Baby Shark music begins to play (soon transitioning into the Keep Swimmin' Through tune.)

I watch him intently, full of pride for him and his success with the group.

I know he can't entirely take this seriously. It's a song for a Baby Shark movie. It's not like it's the most serious of performances in the first place. But I also know that deep down he can't believe he's here either. He can't believe he's doing this. He'd probably agree to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star acapella if it meant he got to be in such a big event that few kpop groups have been in.

The group does a great job. Of course they do. None of them mess up the choreography, so I remain not pissed off. (Lol)

After the performance, they simply walk off next to the float, but my boyfriend makes sure to send a quick flying kiss to both me and the little Engene in front of me before leaving the main square.

"He saw me again!!" She squeals.

"That's great, honey!" Her mother says before whispering to me, "Do you know that boy or something? He seemed to know you?"

I laugh a bit.

"Yes, ma'am. He's my boyfriend."

"Oh my! Oh, you must be very proud of him."

"You have no idea."

The rest of the parade is uneventful, just nice entertainment.

When it ends, I say goodbye to the little Engene and her mom, and seek out a heated place as fast as possible. I'm finally able to find a store nearby that is both open and not too busy. I wait in that store until my boyfriend is released from his duties and able to text me where to find him.

When I finally do leave and find him, he hugs me tighter than usual and holds on longer than usual.

"Are you alright?" I ask, slightly concerned.

"So cold. You're so warm."

I laugh, though I understand. I have to pry him off of me, taking a second to kiss his cold lips.

"You guys did great. Was it fun?"

"Yeah, it was. Less fun though and more just... just a really crazy experience."

"I bet. Did you see a lot of Engenes throughout the parade?"

"Yeah! A lot more than I expected. They really showed out. That little girl in front of you was adorable."

"You're her bias, and I think your heart and kiss made her entire day. Month. Life, possibly."

"Well, I wouldn't have seen her and made her entire life if it wasn't for you."

He takes my hands and pulls me close to him, bringing his face near to mine.

"It really is all thanks to me, isn't it? Technically, maybe /I/ made her entire life. You were just the tool."

"Mhm, mhm. Sure..." He trails off, pressing his lips into mine in a much deeper way than the short kiss earlier.

I feel a warmth run through my body, like the warmth of his kiss is being injected into my veins.

He cuts it off suddenly, staying close enough for his lips to still brush against mine. We utter a sentence each before resuming the kiss.

"Thank you for coming and standing out in the cold just for me."

"Baby, I'm so proud of you."

[nijigasakilove]

Another episode of peak fantasy 🙏🏾.

So Frieren not only has met the wish granting grimoire in the past, but is actually part of her teaching tree, she taught Flamme! That’s a pretty cool reveal. Frieren turning down the chance to get any spell she wanted was so badass. Even as a young mage she was determined to chart her own path. The best part of magic is discovering your own and even back then, Flamme knew Frieren would be the one to defeat the demon lord

Could definitely tell this is a shonen with episodes like this. Lot of action and Madhouse cooked with the sakuga. Beautiful looking episode from start to finish and the storyboarding was great.

Respect for trying it, but Denken got his ass beat lmao. “She’s stronger than Denken and richter” uh duh, didn’t you hear Denken introduce her as the hero party’s mage?? Poor Laufen actually fell for the bait to try and save her party member. At least it shows how much she cares about him.

Richter had the advantage in the fight against the girls until Frieren demolished the barrier preventing water from getting in. Insane scene btw, everything about it from the colours to the OST to the look on the faces of the administrators when they saw the barrier break, chills. But Richter realising he’d fucked up was hilarious. Lawine’s water magic is so broken.

I like how Denken still not giving up on the exam tho, if they can’t get it with magic, a good old fist fight against a party down a member is always on the table lmao.

Lmao the look on Ubel’s face when Fern mentioned her spell that lets her see through clothes.. if it’s not destroying enemies, she’s perving on them, no in between 😂

And that’s the end of the first phase of the exam. Two days until phase two, can’t wait to see what happens in this one.

