#regal T Shirts

[boldeteech]

"Regal Glow - Christmas Peacock"- Exclusive T-Shirt for Boys, Girls, Men & Women Racerback Tank Top

[roostercrowned]

I put off listening to Buckkeep Radio but now I have like 3 illustration projects I'm working on that require something engaging to listen to and hey this is cute and fun. see I'm a Prancing Pony Podcast listener so I was imagining a close reading that would expose me to long passages from the text and completely derail my work by making me cry. but uh. I guess we'll see when (IF) I reach Tawny Man

[camscendants]

Me waiting for the “new shirts we’re all getting” my manager told me about to come in so I can finally have a legit shirt instead of the uncomfortably tight t shirt they gave me:

[terminator-product-art]

[luxurychristmaspudding]

summary: after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy. joel miller fucks.

pairing: young!joel miller x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

reader has hair and wears dresses, no other descriptions or name.

wc: 7.2k

an: for @schnarfer. my favourite hot priest, i worship in your church <3

Joel went out looking for trouble that night.

Hair curling at the nape of his neck, a beer sweltering in his hand as beads of sweat carved their way down the strong line of his back. T-shirt sticking to his skin, tension wound tight in his shoulders, thick in every muscle, every strand of sinew after work. 

Revelling in the feeling of how the weight of the day lifted the more he drank, the more he relaxed, feeling his smile get wider the more he loosened up in the crowded bar. Freshly thirty five, another year in hand. Tommy buying the shots, introducing him to every new face that walked into the steaming, heavy swell of wood and linoleum, every stranger who leant against the tacky bar, every pretty girl who flicked their hair and batted their eyelashes. 

He’s laughing - held flung back, chest heaving - harder than he has in a long time. Dancing in a way so unlike how he dances with Sarah in the kitchen, welcoming the heavy, slow grind of hips against his own, breathless against a sweet smelling neck. It’s hot and it’s loud on this Friday night in Austin, and he loves it.

Not quite basking in the attention of being the birthday boy, but shouldering the stream of conversation that Tommy directs his way nonetheless. Cheeks flushed pink as he’s hauled up on to the bar top, clumsy, unsure where to look as the bartender encourages him to stand in full view of the crowd. The whole bar, oscillating with colour and light and sound, roaring into a raucous chorus of happy birthday, beckoned by the chime of the bell by the till.

The spectacle of it all makes him look to the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest, makes him laugh again, watching these people, many strangers, cheer and sing for him. 

He holds his beer to his chest through the first part of the song, cheeks tight with a smile. His eyes swivel to the corner of the dancefloor on the downturn of Joel… catching the flicker and flare of a pair he recognises, scanning your face on the refrain - happy birthday - heart dropping confusingly low in his chest, the world taking a sticky beat as his blood halts and begins to rush again - to you.

He’s not seen you here before. Much more used to seeing you coming and going from your father’s house - bright smile, wicked eyes. Moved back home after spending some time out west when you’d finished your Masters program, always happy to chat for a little longer if you were where he was. Interesting and interested - he’s been regaled by tales of you from your father - the man who’s been overseeing safety on Joel’s latest job site - and listened to more directly from you, lip caught between his teeth as he bit back amusement at the things you didn’t want your dad to know.

Your father is a good man. Kind, supportive. So proud of you in the way he talks that Joel’s taking blueprints for raising Sarah. And you - you. Joel tries to think of you in ways he thinks of other colleagues or acquaintances. Smart, creative, perceptive. Patient, generous with your time and energy when entertaining neighbours at cookouts. Any other thoughts creep in in the dead of night, and he’s quick to try and forget them by morning.

But this - you here, now - is entirely different. It could be the buzz of the tequila in his system, could be the hot blood in his veins, could be the giddy little flash of that smile you shoot him as you clap and whoop with the rest of the crowd, but his feet are itching to find you once he half hops, half clambers down off the bar, accepting claps on the back and other sentiments as he searches for you again.

But you’re gone.

Disappeared, into thin air. Like he imagined you in the first place.

He cranes his neck a little, twisting his head from side to side as if trying to loosen another tight muscle, trying to tamp down the damp disappointment he feels. 

Trying to remember how he tries to forget.

‘Happy birthday, cowboy,’ the words are breathless, squeezed through a smile.

The grin that creeps across his face is slow and wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he turns to face you.

‘Evenin’, darlin’,’ is his reply. Deep, coy, any idea of hiding his thoughts gone, buried. It’s his birthday, and you’re here. You and your sparkling eyes.

‘You gonna let me buy you a drink, or have you got a queue of ladies lining up to do that already?’

He laughs, and you feel the sound glimmer down your body, lighting every synapse, every receptor. You track his gaze as it drifts down your body and back up, spine straightening at his appraisal. 

Delicious thighs beneath the hem of your skirt, soft swell of your breasts above your neckline. 

‘Your daddy know you’re here?’ He asks, delighting in the way you scoff. 

‘My daddy knows I’m out tonight,’ you say, licking your teeth, eyes dropping to his mouth, ‘And he don’t care much about it. I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle myself.’

They’re big words for someone around ten years his junior, but he doesn’t doubt it. He’s heard your bartending stories, about your debates with fratboys. Something about your confidence, your self-assuredness licks a tongue of flame up his back. He bites his cheek.

‘Best buy me that drink, then.’

He went looking for trouble that night. 

And Jesus, he found it. 

Found it on the dancefloor, your soft body grinding against his. The heat and the sweat, how you moved your hips with his, how you’d giggled when he’d turned you around, pulling you flush against him. Your hands grasping for him, clutching at his thigh as you pressed firmly against the bulge growing at your backside, head tipped back, bliss etched across your face as you felt each other.

Found it in his truck when he dragged you outside under the pretence of giving you a lift home, found it when he rucked your skirt up on the backseat, when he pulled the top of your dress down. Inches of skin he had banished fantasies about to the back of his mind, revealed to him in the dim light of the parking lot. The sweat gleaming on your sternum, shining on your clavicles, your neck. He wishes, now, that he had taken more time to tell you how beautiful you looked, how smart you are, how funny, that first time, but the two of you had been too caught up in seeing, feeling, as much as possible. 

His knees had protested as he crammed himself onto the floor, wanting to be between those thighs, wanting to taste you. Pressing, gliding his fingers against your pussy over your underwear, watching you keen and beg, hands twisting tight in the material of your dress, then his shirt collar, then his hair. 

And that first swipe of his tongue when he’d pulled your underwear to the side, that first, most base knowledge of you. The sweet and sour, your smell, the way you became pliant, willing to have your thighs pushed up towards your chest. Quickly obsessed with the way you looked down at him, jaw slack, pupils blown, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Quickly obsessed with the way your pussy looked, puffy, needy, the way it leaked and clenched before him as he leant back to spit on it, how your head hit the headrest with a soft thump.

Too obsessed, everything about that night feeling too good as he lowered you down onto him, as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from coming too early, watching you bounce on his cock, listening to the way you moaned and panted and whimpered his name. The wet sounds of you fucking, the way he held you still, big hands on your waist as he bucked up into you. The way your noises, your breathing stuttered as he thrusted harder, as he dropped you lower. The fogged windows, low bass from the bar, how you clenched and fluttered around him as he wrung two orgasms from your pretty body before spilling himself inside you.

He’s been finding trouble ever since.

Finding reasons to help you grab drinks, bring out nibbles at your dad’s Halloween party. Finding excuses to have you backed up against the tool bench in the garage instead, his hips between yours, soft lips against chapped or your hand tight against your mouth to make sure nobody would find you. Heading back out into the garden with his cock still swollen, tucked into his black slacks, feeling your slick around its base still, your fake blood smeared on his dog collar, watching as you pressed your thighs together in your seat, knowing you could still feel him trickling out of you. He could hear your teasing through the glint in your eye - some priest you are, father.

Driving you home from the bar after a night of dancing around each other, after glances were snuck whenever they could be - over his brother’s shoulder, between your friends’ laughter. The crackle of electricity in the truck cab as the warm air threaded itself between you, your sparkling eyes, devious little laugh. 

Walking you to your door, keeping you safe, don't wanna disappoint your old man. 

Jamming his foot between the wood and the frame to come in when you told him he wasn’t home. 

The mornings when Sarah’s waking up, still sugar-high after a sleepover, in a house the other side of town. The mornings he’s awake first, drinking coffee at his kitchen table when you hop down the stairs in his t-shirt from the night before, sleep-stained and perfect. The mornings that start with you in his lap, with kisses pressed to temples, lips, necks, his wide palms snaking under the material, fiending warm skin, finding it, cradling it. The firm weight of your breasts in his palms, the pebbling of your nipples beneath his thumbs. The soft rock of your hips against his hardening length, his fingers reaching to pull your panties to the side, finding you soaked like that first night. How you whine and huff against his shoulder as he sinks one, two, three digits into you, as he twists them, pumps them, as he uses his thumb to toy with your clit. The wet patch you leave, darkening the grey tenting below you, the outline of him something you want to press your face against, nuzzle, mouth at until he’s begging this time. 

Mornings when he takes you apart deftly, until you hover above him, pulling his hard, leaking cock over the top of his sweatpants, savouring that delicious stretch around him, the way he thickens out at the base, the way the wiry hair there catches on your clit. When you can enjoy the way he holds you there afterwards, talking about your days ahead, nibbling at your ear as his cum slips from you along with his softening cock. 

All these moments, and they’re never enough.

Because despite how often they happen, how often he might be able to hold you, kiss you - you make Joel Miller feel like a fucking teenager. 

It’s been years since he’s woken up to the cooling evidence of a wet dream in his boxers. He’s having them nightly now in his thirties; sick and tired of waking up wet and aching and sticky, sick and tired of wishing it was you, not his hand, helping to solve the problem.

He wants you here so much more often than he does. The tip of his tongue on the evenings you call, sunlight fading through the window, orange on his sheets. He wonders, as you talk, what it would look like painted onto your skin. 

He wants Sarah to actually know how he feels about the woman who babysits her every so often, wants Tommy to understand the reason why he turns up smiling to the site every day. And he wants your father to know his daughter has found someone who’ll treat her right, who’ll hold her hand through the bad days and give her all he can to make her smile.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders whether you have, too. 

Whether you’d confess to your father the crush you have on the contractor, ask if he could put in a good word for you. There isn’t much between you - it would only take some careful wording, an evening where he can present the flowers he’s been dying to give you at your door.

He’s sure your father wouldn’t mind.

But this secret, the sneaking around - he can’t deny the thrill of it. Stolen touches, kisses, whispers in the moonlight. Quiet jokes between the two of you, the looks exchanged around others, the show of you putting your hand on his shoulder - can I get you anything else, Mr Miller?

You’ve only come close to being found out once. Just the once. By Tommy - who else could it have been? 

Tommy, who couldn't hide his delight when he found the underwear you’d left behind in Joel's truck one morning, wheezing with laughter as Joel stuffed your soft, cotton panties into his back pocket. His cheeks aflame, he swore under his breath that he’d kill his little brother if he ever flicked a woman’s underwear at him like that again instead of doing the right thing - kicking them under the seat and pretending he hadn’t seen anything. 

Between gasping breaths, Tommy had managed to make a good point. At least it wasn't Sarah who’d found them.

You gonna tell me who the lucky lady is, big brother?

He didn’t. Not yet.

It’s been so unbearably hot all day.

Too hot to work in the open air, and though Joel’s not grateful for the heat, he is grateful for the chance to stay at home. A chance to catch up on chores while Sarah basks in the AC at school, a chance to work his way through bills and invoices, fighting to keep his head clear of any thought of you and what you might be up to in weather like this.

He keeps his eyes carefully trained on numbers, figures, dates, unaware of the clock, unaware of the calls he’s missing. Only catches himself daydreaming when the lines start to blur.

He makes it to just past lunchtime when he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He knows the rattle of that engine, the heave of noise it makes as it turns off.

He stands from the table, blood racing in his chest.

‘God- motherfuckin’ shit,'

Joel lets the front door hang open behind him, folding his arms across his heart as you try and jam your wing mirror back in place.

‘You kiss your grandma with that mouth?’

You grin, flipping him off as you slam the door closed. The mirror sticks.

‘Yeah. Suck your dick with it, too,’

His lips quirk, watching as you stand with your hip against the front of your car, a box in one hand, the other shielding your eyes from the sun. Staring at each other, a little game you play. You watch his smirk grow, feeling the trickle of sweat down your spine.

‘There a reason why you’re here?’

You roll your eyes, like it should be obvious. And it is obvious, but -

‘Freezer’s fucked,’ you huff, and Joel raises an eyebrow. ‘Can I put them in yours?’

You hold the box up to him.

‘Popsicles?’ Joel frowns. You roll your eyes at him.

‘Please, Joel. They’re literally the only thing keeping me sane,’

He scratches at his jaw, pretending to contemplate.

‘I dunno, darlin’,’ he says, ‘The only thing? Surely that AC of yours is doin’ a fine job,'

You scoff at him, folding your own arms. 

‘That old piece a’ shit ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you know it,’

He chuckles, letting his arms drift to his sides.

‘Guess I can take care of ‘em for ya. Anythin’ else?’

You bite your lip, eyes glinting in the sun.

‘Can I come in?’ you ask. A slow, smug smile grows across Joel’s lips.

‘'N do what, exactly?’

You pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. His cock twitches.

‘Just wanna swim in the pool. Promise I won’t do nothin’ else, Mr Miller,’

‘Nothin’ else, baby?’ He says, lowly.

You shake your head, eyes wide. Picture of false innocence.

‘Nothin’ else,'

If there are two things Joel has come to know about you in the last year, it’s that you’re a great fuck, and a bad liar.

He steps back into the open door behind him, grinning as you skip past him into the hallway. He watches, snicking the catch and lock as you make your way into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door, finding a spot for your iced treats. He follows, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you stand in the cold air flowing from the appliance for a moment, your eyes closed.

He’s looking at your legs when you turn to speak to him, snapping to meet your gaze as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That ship sailed long ago. You grin at him.

‘Whatcha been doin’?’

He exhales, stepping closer.

‘Workin’,’

You hum, meeting him beside the kitchen table, surveying the stacks of paper.

‘Not too hard?’

‘Hard to, when I'm thinkin’ ‘bout you,’

You grin, twisting to look at him.

‘You sweet on me, Miller?’

He shrugs.

‘Bout time you noticed,’

His hands find your waist as yours make their way up his chest, his shoulders, winding around his neck.

‘I had my suspicions,’ you whisper, before pressing your lips to his. He smiles into it, parting his lips to invite you in, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

‘Missed you,’ you breathe, and he hums in response.

‘Missed you too, baby,’

You’re salty sweet; warm scent of your skin, your sun lotion, your perfume, your sweat. When he’s satisfied, done licking lazily into your mouth, exploring the taste of your lips, he moves to your neck. Laving kisses there, biting, sucking, nibbling as you sigh against him. He bites harder, earning a particularly needy whimper, hands moving to knead the flesh of your ass through your dress.

‘Joel,’ you murmur, ‘You’ll leave a mark,’

He hums, trailing kisses up your neck to the space behind your ear, along your jaw, before finally meeting your lips again.

‘Don’t care.’

He’s grasping your hips to turn you so you’re pressed against the table, your back to his firm chest. You can’t help the gasp, the giggle that floats from you as he tugs you closer, as you feel the heft of him pressed into the small of your back. You shift your hips, brushing against him, slow and purposeful.

Joel groans - a long, drawn out, hungry sound. He pulls your hips tighter to him, moving against you just the same before his hands slide up to your breasts, holding the weight of each in his palms, squeezing and rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and he hums approvingly as you begin to grind against him in earnest. He pauses only for a moment to pull your straps from your shoulders and work your dress down to expose your tits, and then he’s on you again. Teasing and stroking and pinching, your hand gripping his forearms as you huff and whimper, caged between him and the table. You moan his name, bleeding every once of want you feel into it, hoping he can hear just by the sound of your voice how wet you are for him.  

‘Dreamt about ya last night,’ he rasps in your ear, and you flash him a dazzling, breathless smile.

‘Oh yeah? ‘N what’d ya dream about, cowboy?’

You whine as he crowds you, leaning down to suck another bruise into the junction between your neck and shoulders, whiskers bristling against your skin, hands hot and heavy everywhere they can find purchase.

‘Much rather show you,’ he rumbles.

You nip your bottom lip between your teeth, shooting him a wicked look over your shoulder. His eyes crinkle, and as he spins you to face him again, he moves to pinch your jaw, just rough enough to curb your inevitable wise ass response. He watches as your eyes glaze a little, soft slump of your shoulders as he gives your head a little shake. His cock is achingly hard.

‘Upstairs. Now,’

As soon as he backs away from you, you’re sprinting towards the stairs with a shriek. Joel is close behind, and you can feel the heat of him, enough to set your heart galloping in your chest. Something primal urging space between you, something base wishing there was none.

You clatter through his bedroom door, whirling to face him - bare chest heaving, lips curled. He pauses in the doorway - so tall and broad, so imposing - shoulders straining against his t-shirt, curls frayed from your hands. He steps in, swings the door shut behind him, and then he’s closing the space easily - one, two, three - gathering you in his arms until you’re on tiptoes, pawing at the flesh of your ass through your sundress. Obsessed with it. You on him, him on you.

He needs this like air.

His breath is hot against your lips, mouth needy and wet as you open yourself to him. He licks into your mouth, kissing you like it’s something you need to take from him, like there’s something you need to understand through the action alone. He fiddles with the flimsy material of your half-removed sundress, pulling at it a little.

‘Take this off,’ he growls, nipping at your lips. 

You step back from him as you push it past your hips, the fabric pooling to the floor in seconds, leaving you in your panties. He bites his lip, murmuring a fuck before stripping himself of his t-shirt. Glorious tan chest, slightly lighter than his strong arms, shoulders seeming even broader, smattering of hair that leads down past his navel, his smooth belly, the constellations of freckles that join beneath your fingertips.

You busy your fingers with his belt as he cups your face once more, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your cheekbones. You’re giggling, trying to see what you’re doing through the blur of his face and hands, but then his palms are moving lower, groping at your breasts again, swiping his thumbs against your taught nipples, groaning against your mouth as you dip your hand past his unfastened belt and fly, into his boxers to cup his silken skin.

‘How’d that dream go again?’

Joel smiles against your mouth, giving a harsh twist to each peaked bud before beginning to push his jeans further down.

‘Kneel,’ he commands.

You drop to your knees in one swift motion, biting your lip at him as he whips his belt from its loops and throws it to the corner of the room. Your eager fingers curl under the waistband of his jeans, inching them and his underwear down. 

‘Don’t know how you’re wearing jeans in this weather -’

‘Cos I knew you’d be here some point to take ‘em off me,’

You smirk, blinking up at him through your eyelashes.

‘Who, me? I don’t know what kind of girl you take me for, daddy, but…’ You’re chewing your cheek to try and temper your look of amusement, but Joel gives in immediately. Goofy smile, all teeth, eyes crinkling at the edges. He cups your jaw as you wrap your hand around his base, pulling him out of his underwear, soft black material barely holding him in. 

His body moves with the first pump of your tight fist, the swirl of your thumb when you reach the head, spreading the pearl of precum beading there as he hisses. Thick and pulsing in your hand, velvety smooth, you trace its lines, veins with a delicate finger, press a kiss to his tip. Joel’s nostrils flare.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, and that smirk tugs at his lips again.

‘I say you could touch it?’

You roll your eyes, quirking your head at him.

‘Didn’t think you had to,’ you shrug, ‘Kinda comes with the territory of tellin’ me to get on my knees -’

He scoffs.

‘Alright, smart ass,’ tangling his fingers in your hair, ‘Make me proud.’

You smile broadly, before inching closer, moving your mouth with your hand to chase down his length. You always know how to shut him up, and right now, the sight, the sound, the feel of you taking him all on the first try makes him fucking dizzy.

Hot and wet, the ridges of the roof of your mouth like satin around his cock, jumping as it hits the back of your throat and further, twitching again as you hum around him, opening your eyes - doe-like, watering already, the pinch in your brows telling him what you need to hear.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Good fucking girl,’

It’s the encouragement you need, moaning again as you pull back to the tip, taking him back in again as you bring one hand up to scratch at his thigh, the other moving from his length to his balls, cupping them softly, squeezing, rolling, and he’s on fucking fire. If there was ever a chance he was going to hell before, he’s sure the way you make him feel will send him there regardless.

You’re taking it slow, steady, making him feel every inch of your mouth as you moan and breathe, so intense that he can feel his tip heating - a kind of overstimulation - as he lets little moans slip more freely from his lips. Sighs and mutterings, breathless praise, wrecked groans as you start to move faster, jaw falling open. A steady stream of salt on your tongue, the taste making you keen for him, press your nose to the skin above his cock, making you forget anything outside the taste of him in your mouth. The hand on his thigh moving to work his length as you pay special attention to his head, your hips bucking unconsciously. His stomach jumps, lungs heaving as he massages your crown, as you kitten lick and swirl your tongue down the vein on the underside, rewarded with a sharp, wanton gasp as you pull back to slap him against your tongue. 

You watch as his pink tip flushes a darker shade, as it dribbles even more, feeling him jerk in your hand. Spellbound, slack-jawed at the way you take him, at the way you want him, like the taste and the pressure is never enough. How you always need more, more, more, and he’s getting closer, closer, closer -

He pulls you off with a deep, guttural groan - missing your mouth the minute it’s gone, resisting the temptation to shove himself back past your lips and come down your throat. 

You gaze up at him, pouting, straining against the hand in your hair. 

‘What? Didn’t I make you proud, cowboy?’

He tightens his grip, tips your head further to meet his gaze.

‘Bed,’ he commands, relinquishing his hold, ridding himself of his remaining clothes as you do yours, clambering up onto his bed, settling yourself on your knees again, wiggling side to side, your wide eyes rapt, wired. Chin wet, chest heaving, fingers twitching in your lap, he makes his decision almost instantly. Steps forwards, fingers brushing against the inside of your knee. Your legs part automatically, and he follows the contour of soft skin in the inside of your thighs right to the very top, no grace in the way he swipes his fingers through your folds, collecting the wetness there. And there’s so much of it, so much you feel proud of the way his eyes darken when he feels it.

‘What’s this, baby?’ He coos, repeating the motion as you whimper, as your shoulders hunch and your chin tips down. He lifts it with a finger and thumb, before cupping your face. You nuzzle into the touch, eyes hungry. ‘Oh, pretty girl,’ he murmurs, smiling again, ‘This happen while you were down on your knees sucking daddy’s cock?’

You snort softly, forehead knocking against his as he crowds closer.

‘Fucker-’ you start, but it’s cut off by your gasp as he easily slips in two thick fingers. He tuts.

‘Try again,’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, ‘Fuck yes, it did,’

He kisses your nose, pumping the digits slowly.

‘Gonna have to do something about that then, aren’t we?’

‘Please,’ you breathe, and he removes his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with another groan, tasting you - fuck. 

‘Hands and knees, baby,’ he says roughly, and you obey.

He pushes you forward so your chest is pressed into the sheets, nipples catching on the fabric, sweat soaking, cooling against the bed. Your breath catches in your throat - good girl, like this - and he’s pulling your hips up towards him, gripping the flesh at the backs of your thighs to spread you. Your knees slide, pliant with the need that scorches through you, and you press your cheek into the duvet, trying to angle your head so you can watch him watching you. 

And fuck, is he watching you. Eyes blown, lips bitten, a depraved intensity settling in the way his jaw flexes. You bunch your hands into fists on the cotton, shuddering as his palms run over your curves - hips, waist, hips, ass, thighs - before they stop, parting you for him again. You can’t help the way you present yourself to him, the way your hips tilt when air meets your bare cunt.

‘Atta girl,’ he mumbles, ‘Look at all that. You makin’ a mess f’me, baby? This pretty little pussy achin’ for what I wanna give her?’

You muffle your response, so fucking desperate, against his sheets, clutching the material tighter. He swipes both his thumbs through your folds, tracing the seam of your cunt, spreading the slick there to shine against your skin, teasing one digit at the entrance of your hole, the other inching its way - agonisingly - towards your clit. You throb, and he watches a bead of slick dribble down your folds, grinding himself against the bed as his cock jumps.

‘Is she, baby?’

You gasp, turning your head to him again. His eyes meet yours, dark, burning.

‘Yes,’ you half-moan, half-sob.

He hums in response, before turning back to your spread cunt. The thumb making its way towards your clit disappears, and you scrunch your brows together in disapproval, mouth working around a strangled please- before the sensation is replaced by his warm breath, then his firm tongue as he licks you from your clit to your hole. 

The cry that forces its way past your lips is strangled, choked, stuck in your throat as you clench around nothing at the contact.

‘Oh, fuck -’

And he chuckles against you, at the way your legs almost give out, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in an effort to hold you upright. You squeeze your eyes closed as he licks further - Joel, fuck - seeking your clit again, pulling it between his lips, dragging his face against you, like he needs it, like he can’t be apart from you.

He sucks a little harsher, and at the very same time, you feel the tip of his nose edge against your cunt. You moan, a fractured sound, and he pulls you towards him again, pressing the curve of it further inside, moving his tongue in circles. You’re seeing fucking stars.

Breath shuddering out of you in high pitched gasps, toes curling against the pressure that builds so quickly already in your gut, unable to move, to find any relief as he mouths at you - ravenous, cramming his face, his fucking nose, as far into you as he can, slurping and sucking, letting his teeth graze you gently when you try to protest - too much, close Joel, ‘m close, fuck -

He pulls back just as suddenly as he came near, swatting your ass quickly, once, twice, before leaning back in. You barely have time to register the sting, how it flares goosebumps up your back, what it means, drunk on the feel of his mouth on you. He begins the same onslaught, sucking, licking, groaning at your taste before the knot tightens again.

‘Yes, please, Joel, please -’

But he’s gone again, that same firm hand landing on your backside as he pushes himself up, loosening his arms from their vice grip on your thighs. 

‘Not yet,’ he rasps, ‘Not yet, gonna come on my cock, yeah? Get it nice and wet, show me how much you like it?’

You rock your forehead against his mattress, waves of pleasure rolling through you, cunt fluttering, still so exposed to him. You take too long to answer, moaning loudly as he taps his palm against your soaked folds. You jolt, hips moving instinctively, finding nothing. You shudder a breath.

‘Yes, wanna come on your cock, I need it daddy. Need you inside me, need you to fuck me, need to come, Joel, please -’

He pulls you by the hips to the edge of the bed again, one palm kneading the flesh there, the other sliding three fingers through your arousal, bringing the wetness to his cock, slicking himself up. You raise yourself up on your elbows, looking back at him, and Joel's heart almost gives out. That perfect little pout, the sweat dripping down your forehead, the bead of it that travels down the valley of your spine, shining against your skin. Every inch of you so perfect, glossy in the heat, his. The patch he loves so much at the bottom of your back, just before the swell of your ass, even better, impossibly, from this angle. 

He holds you still with the grip on your hip as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, and your breath stills in your lungs. That first press, the pressure, the beginning of the stretch, the way you contract around the promise of it, waiting, waiting -

Waiting.

Joel smiles, though you can’t see it. His body pulled taught, barely resisting the urge to push himself further into you. 

‘Go on, pretty girl,’ he says, ‘Wanna see you fuck yourself on it. Show me how bad you need it,’

You hear his breath catch the moment you begin to slide down, and then the room is silent, save for the buzzing of his fans and the sticky sound of you pulling him inside. When you reach his base, nestling against the hair there, you both let out an honest, drawn out groan of relief. You’re so full of him, the stretch welcome, pressing against a sweet spot deep inside you, just enough to leave you breathless. You can feel him pulse in time with your heartbeat, feel yourself grow wetter, begin to drip down your thighs as you breathe heavily, as his grip grows firmer, as his fingers slide to the crease between your thighs and your stomach.

‘Move, baby,’ he pleads, sounding just as wrecked as you feel.

So you do. Slow, methodical, so you can feel all of him. Every inch, every vein that makes you clench around him, that makes him groan low in his throat. You know he wants it faster, that this time he wants more, but you’re too busy indulging yourself, focused on the drag of him against your walls, showing him how he takes care of you, making sure he watches how he fills you, how well you take him. 

When the pressure begins to grow, when he coos at you a little more, you move with more force, fucking yourself back, your noises coming louder, higher pitched, while his grow lower, as he babbles to you more and more. 

‘Fuck, look at you, baby. Look at you. Take me so good, take me so deep. Perfect pussy, made f’me, ain’t she? So pretty baby, so pretty the way you stretch, feel so good, so good, darlin’, fuck -’

He’s almost too caught up in the way your ass recoils against his thighs, the way your pussy moulds itself to him, that he misses the tell tale signs of you about to come. The way you gasp, the way you tighten and throb, the way you fist the sheets around you, the way your body begins to lock up -

‘No. Not yet,’ he grits out, pulling his hips back, pulse pounding in his ears as he watches your body try to chase his before he grips you again, turning you onto your back.

You’re sobbing around your plea - please Joel, been so good, just wanna come around you, please baby - but he’s steadfast.

He wants to see your face when you let go. Wants to watch your eyes roll, wants to watch you arch, wants to see the way your stomach lurches -

You scrabble for him, slurring your words, so fucked out - please Joel please, please baby, god, I just need - as he arranges your legs so your knees are bent, so your pretty little pussy is exposed completely to him - need you, please fuck me - before he swipes his thumb against your clit again, just to hear your broken whine, the hiccuped sigh, the way your body twitches, so close.

He pauses, holds your thighs wide open before him, towering above you. You reach to skate a hand up his tan belly, fingers scraping through the hair there, the muscled lines leading down to his cock, enjoying the thrum of his heart beating through his skin before he knocks it aside, pursing his lips and spitting straight onto where you are connected.

It turns you half-feral, rearing up towards him as he speaks.

‘There we go, baby. This what we need,’

The first thrust in takes your breath away. 

And he doesn’t give you any chance to get it back.

He sets a punishing pace, feeding you his cock with dogged precision, consumed by how you look spread beneath him, with how puffy and slick and shiny your pussy is, how it splits around him. 

Thick heft of him sawing in and out, the way you clutch at him, sucking him back in, tighter and tighter each time, like your body is already missing him. So wet slick is smeared around your thighs, soaking Joel’s lap, leaking down into the cleft of your ass. He kisses you, slow and deep, gasping and panting against your lips. Guttural moans from him, needy little whimpers from you, the sloppy sound of pleasure. 

He breaks away from you when the kisses are splintered by gasps of air, fixing his mouth to your neck, inhaling deeply there, pressing his lips to your shoulder, lower, the top of your breast, your sternum, before closing them around your nipple. You keen as he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, hands flying from his flexing forearms to his hair, scratching his scalp, moaning his name, chanting it - Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

He sucks harder, tongue working around the flesh before he does the same to your other breast, fingers slipping down over the damp skin of your belly towards your sex, seeking that last nudge you need to send you flying over the edge.

Tighter, wetter, arching to meet his mouth as you gasp and plead - gonna come Joel, gonna come, please can I come, please, please -

You barely register his nod against your chest, barely hear him gasp ‘Give it to me baby, good girl, that’s it,’ before the flood overwhelms you, clawing through your body, ripping through you like flame. Your body tenses, jerks, hips stuttering against him, pussy throbbing as you cry out, pleasure flushing through you all the way to the top of your head. Aftershocks flare like fireworks behind your eyelids, hips moving frantically with his to chase the very end of your orgasm.

Joel watches, chest hot, stomach tightening with that tell tale taughtness - oh, shit baby, yeah, s'that good? - before his own eyes squeeze shut, his body faltering, pushing all the way up against your cervix as he pulses inside you, filling you with warmth, spilling himself until it begins to leak between your thighs.

He gives a couple of softer thrusts before he groans again, hearing you whimper, ears ringing, pulling out just to watch himself drip out of you. The sight makes him greedy, makes him press it back into you even as you hiss in protest, too sensitive. He looks up just as you crack an eye open, an arm swinging across your forehead.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ you mumble, a smile growing before he breathes a shy laugh at the ceiling. He loves the sound of your giggle as you watch him.

He crawls back up your body, ignoring how the heat begins to creep back in, become formidable again. He presses kisses to your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, and you thread your spare hand back through his hair, enjoying the way it looks, mussed by you.

His sweaty forehead presses against your sternum, laving affectionate, wet kisses there as you come down from your highs, panting in the warm air of the room. 

You continue to card your fingers through his damp curls, staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirs and spins above you. Your eyes flutter closed, content.

‘You’ll have to get Sarah from school soon,’

He grunts in acknowledgement, nuzzling into your ribcage, licking at the salty skin before nipping it between his teeth. You giggle, body lurching away slightly before it’s fixed in place by his wide palms at your hips. ‘And I have to be home before four,’

He groans, pressing a kiss to the underside of your breast.

‘Come over for dinner,’ he murmurs, ‘Tell your dad we're hangin’ out, gettin’ to know each other. I’ll grill some stuff. You bring some more of those popsicles,’ 

You snort at him, huffing something about how nothing will get grilled if you’re watchin’ me suck on a popsicle, even as your chest and cheeks heat, before he slumps on top of you, plush lips crushing against yours in a searing kiss, tongue licking into your mouth, setting you ablaze again beneath him. You moan as he moves to your neck, sucking and biting and bruising.

‘Come,’ he groans into your skin, ‘Promise you’ll come. I'll make it worth your while,’

You offer him a breathy laugh, a sure at the double entendre with sparkling eyes. Your back arches, hands gripping his biceps as he languidly moves lower, taking your nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the raw bud, grazing it with his teeth before sucking gently.

‘Joel -’ you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you wriggle beneath him, meeting his warm brown eyes as he looks up at you through his eyelashes. ‘We need to -’

He cuts you off with a sharp nip at the puckered flesh. He turns his head to the side, checks the watch he’s still wearing, and fixes you with a dark, hungry look.

‘Reckon there’s time to go again.’

[sunderwight]

scum villain fairytale AU where every night, the beautiful yet cruel peak lord Shen Qingqiu transforms from his regal self into modern nerd Shen Yuan (complete with physical and wardrobe changes).

to keep the secret of his transformations, Shen Qingqiu has taken to locking himself up at night. so every night for the past few weeks, Shen Yuan has awakened to find himself chained and kept prisoner in the bamboo house. since he can't ask anyone, he has no idea that he turns back into someone else come morning, he just thinks he's being drugged or something and that this is his entire transmigration experience -- a prisoner of someone he never sees or interacts with, presumably being fed and bathed while he's unconscious somehow since he hasn't died and doesn't stink, who also hasn't seen sunlight since all of this began.

anyway one day Shen Qingqiu gets distracted and doesn't do the chains up properly (qi deviation issues most likely), and Shen Yuan manages to escape just before dawn. he doesn't completely get away because Shen Qingqiu did set up a last ditch imprisonment array that teleports Shen Yuan back into the house before he can leave the property line, but he gets outside and he calls for help.

disciple Luo Binghe (out early because he got sent to do nine million chores all night and didn't sleep to begin with) sees this thin and obviously frightened young man (in chains!) break out of his master's house and plea for assistance, only to be swallowed up by what looks like some kind of sinister magical effect and vanish.

curiosity piqued, the next night, Luo Binghe masters some of his fear of his harsh shizun and sneaks over to the bamboo house. it takes a few nights more for him to actually work up the nerve to actually peek into one of the windows.

to his astonishment, he sees the young man obviously being held captive inside. what's going on? is it a demon? but then, why would Shen Qingqiu hold him captive instead of just killing him? Luo Binghe is still barely young enough to want to give his cruel master some benefit of the doubt, out of hope for his own prospects if nothing else, but this seems pretty fucked up. especially since the chained man is so pretty, and so scantily clad (shorts and t-shirt)...

anyway, Shen Yuan notices Binghe and starts calling out to him for help. but this frightens Luo Binghe off, because he doesn't know that Shen Qingqiu won't hear and come running. he feels badly though and eventually does go back, and after Shen Yuan assures him that no matter how he screams or begs for help he's sure no one will come (until Binghe, no one ever has), Luo Binghe cautiously stays put and starts talking to him. after a while the young disciple can only conclude that his master must be going down the mountain to spend his nights at the brothels. no one has seen him leave for such trips in months, but he must have discovered a way to do so more secretively.

Shen Yuan has figured out since long ago that he transmigrated, although he doesn't know the setting, so he knows he can't entirely explain his situation to this random teenager. he also knows that there's a chance -- though it seems remote -- that the boy has something to do with his captivity, and isn't just the innocent bystander he seems to be. but with little to loose he's more inclined to trust and hope that this might give him an opportunity to escape.

meanwhile Luo Binghe is still cautious that this strange man might be a demon of some kind, or a trap or test on Shen Qingqiu's part, so he doesn't give his real name or tell Shen Yuan anything about the sect. gradually he becomes convinced of Shen Yuan's sincerity, even though he still doesn't dare go against Shen Qingqiu or actually set foot inside the house.

time passes, and Luo Binghe's visits become more regular. despite the lack of rescue, even just having someone to talk to is such a massive improvement that Shen Yuan doesn't complain. before long he gets the impression that this boy's situation isn't even much better than his own, as he is constantly sporting some bruise or visible injury or another, and offhandedly describes a lot of treatment that sounds frankly horrific as if he thinks it's simply normal. he figures he's in a cultivation setting and some kind of sect, though, and after a while he begins imparting tips and tricks and whatever he can think of to fill the silence with his mystery visitor.

this is eventually how he figures out that he's trapped in the world of PIDW, even if he doesn't quite figure out where or who with yet. because Luo Binghe describes some aspects of cultivation that would only apply to that hack job the author made of cultivation systems. which is a good thing because it lets Shen Yuan offer more specific advice, and also begin to try and make plans.

if he's imprisoned by cultivators, then one day Luo Binghe will probably arrive as part of his eradication of the sects. maybe Shen Yuan can beg mercy from him?

this becomes such an important fantasy that Shen Yuan begins to describe it to his little visitor, playing it off that he sometimes gets "visions" (and trying to help the poor kid some more, given that both of them are in danger in a stallion novel where no man is liable to live long in the protagonist's orbit).

at first Luo Binghe thinks that Shen Yuan has somehow figured out who he is, when the man begins to tell him stories of some great person of destiny who has the same name as him. but by then he's hooked so even though it's risky, he still keeps going back to the bamboo house at night, and after a few weeks he concludes that Shen Yuan really doesn't seem to realize that the name of his imagined demon emperor has anything to do with his visitor. he even describes Luo Binghe's own background and troubles to him, but offhandedly, as if he is just picking up loose details about someone else from a story or dream. even when Shen Yuan observes that the Luo Binghe of his stories has some similarities to the Luo Binghe outside the window, his does this in such a way that it just seems to emphasize that he has no idea that these "visions" he's started having are connected to his visitor. or that the villain Shen Qingqiu he describes is in fact his captor.

Luo Binghe guesses that these visions might be the reason Shen Qingqiu has locked Shen Yuan away. perhaps he is some kind of magical creature, if not a demon, and cultivators can benefit from stealing energy or blood or... other unsavory things from him, although Luo Binghe doesn't think Shen Yuan's predictions sound very accurate. he's still trying to figure it out when, in fact, one of those predictions comes true.

Shen Qingqiu declares that he's going into seclusion, and disappears into the lingxi caves. with him he takes a large box (big enough to hold a man and with vents on the sides), that he moves and handles himself, even though secluded cultivation doesn't usually call for a lot of luggage. from the box, just faintly, Luo Binghe imagines he hears the clink of chains. (Shen Qingqiu plans to lock himself into it every night.)

that night, when Luo Binghe goes to the bamboo house, he finds it completely empty. it's empty again the next night, too, no matter which windows he approaches. as the nights drag on he even grows bold enough to break into the bamboo house, but there's nobody inside.

Shen Qingqiu must have taken his prisoner with him into the caves. Luo Binghe cannot think of a reason to do that which is not nefarious, and he struggles to sleep each night, imagining terrible things that his cruel master could be doing to Shen Yuan as part of his efforts to improve his own cultivation. he can only pray that none of it proves fatal.

being locked in a box at night is pretty bad, but luckily one of the corners was kind of shoddily made, so Shen Yuan manages to get out of it after the second night. he's still chained and he can't leave the circle of an array Shen Qingqiu set up, but the cave is at least a change of scenery. Shen Yuan even feels inspired to attempt some cultivating of his own, although he worries that he's been moved to this weird place because someone caught his little visitor coming to the window, and he hopes that if so, no one has punished the boy (he knows that's a slim hope, given the kind of micro infractions his visitor has apparently been beaten over).

of course, there's a rampaging Liu Qingge qi deviating in the caves, so Shen Yuan gets to deal with that. Liu Qingge thinks he's having some kind of lingering fever dream when he gets rescued by some weird pervert at night, only to come to his senses and find he's being berated by a wild-eyed Shen Qingqiu instead.

Shen Qingqiu is not happy that Liu Qingge's rampage put him in proximity with his incredibly pathetic werewolf curse, the only relief is that the idiot seemed to be too out-of-his head from a qi deviation to remember most of it. and also apparently his "other self" saved the man's life, which Shen Qingqiu is just going to attribute to dumb luck. Shen Qingqiu is 100% convinced that this curse he's under is designed to get him killed or disgraced.

meanwhile, despite his fears about Shen Yuan's state, Luo Binghe does remember that the man told him about a demon attack that followed Shen Qingqiu going into seclusion. he's not sure what to expect, but somehow he isn't as surprised as he should be when Sha Hualing and her goon squad turn up. he is grimly terrified when the fighting tournament starts, and he sees the demon who matches the description of the one he's meant to fight and he can't imagine that working out in his favor... but Shen Yuan was perfectly adamant that despite the difficulty, Luo Binghe would win.

if he wins, does that mean the rest of it comes true? that Luo Binghe is a half heavenly demon, that he will one day become the strongest person alive, emperor of the three realms and owner of the largest harem ever to exist? the one person Shen Yuan seems to think might rescue him from his prison?

the idea of it (well, some of it) gets Luo Binghe through his fight. and then of course Meng Mo shows up, and Shen Yuan is pulled into the subsequent dream and figures out who is "mysterious visitor" really is and is kind of like, oh shit I gave Luo Binghe spoilers about his own destiny. shit. well. done is done...?

Luo Binghe is alright with most of it though. the Abyss sounds deeply unpleasant and he doesn't actually want any wives (so many nights spying on Shen Yuan lounging around in barely nothing and some chains have definitely led to some epiphanies on his part), but if Shen Yuan says he can survive it, he believes him.

and then he will rescue Shen Yuan. after the Abyss he's also completely sold on ruining and killing Shen Qingqiu too. there are no downsides and this plan cannot possibly go awry!

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: After a rainy rescue mission gone wrong (or right, depending on how you look at it), you and Crowe end up back at your cozy apartment—with a tiny, soaked kitten now claiming your couch. As the night settles in, horror movies roll, stolen glances linger, and the warmth between you two starts feeling a little too familiar.

Will Crowe finally drop his walls and let you in...

...or is he just gonna keep pretending there’s nothing there?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's (@fantasia-kitt) intentions.

Spoilers From Day 1 and Day 2--(More like Inspo lines)

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: jericho x afab! reader, friends to lovers?? Gender Neutral! Reader, Cuddling, Pillow talk, Fluff, then Smut, Making out, Heavy Touching, Neck kisses, dry-humping, moaning, praise (receiving and giving), Some hair pulling, and oral sex (giving).

The rain fell in relentless sheets, hammering against the pavement and turning the city into a glittering mosaic of slick streets and refracted light.

You and Crowe barely made it back to your apartment, soaked to the bone, arms laden with grocery bags. Crowe cradled something against his chest—a tiny, drenched kitten trembling within the warmth of his vest.  

“Here,” he said, his deep voice resonating with a softness that caught you off guard. There was a tender urgency in his tone as he carefully shifted the kitten into your hands. “This little one needs warmth.”  

You nodded without hesitation, setting the groceries down with a thud and immediately rifling through your closet. Old t-shirts, a scarf you hadn’t worn in years—it all piled into a makeshift nest inside an empty shoebox.

As you worked, Crowe watched in quiet approval, his tall frame silhouetted in the warm light of your apartment.  

The kitten let out a faint meow, curling into the soft fabric as though it had found sanctuary. Crowe crouched beside the box, his dark brown hair still damp and half-undone from the rain. Strands clung stubbornly to his sharp jawline, which he brushed aside with a graceful flick of his fingers.  

“You’re soaked,” you said, gesturing toward his clinging black button-up, which outlined his broad shoulders and hinted at the strong, lean frame beneath.

“Go shower before you catch a cold.” He hesitated, his deep blue eyes flicking to yours, searching for something unspoken. Then, with a small nod, he rose and disappeared toward the bathroom.  

When it was finally your turn, the hot water felt like heaven on your chilled skin. Steam wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, but it did little to chase away the vivid image of Crowe—his quiet care for the kitten, the rain tracing the contours of his face, the almost regal grace in his movements. He was magnetic, the kind of person you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried.  

When you emerged, bundled in an oversized hoodie and fleece shorts, Crowe was already seated on your couch. He’d traded his drenched clothes for a gray sweatshirt and sweatpants you’d lent him.

The casual attire softened his presence in a way that caught you off guard. His long hair, now untied and damp, framed his face with unintentional elegance, every strand catching the glow of the lamp behind him.  

The plan was to watch a movie—something simple, a classic slasher with predictable jump scares. But your attention refused to cooperate. As the ominous soundtrack droned on, your eyes kept drifting to him.

His profile was serene, his gaze distant yet intensely thoughtful. He shifted slightly, and you became acutely aware of the small space between you.  

“Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was low, and intimate, as if the question wasn’t meant to be shared with the world. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”  

You blinked, startled by the question and the way his attention focused solely on you. “Another one of your trivia questions, Crowe?” you teased, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest. Stretching your arms casually, you laughed lightly, but he didn’t respond in kind.  

Instead, he leaned closer, the air between you charged with something unspoken. His breath brushed your cheek, sending an involuntary shiver through you.  

“Wh-why don’t you answer first?” you stammered, the words barely audible.  

He chuckled a low, warm sound that made your skin prickle. Then, to your surprise, he rested his head on your shoulder, the weight of him both grounding and electrifying. Before you could muster a response, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Your breath hitched, and you prayed he couldn’t hear the erratic drumming of your heart.  

“Dodging the question, huh?” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement but carrying an undercurrent of something more profound.  

“Well…” He paused as if searching for the right words.

“If I could have anything in this world… I’d want more time. More time to be with you. More time to spend like this.” His voice softened, tinged with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

“Kind of selfish, huh?”  His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, and your chest tightened at the sight. His gaze was downcast, his usual confidence replaced by something raw and unguarded. Though he smiled faintly, it didn’t reach his eyes.  

At that moment, you didn’t know whether he was speaking to you or himself, but the desperation in his expression was unmistakable. And it left you breathless.  

“You’re staring,” Crowe murmured, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smirk. Your cheeks burned, the heat spreading up your neck as you realized how obvious you’d been. “Your hair’s long,” You blurted out, instantly regretting the flat, unpolished observation. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, betraying the nervousness.  

Crowe raised a brow, his fingers lazily trailing up to brush through the loose strands grazing his collarbone. The motion was unhurried, almost calculated. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity but mostly playful provocation.  

“No! No, it’s…” You stumbled over your words, your voice dropping to a softer register as your gaze lingered on his hair, the rich brown strands catching the light. “It’s nice,” They finally said, the admission almost shy.  

Crowe chuckled, a low, velvety sound that sent a flutter through your chest. “Just nice, huh?” he said, his amusement laced with challenge. His gaze swept over your face, reading your every reaction as if it were a game he’d already mastered. “Not beautiful? Stunning? Majestic like a warrior’s mane after a victorious battle?”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to play off the embarrassment. “I wouldn’t go that far…” You mumbled, your voice barely audible as they looked away.  

He laughed again, the sound brighter this time, the sight of his smile drawing your attention back to him. You were captivated, the world narrowing to just Crowe at that moment. His movements were subtle but deliberate as he leaned closer, the distance between them shrinking.

His voice dipped to a low murmur that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “But what if I said I want you to go that far?”  

As he spoke, his hand moved, fingers brushing just barely against the edge of yours where they rested in your lap. The contact was featherlight, yet it sparked like static electricity, sending a straight jolt. You froze, your breath hitching, the heat in your cheeks now rivaling the pounding in your chest. Crowe’s eyes, gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, locked onto yours.  

“Can I…?” Your voice wavered, your hand hovering uncertainly in the air between them.  

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his intrigue evident in the slow curl of his lips. “What is it you want to do, hm?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. His steady gaze never left yours, his stillness almost daring you to close the distance.  