Poor stark at the bar coping hard without his girl. Trying to laugh thru the pain “I’ve never been happier” bro is fighting back tears he misses Fern lmao

[screampied]

ola 😌 (pretending i didn’t just disappear…)

i’ve been very tired of tumblr lately, idk why. but i missed our little chats, i was just getting the energy to answer back.

toji is the king of being dirty, and in a sexual way of course. dirty talking, messy eating out, biiiiiig ass cock that you can’t do quickies with because miss girl needs to get prepared all the times. he is like the peak of being king of the slut men! right by his side we have…oh look, every other jjk male, except nanami (he is hidden in the back of the line, messy eater as well).

what’s your favorite tea, for our little tea encounters? i’ll always go for peach ice tea, mhmmmmm, mouth is salivating already.

i usually prefe short nails, because my hands are very small and a bit chubby so long makes it weird, but lately they are big as fuck and i’m loving the routine of taking care of them. people keep complementing it, always thinking is gel tips or i did on a saloon, and i’m like 😙😙😙😙

anklets are everything, i used to be obsessed with them and toe rings until i realized a perv might see me at the street and have the best day of his life with his feet kink. my favorite nowadays are earrings and necklace, i eat my lil combos every time.

question for today is do you usually have weird nightmares/dreams? today i had a dream i had a pet snake that was extremely big and i cried and begged my parents to remove her from the house, but they were like “it’s fine” and then her baby (that was a bald kitten) died so she got fucking mad at me, and she would just get even bigger whenever i was near. woke up drenched in sweat 😥

so, yeah, missed ya. can’t wait for october 01!

nut anon.

NUTTTYYYYYY

hi bae no worries i get it i feel the same way sometimes 💔💔. but i missed u n i’m glad ur back xx

ur so right 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. he’s got such a nasty fuckin mouth. UGHHHH writing his dirty talk is my favorite. and i also loveee to hc toji and suguru are the best top pussy eaters in jjk #CANON yeppp, he’s got the fattest cock. he’s def the type to be like “condoms never fit me anyway” he’s so annoying. NANAMI IS DEFINITELY A MESSY EATER IHMMYMYGOD i feel like he’s a sweet respective eater but also kinda filthy …. especially when he gets pussy drunk once his jaw locks …

i don’t rly drink tea ahah unless i’m sick 🙇‍♂️. but hmm i guess black / oolong tea? peace ice tea ooooh what does it taste like ? sounds peachy heh

i find anklets so sexy, fuck 🧎‍♂️. LMFAOOO UR RIGHT AB THE TOE RINGS. i’ve never wore toe rings before, but i love love anklets, i have a whole collection. the gold ones are my favorite bc it makes me feel like a princess 🧘‍♀️. saaaame, but im getting more into bracelets nowadays. i love the little sounds it makes whenever im like walking or jogging while im out. idk its soothing to me

i can never rly remember my dreams 🦭. but they’re usually always super weird shit that makes me wake up like ????? i miss shifting tho, i need to shift again soon aughhh. i remember having a dream about dying but then i woke up and i was like “oh great, another day” LMAO. your pet snake in your dream had a bald kitten ? that’s . . . interesting 🥷🥷.

BUT I MISSEDYOU TOOOOOO. and i have one question for you too—on october first, are you gonna like no be on anon anymore ? or are we gonna send asks on main. or we can be moots !!! i’m fine with either or 🤗

[sakura-jcn]

so i know there are girls here that are into student teacher romance. we can fantasize so much about them and all, but this is my story when i has in hs and it was quite traumatizing. i didnt realize what happened until i got myself out of the situation at 21 and never told anyone except my bf and my mom (didn’t go into detail with her). it left me numb and heartbroken.

i joined this program because i thought he was so handsome with his attire (and this program was highly spoken about). throughout the semester I started to notice certain little things like eyeing me up and down, if i was sitting in front he’d position himself by me so i’d have his crotch right there.. ew. these little things happened throughout my freshman and sophomore year.