You hesitated, your hand trembling as it lingered in the space between them. Your heart raced, your breathing shallow as they searched his face for any sign of hesitation. Instead, his expression softened, and with a slow, almost imperceptible nod, he gave his silent permission.  

Your fingertips brushed against his hair, hesitant at first. The strands were softer than they’d imagined, slipping between your fingers like silk. You exhaled a shaky breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding. “I just… wanted to feel it,” they murmured, your voice a quiet admission.  

Crowe’s eyes closed briefly as if savoring the light touch. A subtle shiver ran through him, but the smile tugging at his lips was unmistakable. When he opened his eyes again, they were locked onto yours, their intensity making your pulse quicken. "Satisfied?" he asked softly, though the teasing glint in his eyes suggested he already knew the answer.  

"Is it as majestic as I described it?" Crowe’s voice carried a blend of playful mischief and genuine curiosity, his dark eyes twinkling as he watched you.  

Your hand continued its gentle motion, fingers gliding through the soft strands of his hair, your touch almost reverent.

The faint blush creeping across your cheeks betrayed you otherwise calm demeanor. You tried to focus on the rhythmic motion of your hand, but the sensation—his hair softer than you’d expected—was strangely grounding and intoxicating all at once.  

Your breath hitched as you felt the weight of his gaze on you, an intensity that seemed to see more than you were ready to reveal. Still, his playful tone softened the tension, coaxing you to respond. "It’s... softer than I expected," You admitted, your voice barely louder than the whisper of the rain against the windows.  

Crowe’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Smoother, you say?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. He leaned in, ever so slightly, his breath ghosting across your cheek.  

"Just how soft did you expect it to be, hm?" Your heart stuttered; senses heightened, catching the faintest details—the warmth radiating from him, the subtle scent of his cologne—close to blueberries mixed with something uniquely Crowe.  

Your fingers trembled as they brushed the strands of his hair framing his face, the silky texture tantalizing against your skin. Crowe’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring your touch. "Does it bother you to keep it this long?" You ventured, voice tentative, almost fragile in the intimacy of the moment.  

He opened his eyes, meeting yours with a softness "No," he murmured. "But sometimes... it gets in the way while I’m running errands around the building.”  

You felt the corners of your lips curve slightly, a tiny, conspiratorial smile. "You always be working and take care of everyone else… even me.” You mentioned, your voice quiet yet firm. "Let someone take care of you for once."  

Your words seemed to catch him off guard. His gaze darkened—not with anger but with a vulnerability so raw it made his breath hitch. Slowly, his hand reached up, fingers roughened by life’s demands, brushing against your cheek with a tenderness they hadn’t expected.  

"I’m not used to that," he admitted, the words heavy with unspoken meaning. His eyes searched yours, as though seeking assurance. "I don’t... usually let myself be taken care of."  

The weight of his confession settled between them. You found yourself unable to look away. Your free hand came to rest on his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt soft beneath your fingers. You traced idle patterns there, feeling the heat of his skin just beneath the surface, grounding yourself in his presence.  

"Why not?" You asked softly, your voice like a gentle breeze coaxing the truth from him.  

Crowe’s gaze flickered down, watching the slow, deliberate movements of your fingers as though they held answers he didn’t yet have. He hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly in thought. "I’m... not sure," he confessed, his tone contemplative. "I guess I’ve always been the one to look after others. It’s just what I know."  

His honesty hung between them like an unspoken promise, and for a moment, time seemed to pause. You let the silence stretch, your hand still tracing circles on his shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned in just enough for your forehead to graze his, your voice a whisper that barely bridged the gap.  

"Then maybe it’s time you let someone teach you."  

Crowe’s eyes flicked back to yours, locking onto your gaze. There was a flicker of surprise and uncertainty in his expression as if the very idea of someone wanting to take care of him, let alone you, was an entirely foreign concept. And yet, it carried a strange allure, something that stirred deep within him. He didn’t speak at first, his silence hanging between them like an unspoken question. 

Finally, he gave a small, tentative nod.  

“You… want to?” he asked, his voice tinged with both wonder and disbelief. His brow furrowed, his cheeks warming with an unmistakable blush. “You’d want to… take care of me?” His voice softened further, almost shy. “Like how? What… what are you gonna do?”  

You tilted your head, lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. His earnestness, the vulnerability in his question, made your heartache most sweetly. You let the moment linger, the air thick with unspoken emotions, as if to let him absorb the gravity of his trust in you.  

Your hand, which had been resting lightly on his shoulder, began to move in slow, deliberate strokes. Your fingertips brushed across the fabric of his shirt before traveling to the base of his neck, where they lingered, tracing slow, deliberate circles against his skin. The heat of your touch sent a shiver down his spine, his breath catching in his throat as his body instinctively leaned into the sensation.  

“How about…” You murmured, your voice was soft and soothing, almost like a lullaby. “…you let me decide that?”  

Crowe swallowed hard, his mind racing with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue. The thought of relinquishing control was daunting, almost terrifying. And yet, the softness in your voice, the gentleness of your touch, coaxed something in him to let go. He hesitated only for a moment before nodding again, this time with a hint of more certainty.  

“All right,” he said quietly, his voice laced with surrender. “I… I’ll let you decide.”  

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, at the quiet admission that he was willing to trust you in a way that seemed so out of character for him. Crowe, the ever-composed, always-in-control student council leader, allowing himself to be cared for—it was a rare, precious moment.  

You adjusted your position slightly, your movements are fluid and intentional. Your hand on his neck urged him to lean back against the couch as you shifted closer. “Relax,” You whispered, encouraging yet firm. Your other hand came up to gently push him back, just enough for him to rest more comfortably.  

His eyes darted to yours, seeking reassurance, before he finally allowed himself to recline. His shoulders sagged slightly as the tension began to flow away. You shifted beside him, your thigh brushing against his as they leaned in closer, your presence grounding him.  

“Close your eyes,” You instructed.

He obeyed, his lashes fluttering shut. The world around him faded into darkness, leaving only the sensation of your touch and the faint rustle of fabric as you adjusted yourself once more. Your fingers continued their soothing motion at the nape of his neck, and he felt your legs shift as you moved deliberately.  

Before he could fully register the change, your thigh slid over his lap, your weight settling as you straddled him. The closeness, the intimacy of your position, sent a rush of warmth flooding through him. He inhaled sharply, his hands instinctively moving to rest at your sides, though his touch remained hesitant, unsure.  

You leaned in, breath warm against his cheek, lips hovering just near his ear. “Just let me take care of you,” You murmured, your voice low and soft, a seductive blend of promise and reassurance.  

Crowe exhaled shakily, his body betraying his need to resist, yet failing. He could feel himself yielding, the last threads of hesitation unraveling in your presence.  

Your lips brushed against his ear, a fleeting caress that sent shivers cascading down his spine. You shifted, pressing your body closer as you straddled him fully, their closeness intoxicating. He could feel your heat, your heartbeat steady against his, as you moved with deliberate intention. Your fingers trailed gently along his jawline, your touch light as air but carrying an electrifying weight.  

"Let go," You whispered again. 

Crowe’s hands, which had been gripping your sides in an instinctive bid for control, faltered. They trembled slightly before slipping away entirely, falling to rest in his lap as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations they was awakening. “I…” he began, his voice thick and strained, but the words caught in his throat.  

“Please?” You asked, tilting your head as your lips found the curve of his neck. You pressed the faintest kiss there, your warm breath fanning across his skin. Slowly, deliberately, you began your descent, lips tracing the line of his neck with tender persistence. You paused just long enough to let him feel every lingering kiss, every fleeting brush of your mouth, before moving lower.  

The tension in his body craved and flowed with every touch. He tensed as your lips found the hollow at the base of his neck, then relaxed again as they pressed a kiss just above his collarbone. You smiled against his skin, sensing the shiver that coursed through him.  

Your hands moved in tandem with your lips, sliding from his jaw to the nape of his neck, your fingers threading gently through his hair. “Just feel,” They murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as they continued your path, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses along his chest.  

Crowe’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your movements. Every kiss, every touch, seemed to peel away another layer of his guarded composure, leaving him bare and vulnerable before you. He closed his eyes tightly, surrendering completely to the unfamiliar yet exhilarating flood of sensations.  

You paused for a moment, lips hovering just over his sternum. You looked up at him, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping as you took in his expression—the furrow of his brows, the slight parting of his lips, the way his head tilted back just slightly. He was yours at this moment, completely and utterly.

"You’re doing so well," You whispered against his skin, pressing another kiss to his chest. "Just keep letting go." 

His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants, knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. It was the only anchor he could find as he surrendered to the sensations flooding him, a steady burn that spread through his chest and pooled in his lower stomach. His breaths came in shallow bursts, and his body quaked under the unfamiliar weight of letting go, of yielding control.

Every nerve was alive, hyper-attuned to your touch, and the soothing cadence of your voice was like a salve for the storm within him.  

He clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself. When your lips brushed the hollow of his throat, a tremor passed through him, sharp and undeniable. His hand twitched, releasing its grip on his sweatpants, fingers ghosting over the edge of your shoulder as if seeking permission to hold onto yours instead. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and finally managed to whisper your name.  

“Please…” His voice cracked, barely audible, but the sound carried a rawness that struck you. “…Wait a sec.” You paused, lips hovering just above his skin, breath warm against his neck.

A flicker of something gentle crossed your expression as you sensed the vulnerability emanating from him—the way his chest heaved, the fine tremor in his frame, and the palpable tension that coiled beneath your touch.  

"Yes...?" You murmured, tilting your head slightly to catch his gaze. Your eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and playfulness. He inhaled shakily, trying to form the words. His heart pounded against his ribs as though it sought an escape. "I can't…" he started, his voice rough, words tumbling out before he could stop them. "We can't… everything feels… intense."  

Your lips curved into a soft smile, a hand coming to rest over his chest, where his heartbeat thundered against your palm. "I know," They said, your voice like a quiet melody. Your lips brushed the pulse point in his neck, featherlight and deliberate. "It's a lot, isn't it? But you’re doing so well."  

He stiffened beneath you, his hands finally rising to hold your arms, steadying you but also grounding himself. "That’s not my point," he rasped, voice breaking slightly. He pulled back just enough to see your face. "I have loved you since the day I met you. I need to know how you feel—before we…" His breath caught, his gaze searching yours. "Before we go any further. I don’t want this to be… casual."  

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken emotions. You froze, his confession ringing in your ears. For a heartbeat, you didn’t move, your thoughts whirling. But then, warmth spread through your chest, melting the tension that had momentarily gripped you. Slowly, your hands rose to cradle his face, thumbs brushing gently against his cheekbones.  

"I…" You began, voice soft but trembling. "I feel the same. I have for so long, but I was scared. Scared to lose you, scared to ruin this… us."  

Relief washed over him, his hands falling to your waist as he let your words settle. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. "I never wanted to risk us either," he admitted. "But I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending."  

Your lips parted, a shaky laugh escaping as you leaned your forehead against his. "No wonder you kept finding excuses to spend more time with me," You teased, your voice low, tinged with affection. Your fingers trailed down to rest on his chest, "You can be selfish with me, Crowe. I’m yours, you know that. I’ve always been yours."  

His lips curled into a tender smile, the vulnerability in your voice and the weight of your words filling him with a kind of courage he hadn’t known he possessed. He tightened his hold on you slightly as if afraid you might vanish if he didn’t. "I’m yours too," he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. "And I don’t just want time with you. I want everything. All of you."  

Your breath hitched as his thumb traced along your jawline, his touch delicate yet firm, leaving trails of warmth. His other hand slid from your waist to your back, holding you securely. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locked onto yours.  

"May I?" he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.  

You felt the question in your core, chest tightening and loosening all at once. Your body leaned into him instinctively, every fiber of you being answering before your voice could. When you finally spoke, words were a whisper against his lips. "Yes. Please."  

Crowe moved slowly, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that belied the intensity coursing through him. The kiss deepened naturally, a shared hunger and longing driving them closer. Your hands tangled in his hair, your body pressing against his.

Crowe’s lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours with a purpose that left no room for doubt. His hand on your waist tightened, drawing you closer until the inner part of your thighs brushed against his lower abdomen. The heat of his body was a sharp contrast to the cool dampness still clinging to the air. 

Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, instinctively tugged, earning a low, almost inaudible groan from him. The sound sent a shiver through you, making your heart race even faster. Encouraged, you deepened the kiss, your lips parting slightly to invite him in. His response was immediate, a soft flick of his tongue against yours that left you dizzy.  

Crowe pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his own. His breaths are heavy, matching yours, and you beheld his red face and hair messier than before. His eyes, those piercing deep blue eyes, searched yours for any hesitation.  

“Am I going too fast?” he asked, his voice husky and lower than usual.  

You shook your head, barely able to form words. “No… it’s perfect.”   

At that, his lips quirked into a small smile—rare and heart-stopping. “Is this a dream? I hope not. If I’m in a dream, please tell the sleeping me to never wake up. I want to live in this dream forever.” His free hand slid to the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly deeper into his lap. The movement was fluid like he’d imagined this a hundred times before.

“Will this convince you it’s not a dream?” You lean closer to his face and place a peck on his cheek. “Mmm.. maybe. But I think this would convince me.” He captures your lips swiftly. He pries your mouth open by pushing in his tongue, exploring you further, and muffing your moans with his intense kiss. 

You gasp, now feeling one hand slip beneath your hoodie, splaying across the bare skin of your lower back. The other tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss further. His lips left yours briefly, trailing along your jaw and down the column of your neck to nibble at the soft flesh. 

“Now people will… know you’re mine.” You gasped when his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot, and he chuckled softly against your skin. “You sound so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. The rhythm of his heart beneath your palm was as erratic as your own, a reassuring sign that he wasn’t as composed as he seemed. 

“Crowe,” you whispered, barely able to hear your voice over the pounding in your ears. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his expression raw and unguarded.

“Please say my real name,” he murmured, his tone almost pleading.  

“Jericho,” you corrected, savoring the way his name felt on your lips. He let out a shaky exhale, his hands tightening their grip on you. His lips found yours again, this time rougher, more desperate.

His hips shifted beneath you, and the friction drew a soft moan from your throat. “Do you have any idea,” he breathed between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted this?”  

The heat between them was undeniable, the air practically crackling with energy. Every touch and every movement seemed to amplify the heady rush of desire rushing through their veins.

When his hips rocked against your own, another soft gasp escaped your lips, the friction so new, so sweet. Jericho presses himself against you, feeling the bulge within the confinements of his pants.

You gripped his shoulders tighter, steadying yourself as your thoughts became hazy with each press of his lips to your skin, proceeding to attack your neck with nibbles, determined to leave multiple marks instead of one. 

Your voice, already breathless, managed a shaky reply, "No, but I... I'm sure it's half as long as I've wanted you." Suddenly, he pulled you closer, his hips rocking gently against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each movement brought a gasp or a groan to your lips, the friction between you growing more heated with every second. 

“Please let me make you wonderful,” Jericho murmured against your neck, his voice low and soft… all of it was a delicious yet torturous sensory overload.

And at his murmured plea, your breath caught in your throat, snapping your consciousness back. Your fingers tightened on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Jericho," They managed your voice a ragged breath. “I’m the one supposed to make you feel good.”

Jericho pulled back slightly, enough to meet your gaze, "You... already make me feel good," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Just being here with you... it makes me feel more alive than anything else." His eyes filled with love, desire, and lust. “Would you let me?” He begged, “I promise to make you feel great. I want you to feel amazing.”

His words were spoken with such sincere conviction and lust. The raw honesty in them, the way he looked at you… You couldn't help yours; your fingers left his shoulders to gently cup his face. “I don't just mean at this moment," They said softly, your thumb brushing over his cheek. "I mean... I want to make you feel good in every way possible. I want..."  

You faltered, unsure how much you dared to say aloud. Instead, you shifted, sliding off his lap and onto your knees before him. The movement was fluid yet intentional, your gaze never leaving his as you knelt at his feet, 

Jericho swallowed, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of you at his feet. It was a sight he had never imagined before, yet now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. "What... what are you doing?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

You could see the surprise, the hint of confusion mixed with a heady sort of excitement in his eyes as they knelt before him. The position was submissive, yes, but it gave you a unique sort of control over the situation.  

Your hands, now free, rose to rest on his thighs, your fingers tracing small circles on the inner fabric of his sweatpants. Your voice was soft and firm 

"I'm taking care of you," They said quietly. "So just... lean back and relax." Your hand slithers to the base of his sweatpants.

Jericho let out a low, shaky breath as your fingers brushed his skin, the fleeting touch electrifying. Shivers coursed up his spine, and he bit down on a gasp, his eyes dark with a mixture of lust and anticipation. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked softly, his hands hesitating for a moment before helping you slide his sweatpants and boxers down in one smooth motion.  

You hesitated, your cheeks warming under his gaze. “No… Is that a bad thing?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  

He shook his head immediately, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s not a bad thing,” he said, his tone gentle yet weighted with emotion. “If anything… it makes it all the more special.” But then his expression shifted, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. He looked at you almost apologetically. “I’m sorry about this.”  

You tilted your head in confusion. “Hm? About what?”  

The moment the fabric pooled at his feet, the answer became crystal clear. Vulnerability washed over Jericho as he leaned back slightly, his chest rising and falling with steady, deep breaths. Your eyes widened in surprise, freezing as they landed on the sight before you.  

He cleared his throat, a hint of self-consciousness in his tone. “Uh… it gets a little bigger when I’m fully hard. Just thought I’d warn you.” His cheeks flushed a light pink, a rare vulnerability breaking through his usually composed demeanor.  

For a brief moment, you were speechless, caught between awe and disbelief. The sheer size of him was… impressive, to say the least. You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat suddenly impossible to ignore. A nervous laugh almost bubbled up, but it was stifled by the intensity of the moment.  

“I… see,” you managed to say, your voice soft but tinged with a teasing edge. Your lips twitched into a small smirk. “A little bit bigger, huh? I’m curious to see just how much more it grows.”  

Jericho chuckled lightly at your words, his nervousness easing ever so slightly. Still, he reached out, his hand brushing your arm as if to steady both of you. “Take your time,” he said gently, his voice a soothing balm to your nervous energy. “Ease into it. And, uh… it’s okay if your teeth touch, just—maybe try not to bite down?”  

A laugh escaped you this time, a blend of amusement and nerves. “I’ll do my best to keep my jaws in check,” you teased, the shy undertone in your voice making the moment feel strangely intimate.  

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached out, your touch tentative but curious. The warmth of him against your palm was startling, the weight and solidity grounding you. Your grip adjusted instinctively, firm but careful, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Jericho.  

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.  

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gave a quick nod. “You won’t,” he assured you, his voice rough with restraint.  

You glanced up, meeting his gaze. There was something intoxicating in the way his eyes burned with trust and desire. Leaning forward, you let your lips brush against the sensitive tip of his cock, soft and deliberate.  

A low, guttural moan escaped him, his head falling back against the bed. His hands clenched at his sides, resisting the urge to move and disrupt your rhythm. “Gods,” he muttered, his voice breaking.  

Encouraged by his reaction, you placed a series of soft kisses along the reddened head, your movements exploratory yet tender. Jericho’s breaths grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each passing second. He forced himself to remain still, his muscles tensing as he let you set the pace, his desire to guide overshadowed by his determination to let you take your time.  

Your lips curled into a small smile as you continued, the moment feeling raw and unfiltered. Slowly, the tension began to melt away, replaced by a shared sense of trust and discovery.  

Jericho sighed when they took his lenght in your mouth. It’s already bigger than when he first pulled it out, quickly growing hard despite his reluctance to hold back. You feel it press in past your lips, dragging across your tongue, and finally hit the back of your throat. That’s it. That’s as far as it goes, right?

Looking forward, you can see that he’s not in your mouth. “Try to relax your throat,” he tells you. “That’s it, you’re doing good.” Jericho prasied. His voice sends goosebumps across your skin as his massive cock slides even further in, going partially down your throat. 

“Make sure to breathe through your nose,” he added. 

Your hands are on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his pants. You’re gagging slightly, trying to keep it under control and focus on breathing. After what feels like forever, your jaw is sore, and your throat aches.

Tears fill your eyes, which Jericho notices and looks at you guiltily before moving one large hand over to gently rub the top of your head. “Good girl,” he says, “you’re taking me well.”

The statement makes heat spread over your face. Then you remember that you’re supposed to be making him cum. The thought of it makes you excited somehow. You feel the urge to pleasure him, to make him feel good. He’s been so sweet to you, after all. He hasn’t moved at all, letting you do things at your own pace. Looking up at his face, it’s clearer than ever how gorgeous he is. 

You tighten your lips around his base, your tongue gliding across the underside of his cock while your tight throat constricts around his tip. He looks down at you suddenly, deep blue eyes slightly widened. You give him a tentative swirl of your tongue.

He can’t tear his eyes away as he watches you work your magic on him. The sight of you, the feel of your tongue, it’s the most incredible and overwhelming thing he’s ever experienced. He can’t help but let out another deep, guttural moan as the sensations wash over him. “Gods, yes. Just like that,” he pants, his voice low and rough.

“You’re so good at this. So damn good.” He reaches out, gently tangling his fingers in your hair, not to control your movements but just to have something to hold onto. 

The inside of your mouth felt nice and warm, causing him to shudder from the sensation. Eventually, his hand grips your hair and, for the first time, unintentionally thrusts into your throat. You feel a bit of force from him as he pushes your head down, his cock going halfway down your throat and almost choking you. 

Jericho lets out a low moan as you suck faster, wanting to hear the desperate need for ecstasy while taking pleasure from each sound he makes. He grips your hair roughly and throws his head back, but you don’t seem to mind. After all, you want him to make more sounds.  

You take the entire cock inside your mouth again, feeling the cock becoming harder than before, nodding your head up and down and swirling your tongue around his cock, making sure to aim for the tip as well, savoring the pre-cum taste. Your eyes travel to his face, beholding the euphoric expression as he bites his lips, feeling you lick the slightest bit of cum that leaks from him, 

Jericho could barely hold himself together as you pleasured him, his head spinning and his body writhing. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with lust and intense with love.

“You’re... you’re driving me crazy,” he managed, his voice rough and breathless. “…God.” His moans and gasps are like music to your ears, fueling that excitement as they suck and move your head in all the ways that they know will drive him wild.

“Mmh.” You suck faster and faster, your fingers fumbling with his balls as your swallow his cock even deeper down your throat—he didn’t think any more could be possible.

He’s so deep in your throat that whenever you thrust his cock in, your nose nearly touches his pelvis. Jericho can’t help but thrust your mouth down his needy cock down your throat again.

Immediately, you feel his warm cum flood your mouth, coating the back of your tongue and oozing down your neck. His hand quickly releases you, “Sorry, love, I couldn’t help it…” He mutters another apology. His face looks slightly flushed, and he’s breathing a little harder.

Oh god, he looks so hot right now—is all you think about, feeling the growing dampness between your legs as you stare up at him, his now soft cock still in your mouth. 

“No one’s ever made me feel this way before. Gods, you’re... incredible,” Jericho murmurs, his voice heavy with awe and lingering desire. His words hang in the air, electric and intimate. The way he looks at you—half in disbelief, half in reverence—sends a shiver down your spine.

Without hesitation, you lean forward, your lips brushing against the velvety, slick surface of his cock. Your tongue darts out, teasing the sensitive tip, and you savor the salty-sweet taste that lingers there. Slowly, deliberately, you begin to suckle, your tongue swirling and pressing against every ridge and curve. A soft moan escapes his lips, though he quickly clamps his mouth shut, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

Jericho’s chest heaves and his hands grip the soft couch beneath him, knuckles whitening as he fights to stay still. His breath hitches, and he glances away, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he battles the urge stirring within him. His jaw tightens, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to find you. 

“You’re... you’re sure you want to keep going?” he asks, his voice strained and hoarse. Despite the question, his fingers reach out instinctively, trailing down the side of your face.

His touch is warm, trembling ever so slightly as if he's trying to ground himself. “I don’t want to wear you out,” he adds, his brows furrowing even as his lips part to let out a shallow exhale.

You pause for a moment, meeting his gaze with a soft smile, and your heart clenches at the mixture of vulnerability and yearning in his eyes. There's a rawness to him, an unguarded honesty that makes your chest tighten with affection. His concern feels genuine, but so does the hunger simmering beneath his words—a need he can’t quite hide.

Jericho looks down at you again, his heart pounding so loudly you can almost hear it. His disheveled hair falls into his eyes, and he brushes it back absentmindedly, the action making him seem almost boyish in his tenderness.

Despite the way his breathing is still uneven, he manages to smile faintly. “You’ve already done such a good job,” he says softly, his fingers brushing over your messy hair in an almost reverent gesture.

You feel a pang of something deep and inexplicable—a selfish kind of love, one that makes you want to claim and cherish every part of him. The thought takes root in your chest, blooming with a quiet intensity. Jericho’s hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw.

From this moment, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than here, tangled in his warmth his selfish love. 

[arcanefeelings]

this is so self-indulgent, but thinking about ur boyfriend who takes care of you when you're drunk.

like, you've been out club hopping with some friends, drinking and dancing the night away. your drinks are settled in your stomach, lined with water and some food, though when you stumble back home you do feel a bit hungry.

you step out of the cab, cheeks warm from all the alcohol as the cool night air caresses your exposed skin. the cute top and jeans you'd worn tonight had been a smart choice, shielding you from the cold while allowing some ventilation. there's a faint smile on your lips as you pay the driver, thanking him and making your way to the elevator, pressing the buttons and getting on purely based on muscle memory.

as the elevator goes up, your eyes focus on the overhead lights, a little dazed and zoned out, before they flick to the hallway when the doors open with a ding. you smile again, putting one foot in front of the other and making your way to the front door of your shared apartment.

you ring the doorbell, knowing full well your lover was awake and waiting for you. a moment passes, not too long, and then the door swings open, his gentle smile ever present as you exclaim his name softly.

"baby!" you say in a sing-song whisper, throwing your arms around his neck, careful not to put all your weight on him, but he couldn't care less. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close so you were fully against him, his gaze softening as his murmurs back.

"hey, sweets. d'ya have fun?"

"i did," you giggle softly, his foot kicking the door closed as he sweeps you up, carrying you to the bathroom. your soft voice continues, regaling your drunken stories of the night as he sets you down on the counter, taking the bag off your shoulder and setting it aside. he makes quick work of your nightly routine, efficiently taking your makeup off with a wipe and then holding your brush up.

you smile, going quiet after opening your mouth, letting him brush your teeth. when you're done, he helps you out of your clothes and into his t-shirt, wiping up your sweat with a damp cloth, and then picking you up off the counter again.

your arms go around his neck again, your words flowing again with a slight slur and a soft rasp, getting sleepier now as you rest your head against him. he gently lays you down on the bed with a smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead and a promise to be back in a minute. and then he's gone, clearing up quickly and coming back just as fast, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. he pulls you close, your head on his chest as he brushes your hair back, whispering softly.

"I'm glad you had fun, lovie," he says, "time to sleep now."

you giggle softly. "okay. love you," you whisper.

"love you too sweetheart," his voice replies through the dark, "g'night."

"night, baby." and his hand brushes through your hair, lulling you to sleep.

[stardust-swan]

What Type of Charisma are You Manifesting? ✨

Left to right: 1, 2, 3

Pile 1

You're manifesting vibrant charisma. You are radiating magnetism that draws people in - the type that makes you best friends with everyone in the room even if you only met them five minutes ago. The type that everyone has a little crush on. The type that can make a small gathering feel like a lively extravaganza. You are full of cheer and high-spirited, brimming with fun and excitement.

You're experimenting with your identity, which makes you come across as raw and authentic. You have a lot of power but you have not yet learned how to wield it. You are confident and ambitious, and people sense your potential. Some people might find it intimidating, but others are drawn in by your exuberance and honesty. You are full of passion and energy and are going places quickly, which other people sense as a vibe of spontaneity and excitement. You live for fun, and if things are no longer fun, you don't want to play anymore.

Imagery I associate with your kind of charisma:

Scent: Citrus - sweet, bright, and bold, but it doesn't linger.

Flower: Sunflower or a zinnia.

Animal: Toucan

Artist: Matisse, full of high contrasts and vibrant colours.

Colour: Clear, bright colours, like turquoise, dandelion yellow, Kelly green, sky blue, and tomato red.

Archetype: The Cheerleader or Prom Queen, who rather than being the stereotypical mean girl, is actually very friendly and genuinely beloved by all - the type who is invited to every party and who makes sure to chat with the new kid in the class to make them feel less alone.

Pile 2

You are manifesting regal charisma. This type of charisma exudes poise, confidence, and elegance. People feel like they're hanging out with royalty around you, even if you're wearing jeans and a t-shirt and cracking jokes. But no matter how casual and relaxed you are, you radiate dignity and grace. People are drawn in by your competence, talent, and skill - you're someone that commands respect, a natural leader like a Queen at her throne. Your peers respect you, and people younger than you look up to you.

Sometimes you come across as more reserved than you are. You're afraid of overwhelming people, so you hold yourself back a little. But people can still sense the fire underneath - the big goals, the worldliness, the growth coming full circle. This makes you come across as confident, wise, and a bit mysterious. You have a wicked sense of humour, which softens a demeanour some may otherwise find cold.

Imagery I associate with your kind of charisma:

Scent: Rose - fresh, clean, and feminine.

Flower: Carnation or white camellia.

Animal: Swan

Artist: Diego Velázquez - realistic, dramatic, highly detailed, and technically impressive.

Colour: Jewel tones, like emerald green, garnet, aubergine, and royal blue.

Archetype: The High Queen. Dressed majestically, you sit at your throne, inspiring awe in others. You are kind, regal, and benevolent, beloved by all the land. You bless and reward those who respect you generously.

Pile 3

You are manifesting laid-back charisma. You are very grounded, which puts people at ease. You like to help people grow. You won't do the work for someone else, but you'll support and encourage them as much as you can as long as they do their share (your pet peeve is people refusing to do their share of the work or improve themselves). You carry an air of vulnerability (in a good way) and openness, which gives you a soulful quality. People relate to you easily, and feel comfortable sharing things with you. They perceive you as resilient, someone who can not only emphatise with their struggles, but who has overcome their own struggles and gotten stronger because of them. You are someone who is actively seeking growth, unafraid of getting a bit messy to do so. You have a healing effect on people and will help anyone that needs a hand. You are supportive of your local community, whether that's through participating in the neighborhood cleanup or donating to a local food bank.

Imagery I associate with your type of charisma:

Scent: Sandalwood - soft, woody, and rich.

Flower: Hydrangea

Animal: Dove

Artist: Maxfield Parrish - vibrant, gently blended, and whimsical.

Colour: Gentle, warm colours, like copper, rosewood, cream, moss green, charcoal and lavender.

Archetype: The Earth Mother. You are someone who is wise, nourishing, and gently firm. You have a creative soul, and you find beauty in the ordinary. Like an ancient goddess who has come to Earth to bless us with her presence and love.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 24] || [Chapter 26]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: not smut but a bit of sexual tension Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: ahem ahem ahem ahem

thanks to @lyralein for helping solve a problem I was having during this chapter

and also @st-el-la-luna for THIS brilliance that although I didn't copy or anything, still got stuck in the back of my head and made me giggle and inspired me a little!

Chapter 25: Soap............?

you: simon. you: save me pls. Simon: Location. you: that felt ominous as fuck. Simon: You texted me to help you. Simon: Location. you: oh gosh no simon its not urgent. you: its not even like you: a panic thing you: no danger Simon: Don’t ever text me to save you when it isn’t an actual emergency. you: i’m sorry!!!!!! you: did i scare you that much??? Simon: Yes. Simon: You had me ready to steal a HUMVEE to get to you. you: I’M SORRY! you: i’m just out with my friends for brunch and kyle and johnny came and they’re embarrassing me and i need help Simon: So that’s where they went. Simon: You’ve got this. you: SIMON, THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT OUR SEX LIVES! you: DON’T LEAVE ME TO DEAL WITH THIS ALONE. you: HELP? Simon: Darling you’re dating them, you’re gonna have to get used to this sooner or later. you: I KNOW BUT STILL you: SIMON PLEASE Simon: I’m in a meeting, darling. Simon: You’ve got this. Simon: 🖤 you: SIMON?! you: awwww you sent me an emoji! you: BUT SIMON?!?!?!??! you: don’t leave me like this!!! you: how dare youuuu

He stopped responding so you sighed dramatically and put your phone away, your eyes flittering over the table.

In just 15 minutes, Johnny and Kyle had gone from bickering to regaling your friends with sexcapade stories to talking about your dates, about each other, about the rest of the guys, about work. 

Your friends are, of course, eating it up, how could they not? The lads are charming, funny, interesting, hot…

You want to pay attention to the stories Johnny is regaling your friends about, as well as Kyle, with the retelling of his helicopter upside-down cruise, but… you can’t. You’re still mortified, long after they moved away from the sex talk… 

And it doesn’t help that Kyle has taken your chair and made you sit on his lap while the five of you talk.

Sure, you’ve graduated to regular talk, but that doesn’t solve the fact that Kyle’s cock is hard, straining against the fly of his grey jeans, and slotted right between your ass cheeks, his hands gripping you around the hip to keep you sat still.

Thank God for the existence of Simon Motherfucking Riley (memo to self: ask him and the rest of the lads what their middle names are)...

The door opens after what felt like a torturous amount of time and in strolls a 6ft4 mountain of a man in all black, as usual.

“L.T.!” Johnny shouts and waves him over, as if somehow Johnny’s raucous laugh was missable and Simon might not know where he, and the group, is.

Your friends, of course, immediately look over, their jaws proceeding to drop in unison at the sight of Simon.

His sexy little black leather jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt, black boots… No mask in sight… And, for once, his hair is lying flat over his forehead, loose blond strands just barely reaching his thick eyebrows.

He has to have done it on purpose.

“Hi…” You greeted Simon softly, your face warming up a bit at the sight of him. He nods at you and cocks an eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth rising in a smirk.

Just as you’re wondering where he came from, how he knew where you were, and wasn’t he in a meeting…

“Finally. Texted ye the address like 30 minutes ago.” Johnny quips next to you.

“Piss off.” Simon replies as he keeps looking at you. He doesn’t even bother to introduce himself to Leah and Mia.

“Hear you’ve been embarrassing our partner.” Simon says, his brown eyes slowly sliding up to Johnny then to Kyle behind you.

“Ye did?” Johnny asks and turns to look at you. “Ye told on me?!” He asks dramatically, as if it was the biggest betrayal.

“Don’t look at ‘em, look at me.” Simon quips as he leans forward and rests his hand on the back of Kyle and your chair, glaring right at Johnny.

“Oh, please, L.T., it’s all good-natured.” Johnny says dismissively with a playful smile on his lips.

“Is it?” Simon retorts.

“Why’s it feel like I’m watching a big brother confront a school bully?” Kyle quips.

“Don’t start too, Garrick, you’ll get your dose soon.” Simon adds.

“Si… Please…” You remark and laugh nervously as you look around, your face already burning hotter and hotter. “We’re making a scene.”

“You asked me to save ya, darlin’, that’s what I’m doin’, hm?” Simon tells you before leaning close and planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth, his eyes still glued to Johnny. “So, how about it, Johnny?”

“How about what, L.T.?” Johnny asks, though, you don’t miss the way his eyes are shining at the sight of Simon’s protectiveness… or the way Kyle’s breath hitches right behind your ear, his cock throbbing against your ass.

“If you’re so keen on embarrassing people by revealing private matters… How about we tell everyone about the reason your callsign’s Soap?” Simon quips. Then, he turns his head and, staring right at your friends, he continues.

“A callsign is like an alias we use over the radio.” He explains. “And Johnny’s here is ‘Soap’... wanna guess why? I’ll tell you…” He turns his head and looks right at Johnny again.

“It’s because he’s dropped his in the shower more often than one can stand to bloody count, if you catch my drift.” He remarks, then, he shoots you a little wink.

“That’s nae- You know it’s- You-” For the first time in what must be his whole life, Johnny was left a blubbering mess, stuttering over himself…

“Damn… didn’t know friendly fire was turned on…” You quip, trying to clear the air a bit. It seems to work, because all three of the men around you chuckle at it.

Your eyes then lock with Simon’s, then Johnny’s… and meanwhile, Simon’s also looking at Kyle behind you. The sexual tension is almost palpable…

“I think we should go home, so we avoid any more embarrassment, hm?” Simon suggests and pulls you up to your feet by the forearm, causing you to squeak in surprise at the suddenness of it. 

“I agree.” Kyle says as he stands up too. 

“Well said, L.T.” Johnny adds.

Simon pulls out his wallet and drops a few bills on the table. “For the check.” He tells Leah and Mia. “Nice to meet you.” Then, he drags you out of the bistro.

“It was very nice to meet you!” Kyle tells the girls, making no attempts to cover the bulge in his pants as he rushes after you and Simon.

“Sorry, duty calls. But we need to do this again.” Johnny adds as he scoots across the gap in the chairs and winks at the girls before setting off after the three that have already left. “I’ll make sure to tell you all the hot gossip next time!” He adds loudly before leaving out the door.

Leah and Mia are left sitting there flabbergasted, eyes blinking slowly, before exchanging a look with one another.

“The candle worked too well.” Mia states blankly.

“It did.” Leah agrees. “Do you… have another one?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @xxshadowbabexx

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[eringobragh420]

➔ Pairing — Damian Priest ♡ f!Reader ➔ Summary — Damian and his girlfriend’s relationship is on the edge of collapse, and they discover a new, interesting way to reconnect. ➔ Word Count — 5.4k 🛑 Warnings — NSFW. Angst, alcohol, cockwarming, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, cum 18+ ➔ Notes — Spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by Google Translate. ➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here! ➔ Requested By — Anonymous. Hope you enjoy! ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST, KINK LIST

Staring at the label on the empty bottle of beer in her hand, she heard Damian’s boisterous laughter across the bar. She remembered a time not long ago when her own giggling would have been mixed in, but instead, here she sat, abandoned by her boyfriend so he could watch some stupid baseball game on the TV behind the bar with a group of other drunk guys he’d only just met this evening. She glanced over her shoulder at him, the tallest guy in the place, hair in a wet ponytail, dressed in his Yankees jersey, band t-shirt, and ripped jeans. Sexy as ever—the man only got more attractive with each passing year. His gestures were big as he entertained the circle around him, probably regaling them with stories from the road as a WWE superstar. She rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the beer bottle. She considered getting another one, but how much fun was it really going to be to be pissed off and drunk?

“You look lonely.”

She glanced up, eyebrow cocked, and found not a bad-looking man standing next to her table, but a man just the same, who was not her boyfriend. She cast her eyes back to Damian, and he was still otherwise occupied.

“I’m really not,” she replied.

“Sure you are,” the man argued, taking it upon himself to sit across from her. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and all she could do was hope Damian remained oblivious. “I saw your man leave you over here like an hour ago.”

Had it really been that long?

“Well, maybe I’m just not very good company,” she deadpanned.

“I don’t believe that,” the man said. “A pretty girl like you? You’d be the best company, and I sure as hell wouldn’t leave you alone all night.”

“Listen, I appreciate the interest, but—”

The man’s eyes lifted, focused on something behind her, and she didn’t need to turn around to know what was happening, or about to happen.

“Somethin’ you need?” Damian’s hulking presence was beside her, and she took another deep breath, leaning against the back of the booth. 

“Hey, man,” the guy seated in front of her said, lifting a hand a beer bottle, “nobody’s doing anything wrong. Just havin’ a conversation.”

“Oh, okay, cool,” Damian said, leaning his fists on the table, muscles and tattoos rippling beneath the sleeves of his jersey. “Let’s have a conversation.”

The man across from her tilted his head and told her, “Good luck,” before beginning to climb out of his seat.

“The fuck is your problem?” Damian commanded, shoving the guy with one hand as soon as he stood up, freely knocking him off balance and to the sticky floor.

“Damian, relax,” his girlfriend yelled, slamming her bottle of beer on the table. “We were just talking.”

“Well I got some things to say, too,” Damian growled.

“Great,” she said, climbing out of the booth. “You guys talk it out, and I’m gonna go home.” 

Damian paused the stalking of his prey to focus on her for the first time since the incident began. They watched one another for a moment that lasted a lifetime, and she remembered falling in love with him the first time she saw him, she remembered feeling him the first night they’d had sex. She remembered holding hands and whispered secrets and promises of the future. He’d pledged to give her the world. Had he been lying when he’d sworn or had their relationship simply come to an unfortunate end? She didn’t know him well enough anymore to know the answer to what should have been a terribly straightforward question, and it horrified her, but she thought maybe if she could hold his concentration on her, he would recall all of those things, too. The good things. If he would just look deeply enough …

Damian severed their connection by turning back to a man and a situation that didn’t matter, and her heart disintegrated. Dusted, like in the Avengers. She grabbed her purse from the booth and had the Uber app pulled up on her phone before she even reached the door. She fought herself from looking back, repeating in her head that he wasn’t worth it—not anymore—in a futile attempt at making what she was about to do just a little easier. Yeah, right.

Once inside the Uber, her boyfriend having never once come out to check on her while she waited, she had another battle concerning whether or not to glimpse back. She kept her eyes forward until the vehicle was about to make a right hand turn, and suddenly there was a tug in her chest where her heart had once been. Like there was a string tied around the veins and arteries still remaining and it was connected to something she’d left behind. Clutching her aching chest with one hand, she pressed her other hand to the door to help her turn around, and she gasped, tears cascading down her cheeks. Damian was standing outside the bar, ponytail whipping this way and that as he searched desperately, perhaps finding what he was looking for in the back of the very vehicle she sat in as he promptly launched into an all-out sprint on the sidewalk, chasing after her. She slowly covered her mouth, weeping at the agony etched on his face, and she slid down in the seat, closing her eyes. 

She loved him. By all that was good and gracious in the world, she loved him with her entire being, but she couldn’t fucking do it anymore. She finished crying over the rest of the ride home, to their home, and she mumbled a thank you to the driver before getting out, closing the door behind her. The car sped off, she watched it go, and she imagined the scene was much like the one Damian had witnessed just a short bit ago. Her eyes slid to their front door, and she wrestled more tears as she plodded inside.

Damian arrived home faster than anticipated, but she’d had enough time to get herself together, to expel all the tears and soothe her trembling body by the time he came bounding through the door. Seeing her standing in the middle of the living room, he all but skidded to a stop. “I didn’t think—” He gestured at the door and held up his keys.

“We need … no, you need to figure out what you want, Damian,” she interrupted. 

He walked slowly around the couch, approaching her as if she were a lioness that could and probably would strike at any moment, rip him to pieces and devour him. When he was within a few feet, she took a step back. She knew what he was trying to do—he did it all the time. Get close enough to touch her, kiss her, hold her, coax her into believing she wasn’t mad about what she was really mad about. Her reaction stopped him dead in his tracks, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed.

“I don’t know—” he started.

“Of course you don’t know,” she interjected again, more tears pricking the corners of her eyes. So much for all cried out. “Why would you? It’s all about Damian. It has been ever since the beginning of this relationship, but I was too …” She sniffed, shrugged. “Too in love, I guess.” Her chuckle was pathetic as Damian breathed deeply through his nose, chest expanding and deflating. “And I thought you were in love with me …”

“What are you—? Of course—”

“Do you remember how we used to be?” she asked pitifully. “You were the Mickey to my Mallory …”

“Baby—”

“We actually made love for hours. We didn’t just fuck to cum like we do now.”

“Please listen to me …”

“No,” she stopped him one final time, her tone so soft she wasn’t sure she’d spoken at all. “I’m done listening.” She wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “I put all your stuff for Raw by the door.” Damian’s brows furrowed and he turned to look at the door he’d just come through. His suitcase-on-wheels was lying on its front, a small duffel bag nearby—he’d blundered right past them. His eyes, now for the first time this entire evening beginning to show worry, returned to her, and they both knew how his luggage had gotten there from where he’d left it in their bedroom on the second floor. “I know you’re not supposed to leave for a day, but I just … I need you to go now.” Damian’s eyes fluttered closed and he scrubbed his huge hands over his face. “And while you’re gone, maybe you’ll remember what we used to have. How happy we used to be.”

“I’m—”

“If you say you’re happy, I swear to God—” She trailed off with a strangled chuckle.

“Oh, so you know how I feel?” Damian retorted.

She blinked up at him, and in his eyes, the ones that had once been so alive and so full of love, she could see misery and turbulence, and yeah, she could easily say she knew how he felt. She cleared her throat, brushing more tears from both cheeks quickly, as if she did it fast enough, he might not see how utterly broken she was. Maybe that’s what he needed to see. “I’m going upstairs,” she whispered, “and if you do love me, if you do care about me … you’ll leave.”

“Mi vida, please, just tell me—”

“You left me alone for an hour tonight!” his girlfriend suddenly erupted, and Damian’s eyes rounded. “We’ve seen each other four days in the past two weeks, and some fucking Yankees game has your attention? You try to fight some guy who didn’t know we were together because you left me alone for an hour?” Damian’s lips pursed and he remained silent for once. She sighed. “Goodbye, Damian. Have a safe trip.” 

She gave him a wide berth on her way to the stairs, stepping over his luggage as she headed up. Hurrying into their bedroom, she closed the door and locked it behind her, and by the time she’d slid down the wood until her ass met the carpet, she was a blubbering fool, covering her mouth to keep from crying out, to keep from hollering for Damian and telling him she was just kidding, and could he just hold her for a while and then everything would be okay? In time, she heard the front door open and close again. She could almost feel his presence, his very soul, drifting further away from her, that tugging in her chest returning, and she collapsed in slow motion, floating to the floor on her side, hugging her knees to her chest.

She awoke some time later in the same fetal position, suspecting she’d passed out from sheer exhaustion. Lifting her head, her spine screamed from the base of her skull all the way to her tailbone, and the carpet stuck to her cheek—she could only imagine the pattern etched into her skin as she lurched into a sitting position. She’d left a lamp on in the corner of the room, the soft glow illuminating the empty space, the unmade bed she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep in at all, and as the quiet enveloped her, she wondered if there would ever be laughter here again. She looked at the chaise lounge opposite the lamp, a small smile quirking her lips when she could almost see herself straddling Damian’s lap there, and she could almost hear her voice whisper that she was in love with him and had been since shaking his hand on her first day at WWE.

She rolled her eyes, refusing to permit any more tears from staining her cheeks, but that didn’t stop the intrusive thoughts in the back of her mind. Did Damian remember these things? Did they mean anything to him? Did she? Or was it his career he was now madly in love with? She’d sent Damian away to decipher the answers to these important questions, but she wasn’t certain she’d be strong enough to hear the answers. She climbed to her feet, limping across the floor to grab her phone from her side of the bed. As she reached for it, she paused, rubbed her fingers along her palm, and took a deep breath—all she could do to prepare for what she might find waiting for her in her notifications.

The missed calls and text messages were both in the double digits, along with a few voicemails, all from Damian, and she swallowed a softball size lump in her throat as she opened the text messages. She knew damn good and well there was no way she’d be able to listen to his voice without breaking down once more, and she was so damn tired of crying.

She sat slowly on the bed, the earlier suspicion she might not be able to sleep here blotted out by the overwhelming need to somehow be near Damian even though she’d just sent him across the country a day earlier than either of them had anticipated. Her dying phone slid from her hand, thumping on the carpet, as she backed across the king-size bed until she was on Damian’s side. Somehow the man slept with only one very thin pillow, so she grabbed one of hers and added it underneath before slipping her legs under the blanket and sheet. She was instantly inundated by the scent of Damian’s leave-in conditioner, but most importantly, the spice that was simply him drifted inside her nostrils and she was both allayed and shattered at the same time. Still depleted, now more than before, her heavy eyelids fell and she drifted off into a land of nightmares.

As Damian’s plane bound for Washington crashed above her into the side of a mountain, she was jolted awake. Her upper body careened forward, hair flying, arms reaching out because maybe if she could just catch the plane … A hand on her shoulder brought her fully out of unconsciousness, and she jumped again. 

“It’s okay! It’s just me!” Tiffy. Beautiful, sweet, perfect Tiffy, but all Damian’s girlfriend could think about was the fact that Tiffy had Ludwig and Ludwig had Tiffy and they were disgustingly happy and she was wildly envious.

“Tiffy,” she whispered. “What are you …” She scratched her head, looking up at Miss Money in the Bank, eyes mere slits. “How did you get in here?”

“Damian called Ludwig,” she explained. “He said he hadn’t talked to you in hours and your phone was going straight to voicemail.” Damian’s girlfriend nodded, though not wholly comprehending. “He told me where the spare key was.” She held it up.