in my junior and senior year i started working for the program (not actual working i just had a position)things started to look a little more suspicious. as a teenager who was completely in love with him, i didn’t see anything wrong, i mean.. he was giving me attention, cared for me, supported me, and complimented me! that’s all i wanted from him anyways.. right?? there’s nothing wrong with being poked, or tickled, having your pants pulled, choked, have sexual conversations with you, carry you forcefully, or say out loud i’m his girl, etc. i thought we developed this relationship where he fully trusted me and we could always go to one another for any reason. i thought he was very playful and everyone thought the same thing too. so again, didn’t see anything wrong.

during a parent teacher confidence that i did not attend, he told my mom that i am very beautiful and of course i took that as a compliment. little did i know lol

anyways, we had a senior party and decided not to go but had to pick up a project i had left in the office since i didn’t want to carry it around. i walked and i saw him out of my peripheral vision coming out of the restroom. i hurried so i didn’t have to talk to him but he ran to me and asked why i didn’t go to which i responded i was socially anxious (im not) and he grabbed me by the neck with both hands, placed himself next to my ear and whispered “you’re not anxious around me” i felt awkward but i moved on. he’d lock me in the same room as him and he’d give me family sized candy every time lmao, he was jealous of the other instructor giving me things so he’d gift me stuff too, he would tell me that he loved me randomly and i was weirded out but i still said i loved him too. ya’ll i didn’t do anything to get his attention he straight up did it himself, yes i enjoyed my time with him and all for four years and loved him like an academic dad and yeah i also loved him romantically but i never put myself out there to get his attention.

i got my first phone my senior year, my parents were strict but hey i didn’t complain at all. the morning after getting it, he saw me with my phone and said “you don’t have my number huh? leave your number on top of my desk please” i never gave it to him since my first period bell rang which made me forget. i’m so thankful for that bell!

we had to create a twitter for school but i made it my personal twitter and we all followed each other and all which was fun, but then he would reach out to me. after i graduated, he’d talk about having beers, or him scaring me in the dark, he’d be jealous about my bf BUT none of that beats the text he sent me..

“I love your shoes”

“what shoes? lol”

“sorry i meant your legs”

“my legs?”

“yeah your legs are sexy”

“oh”

he has never seen my legs because i was insecure about them but after meeting my bf, i started changing and felt so confident about myself so thats when the perv took a liking to them. he’d tell me i looked mature for my age, ever since i started high school and looked so good. 😔

i changed my twitter, pfp, bio, header, privatized my account and he even told me he saw that. i freaked tf out. but i sent him a long ass message and he apologized saying he didn’t mean it like that.. how tf like what did you mean then?????

after all that happened in december 2020, i dreamed of everything that had happened to me.

AND THEN I REMEMBERED…

my freshman year i got called into the office and it was weird because i was never called into the office before like EVER. i went and saw my first period classmate and asked what it was about and it was about the program. i got called into the room by this lady and kept asking questions if i ever got touched by the perv or the other two men. have they ever been present when measuring the attire we have to wear. have they made any remarks about my body. you know, just creepy shit men do and get reported and want to know the details. after that it all made sense.

anyways after that i blocked him and didn’t see him again and it’s almost 6-7 years since i graduated.. my sibling is in hs rn and have seen the perv but there is no contact. he stares at me from a far, or pretends not to look at me. but yeah.

my point is, be careful. you just never know what kind of men they are. the potential issues may arise if something does happen. keep it on the lows. i’m in my mid 20’s and i like a chemistry researcher lol but i admire him and just want him to look at me and if he speaks to me, cool, if he doesn’t, cool too. idk maybe if you’re going through something similar to what i went through, im here to talk no need to feel ashamed or anything. ☺️💗

if anyone wants my twitter dm me!!! 🫶🏻

[alchemist-lyssa]

Oohhh final words generator, lets see....

Right after Leander kisses her lmao then strangles her

The MC retaliation, get his toxic ass <3

Ais found dead in the woman's bathroom for being a perv uwu

Vere trying to get you out of the Senobium, i make myself sad :'(

Mhin probably cradling MCs body after accidentally murdering them in Birb Form (and then the Senobium executes him because you two snuck in where you shouldn't be oooohh)

Kuras what freaky angel shit you doin??? What monster are you fighting??? U messin with the veil between worlds again old man??