“I see,” the dejected woman in bed said. “Well, I’m fine.”

“Obviously,” Tiffy rolled her eyes, “just like Damian is just fine.” Her pink manicured nails formed air quotes.

“Tiffany, I really don’t—”

“Look. It’s almost one o’clock, so I brought two of these—” She lifted the neck of a bottle of wine out of her glittery tote bag. “Let’s talk.”

Damian’s girlfriend was really getting tired of people demanding she speak to them, but she supposed this was different. Maybe she needed another perspective. She sent Tiffany to the patio by the pool while she changed out of the clothes she’d worn to the bar the night before and then had slept in, brushed her teeth, and as she was headed across the bedroom toward the door, she spotted her phone still lying on the white carpet. She feared what she’d see upon bringing it back to life, so she left it where it was, closed the door after her, and met Tiffy by the pool.

Nursing a hangover on Sunday and into the evening on Monday thanks to Tiffy Time, Damian’s girlfriend was again in bed, on his side, iPad in her lap, Monday Night Raw on the television. Tiffany had succeeded in making her feel at least a little better, agreeing that things had gotten bad enough between them that sending him to Washington early was probably the best way to get through to him, although, she added, it seemed a bit harsh. She recalled a similar situation between herself and Ludwig—their schedules had been completely opposite, they never saw each other, and their connection had started to dissolve—to which Tiffany had responded in a completely different manner. Instead of kicking him out and sending him across the country, she’d done internet research and consulted various friends in search of a way to reconnect with her boyfriend.

And the route of reconnection Tiffany had discovered was now in the search bar of Safari: cockwarming. Damian’s girlfriend had heard of it, but never given it much thought, assuming it was just one of a million other ways to please a man, but Tiffany had assured her that cockwarming wasn’t about giving or receiving pleasure, it was about being present and intimate with someone you loved, building or rebuilding a physical and emotional relationship by linking together in the closest way possible. It made sense, and she was willing to try anything. 

She glanced up at the muted television, heart skipping a beat when saw Damian in the middle of a match. He looked tired, and maybe he was hungover too, and he just didn’t seem as on point as he normally was. A little slower, a little careless, a little like he didn’t give a fuck. She turned the TV off, rubbing at her forehead. She was responsible for his distraction, and she hadn’t meant for their problems to interfere with his work, but she’d acted so rashly in kicking him out, she hadn’t considered any effect it would have on his live television performance. She hadn’t considered him at all, if she were being honest, so what did that say about her? Maybe Damian wasn’t the only one who needed to figure things out.

Without warning,  a bolt of lightning shot through her entire body, a current of electricity coursing across her skin, and she jumped out of bed. She looked at Damian’s side where she’d been sitting, her pillow under his, and it wasn’t right. She glanced at the TV and Raw wasn’t on and she wasn’t cussing at whomever Damian’s opponent was, and it wasn’t right. She hadn’t kissed him goodbye and he hadn’t slapped her ass for good luck, as was their routine, and it wasn’t right. The way she’d made him leave, ignoring him—none of it was right. Her eyes cut to her phone on the bed, to her purse on the chair, ending on a pair of sneakers in the corner of the room. Her brain shut off, leaving her heart in control, and her legs were moving. She grabbed the phone and the purse, slipped her feet in the shoes, and jogged downstairs. She grabbed her keys from the table and slammed the front door behind her.

She found herself at the airport, still on autopilot, and she bounced from one foot to the other as she waited in line to purchase a ticket. When she finally reached the desk, she placed her wallet on the counter. “Hi,” she said, “I need to get to Seattle tonight. Right now. One way.” 

The lady behind the computer punched several keys. “Well, it’s your lucky day,” she beamed, and Damian’s girlfriend suppressed the urge to punch her. “I have one seat left on a flight leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Great.”

“It’s $1,798.” Of course the only seat left would be first class.

“That’s fine,” she said, rummaging through her wallet for her credit card and identification. Damian was worth it, their relationship was worth it. 

Aboard the plane, she tried to sleep, but it was impossible. She tried to read a book on her phone, but she couldn’t concentrate. She ended up spending most of the flight reading and rereading Damian’s text messages, self-loathing growing with each pass. Yes, he was responsible for their abrupt separation, but she was just as much to blame. 

Landing in Washington, she checked her messages again, this time tapping on the thread with Rhea, who’d responded to her question while she’d been 37,000 feet in the air. Armed with the information provided by Damian’s closest friend, she ordered an Uber and gave him the address of Damian’s hotel. She rode the elevator to the top floor, wondering if he’d had to pay extra for a last minute booking, which, again, would have been her fault. Same with the price of his plane ticket. Of course, whatever she’d cost them monetarily paled in comparison to the time she’d cost them.  Standing in front of Damian’s hotel room door, she knocked softly. Moments later the door opened, and there he stood, the love of her life, the Mickey to her Mallory, the very face she wanted to see before she died. He was in a black sleeveless shirt and black basketball shorts, and he looked burnt out and used up, and was she accountable for that too? But when he realized who was standing in front of him, those dead eyes reanimated, and his hunched shoulders squared. They gazed at one another for an extended moment, a silent conversation passing between them, an ask of permission and consent granted.

Damian stepped into the hall, and his girlfriend raised her elbows so he could position his big hands under her armpits before slowly, tenderly, lifting her in the air, not unlike picking up a crying toddler. Her arms slipped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he completed their puzzle by enveloping her in his protective embrace. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, crossed her feet behind him, and she was home. He held her for a while in the hall before stepping back inside the hotel room, the mechanism at the top of the door closing it for him, and then he held her some more, still standing, placing a hand on the back of her head. Eventually he took a seat in the chair beside the bed, his girlfriend repositioning her legs so she was straddling him, sitting back on his thighs, and they were able to look at each other again.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke first, cupping her face. “You’re right. I took you for granted. I took everything we have for granted.” He shook his head, eyes round and clear and the most delicious shade of chocolate. “I know what we were before … and I know … we’re not—we’re not that anymore. Just tell me how to make it right.” He brought their foreheads together, and her hands braced herself on his hard chest. “Tell me how to fix it. Because I ain’t quitting, and I ain’t letting you go.”

His girlfriend smiled for the first time in days, but it was fleeting. “I shouldn’t have kicked you out. I’m sorry, too.”

Damian shook his head, eyes searching her face. “No more apologies.” He kissed her forehead, and she laid her head on his chest. “So what do we do?” he mumbled against the top of her head.

Her eyes opened. “I just think we … need to reconnect,” she said. “And … I might have an idea how we can start.”

She explained cockwarming with a hell of a lot less grace and knowledge than Tiffany, and a hell of a lot more embarrassment, if her superheated cheeks were any kind of clue. But Damian listened, and his focus was solely on her, and he didn’t make fun of the idea, and they were already headed in the right direction. They agreed to give it a try here and now, as there was no better time than the present, and they were both too exhausted to engage in much else. The couple made their way to the bed, Damian’s girlfriend toeing her shoes off before they removed each other’s clothing, and they climbed under the blankets.

The experience was supposed to be more about intimacy and less about having sex, she’d illustrated, but, to make it easier for him to slip inside her, she’d have to get at least a little damp. It was no secret what Damian did to her simply by existing, so he smirked, brushing her hair from her shoulder so he could cradle her neck, thumb caressing her jawline. He pressed their lips together, the couple sharing a sigh of relief, and she rested her fingers on his wrist as they kissed. All the fear and worry and stress melted away as her arousal grew, and as they’d both suspected, it didn’t take long for her to become wet and ready, and, consequently, for Damian to become hard.

“Sorry,” he said.

“That is something you’re never gonna have to apologize for,” his girlfriend assured him. They shared a smile. “Just try to keep from, you know … fucking me.”

“Easy for you to say,” Damian commented, and they snickered. “How do you wanna …?“

She rolled over to her other side, backing up against him, semi-hard dick slipping between her ass cheeks. Damian whispered in her ear to be careful, and she couldn’t help the smile. They were going to get through this. He positioned her how he needed, making sure she was comfortable before slowly sliding inside her. He moaned, playing it off by clearing his throat, and she was barely able to mask her own whine. His arm slid under her pillow, gripping her hand that was already there, his other arm wrapping around her, and she held that hand with hers against her chest. He twitched inside her, and her pussy instinctively clenched around him, and their holds tightened on each other.

“You know it’s been, like, 50 hours since I left,” Damian said, following a moment of adjustment and silence.

“Damian …”

“No, I—I just mean … that was 50 hours without you. 50 hours to think about everything, all of it. So I don’t want you to feel bad for kicking me out. You were right. I needed time to figure things out.”

“And what did you figure out?” she asked. Considering he was inside her and holding her and he hadn’t slammed the door in her face, she knew his answer was at least a little positive.

“I haven’t been there for you,” he said, voice so deep, his girlfriend could all but feel her pussy producing slickness. “I made my job and everything else more important than you. And I’m sorry.” He pulled her closer, his cock slipping that much deeper within her. His biceps were unforgiving but protective, and the steady rise and fall of his chest comforted her on a level she’d never experienced before. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, squeezing his hands.

“You don’t—”

“Damian, there are two people in this relationship. What if I had just talked to you about how I was feeling weeks ago? We could have avoided—”

“I know me, you know me. It wouldn’t have had the same effect as kicking my dumbass out of my own house had.”

She sighed, believing what he said, but there would be no way to erase the guilt she still felt. 

“I love you, querida,” he uttered into her ear. “Eres mi vida, mi alma, mi todo. Siempre.”

Her body shuddered, Damian’s arm tightening around her. “I love you, Papí.” He pressed his face into the back of her neck, and the couple was physically as close as they could possibly be to one another. She felt her heart rebuilding, she felt their connection rejoining, and she knew just this one night wasn’t going to solve all their problems, but they were making an effort, and that was enough for now. “I love when you’re inside me,” she breathed, eyes closing.

“I know,” Damian whispered.

She awoke sometime later, eyes slowly blinking open. The sun was beginning to rise and her body was moving, ever so gently, her head sliding up and down the pillow. Regaining consciousness, she realized that where Damian had been semi-hard and comforting inside her before falling asleep, he was now solid and thick, filling her to the brim, and his hips were thrusting somewhat casually against her. And then she heard a faint snore from him, and that explained everything. She thought about waking him, she really did, but he felt too fucking good and she’d missed him too fucking much, and it had been a long fucking time since they’d been so intimate. There was no way she could fight this.

She let him continue, his pumps erratic and varying in strength, but she didn’t care. His hand rose from the mattress, sliding past one nipple to cup the opposite breast, which he instinctively squeezed, groped, and that particular pump was hard and deep. She cried out, smacking a hand over her mouth, but it was already too late.

“Shit,” Damian breathed. “I’m sorry, I thought I was dreamin’.”

She reached back, grabbing at his hip over the blanket. “No,” she whispered, “please don’t stop.”

“But—”

“Please, Papí,” she begged.

Damian attacked her neck, sucking, biting, and she moaned into the pillow, imagining proudly wearing his marks for all to see on the way home. His thrusts became steadier, more powerful, and his hand returned to her breast. He brushed the cool metal of his rings along her nipple before pinching and pulling, and her back bowed, pulling him deeper inside her pussy.

“This isn’t …” he trailed off, panting, and she recognized the sounds he was making, the words he was repeating.

She lifted her hips away from him, allowing him to carefully slip from inside her. Rolling over, she climbed on top of him, stroking his big cock a few times before lining her pussy up with the head. Meeting Damian’s gaze, she sank down onto him at a snail’s pace, watching as his eyes averted to witness their bodies join together, lasting longer than she expected before he laid his head back on the pillow, eyes closing, mouth uttering a string of obscenities. Biting her lip, she massaged her soft hands along the firm planes of his tattooed pecs until she found a suitable position that would allow for optimal riding. As she was about to lift her hips, Damian’s fingers encircled her wrists and raised her hands, melding their palms together, their fingers intertwining, his elbows anchoring them to the mattress.

“Ride it, baby,” he growled.

Grinning, his girlfriend’s eyes closed and her grip tightened on his hands and her hips started to move. She was instantly reminded of his size as she rose, her pussy shrinking back to its normal proportion the further he was removed, only to be stretched again with the next downward thrust.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Damian moaned, as she repeated the action over and over.

“I missed you so much,” she breathed, impaling herself fully and then grinding her clit against him. She freed her fingers from his and put them back on his chest, her entire body moving with her hips.

“I know,” Damian whispered. He grabbed two handfuls of her ass and took control of the pace. “Fuck, yeah, bounce on it. Bounce on my cock, baby.”

She obeyed, though he was doing most of the work, which ended up with him holding her still and his cock hammering up into her. “Oh, God,” she squeaked, his pounding hitting that secret spot inside her. “I’m gonna cum, Papí.”

His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and he jerked her down until their lips smashed together. “Say my name,” he breathed. “Say my fucking name.”

“Damian,” she wailed, pulsing around the battering ram that was his dick. Their lips smacked and their teeth clacked, and her throbbing cunt milked his own orgasm. The kissing continued as they rode out the waves of pleasure, as every ounce of stress and heartache and worry melted away, to be replaced by hope and love and positivity for the future.

Sleep was knocking, and she slowly descended until her cheek was on his chest, his softening cock staying warm within her. “I love you,” she whispered, almost like an afterthought, and Damian chuckled, placing a hand on her head.

“I love you, mi vida.”

જ⁀➴°⋆ Mi vida — My life જ⁀➴°⋆ Mi alma — My soul જ⁀➴°⋆ Querida — Dearest/Beloved, term of endearment જ⁀➴°⋆ Eres mi vida, mi alma, mi todo. Siempre — You’re my life, my soul, my everything. Forever 

[muiitoloko]

Hey 👋 I need to say I LOVE your works. I became obsessed with them I leave kudos on ao3 and like in there too. You deserve all kudos

May i do a request? Last day I watched Galaxy Quest again and remeber why I love Alexander. Can you make a Alexander Dane x reader fic? it can be any plot . I just need this man

Title: Until You Remember

Summary: One night, you go to sleep as yourself. The next morning, you wake up in a stranger’s arms with a wedding ring and five missing years.

Pairing: Alex Dane × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Sex Implicit

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request 🫶 I hope you enjoy this.

Also read on Ao3

The bed was soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that felt like sleeping on a cloud, wrapped in layers of silk and warmth. It was a far cry from your own bed—firm, familiar, nothing like this. Something was wrong.

Your eyelids fluttered open, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling above you. The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of early morning slipping through the sheer curtains. You turned your head slightly, taking in the elegant bedroom—high ceilings, expensive furnishings, a city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Panic flickered at the edges of your still-foggy mind.

Where the hell were you?

You shifted, intending to sit up, only to feel a warm, heavy arm draped over your waist. A deep, even breath ghosted across the back of your neck, making your body go rigid. Someone was in bed with you. Someone large, strong, their bare skin pressing against yours.

You turned your head, looking at the man beside you. He was handsome—tall, lean, with dark hair falling slightly over his forehead and a hooked nose that gave him a regal, almost severe air. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that you had no idea who he was.

Your pulse pounded as you shoved the man’s arm off your waist and scrambled out of bed, your body moving on instinct. The moment your feet touched the plush carpet, you realized how wrong everything felt. Your muscles ached, a deep soreness lingering in places you couldn’t quite place, and your head throbbed like you were waking from the kind of hangover that suggested terrible decisions had been made.

The penthouse was massive—elegant, sprawling, a level of wealth you had only seen in magazines or overheard in whispered conversations about the world’s elite. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking city skyline, the golden hues of early morning casting a soft glow over everything. Whoever this man was, he was filthy rich. That much was obvious.

You scanned the room frantically, looking for your clothes. Nothing. Not a single sign of the outfit you had worn the night before—if you had even been wearing one. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic surging through you. Had you been drugged? Kidnapped? What the hell had happened?

The bed creaked behind you, and you froze, your heart slamming against your ribs. The man hadn’t moved yet, still lost in whatever deep sleep allowed him to have a stranger in his bed without a care in the world. You needed to get out of here. Now.

Your gaze landed on a massive walk-in closet, the door slightly ajar. Clothes. At least if you could find something to wear, you wouldn’t have to run out of here naked. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, inhaling the crisp, expensive scent of cologne, cedarwood, and something faintly musky. The closet was as extravagant as the bedroom, filled with tailored suits, silk shirts, and neatly arranged shoes.

But then your eyes landed on something that made your blood run cold. Women’s clothes.

Not just one or two forgotten pieces left behind by some previous lover—no, there were dozens of garments. Dresses, blouses, skirts, even an entire section of designer handbags and shoes. You swallowed hard, a sick feeling twisting in your gut.

Oh, God. Was he married? Was this some rich asshole’s secret affair penthouse? Were you the other woman?

Your breath came faster, panic clawing at your throat. You turned sharply, your fingers brushing against your thigh, and that’s when you felt it. Something cold.

You looked down.

No.

No, no, no.

A wedding ring.

On your finger.

Your chest tightened, a ringing noise filling your ears as you stared at the band of gold wrapped snugly around your finger. It was beautiful—expensive, tasteful, something that screamed wealth and commitment. And you had no idea where it had come from.

You staggered back, your entire body trembling. This wasn’t just a mistake. This wasn’t just waking up in some stranger’s bed after a drunken night out. This was something else.

The bed rustled behind you, and before you could even attempt to remove the ring, a voice—deep, groggy, undeniably British—broke through the silence.

“Darling, what on earth are you doing?”

You stiffened. Slowly, cautiously, you turned to face the man in the bed.

He had shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, his sharp hazel eyes watching you with a mixture of mild curiosity and amusement. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, his bare chest partially exposed beneath the silk sheets. But none of that was what sent your mind into a tailspin.

It was his face.

You knew that face. The realization hit you like a freight train. Doctor Lazarus.

No. Not Doctor Lazarus. Alexander Dane.

Your mind reeled, trying to reconcile the image of the grumpy, Shakespearean-trained actor from Galaxy Quest with the reality of this very real man lying in bed, looking at you like you were the one acting strangely.

Alex let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Come back to bed, [Your Name],” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. “It’s far too early.”

You blinked at him, confusion twisting in your gut. He had said your name. Your actual name. Not some generic endearment, not a drunken guess—your real, full name, spoken with the ease of a man who had said it a thousand times before.

Your throat tightened. “How… how do you know my name?”

Alex’s brow arched slightly, amusement flickering in his sharp hazel eyes. He let out a low chuckle, stretching his long limbs against the bed. “Darling, what kind of question is that?” His voice was still thick with sleep, that deep baritone laced with amusement. “Wouldn’t I know my own wife’s name?”

Wife.

The word hit you like a hammer to the chest. Your breath caught, your fingers twitching at your sides. “What?” The question came out barely above a whisper, but Alex heard it. His smirk deepened as he sat up properly, the sheets slipping lower to reveal more of his bare chest, lean and pale, a few faint scars marking his otherwise smooth skin.

Alex's smirk faltered just slightly, but his amusement didn’t fade entirely. He exhaled a slow sigh, stretching his long limbs before sitting up properly, the silk sheets pooling around his waist. “Good Lord, it’s far too early for this level of melodrama.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair, then fixed you with a playfully suspicious look. “Did you hit your head last night? Have you finally gone mad?”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your throat was dry, your mind blank.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come now. This isn’t one of your little games, is it?” His smirk returned as he moved, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I must say, it’s rather convincing. The wide-eyed horror, the breathless confusion…” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “But you forget, my dear—I am an actor. I know when someone is faking.”

Alex stretched with a satisfied groan, his long limbs extending in a way that was both effortless and utterly unbothered, as though waking up naked in front of you was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, for him, it was.

For you, however, it was a different story entirely.

Your eyes widened as he stood, every inch of his tall, lean frame laid bare before you. Pale skin, scattered with faint freckles, the sharp lines of his body accentuated by the dim morning light. He was a masterpiece of confidence, utterly at ease in his nudity, and when he turned to face you, that sharp smirk playing on his lips, your entire body heated.

"You look divine in the morning, my love," he murmured, his deep baritone thick with amusement as his hazel eyes roamed over you. "Marked by my kisses… just as you should be."

Your breath caught. You followed his gaze down, your stomach twisting as you finally noticed the evidence—dark bruises blooming along your collarbone, your breasts, your hips, the unmistakable imprint of his mouth and hands. Your skin burned with the implication, with the realization that this wasn’t just a one-time mistake. No, this was routine. Habit.

This was marriage.

Your pulse pounded as you scrambled for the nearest cover, yanking the silk sheets up over your chest, shying away from his approach. Alex chuckled, clearly enjoying your sudden shyness, his long fingers reaching out to tease the edge of the fabric.

“Now, now,” he chided, tilting his head as his hooked nose scrunched in playful amusement. “Don’t be coy with me, darling. It’s a bit late for modesty, don’t you think?”

Your grip on the sheets tightened. This wasn’t playful. This wasn’t some morning-after teasing between lovers. You were horrified—genuinely horrified—and Alex’s smirk faltered slightly as he finally took in your expression.

His amusement drained away, replaced by something far more serious.

"You’re actually frightened," he muttered, his brows knitting together as he studied your face. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing your cheek, but you flinched, and his hand hovered uncertainly before falling away. His eyes darkened, his voice lowering. "What’s wrong?"

You swallowed hard, pressing yourself deeper into the pillows, struggling to force words past the lump in your throat. "I—I don’t know where I am," you finally admitted, your voice trembling. "I don’t know how I got here. I don’t… I don’t remember any of this."

His frown deepened. "What do you mean, ‘any of this’?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing. "I don’t remember last night. Or yesterday. Or anything before that." You exhaled sharply, your fingers twisting into the sheets. "I don’t even remember being with you."

Silence.

It stretched thick and suffocating between you, the weight of your words settling over Alex like a heavy fog. His gaze searched yours, looking for any sign of deception, for any trace of the playful mischief he had assumed this was. But there was nothing. Just raw, unfiltered fear.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, his fingers dragging through his dark hair as he turned away, pacing for a brief moment before pivoting sharply to face you again. "You truly don’t remember."

It wasn’t a question.

You shook your head, your throat tightening. "No."

His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak, but no words came. Instead, he inhaled slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself, to wrap his mind around what you had just said.

And then, with an almost eerie calmness, he moved.

You watched as he walked to the far side of the room, where a sleek, polished dresser sat beneath an enormous gilded mirror. He pulled open the top drawer, rummaging through its contents before extracting a simple wooden picture frame.

When he turned back to you, his expression was unreadable. He crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, his bare feet soundless against the plush carpet. Then, without a word, he held out the frame.

You hesitated.

Alex’s hazel eyes bore into you, filled with an intensity that made your stomach twist. Slowly, hesitantly, you reached for the frame, your fingers brushing against his as you took it from his grasp. Your pulse pounded as you lowered your gaze.

The breath left your lungs. It was a wedding photo.

Not just any wedding photo—your wedding photo.

You stared at the image, your hands trembling. There you were, standing beside Alex, dressed in a gown of ivory silk, your hand resting against his chest as he gazed at you with the kind of adoration you had only ever seen in fairy tales. His arm was wrapped protectively around your waist, his hooked nose slightly scrunched as he smirked at you, his dark hair neatly styled, his tailored suit immaculate.

And you… you were smiling. Not just smiling—you looked in love.

Deeply, madly, unquestionably in love.

Your chest constricted. Your stomach twisted. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Alex’s gaze never wavered. "Yes."

Your breath came faster, shallower. "No," you repeated, your fingers tightening around the frame. "This… this isn’t real. I would remember. I would—"

Your voice broke.

Panic clawed at your throat. The picture was clear, undeniable, irrefutable proof of something you had no memory of. Your fingers trembled as you clutched the photo, your pulse hammering in your ears. The image before you—your wedding photo, the undeniable proof of a life you couldn’t remember—felt like a cruel joke. Your lips parted, your throat dry, the words barely forming past the suffocating panic that coiled in your chest.

“How long?” The question came out as a whisper, a desperate plea for an answer that would somehow make this all make sense.

Alex’s hazel eyes darkened, something flickering beneath their sharp intensity—hesitation, concern, something else. His hooked nose scrunched slightly as he exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair before answering, his baritone voice quieter now, carefully measured.

“Five years.”

The photo slipped from your grasp, landing with a soft thud against the plush carpet. Five years. The weight of the words crushed you, pressing into your ribs, stealing the breath from your lungs. Five years. Not days. Not weeks. Not even months. Five whole years of your life had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a stranger standing in front of you, looking at you like he had just lost something vital.

Your hands shot up to your face, pressing against your temples as if you could somehow force the memories back, as if you could piece together the gaping hole in your mind through sheer will. But there was nothing. No flicker of recognition, no distant echoes of a love story, no sense of belonging in the extravagant penthouse that was supposedly yours.

Panic clawed at your throat, rising like bile. “Five years?” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “How—how can I forget five years?”

Alex knelt beside you, his long fingers hesitating before resting gently on your wrist. His touch was warm, steady, but it sent another wave of panic crashing through you. “Darling, breathe,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, like he was speaking to a frightened animal. “We’ll figure this out.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, the pressure behind them unbearable. “What happened?” The words tumbled out, raw, desperate. “What did I do last night? What did we do? Did I fall? Did I hit my head? Did I—?”

Alex cut you off with a quiet, deliberate shake of his head. “No,” he said, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place—concern, confusion, something deeper. “Nothing like that. We had dinner.”

You blinked at him, your pulse still erratic, your stomach churning. “Dinner?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his fingers tightening slightly around your wrist, anchoring you. “We went to our favorite restaurant. You had the duck, I had the steak. We shared a bottle of wine—Château Margaux, your favorite.” He paused, studying your face carefully, as if waiting for the memories to return. When they didn’t, his expression turned more serious. “You may have had a few drinks, but nothing excessive. You weren’t drunk.”

Your breathing grew shallower, faster. “And then?”

Alex exhaled, his grip on you firm but gentle. “We came home. We talked for a while—about the gala next week, about your new art collection.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “You were perfectly fine, love. You went to bed next to me. Just like you always do.”

Your fingers curled into fists, the panic morphing into something sharper, more frenzied. “Then why?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Why don’t I remember? If nothing happened, if I was fine, then why did I wake up not knowing anything?”

Alex’s lips parted slightly, but for the first time since this conversation began, he had no immediate answer.

His silence was the worst part.

Because it meant he didn’t know.

And if he didn’t know, then what the hell had happened to you?

Your chest tightened, your head throbbing, your body teetering on the edge of something raw and uncontainable. “Five years,” you repeated, the words barely holding their shape. “I’ve lost five years.”

Alex reached for you then, his hands cradling your face, his touch firm but not forceful, grounding. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice no longer just soft but steady, unyielding. “We will figure this out. I will figure this out. You’re not alone in this.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t even know you.”

Something flickered in his gaze—hurt, sharp and fleeting, before it was buried beneath that same unshakable determination. “Then I’ll make you remember,” he said simply. “But first, I’m calling the doctor.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your body trembling as the weight of everything settled over you like a suffocating blanket. You should have argued. Should have resisted. But what choice did you have?

You had lost five years.

And Alex Dane—the man you supposedly loved, the man you had married, the man who was looking at you now like he would burn the world down if it meant getting you back—was the only person who could help you find them.

[tinydefector]

Who's portal is this? 2

DC X DP X SPIDER-MAN

[Decided I was working on and editing this instead of dealing with my emotions over finding out what happened to my mum and over the fact I legally still can't talk to any of my friends over it]

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, mention of wounds, mention of death.

Masterlist

PREV

______________

The tension in the warehouse was thick enough to cut with a knife. Constantine still looked like he was trying to process his entire life’s choices, Peter was glaring at anyone who moved too close to Danny, and Batman stood silently, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the summoning circle.

"Alright," Danny finally said, breaking the silence. His voice still carried that layered, eternal echo, but his tone was casual. "Can I come out without you guys freaking out? Because, like, I could’ve escaped this thing five minutes ago. But I’ve been too baffled by this whole ‘Pariah Dark booty call’ situation to bother. And I'm pretty sure he's bleeding out” Danny states while pointing at Peter 

Batman’s gravelly voice cut through the bickering. “If you could’ve escaped, why didn’t you?”

Danny gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, I just said why. I was baffled, Stunned this feels like the Electric boogaloo part two ” He gestured vaguely to the summoning circle. "Also, this thing you guys slapped together? It’s not exactly Ghost King-proof. I mean, it’s good, don’t get me wrong—it would’ve probably stung like hell to break through it earlier, but it wouldn’t have actually held me. It’s like trying to hold a bear with spiderwebs. Annoying, sure, but not impossible. No offence Spiders"

Peter makes a noise of offence followed by Constantine groan, muttering something under his breath about how he hated kids.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I promise not to destroy anything, melt anyone’s face off, or turn Gotham into a ghost dimension. Just let me out, and we can all chill. Deal?”

Batman stared at him, his expression unreadable as always. After a long, tense pause, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

Danny grinned. "Cool. Thanks, creepy Gothman." With a casual step, Danny walked out of the summoning circle like it wasn’t even there. The sigils flared for a brief moment, sparking angrily, but Danny seemed unbothered. His aura dimmed as he left the circle, and in a flash of green light, his older, regal form disappeared.

In his place stood a very unimpressive 16-year-old kid in a black T-shirt, jacket and jeans, his hair now messy and black, his eyes bright blue with a green shimmer to them. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked around the room with the kind of awkward energy only a teenager could pull off.

"Ta-da!" Danny said, grinning. The silence that followed was deafening. Constantine’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. Batman’s stance shifted slightly, just enough for anyone who knew him to see that he was recalculating everything he thought he knew about the situation. 

Peter, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, “Fun, right?" His jaw clenched as he tries to move, his shoulder aches like no tomorrow and at this point all he wanted to do was sleep off his injuries from before this mess.

Constantine blinked, pointing at Danny like he was trying to make sense of a bad joke. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re the Ghost King? You’re a bloody child?!"

Danny frowned, crossing his arms. "Okay, rude. I’m sixteen, thank you very much. And technically, I’m only half-ghost."

Batman’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Explain."

Danny shrugged, his casual demeanor making it clear that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain his situation. "Alright, fine. So, hi, my name’s Danny." He raised a hand in an awkward little wave, like he was introducing himself in a high school classroom. "When I was 14, my parents—who are kinda nuts, built this weird ghost portal thingy in our basement. I decided it’d be a great idea to mess around with it, and, well…" He gestured to himself. " tada! Half-ghost."

"Anyway, long story short, I spent the past two year fighting ghosts, saving my town, blah blah blah. Then, a while back, I accidentally dethroned Pariah Dark. don’t ask, it’s a whole thing and now I’m the Ghost King. Which, honestly, is way more responsibility than I signed up for."

Constantine rubbed his temples, looking like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "So, let me get this straight. You’re a 16-year-old half-ghost who somehow became the ruler of the Infinite Realms because you… what? Got lucky?"

Danny grinned. "Pretty much!"

Constantine groaned, looking at Batman. “You’re hearing this, right? It’s not just me?”

Batman’s expression didn’t change. "I’m hearing it."

Danny clapped his hands together, clearly trying to move things along. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, can we focus on the important stuff? Like the whole ‘us being stuck in your horror city thing? Because I’d really like to get out of here before Mr. Soul Whore over there starts trying to sell pieces of himself again."

Constantine bristled.

The bright, sterile light of the Batcave flickered faintly across its rocky walls, illuminating the room in a pale glow as Alfred worked with calm precision on Peter’s injuries. The young man sat on the edge of a medical table, his spider suit pulled down around his waist. His face was a mess—black eye swollen shut, cheeks scraped and bruised with pieces of concrete and glass shards in bedded, and lips still lined with dried blood. His body wasn’t much better. 

His torn suit had shown a litany of injuries before it had been pulled down: fractured ribs that had already started showing the deep purple, green and yellow bruising up hid torso, the nasty red handprint of a chokehold bruising his throat, burn marks left by an explosion, and countless cuts and lacerations. The most pressing concern, however, was the bullet wound in his dislocated shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, pulling his arm away instinctively before Alfred gave him a stern look.“Hold still, please,” Alfred said firmly. “I can’t help you if you’re squirming.” as Alfred pulled the bullet free with a pair of forceps, the sound of metal hitting the small surgical tray echoing through the cave.

 He exhaled sharply as the butler pressed a clean cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “It’s better out than in, young man,” Alfred said softly, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “Though I must say, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

Danny leaned against the edge, his expression softening slightly as he took in Peter’s battered state.

“You look like crap,” Danny said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Peter deadpanned. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

Danny grinned faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

Peter shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’ve had worse.”

Danny gives a small nod before ghosting away over to where Constantine stood impatiently waiting for Danny.

Alfred’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression betraying his worry. His hands moved with expert care as he cleaned the wound. “This is far more than just another day, young man. You’re concussed, your ribs are clearly fractured or broken, and you’re covered in burns, bruises, and lacerations. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still conscious.”

The butler begins readying a needle and thread so that he can stitch The bullet hole closed. “Forgive me this will hurt, I don't currently have local anaesthetic on hand. Do hold still, young man,” Alfred apologies as he begins the stitching process. 

Peter winced but didn’t argue. “It's fine, it wouldn't help anyway, and you don't have to stitch it, it will seal itself in two days, I have an enhanced healing factor” Peter explains but it doesn't stop Alfred.  

“And give your injuries the chance to get infected, not a chance”  He knew Alfred was right, despite having enhancements it didn't stop Peter from getting sick, and he knew if he got an infection it would be hell having to cut it out again. It makes him shiver remembering the last time he had to cut out infected flesh. 

His Spider-sense was still buzzing faintly at the edges of his mind, a constant reminder of just how close he’d been to death tonight. 

“I’m almost finished.”

“Feels better not having the bullet grinding against my shoulder every time I swung,” Peter muttered through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and his words slurred slightly from the concussion. “But, uh, yeah… still hurts like hell.”

Alfred gave a small, dry chuckle as he worked. “I imagine it does. Though I must say, I’ve seen soldiers in better condition than you after a battlefield skirmish.” His tone betrayed a trace of worry, his sharp eyes scanning the young man for further injuries. 

Peter didn’t respond, too focused on managing the pain and the throbbing in his head. He winced again as Alfred moved to examine his ribs. The bruising spread across his chest in ugly shades of purple and yellow, and every breath came with a faint wheeze.

“This is unacceptable,” Alfred muttered under his breath, though his words were clearly directed at someone else. His sharp gaze flickered briefly to where Bruce stood a few feet away, stoic and silent as always. “This boy is barely standing, and yet you brought him here in this state? I thought better of you. This young man is barely standing, and yet you saw fit to fight him as if he were one of your rogues.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his arms crossed as he watched from the shadows. He knew better than to argue with Alfred when the butler was angry, and right now, Alfred was rather angry.

Peter tensed slightly, his good hand clutching the edge of the table as his gaze flickered toward Batman. He still hadn’t forgiven him for the fight and, frankly, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Batman had outmaneuvered him, taken him down like he was nothing more than a common thug, and Peter’s pride still stung almost as much as his injuries. 

 he knew that if he hadn't been through dealing with all the villains that had ended up in his world, then being thrown about by the portal he had jumped into, swung halfway across a city with a bullet in his shoulder he had dislocated, and then getting slammed into a wall by Batman before spun up in his own web. He winced when the older man took a cautious step closer. He knew if he was in a better state he would have whooped the goth furries ass. 

Peter, despite his condition, couldn’t resist shooting Bruce a glare. He tensed visibly when Batman stepped closer, his entire body going rigid like a cornered animal. “Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice sharp despite the hoarseness in his throat. “Stay the hell away from me, we’re not friends.”

Batman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You were a threat.”

“A threat?” Peter scoffed, glaring at him with his one good eye. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, man! I was trying to protect Danny. He's been the only thing I've had since I got thrown into this hell hole, so forgive me for not asking questions when you trapped him”

Batman didn’t respond, his silence only fueling Peter’s frustration. Alfred, however, gave a pointed look at his employer before turning back to Peter, his voice softening once again. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped slightly, though he was still visibly tense. He muttered something under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as Alfred resumed his work, carefully stitching the bullet wound closed.

---

Danny and Constantine’s argument had been steadily escalating, their voices growing louder with every passing second. The two of them were standing by one of the Batcave’s many monitors, their gestures wild and exaggerated as they bickered.

“Would you shut up for five seconds?!” Danny snapped, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he threw his hands in the air. He was back in his human form, looking every bit like the irritated teenager he was, but his aura still flickered faintly with ectoplasmic energy. “Look, Cults do crap, that's kinda their gimmick, there's not much I can do about it, I'm still learning how to keep my Core from spinning out of control! There's only so much I can do, you should be grateful you got me and not Pariah!”

Constantine scowled, jabbing a finger in Danny’s direction. “mate! You’re the one prancing around as the bloody Ghost King, drawing attention from every creep and cultist this side of the multiverse. You think I wanted to deal with you? Hell no!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being a baby ghost. you’re apparently the guy everyone in the Infinite Realms calls ‘Soul Whore’ why don't you go sell another piece of yourself ” Danny shot back, crossing his arms. 

“You little—” Constantine cut himself off, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Listen here, kid. I don’t care what kind of fancy crown you’ve got floating over your head or how many ghostly kingdoms you rule. You’re still just a snot-nosed brat playing dress-up—”

Danny’s aura flared, and he took a menacing step forward. “You wanna say that again, John? Because I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

“Boys,” Alfred called out sharply from the medical table without even looking up from Peter’s wounds. His tone was clipped, the kind of calm authority that immediately demanded obedience. “If you’re quite done arguing like a pair of schoolchildren, I’d suggest you find a way to help this young man and yourself get home.”

Danny and Constantine both froze, exchanging sheepish glances before muttering simultaneous, reluctant, “Sorry.”

Peter snarls again when Batman takes another step into the small medical area Alfred had set up to treat Peter, the young man bares a tiny set of fangs at him. 

Bruce paused, his unreadable gaze meeting Peter’s. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone react to him with hostility, but there was something different about the way Peter looked at him. It wasn’t just anger, it was defiance.

“Calm down, mate,” came Constantine’s voice from the background. The magician was leaning against the Batcomputer, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the faint protests from the Batcave’s air filtration system. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s got to count for something.”

“Shut up,” Peter snapped, not even looking at Constantine. “I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Touchy, aren’t we? Must be the concussion talking.”

“Can you guys take your argument somewhere else?” Peter grumbled, his voice dripping with irritation. “I don’t need a commentary track while I’m getting patched up.”

Alfred turned his attention back to Peter, his face softening slightly as he began picking the glass fragments from Peter's face. “You should be in a hospital,” Alfred said quietly, his tone more gentle now. “You’re in no condition to be running around rooftops, let alone fighting.”

Peter gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as his ribs protested. “Yeah, well, hospitals aren’t exactly Spider-Man-friendly. Besides…” He shot another glare at Batman. “I wouldn’t be here at all if someone had left us alone.”

“This young man was clearly in a life-threatening battle. Concussion, fractured ribs, glass embedded in his skin, burns, a bullet in a dislocated shoulder and God knows what else. And yet here he sits, instead of in a hospital bed where he belongs.” Alfred sighed heavily, his gaze flicking to Bruce. “I trust you’ll handle this properly, sir. Because if you don’t, I’ll be having words with you later.”

Bruce gave a small nod, his attention still on Peter. 

“I don’t do hospitals,” Peter repeats, his voice hoarse as he glances at Alfred. “They’d ask too many questions. I’ll heal. I just… need time.”

Peter groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the table. This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of his life.

Alfred sighed, clearly unhappy but unwilling to press further. Instead, he focused on carefully removing a shard of glass lodged in Peter’s arm. Peter hissed again, his body flinching reflexively.

“You’re lucky,” Alfred said with a softer edge. “The bullet in your shoulder didn’t hit anything vital. Though how you managed to swing around with it still lodged in there is beyond me.”

Peter gave a weak, humorless smile. “Yeah, well… adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.” he tenses again as Batman walks past the table trying to take a Proper look at Peter's injuries.  

 

Alfred glanced between them, his brow furrowing. “I assure you, he only wishes to help.”

Peter’s laugh was bitter, almost feral. “Yeah, sure. I've already been shot at by a SWAT team, and been beat to shit. So go nuts, it's not going to keep my Spider-Sense from blaring like a tornado siren. Your a threat to me Even if your trying to help, ”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

It wasn’t just the fight that had Peter on edge, it was the way Batman moved, the way he loomed over him like a shadow, the way his presence filled the room with an authority that made Peter’s stomach churn. It reminded him too much of Osborn. The cold, calculating gaze. The unrelenting drive. The willingness to go too far to get what he wanted. 

It made Peter’s skin crawl.

Alfred, sensing the tension, shot Bruce a pointed glare before speaking again. “ I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, he is not your enemy.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? Tell him to stop staring at me like I’m some kind of science experiment, and maybe I’ll believe it.”

Before Alfred could respond, a loud crash echoed from the far side of the cave, followed by raised voices.

“I’m telling you,” Danny’s voice rang out, “you don’t need to keep babysitting me! I’m not gonna blow up Gotham or whatever you think I’m gonna do!”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Your Majesty,” Constantine shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re a bloody half-ghost kid with the power to wipe out entire dimensions. Forgive me if I’m a little cautious!”

“I’m not gonna wipe out dimensions!” 

“Once is enough, mate.”

The argument continued, growing louder and more heated as Danny and Constantine bickered like a parent and child who had been stuck in the same car for too long. 

Peter turned his head slightly, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. “What’s their deal?” he asked, wincing as Alfred cleaned another wound on his arm.

Alfred sighed, clearly unimpressed with Danny and Constantine’s antics. “ Mr. Fenton and Mr. Constantine appear to have different approaches to… resolving conflict.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered. “I can see that.”

Bruce, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke. “ Constantine is trying to prevent a larger catastrophe.”

“By yelling at him?” Peter quipped.

“Look, I get it, okay? I’m scary or whatever. But I’m not Pariah Dark, and I’m not gonna start some ghost apocalypse, plus I'd rather not hurt my Human friends. What I actually want right now is a burger!”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re a walking bloody nuke.”

"Ignore them, it is for the best, I'd like you to take these, you're not allergic to Oxycodone?" Alfred asked gently, handing Peter a cup of water and what looked like a handful of painkillers. Peter doesn't answer, just throws them into his mouth along with taking a massive mouthful of water to wash them down. 

"If it’s alright with you, I’d like to know how you ended up in this dreadful state." Alfred paused, glancing up at Peter's battered face. "You don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable, but it might help you calm down and rest."

Peter hesitated, his shoulders tensing slightly as Alfred reached for another piece of glass embedded in his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. "It’s… complicated," he said softly, his voice hoarse and raw. The handprint on his throat made every word feel like gravel scraping against his vocal cords.

Alfred gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I’ve found that most things are, Mr. Parker. But I’ve also found that talking about them can make things a little less so."

Peter looked at Alfred for a moment, his guarded expression softening slightly. There was something about the older man’s calm demeanor, his steady hands, and his genuine concern that made Peter feel… safe, even here, in the middle of a cave owned by a man who had beaten him in a fight.

Peter exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the table. "Alright," he said quietly. "I guess it’s better than sitting here in awkward silence."

Alfred gave a small nod, continuing to work. "Take your time, lad."

Peter swallowed hard, his throat aching. "I was trying to fix something I messed up. My life it was a mess. Everyone I cared about, everyone who knew I was Spider-Man, they were in danger because of me. Because of something I did."

Alfred’s hands stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking up to Peter. "Go on," he encouraged gently.

Peter took a shaky breath. "There was this… spell. A way to make everyone forget who I was—forget that I was Spider-Man. It was supposed to fix everything. But something went wrong, and it broke the multiverse open. Villains from other worlds. Worlds that weren’t mine, started showing up. People who knew Spider-Man, but not my Spider-Man. I fought them, tried to send them back, but…" He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. "It didn’t matter. They kept coming."

Alfred’s expression softened, but he said nothing, letting Peter continue at his own pace.

Peter’s fists clenched. "The worst part was… I thought I could save them. I thought I could fix them, make them better, so they wouldn’t go back to their worlds and die fighting Spider-Man. And maybe I did. Maybe it worked for some of them. But…" He swallowed hard. "It cost me everything. My aunt—she—"

His voice broke, and he looked down at his lap, his hands trembling. "She died. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to stop it."

Alfred’s hand rested gently on Peter’s uninjured shoulder, "I’m terribly sorry for your loss," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

Peter nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to continue. "After that, I didn’t have a choice. I had to go through with the spell. I made everyone forget me. My best friend. The love of my life. Everyone. It was the only way to fix it."

Alfred’s hand lingered on Peter’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to tending to his wounds. "And that’s when you ended up here?" he asked gently.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I thought it was a portal to take me somewhere safe, one of the wizards I was working with tried to get me away before they forgot. One minute I was in New York city, trying to figure out where I'd go, and the next thing I knew, I’m falling through some portal and landing in Gotham. And then Danny caught me" He shot a look towards Danny. 

Alfred finished cleaning and stitching the last of Peter’s wounds before stepping back, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "There. That should hold for now. But you’ll need rest, young man. Proper rest, not whatever adrenaline-fueled nonsense I imagine you’re used to." Alfred hands Peter a set of clothes. “Forgive me the closest to your size of clothes is Red Robin, he will most likely be here later” Alfred explains to Peter. 

Peter gives a small nod before slowly moving, pulling the cover across so he could get dressed in something more comfortable. He still tenses and watches Batman like a hawk after he had dressed, not wanting the older man too close to him while he was in the state he was.  

Batman reminded Peter of two people: Norman Osborn’s manic intensity lived in Batman’s ability to dissect everything with cold precision, in the way he always seemed to be two steps ahead. That same suffocating control, that same aura of dominance it put Peter on edge, made his heart race and his fingers itch to fight or flee. 

But then there was Tony. The way Bruce carried himself, the unrelenting drive to fix every problem, the subtle weight of grief behind his every word and action, it was so much like Tony Stark that Peter’s heart clenched every time he looked at him. It stung, deep and raw, like an old wound being torn open.

And that combination, Osborn’s menace and Tony’s absence, was too much for Peter to handle.

Batman took a slow step toward him, his cape brushing the floor like a shadow reaching out. Peter stiffened instantly, his body going rigid, his breaths coming faster. His good hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"Peter," Bruce said, his voice low and steady. "I need to ask you a few questions. I need to know—"

"Don’t," Peter hissed sharply, his voice raw and filled with tension. He flinched back, his eyes wide and wild. His Spider-Sense wasn’t buzzing, but his instincts were screaming at him to move, to escape, to run. 

Batman stopped, his expression unreadable behind the cowl, but Peter could feel the weight of his gaze. It bore down on him like a physical force, and Peter couldn’t stop the way his body shook under it. 

Peter’s voice rose slightly, his tone cracking. "Don’t come any closer."

Bruce frowned, his jaw tightening. 

"I said don’t!" Peter snapped, his voice trembling. His entire body was trembling now, his chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. He looked like a cornered animal, his eyes darting between Batman and the exit, like he was calculating how quickly he could escape if he needed to.

Bruce raised his hands slightly, a gesture of calm, but the movement only made Peter shrink back further. His mind flashed with images of Green Goblin’s twisted grin, of Tony’s lifeless eyes, of his own failures piling up like bricks on his back.

The tension reached its breaking point when Peter let out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his ribs as his body twisted instinctively away from Bruce. The sudden sound drew Danny’s attention like a shot.

In a blur of green and black, Danny darted to Peter’s side, standing between him and Batman like a shield. His eyes glowed faintly, his aura flaring just enough to be intimidating without being outright threatening. He was back in his human form, but the protective energy radiating off him was unmistakable.

"Hey, back off," Danny said, his voice sharp and firm but not angry. He placed a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him. "Give him some space, okay?"

Peter flinched again, his good hand gripping Danny’s wrist as if to anchor himself. His breaths were still shallow, his eyes flicking between Bruce and Danny. "I’m fine," he muttered, but his voice was shaky and unconvincing. "I’m fine, just—just stay over there."

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and anger, finally stepped in, his tone clipped. "perhaps it would be best to give the young man some time to recover before bombarding him with questions. He’s clearly been through enough."

Bruce hesitated, his gaze lingering on Peter for a moment longer before he gave a curt nod and stepped back. He turned toward the Batcomputer, his cape sweeping behind him as he moved. Constantine muttered something under his breath about "bloody drama" and returned to fiddling with a spell book, but Danny ignored him, his focus entirely on Peter.

"You good?" Danny asked quietly, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as his aura softened.

Peter exhaled shakily, leaning back against the table. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was still weak. "I just… he reminds me of someone. Two people, actually. And it’s—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It’s stupid. Forget it."

Danny tilted his head, his expression calm but curious. "Not stupid," he said simply. "But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."

Peter gave a small, grateful nod, his grip on Danny’s wrist loosening. "Thanks."

Danny smiled faintly, stepping back but staying close enough to be reassuring. "No problem. Just let me know if you need me to, like, phase you out of here or something."

Peter huffed a weak laugh. "I’ll keep that in mind."

The Batcave was a strange mix of eerie quiet and low mechanical hums as computers whirred and analyzed data in the background. the two teenagers currently sitting on one of the metal tables.  

Danny and Peter were engrossed in their food, wolfing it down like they hadn’t seen a meal in weeks. Neither of them seemed to care about the pressure in the room or the watchful eyes of Batman, who stood at the far end of the cave, his expression unreadable as always. Constantine was somewhere off to the side, muttering curses under his breath and chain-smoking like it was his last day on Earth.  

For Danny, this was just another weird day in a long line of weird days. For Peter, however, it felt like his entire world had collapsed in on itself.  

He sat there, shoveling fries into his mouth with the speed of someone too exhausted to bother with manners, his usually sharp mind dulled by the overwhelming weight of everything that had happened. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing like a never-ending alarm the moment he’d arrived in Gotham. It hadn’t let up. not for a second, and it was starting to fray his nerves.  

Peter was cranky, tired, and emotionally wrecked.  

It wasn’t just Gotham. It was everything.  

The other Peters. Aunt May’s death. Strange’s spell. The portal that had dumped him here. It all felt like one gut punch after another, and now, on top of everything, he’d been bested, humiliated, really by Gotham’s caped crusader.  

Batman.  

Peter glared at the man from across the room, his jaw tightening as he bit into his burger. It wasn’t just that Batman had captured him—it was *how* easily it had happened. Less than 24 hours in this city, and the so-called “Dark Knight” had already gotten the better of him.  

Peter was *Spider-Man.* He’d gone toe-to-toe with aliens, super soldiers, and literal gods. Sure, Captain America had gotten the drop on him once, but that was different. That was Cap. This was a guy in a bat costume.  

And yet, here he was.  

The weight of it all made his chest ache, a cold, hollow feeling settling deep inside him. It reminded him of when he’d been dusted in Tony’s arms, helpless and scared and completely out of control. He hated it.  

Danny, sitting next to him, didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he was too busy enjoying the food to care. He shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, licking his fingers clean before leaning back on his hands.  

"Man," Danny said, finally breaking the silence, " the food’s not bad."  

Peter turned back to Danny, his frustration still evident. "How are you so calm about all this? Aren’t you even a little freaked out?"  

Danny shrugged again. "Eh, not really. I mean, have been in strange situations”  Danny had moved on from his burger and was now lazily sipping a soda, his feet kicked up on the table as if they were just two kids hanging out in a diner.  

But Peter? Peter was done. He was exhausted—no, more than that. He was emotionally wrecked. Everything had gone wrong. Aunt May was gone. The other Peters had disappeared back into their own worlds. Doctor Strange’s spell hadn’t fixed anything, and now Peter was stranded in this grim, alien city that radiated danger. His Spider-Sense hadn’t stopped buzzing since he got here, and it was driving him to the brink of insanity.  

It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, like there was a constant whisper in the back of his mind telling him something bad was coming. When Batman stepped closer, Peter glared at him, his lips curling back in a warning hiss like a feral animal. He didn’t care how ridiculous it made him look. He just wanted the man to stay away. 

“Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His body was coiled tight, ready to spring. “Just don’t.”  

Danny raised an eyebrow “Alright. Sheesh. Someone needs a nap.”  

Peter didn’t respond. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow and uneven. He hated this. He hated feeling cornered, trapped, and helpless. He hated that he couldn’t even turn to Karen for comfort.  

His suit’s AI had been offline since he’d arrived in Gotham, and every time he reached up to tap his earpiece, hoping to hear her calm, familiar voice, he was met with silence. It was a small thing, but it made the ache in his chest worse. Karen had always been there for him. Always.  

And now she wasn’t.  

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed to get away. He needed space, somewhere to breathe, somewhere to escape the weight pressing down on him.  

His eyes darted upward to the high, cavernous ceiling of the Batcave. Without a word, he shot a web and launched himself up, his movements quick and fluid.  

Peter didn’t care what they thought. He swung up to one of the higher ledges, far above the main area of the cave, and began weaving his webs. His hands moved automatically, the repetitive action calming his racing thoughts as he constructed a makeshift hammock.  

It wasn’t much, but it was something familiar. Something safe.  

When he was done, he collapsed into the hammock, the tension in his body finally easing as he stared up at the jagged ceiling above. For the first time in hours, his Spider-Sense dimmed to a faint buzz.  

Peter curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around himself as he closed his eyes. He didn’t cry. He was too tired for that but the ache in his chest didn’t go away.  

He missed Karen. He missed May. He missed home.  

[rylem33]

Tau Iota Tau - Part 1

Hey everyone. This is part 1 of a planned 3 part series all about the Tau Iota Tau sorority. I’m really hoping you enjoy it. -------------------------------------------

“Welcome, everyone.” Vanessa’s voice was low and rich. It was a confident kind of voice that didn’t need to be raised to command attention.

Jenna had never seen a woman like Vanessa Monroe before. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Every inch of her seemed curated to impossible standards, from her perfect blonde hair, to her sculpted cheekbones to the subtle shimmer of gloss on her plump lips. She wasn’t wearing much besides a silky, form-fitting dress but it made her look regal.

She even moved differently than the other girls, like a queen among commoners. And the strangest part? Everyone accepted it.

The senior sisters fawned over her.  They seemed to lean in when she spoke, laughing at things that weren’t funny, hanging on her words like devoted followers. During the rush events, Jenna learned quickly to give Vanessa her proper space. She and the other pledges shifted uncomfortably when Vanessa would come near. Her presence had weight.

Jenna glanced at Liv, who stood with her arms crossed, watching Vanessa. Liv was the only one who seemed unaffected by Vanessa’s aura.

Jenna stood next to her, her short blonde hair falling just above her chin in a sleek bob. Her soft, youthful features gave her a slightly innocent look, but her wide, attentive eyes were sharp with curiosity. She wore a simple black t-shirt tucked into light-wash jeans, casual but put together. Beside her, Liv cut a different figure. Her shoulder-length brown hair framed her face in soft waves, the ends curling inward just slightly. Her expression was guarded, lips pressed into a faint line, her dark eyes steady and calculating. She wore a cream-colored blouse buttoned up just enough to keep things modest, paired with fitted jeans that hinted at her toned legs. There was a quiet confidence about her, like she was deciding whether or not this was worth her time.

Vanessa rested her perfectly manicured fingers on the Key Bowl at the center of the room, her glowing, golden skin catching the chandelier light.

“You are now sisters of Tau Iota Tau.” She smiled. “Your journey begins here.”

She tapped the edge of the bowl. “Each of you will draw a key. This will determine your new room.  Your new place within the sorority house.”

The senior sisters stood poised behind Vanessa, all of them smiling, waiting. One by one the other pledges walked up and grabbed a key from the bowl until it was Jenna’s turn.

Jenna swallowed, staring at the bowl. The sorority house was big, but it seemed like there were way too many keys in that bowl for the number of rooms in the house. Her hand dipped into the bowl, sifting through the keys. They were cool to the touch. 

Her fingers wrapped around a key and she pulled it free. She looked at the writing on the key:  2B – Centerfold Suite.

“A lovely choice,” Vanessa purred. “Your room is on the second floor, second door on the right.”

The senior sisters nodded approvingly.  

Jenna stepped back, pocketing the key. She watched Liv step forward to the bowl, reach in, and pull out her key.

The senior sisters hesitated, only for a second, but Jenna caught it. A quick glance, a subtle shift, Vanessa’s lips parting ever so slightly before snapping back into place.

Liv stood there for a moment before getting the cue to head back to the line of awaiting pledges.  Liv walked back to stand beside Jenna.

“I’m in 2B,” Jenna said to Liv. 

“Mine’s 2C,” Liv replied. “I think we’ll be neighbors.”

“That’s great, Liv. We’ll get to spend a lot of time together.”

Vanessa clapped her hands together to quiet the room. Everyone immediately silenced then she called out. “Next pledge!” -------------------------------------------

Jenna climbed the stairs to the second floor, key gripped in her palm. The house was stunning, no doubt about that. Every inch of it was clean and polished. It even smelled expensive.

Sorority life might not be so bad after all.

A few steps ahead of her, Cassie Bennett practically bounced up the stairs, her long golden-brown hair swaying over her shoulders in soft waves. Cassie was a junior, one of the senior sisters assigned to help the new pledges get settled. She was effortlessly hot in that fit-but-still-girly way. A light blue crop top hugged her chest, the thin straps crisscrossing over her flat, sculpted stomach. The soft material barely contained the full, natural swell of her breasts, which sat high and round even without support.

Her toned arms and defined abs were on full display, and the gray knit pants clinging to her hips and thighs highlighted the lean strength in her legs. She had the kind of body that was obviously the result of hours in the gym—but she made it look easy. Casual. Effortless.

Cassie turned toward her, flashing a wide, sunlit smile. Gold necklaces shimmered at her collarbone, catching the light.

“Alright, newbie! Here we are, 2B, and according to your key it’s The Centerfold Suite.” Cassie grinned, tapping a manicured finger against the gold plate on the door marked 2B.

Jenna slid her key into the lock and pushed the door open.

Her stomach tightened.

It was… a lot.

The walls were a soft, creamy pink, almost glowing in the warm light. The bed was massive, covered in silky sheets that shimmered beneath the light. A vanity mirror lined with bulbs sat against the far wall, and a walk-in closet was built into the corner.

Jenna stepped inside hesitantly. The whole room was so pink, soft, fluffy… girlie. The kind of room that screamed high maintenance.

Cassie clapped her hands together. “Ugh, I love this room. It’s so sexy, right?”

Jenna’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “Yeah. Totally.”

Cassie flopped down onto the bed, stretching her arms over her head. The motion lifted her crop top just enough to expose a strip of taut, tanned skin beneath the crisscrossed ties.

“Seriously, this is the best assignment you could’ve gotten,” Cassie said.

Jenna’s eyes drifted toward the vanity. It was already stocked with neatly arranged makeup brushes and bottles of perfume. Everything in the room felt complete.There was no space for personalization. No room for her.

“At least I don’t have to buy any new furniture,” Jenna said dryly.

Cassie laughed, rolling onto her side. “I bet you’re excited for move-in day on Saturday.”

Jenna hesitated. “Yeah. Sure.”

Cassie’s smile widened. “You’ll settle in. Trust me.”

Jenna stared at the pink walls and the perfectly arranged bedding and the gleaming vanity mirror.

She wasn’t so sure.

-------------------------------------------

Jenna stepped out into the hallway just as Liv’s door opened across the hall.

Liv paused when she saw Jenna and Jenna caught a brief glimpse inside. The walls were dark and she could see a flash of deep red bedding and a sleek black dresser. 

“Oh. Hey.” Jenna smiled. “Did you check out your room?”

Liv’s eyes flicked toward her partially open door. “Yeah.” Liv pulled the door shut behind her with a quiet click.

“Not your vibe?” Jenna teased.

“It’s fine. Better than the dorms,” Liv noted.

Cassie’s leaned over Jenna’s shoulder, smiling brightly. “Don’t worry. You’ll settle in.”

Liv didn’t respond. Her eyes lingered on Cassie for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back to Jenna.

Jenna nudged Liv’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s exciting!”

Liv gave a noncommittal hum.

Cassie tilted her head, her smile still fixed in place. “Exciting, right?”

Liv couldn’t help but let a small smile escape her lips. “Sure.”

They stepped outside into the early evening warmth. Liv tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket as they crossed the street toward the dorms. Jenna fell into step beside her, their strides naturally matching.

“So,” Jenna said after a moment, “this is really happening, huh?”

Liv huffed out a breath. “Guess so.”

Jenna bumped her hip against Liv’s. “You could try to sound a little more enthusiastic.”

Liv gave a small smirk. “Enthusiasm is your job.”

Jenna laughed. “Okay, but seriously…can you believe we’re doing this?”

“No,” Liv said flatly.

Jenna rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You know it’s better than another year in that shitty dorm.”

Liv nodded. “Fair point.”

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this,” Jenna said.

Liv’s eyes flicked toward her. “My mom didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Jenna’s smile dimmed. She knew how Liv’s mom could be. Old money. Old expectations.  Liv had resisted at first. Liv was very different from her mother in looks, personality, everything. It was like Liv was an affair baby, except that was literally impossible. Jenna still remembered how hard Liv had rolled her eyes when the rush invitations arrived.

“She wore you down,” Jenna said.

Liv’s mouth twitched. “She always does. And you just agreed to do it with me so I wouldn’t be miserable.”

Jenna grinned. “Exactly. That’s what best friends are for.”

They had been close since freshman orientation. Jenna still remembered sitting next to Liv in the crowded auditorium, both of them uncomfortable and overwhelmed. Liv had made a sarcastic comment about the school’s inspirational welcome speech, and Jenna had laughed so hard she’d nearly fallen out of her chair. They’d been inseparable ever since.

Jenna was the outgoing one, and Liv was the quiet one. Jenna pulled Liv into things, and Liv kept Jenna grounded. It worked.

“Anyway, I figured if we were going to sell our souls to Greek life, we might as well suffer together,” Jenna said.

Liv shook her head. “You seem pretty excited.”

Jenna shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… feels like a fresh start, you know?”

“Or a trap.”

Jenna groaned. “Oh my God, Liv, you’re such a downer.”

Liv shook her head. “If you say so.”

They reached the entrance of their dorm. Jenna held the door open, letting Liv step through first.

“Come on,” Jenna said. “Let’s order pizza. I need to eat something disgusting before we become sorority girls.”

Liv snorted. “Deal.”

Jenna smiled. -------------------------------------------

Jenna lay stretched out on the bed, her legs crossed at the ankles. Her back sank into the impossibly soft mattress, and the silky sheets beneath her felt cool against her skin.

It felt… good. She had only been there a few hours, but the pink walls didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. It was still a lot, but it didn’t feel foreign anymore. It was actually kind of comfortable.

A copy of Vogue rested in her hands. She wasn’t even really reading it. Just flipping through the pages, glancing at the models and makeup spreads. Her lips moved unconsciously as she hummed softly under her breath.  

Her eyes skimmed over a feature on celebrity skincare routines. Expensive products, perfect faces. Jenna blinked, realizing what she was doing. She shook her head and closed the magazine, stretching her arms over her head and letting out a contented sigh.

Her tank top slid up slightly as she stretched, the cool air brushing against her stomach.

This is… nice.

A knock at the door pulled her attention away.

“Hey, newbie!”

Cassie’s voice was bright and familiar as the door pushed open. She leaned casually against the frame, dressed in her usual sorority-chic athletic wear of tight black leggings and a cropped sorority hoodie that somehow still managed to highlight her figure.

Jenna smiled. “Hey.”

Cassie’s eyes swept over the room. “Look at you, all settled in.”

Jenna sat up. “Yeah. Not much to do besides hang up my clothes, but it’s nice.”

Cassie stepped inside, seeing the magazine on the bed.

“Vogue?” Cassie grinned.

Jenna flushed. “It was just sitting on the desk.”

Cassie smiled. “Uh-huh.” She moved to the foot of the bed and sat down, stretching her toned legs out in front of her.

Jenna shifted, suddenly aware of how casual this felt. Like they were already becoming friends. But she guessed that was the whole point of having a mentor sister.

Cassie tilted her head. “So… you hungry?”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Dinner in the common room.” Cassie’s smile widened. “We’re breaking in the new sisters. All very low-key. Just food and a little mingling.”

Jenna stretched her arms behind her head. “Yeah, okay. Let me change first.” She hesitated. “Do I need to dress up?”

Cassie’s smile sharpened. “Nah. You’ll look good no matter what.”

Jenna flushed.

“You’re gonna love it here,” Cassie said before turning and leaving the room, the soft sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway. -------------------------------------------

Jenna made her way down the wide, curving staircase leading to the common room. Her hand trailed along the polished wooden banister, the sound of chatter and soft music growing louder as she descended.

She threw on a fitted white tank top, a black cardigan, and high-waisted jeans that hugged her hips. She saw her reflection in the mirror by the entrance.The tank top dipped a little lower than she’d realized when she’d put it on. Just enough to hint at cleavage. But she had to admit it looked good.

She pushed the thought away as she reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the common room which was already filling up.

Like the rest of the house, the room itself was beautiful with high ceilings and a soft golden light pouring from crystal chandeliers. The long wooden dining table was set with white linen, silverware gleaming under the lights. Girls were clustered in groups, some standing near the fireplace, others already seated, talking and laughing easily.

All of the sisters were strikingly pretty. It was unnerving. No two girls looked exactly alike, but they all had that same polished, heightened quality. Perfect hair. Flawless makeup. And big breasts. Jenna couldn’t help but notice that part. It wasn’t subtle.

A redhead near the fireplace wore a tight emerald dress that hugged her curves, gold heels glinting beneath the hem. Her chest pressed high against the fabric, as though the dress was barely containing her.

At the table, a tall blonde with icy blue eyes and glossy pink lips adjusted the straps on her silk slip dress. The soft outline of her nipples showed faintly through the thin material.

Near the window, a curvy brunette in ripped jeans and a crop top was laughing as she casually tossed her hair over her shoulder, her cleavage bouncing with the movement.

“Jenna!” Cassie’s bright voice broke her focus. Jenna turned to see Cassie waving from the table. “Over here!”

Jenna threaded her way through the room toward her. She spotted Liv sitting toward the far side of the table, looking slightly uncomfortable.

A tall woman, with dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, dressed in a fitted leather jacket over a low-cut top was standing next to her. Her hand was on Liv’s shoulder as she leaned down to whisper something into her ear.

“Sit with me,” Cassie said and Jenna slid into the seat next to her.

Cassie grinned. “First official dinner. Excited?”

“Yeah,” Jenna said. “Excited.”

Jenna thought for a moment and realized all of the sisters had different styles, but the same underlying perfection. And yet none of them compared to Vanessa. Vanessa stood near the head of the table, casually leaning against the back of a chair. A sleek dress clung to her body like it had been poured on. The neckline plunged deep, showing off the smooth swell of her chest. Her hair was flawless, golden waves cascading over her shoulders. Her lips were painted a deep, glossy red, curling at the corners in the faintest smile.

She wasn’t talking, but everyone was aware of her.

Even the girls engaged in conversation stole glances toward her, like their attention naturally gravitated toward Vanessa whether they meant to or not. When Vanessa’s eyes swept the room, girls instinctively adjusted their posture. Sat up straighter. Smiled wider.

Jenna was drawn in despite herself. She broke free and looked over to see Liv, who was sitting stiffly next to her mentor sister.

Jenna gave Liv a quick wave before getting pulled into a conversation by Cassie. -------------------------------------------

Jenna slipped on a pair of fitted jeans and a cropped white tank top, adjusting the hem as she stood in front of the vanity mirror. She liked the way she looked. The outfit felt… right.

She usually reached for a hoodie or a loose sweater for class, but today the tank top just seemed to work better. It hugged her body in all the right places, the soft stretch of fabric pressing snugly against her chest.

“Ready?”

Jenna pulled the door open and found Liv standing there.

Liv looked… different.

She was wearing black skinny jeans and a fitted burgundy top that was low-cut enough to hint at cleavage. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her eyeliner sharp and defined. She wasn’t dressed up, exactly, but Jenna couldn’t remember the last time Liv had put this much effort into her appearance.

Jenna’s eyes flicked toward Liv’s chest, then away.

Liv’s eyes drifted over Jenna’s outfit, her mouth tugging into a slight smirk. “You’re not wearing that for class, are you?”

Jenna’s brow furrowed. “What? It’s just a tank top.”

Liv’s eyes sharpened slightly, but she shrugged. “Sure.”

Jenna brushed past her into the hallway, Liv falling into step beside her. They walked together toward the stairs, their footsteps soft against the hardwood floor.

Jenna adjusted her tank top absently, pulling at the hem. The motion made her chest shift slightly beneath the fabric, the soft curve of her cleavage drawing her eye for half a second before she looked away.

“So,” Liv said after a moment, “how was the rest of dinner?”

Jenna glanced at her. “You left early.”

“Yeah,” Liv replied.

“Your companion didn’t scare you off, did she?” Jenna teased.

“She’s… intense.”

Jenna chuckled. “Cassie’s intense too, but you don’t see me complaining.”

“Cassie’s not like her.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Liv’s jaw tightened. “Just… be careful.”

Jenna rolled her eyes. “Liv, you worry too much.”

Liv didn’t respond right away. They reached the front door, the morning sunlight filtering through the glass panes.

Jenna pushed open the door, stepping out into the bright warmth.

“I’m serious,” Liv said, her tone low. “Something’s… off.”

Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been saying that since day one.”

Liv looked over her again, lingering on the curve of Jenna’s chest beneath the thin fabric.

“Yeah,” Liv murmured. “And I think I’m right.”

Jenna scoffed. “Let me know how that works out for you.”

Liv didn’t smile, but she didn’t push it either. -------------------------------------------

It was late Friday night and Jenna lay sprawled across her bed, her back sinking into the soft sheets. A warm buzz settled in her limbs, the leftover hum of alcohol and music still tingling beneath her skin.

Her outfit was… well, different.

A short satin skirt clung to her hips, the fabric riding high enough that she had to keep adjusting it every time she shifted her legs. Her top was a fitted pink halter that plunged low enough to show a deep line of cleavage.

Her breasts filled the fabric more than they should have. She’d barely noticed it while getting dressed, but now, laying back, the way the top pressed against her chest was impossible to ignore.

She wasn’t sure when she’d gotten the halter. Or the skirt, for that matter. They’d just been hanging neatly in the closet when she was getting ready and they fit her perfectly.

The room smelled faintly of perfume and spilled vodka cranberries. Music from the party downstairs still thumped faintly through the floorboards.

Liv sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, swirling a half-empty plastic cup in her hand. Her outfit wasn’t as revealing as Jenna’s, but it was still… more than usual.

Black leather pants hugged her legs, and a dark red tank top sat low across her chest, the thin straps highlighting the curve of her collarbones. Her breasts seemed larger too but, unlike Jenna, Liv wasn’t exactly showing them off.

Liv’s makeup was darker, more defined with smoky eyes and a sharper contour along her cheekbones.

Jenna smiled lazily. “You look good.”

“So do you.”

Jenna’s smile widened. “Yeah?”

“That top’s new, right?”

Jenna’s brow furrowed. “I… guess?”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Jenna brushed her hair over her shoulder, the neckline of her halter dipping lower with the motion. Liv’s eyes flicked toward the movement for half a second before looking away.

“That was… something,” Liv said after a beat.

Jenna stretched her arms over her head, her body shifting beneath the thin fabric. “You didn’t have fun?”

“It was fine.”

Jenna laughed. “Oh, come on. Guys were all over you.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

Jenna rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. The motion made her chest shift beneath the halter, the swell of her cleavage pressing higher.

Liv’s eyes flicked downward for half a second before looking away again.

“You’re hot, Liv.” Jenna smiled. “You should let people appreciate it.”

Liv’s jaw tensed. “Is that what you were doing?”

Jenna’s smile sharpened. “Maybe. I kind of like the attention.”

And why not? She had felt good tonight. The way people had looked at her, the way guys had glanced down at her chest, their eyes drifting back even when they tried not to. It made her feel sexy.

Jenna tugged lightly at the hem of her skirt, shifting her legs.

“Cassie looked like she was having a good time,” Liv said.

Jenna’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah. She knows how to have fun.”

“You sound like her.”

Jenna smiled. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Liv’s expression darkened. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

Jenna scoffed and flopped back onto the bed. “You overthink everything.”

Liv set the cup down on the nightstand with a soft clink.

“Maybe you don’t think enough.”

Jenna’s eyes drifted toward the closet. The door was cracked open, a sliver of soft pink fabric visible in the dim light. Her closet had been… fuller lately. Cute skirts, satin dresses, delicate lace bras. She didn’t remember buying any of them.

Jenna smiled lazily, her gaze sliding back to Liv. “I’m not worried.”

Liv stood, brushing her hands down the sides of her leather pants. Her movements seemed  confident. Liv adjusted the strap of her tank top.

“Maybe you should be.”

Jenna smiled, slow and soft. “I’m good.”

Liv studied her for a long moment, her eyes narrowed slightly. Then she turned toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” Liv said over her shoulder.

Jenna stretched out on the bed, her legs sliding over the silky sheets. The weight of her chest shifted again, pressing against the fabric of her top.

She glanced toward the closed door, her smile deepening.

Her hand drifted down, fingertips brushing the smooth skin of her thigh.

The room was quiet now, except for the soft thrum of her heartbeat in her ears.

Her breath quickened  as her fingers slid higher, teasing the edge of her skirt.

She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut as she remembered the way they’d looked at her tonight.

All those eyes on her. Wanting her.

Her smile widened.

And then her hand slipped lower. -------------------------------------------

Jenna stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the thin straps of her satin dress.

It was short. Very short. The smooth pink fabric clung to her body, the low neckline plunging deep enough to show off the soft swell of her cleavage. Her breasts sat high and round beneath the fabric, larger than they’d ever been, pressing together in a way that practically invited attention.

She tugged the hem a little lower though it didn’t help much.

Her waist had narrowed over the past week, making the exaggerated curve of her hips more noticeable. Her legs were toned and smooth beneath the dress, the hemline riding up so high that the slightest shift in movement threatened to expose more than intended. Her lips were coated in glossy pink, her eyes lined with soft, smoky shadow. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, a few strands falling over the swell of her chest. Her tan skin glowed beneath the soft lighting.

She looked… hot, and it felt right.

She turned slightly, running her hands down the sides of her waist. Her chest shifted with the motion, the soft weight of it making her smile.

Yeah, this was working.

Laughter and music floated up from the floor below. The house was already filling up with people.

Jenna slipped on a delicate gold bracelet and grabbed her phone from the vanity.

As she walked toward the door, her heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor. The motion made her hips sway naturally, the tight fabric of her dress hugging her curves perfectly.

She paused in the hallway and looked at Liv’s door. It was closed.

They hadn’t talked much over the past few days. Jenna had tried, but Liv had been… different. Their last few conversations had been stiff and awkward, and Liv’s tone had been sharp, almost dismissive.

And then there was the fight Jenna had heard two days ago. The sound of raised voices spilling out from Liv’s room. Liv’s mentor sister—Jenna couldn’t remember her name—had said something in that controlling tone the sisters sometimes used.

And Liv had snapped. She’d said things Jenna hadn’t expected. Called her sister out and said she didn’t have to listen, that she wasn’t going to play along with whatever game this was. The sister had gone quiet after that.

But the strange part? The next day, Liv’s sister had still been hanging around but she seemed quieter. Almost… submissive.

Jenna stepped forward and knocked once. “Liv?”

There was no response.

Jenna sighed and pushed the door open without waiting, but that turned out to be a big mistake.

Liv sat in the center of the room, legs crossed. She was dressed in sleek black leather pants and a matching corset-style top and glossy black heels. 

Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her makeup heavy and defined with dark liner, sharp contour, and deep red lipstick.

At her feet, her mentor-sister knelt. She was half naked with her head bowed and her hands resting on her thighs.

Liv’s eyes lifted slowly to meet Jenna’s and Jenna froze.

Liv’s eyes were sharp, cold.

“What do you want?”

Jenna stared in shock. “I—uh—”

Liv’s eyes narrowed.

Jenna stared at the kneeling sister. She looked… calm. Blank. Almost like she was waiting for something. Her pulse quickened.

“I was just—”

Liv’s expression hardened. “I’m busy.”

Jenna took a step back. “Okay. Yeah. Cool.”

Liv’s expression didn’t soften. Her jawline looked sharp beneath the light. The strength in her shoulders was more pronounced than Jenna remembered.

Jenna swallowed. “See you downstairs?”

Liv’s lips curled faintly. “Maybe.”

Jenna took the hint and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She stood in the hallway for a second. What the hell was that?

Jenna shook it off and turned toward the stairs. Her hips swayed naturally as she descended, the hem of her dress sliding higher up her thighs with each step. -------------------------------------------

Jenna entered the common room, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

The party was already in full swing, and the girls… God, they looked good.

Cassie sat on the arm of a leather chair near the fireplace, legs crossed, one hand resting on the bare skin of her toned thigh. Her long golden-brown hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, catching the low light of the room. She was wearing a leopard-print halter top, tied beneath her chest in a neat bow. The plunging neckline left little to the imagination, showing off the full swell of her breasts and the toned definition of her stomach.

Tight black leather pants hugged her hips and thighs, the silver zippers and low rise emphasizing the narrow dip of her waist. Gold necklaces glinted at her collarbones, and her glossy lips curved into an easy, confident smile as she laughed at something one of the guys beside her said.

Near the drinks table, Melissa, a curvy brunette, stood sipping a martini, her skintight green dress showing off her small waist and high, full ass. A guy stood beside her, visibly flustered as she leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

And of course, at the head of the room was Vanessa.

She was draped in a sleek black slip dress, her golden hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her red lips curled in a faint, knowing smile as a group of guys hovered nearby, clearly hoping for a scrap of attention.

Vanessa didn’t even need to speak to control the room.

Jenna’s eyes moved from girl to girl, taking it all in.

And then it hit her. She fit in.

No, she stood out.

Her dress was thin, stretchy, and designed to cling to every curve. The pink and orange leopard-print fabric hugged her body like a second skin, the halter-style neckline plunging low enough to leave little to the imagination. Her breasts sat high and round, full and perky despite their size. The thin material of the dress molded around them perfectly, the deep neckline exposing the soft swell of cleavage. The way they pressed together, round and heavy, made it impossible not to notice.

Even Cassie, who looked like a literal fitness model, couldn’t match her figure.

Jenna’s waist had narrowed, the exaggerated curve of her hips creating a perfect hourglass shape. Her toned, golden legs stretched beneath the short hem of her dress, the soft sheen of her skin catching the low light.

Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft blonde waves, framing her face and resting against the curve of her chest. Her glossy pink lips curled into a slow, confident smile. 

She wasn’t just as hot as the other girls. She was hotter.

Cassie’s gaze flicked toward her and grinned. “Damn, babe.”

Jenna beamed a smile back at Cassie.

She strode into the room, her hips swaying naturally with each step. Conversations faltered as she passed, eyes flicking toward her chest before jerking away. A couple of the guys near Vanessa actually stopped talking altogether, their mouths slightly parted as she moved through the crowd.

“Jenna! Over here!”

One of the senior girls near the fireplace waved her over. Another girl was already holding her phone, camera aimed. “Picture?”

Jenna hesitated. “Uh, sure.”

Jenna slid between the clusters of girls and guys, settling against the edge of the fireplace. She felt awkward and didn’t know what to do with her hands. 

She ended up putting one hand on her hips as the flash went off.  God, what am I doing?

“Another,” someone called.

Jenna turned slightly, placing her hand behind her head and angling her body toward the camera. The neckline of her dress dipped lower, exposing the soft curve of cleavage beneath the satin.

Flash.

Her skin prickled. That wasn’t so bad.

“Damn,” Cassie grinned. “Okay, that’s hot.”

Jenna’s eyes flicked toward the phone. The picture showed her in profile with her hips cocked, one leg bent, the swell of her breasts framed perfectly by the low neckline of her dress.

And she… looked good.

“Another one,” one of the senior girls said. “Smile.”

Jenna didn’t hesitate. Her lips parted into a soft, teasing smile. The ip of her tongue flick over her bottom lip.

Click.

The other girls were laughing now, one of them glancing toward the phone with wide eyes.

“You’re so good at this,” one of the girls breathed.

Jenna’s smile sharpened. “I know,” she said smoothly.

The next pose came easier. She shifted her body, one hand sliding over the curve of her hip. The neckline of her dress dipped lower, showing more skin.

Flash.

Cassie’s eyes widened slightly. “Holy shit,” Cassie muttered. “You’re flashing everyone!”

Jenna turned toward her, her smile soft and teasing. “Should I stop?”

Cassie looked at Jenna knowingly. “Not unless you want to.”

Jenna’s smile widened. She didn’t want to stop.

“Maybe that’s enough for now,” Jenna said. Her hand slid down her hip, the satin clinging to the curve of her ass. “I’m feeling all riled up. I need a good dicking.”

Cassie laughed, “Your horrible.”

Jenna scanned the room, searching. Who’s it gonna be tonight?

Jake stood near the drinks table, looking tall and effortlessly hot in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His dark hair was tousled in that perfectly careless way, and when his eyes met hers, his expression sharpened.

Jenna’s tongue flicked over her bottom lip. Yeah. Him.

She closed the distance between them easily, her heels clicking softly beneath her. Jake sized her body up and down, his jaw tightening as she stopped directly in front of him.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft and sweet.

“Hey,” he replied.

Jenna tilted her head, her hair sliding over one bare shoulder. The motion made her breasts shift beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Jake’s eyes dropped to her chest for half a second.

“You’re… looking good tonight,” he said.

Jenna’s smile sharpened. She shifted her weight, her hand sliding over his chest.

“I know.”

Jake’s eyes went wide, and her smile widened.

“Wanna get out of here?” she murmured.

Jake’s eyes flashed. “Absolutely.”

Jenna’s fingers trailed down his arm, guiding him toward the stairs.

Eyes followed her as they crossed the room. A couple of the guys near Vanessa were still watching the smooth curve of Jenna’s back and the sway of her hips.

Cassie’s eyes lingered the longest.

Jenna’s smile widened as Jake followed her upstairs without a word.

She already knew how this night was going to end. -------------------------------------------

Jenna woke up feeling warm. Her head was clear, but her body had that soft, lingering ache. A delicious kind of ache that spread through her limbs and settled low in her belly. The sheets were tangled around her waist, the cool morning air brushing against her bare skin. She stretched lazily, her back arching as her chest pressed into the mattress. The weight of her breasts shifted with the motion, full and heavy against the sheets.

A soft sound came from behind her, and she smiled. She rolled onto her side and glanced over her shoulder. Jake was still there.

He lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. His dark hair was messy from sleep, his hazel eyes half-lidded and still a little glassy from last night.

He watched her with that look. That mix of satisfaction and disbelief.

Jenna smiled faintly.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it and swiped the screen open. Holy shit.

Her camera roll was full. Dozens of pictures from last night. Her in Jake’s lap, his hands gripping her waist as she smiled at the camera. Her tongue teasing along his ear as he laughed, his eyes dark with hunger. A shot of her leaning against the wall, her satin dress pulled down low enough to expose the soft swell of her breasts.

And then…her dress on the floor. Jake’s hands sliding up her bare thighs. Her nails digging into his shoulders.

She scrolled through them slowly, her finger pausing over the raunchiest ones. The ones where she looked utterly wrecked and hot as fuck.

Her lips curled. She looked like a centerfold.

Jenna tapped a few of the better ones. The ones where her eyes were hooded and her lips were parted in that perfect, sexy pout.

Jake stirred beside her. “You’re seriously looking through pictures already?”

“Just making sure I got the good ones.”

Jake laughed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah? Any favorites?”

Jenna’s finger flicked over the screen, enlarging one of the pictures. Her in his lap, her dress hiked up around her waist, her legs straddling his hips. Her breasts were spilling out of the satin, Jake’s hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks.

She turned the screen toward him and his eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

Jenna smiled lazily.

Jake sat up slowly, his eyessliding down her body beneath the sheets.

Jenna pushed the sheets down and slid out of bed. She was completely naked. Jake watched her go, but she didn’t bother covering herself.

Her hips swayed naturally as she crossed the room toward the bathroom. The soft curve of her ass shifted with each step, her long, toned legs gleaming beneath the early morning light.

She stopped by the mirror, brushing her hair back from her face. And God…she looked incredible. Her breasts sat high and full, the soft curves of them perfectly round. Her waist was narrow, the exaggerated flare of her hips creating that impossible hourglass figure.

Her skin was smooth and glowing, the slight flush on her cheeks giving her that just-fucked look. Her lips were full and glossy, even though she wasn’t wearing anything. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, perfectly tousled.

She looked like a Playboy centerfold.

Jake sat up. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

Jenna smiled at his reflection in the mirror. She dragged a hand down her side, letting her fingers skim the curve of her waist and over the swell of her hip.

Jake’s mouth parted and her smile deepened. 

“Morning,” she said, her voice soft and sweet.

Jake swallowed hard. “You—uh—you look…”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. You look… fucking perfect.”

She turned toward him, her arms crossing beneath her chest, subtly lifting the full weight of her breasts. Jake couldn’t help but stare.

Jenna’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Want to take some more pictures?”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed eagerly as he stood and closed the distance between them. Jenna didn’t flinch as his hands slid over her hips, pulling her flush against his chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she murmured.

“I’m not saying no.”

Jenna’s hands slid up his chest, her nails dragging lightly over his skin.

“Smart boy.”

Jake’s breath hitched as her lips brushed over his ear.

Jenna laughed softly.

Yeah.

She liked this.

She liked all of this. -------------------------------------------

A few weeks later, Jenna lounged on the plush sofa in the common room, legs crossed, one perfectly manicured hand resting on her thigh. She wore a cream-colored halter dress that clung to her body like a second skin. The thin fabric dipped low between her breasts, held together by a small gold ring that strained against the soft swell of her chest. The cutouts beneath the bust exposed just enough toned skin to tease without completely giving away the view.

The skirt of the dress was long but split high on both sides, revealing the smooth curve of her thighs as she shifted her legs. A delicate gold anklet glinted against her tanned skin.

Her long, glossy blonde hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders in soft waves, framing her face perfectly. Her lips were painted a soft pink, her eyes were lined in smoky shadow.

Every inch of her was soft and inviting. 

Cassie sat beside her, a matching cocktail in hand. She was dressed similarly in short dress, glossy heels, legs stretched out over the edge of the sofa. While well endowed, Cassie’s breasts didn’t hold a candle to Jenna’s.  Nobody’s did. 

Cassie laughed at something Jenna said, her bright, white smile flashing. They had drifted into that easy, shared rhythm that comes with being very similar girls.

“Oh my God,” Cassie said, shaking her head. “Do you think he’s coming to the party tonight?”

Jenna’s lips curled. “He better be.”

Cassie leaned in, eyes sparkling. “You think you’ll hook up with him?”

Jenna’s smile widened. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just make him watch me flirt with someone else.”

Cassie giggled. “God, you’re evil.”

Jenna gave a slow, lazy stretch, the motion pushing her chest up beneath the thin satin. Cassie’s eyes flicked toward the motion before her smile sharpened.

“If you don’t grab him, I will.”

Jenna’s brow arched. “We could always share.”

Cassie’s eyes lit up. “Babe.”

They both dissolved into laughter. Just then, Jenna’s eyes lifted toward the stairs. She saw Liv descend slowly, dark heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

Liv wore a sleek, black latex bodysuit that clung to her figure like a second skin. The deep V-cut exposed the swell of her chest, the tight high collar giving the outfit a dominant edge. Black leather gloves ran up her arms, and her heels were dangerously high.

Her hair was pulled back into a tight, flawless ponytail, her makeup sharp with dark lips, heavy liner, and cheekbones carved to perfection.

Behind her, her mentor sister followed. She walked two steps behind Liv, head lowered, hands clasped in front of her.

Liv moved forward with intent.

Jenna smiled faintly and lifted her hand in a small wave.

Liv’s eyes flicked toward her. She didn’t slow. Didn’t even acknowledge her. She stepped out the front door without a word.

Cassie watched the door shut behind her. “Yikes.”

Jenna’s smile didn’t fade. “She’s been like that lately.”

Cassie’s eyes sharpened. “Well, not everyone thrives here.”

Jenna shrugged, picking up her drink and taking a slow sip. The soft clink of ice against glass filled the quiet.

“Anyway,” Jenna said, “who are you thinking about tonight?”

Cassie’s smile sharpened. “Hmm… maybe Jake.”

Jenna’s eyes glittered. “Or maybe Nick.”

“Maybe both.”

Jenna’s smile widened. “Now you’re getting it.”

They laughed again, bodies angled toward each other, perfectly comfortable, perfectly in sync.

Jenna’s phone buzzed. A text from Jake.

“See you tonight?” Jenna’s lips curled.

“Definitely.”

[cocteaucherry]

fuckboy!suguru x reader

a/n-something I wrote in like two days, :p

cws- geto is fr a douche, nipple play, nipple piercing, tongue piercings, unprotected p in v, 18+, geto with tattoos, mention of bodily fluids, slight coercion, reader uses she/her pronouns

fuckboy!Suguru who was the sweetest boy through your years of high school.

His hair was relatively long and his face was still developing, he’d offer to help you study for upcoming quizzes and would often invite you out for coffee study dates.

The summer after graduation Geto had cut contact with most of his friends (other than Gojo and Shoko) you didn't look too deep into it, I mean he was cutting social ties starting fresh, turning over a new great leaf. Oh how wrong you were

That fall you attended your local college excited to enter a new chapter, a few weeks into your first semester everything had gone calmly until you saw him.

He was more sculpted, his raven hair cascaded down his back and, how did he get jacked in a matter of months? Although to be fair he always wore baggy clothes. To add onto his new look was a long dragon sleeve tattoo and a cool metal ball pierced through his tongue.

You wondered where this pivot came from until the rumors and whispers began, many people regaling with tears how he fucked, led them on then broke it off with swift quickness.

A pang of disappointment rang through your body, over a boy you hung out with a few times was crazy your mind told you but you couldn't care.

fuckboy!Suguru who approached you in the dining hall with a sickeningly sweet smile and his usual hushed tone, “Y/N, long time no see.” a fake smile generated on your face as you listened to him try to powder and egg you on.

“I think we should catch up this weekend whaddya’ think?”

“I don't know..”

“Come on pleasee, it'll be like old times.”

“Fine,”

“Saturday at five good?”

Fuckboy!suguru picking you up in his surprisingly nice black Jeep, for being a douche he had a suspiciously clean car. He wore baggy jeans and a tight black t-shirt, his muscles looking as if they're trying to bust out the tight fabric but your eyes are brought to his chest.

Four small metal balls on either side of his nipples and you were gobsmacked.

“It's rude to stare, angel.”

You were bought out of your gaze, a heat creeping up your neck, you hadn't registered the nick name he gave you.

The date with Suguru had gone surprisingly well, you held your breath for the level of sleaze he could give off but so far nothing came.

So how come you found yourself on his couch sloppily making out with him?

His lips attacked and bruised yours aggressively, his large hands running over the slight exposure of your skin, small grunts came from his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

In the back of your mind this went against all your morals but at the moment you didn't care.

Fuckboy!Suguru who had you ride his thick, aching cock in the comfort of his bed, you whimpered as you struggled to slam your hips down completely on his length.

His amber eyes scanned your body as his muscles tensed as he felt you clench around him. Rough hands came to your soft bouncing breasts as he squeezed a nipple aggressively in-between his fingers, “Feel how hard you make me angel?” he cooed using his other hand to slap his hand harshly on the fat of your ass.

“Letting me fuck this tight pussy on our first outing too? tch.” he clicked his tongue latching his mouth onto your erect nipple, he swirled the tip of his tongue around purposely moving the cold metal around the space.

Whines escaped from your mouth as you pleaded, “S-Sugu, let me cum please,” you moaned continuing to bounce off his cock.

“Mm should I?” he mumbled pulling off your nipple to smirk at your sweaty face, “Don't know if you earned it,” the grip on your ass getting harsher each second.

Fuckboy!suguru who edged you for about two hours that night but came about four times all over your face, tits, and ass.

Fuckboy!suguru who left you naked in his bed to smoke outside as he ran into his white haired roommate hair tousled, “Suguru, do you always have to do this shit here? I'm not getting any sleep.” he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Suguru smirked, holding a cigarette in hand as his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, “You'll be fine.”

“Who’s on the roster tonight?”

“Cute girl, met her in the dinner hall.”

“Huh, might’ve been the quickest fuck you've gotten usually you wait a week or two what's different?”

Suguru shrugged while walking towards the balcony, “No idea, just met her this week.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow with a grin, “Sugu~ y’know you're a terrible liar right?”

I feel like I could've gone a lot more extreme but I didn't wanna hurt my own feelings)

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - Secret Identity

@wolfstarmicrofic July 14, word count 948

Because of his family, Sirius often used another name when dealing with people he didn't know. Especially when dating. Once they heard Black, that was it, they were suddenly obsessed with being introduced to his parents. He’d grown his hair long, and he avoided suits like the plague. If you put him next to a picture of his younger self, it would be hard to guess they were the same person. 

He was being set up by a friend of a friend. He’d been adamant that his real name wasn’t mentioned. He had a rule that he only revealed his actual name if he thought it would go anywhere and, so far, that hadn’t happened. 

He was nervous. Something about this date was making him jumpy. He tried to shake it off and think about the nice meal he was going to have tonight. He’d chosen his favourite restaurant, all the staff knew him and knew not to call him Sirius or Mr Black. 

A tall, thin man in faded blue jeans, a slightly rumpled white shirt and an honest-to-god brown cardigan. Sirius looked around the restaurant to see who he was meeting. The man leaned in to ask the host something and, to Sirius’s astonishment, Celeste led the man over to his table. He jumped out of his seat when they stopped beside him and the man looked at him expectantly. 

“Thank you, Celeste,” He held out his hand to his date. “Simon White,” He introduced himself. 

“Remus Lupin,” Remus replied politely. They sat down and opened their menus. 

Sirius already knew what he was ordering, so he observed Remus instead. He was very handsome now that he was closer, with gorgeous sandy hair that wound into cute little curls. If only he had a sense of style, he’d be batting them off instead of going on a blind date with him. 

They made polite conversation and Remus seemed very nice, but Sirius was bored and not for the first time he wished he hadn’t come. Then Remus came out with the most outlandish, unexpected thing. 

“You look like a good shag, wanna have a bit of fun?” Sirius spit his water out across the table.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” He mopped up the spilt liquid as best he could. Remus put his hand on top of Sirius’s.

“Simon, calm down, it’s only water. Now if it had been red wine I think the staff might throw you out,” He stage whispered. 

“Nah, they love me in here,” Sirius waved him off. 

“Do you come here often?” Remus asked, his brow furrowing. 

“Er, yeah, it’s my favourite and I don’t cook so…” He didn’t dare say it was where he brought all his dates. 

“So, Simon, what do you do?” Sirius felt like squirming, he hated that Remus was calling him by his fake name. 

The man was growing on him, and he could almost see a possible future with this man. 

They were tucking into their desserts. Sirius had ordered the lemon cheesecake and Remus had the chocolate fudge cake. Remus was regaling him with a prank he’d pulled at his boarding school that nearly got him kicked out. 

“The toilets blew blue water everywhere, and they had to get in a line of portaloos on the front lawn to accommodate all of us while the plumbers tried to sort out the mess I made.” Sirius laughed a genuine laugh. He had tears in his eyes and was finally enjoying himself. “Did you ever get up to mischief when you were younger, Simon?” Sirius did shudder that time. Remus looked at him concerned. “Are you alright?” Sirius swallowed and braced himself. 

“Sirius,” He said, screwing his eyes shut. 

“Huh?” Remus asked, confused.

“My name isn’t Simon, it’s Sirius. I use a fake name on dates or else people want to know about my parents or the rest of the family and I can’t deal with that.” He confessed.

“So what is your real name?” Remus asked him. 

“Sirius Black,” He watched as Remus’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. 

“Oh,” He said. Sirius closed his eyes, a bit disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see Remus again and just when he was starting to have fun. “Well, I can happily say I have absolutely no interest in your family. No offence but they’re terrible,” Sirius’s head snapped up. Wait, what?

“You really don’t care who I am?” Sirius asked in wonder. Remus shook his head. 

“Who cares where you come from? It’s about who you are that matters, and I can tell you’re nothing like them. A bit lonely, but you show me a single person who isn’t.” Sirius could have cried. Where had this amazing, caring man come from and how could he have ever wanted the date to be over because he was boring? Remus Lupin was anything but boring. 

“Want to finish up here and come back to mine for coffee?” He dared to ask, putting himself out there in a way he never had before. Remus grinned a smile so big it took Sirius’s breath away. 

“Turn it into a hot chocolate, and I’m yours,” Remus joked. Sirius felt his stomach doing summersaults. He’d never eaten a cheesecake so fast in his life. The bill was charged to his account, and they left. Sirius grabbed Remus’s hand on the way through the door and Remus linked their fingers together. Sirius felt like he could fly right now. It was ridiculous. He made a mental note to thank Marlene for the set-up. But for now, he had hot chocolate to make, he was just glad that he had the good stuff in.