#they never got the chance to do so on the surface :(

[beausling]

˗ˏˋSUICIDEBOYS INSPIRED BOTS

☆ BEAU ARLEN

a girl named drool and a pack of kools

offering the guy — that you knew was definitely too old for you — a cigarette at mardi gras may or may not have been the best decision you ever made. but you get to choose where to go from there. and remember folks; what happens on bourbon street, stays on bourbon street.

marlboro country

trying to get sober, when all you’d ever known was substance abuse, was hard. that didn’t even begin to scratch the surface. but meeting beau was like finally seeing a light — finally seeing a way out of the grave you’d been digging yourself further into over the last 15 years of your life. who cares what your sponsor had to say about it, he could help you. save you. you were sure of it . . . or were you?

࣪𖤐 DEAN WINCHESTER

finding shelter in my larynx

you’d thought things were awful before dean took on the mark of cain. you knew now that you were dead fuckin’ wrong. him trying to kill you? yeah, you never could’ve possibly predicted that. you thought things were going to get better soon, and that you’d all find a way to remove that cursed mark from his arm… but, somehow, it got even worse. and you’re left fighting every mental demon that was threatening to claw it’s way out of your throat.

i miss my dead friends

grief was a funny thing, sometimes. the denial made you feel like you were actually going insane — like, white-padded-room-crazy. you’d lost pretty much everyone you’ve ever cared about, except for sam and dean. but even they were constantly dying, and coming back, and dying again. it was a painful, never ending cycle. so, when your baby sister met her demise, you had a chance to rewrite some wrongs. to do the one thing that the winchester brothers never seemed strong enough to; you let go.

all these ideas have been in my head for MONTHSS and i finally fucking made bots out of them😸🙏🏼 maybe will eventually write them out as whole fics like i’d originally wanted to, but i still fw these heavy. if any of them act weird then IT WASNT MEEEE I DIDNT MAKE THEM🫣

also remember a couple weeks ago when i said i had an idea for a new username, but probably wouldn’t use it on here and might use it on my c.ai acc instead? yeah, i did that🤭🤭🙂‍↕️

💐 dedicated to: @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @jasvtsc @deanswidow @j4ckles @jensenacklesballsack @dirtylittlesinkrat

[0viraptoraskblog]

If the btd/tpof characters were to grow very attached to the mc, how do you think they would react to mc dying? That can include dying a brutal death that may be caused by them... Or someone else

Strade- your death was probably an accident caused by him. He’d be very frustrated with himself, but more just mad at the situation than guilty. He’d be in a bad mood for a while. Same thing for if you ‘got the last laugh’, except then he’s less frustrated and more bummed out. There’s little opportunity for someone else to kill you. If it happened, he’d torture them 10 times worse before giving them a slow and agonizing death. Unless, on the off chance, it was Ren. He’d surely be punished, but Strade would never kill him.

Ren- Ren might be affected the most out of all of them. You were his friend, the one he cherished so much after losing Strade— it would greatly affect his already struggling mental health to lose you too. He’d blame himself, regardless if he was the cause, and would be frustrated and depressed. He’d get worried that the cycle is repeating again. If someone else killed you, he’d be furious. He wouldn’t know exactly what to do, but he’d want revenge. He’d come up with some kind of plan (albeit a rushed and amateur plan) to kill them off too. Whether he goes through with it or not depends on how mad he is, or if he’s too saddened to do anything.

Lawrence- He’d be angry. He was supposed to be guiding your path— he wasn’t ready for you to leave him yet. At first he’s just bewildered and in disbelief, but that would quickly turn into frustration. But yknow what? He is guiding your path. He might follow you to the River and drag you back with him. If someone else killed you, he’d send them to the River in your place.

Sano- a mixture of depressed, disappointed, and confused. He’s sad he lost you, he really is. You were different. He had a connection to you. He’s confused how it happened— how he let it happen. He might blame himself. He’s also a bit disappointed you didn’t have enough fight in you to make it, too. If someone else did it, they’re in for a horrible time. Sano’s rage is patient and calculated. He’d make sure they suffer as long as possible.

Akira- I think Akira would just be depressed for a while. He did like you, but he also deals with death every day because of his work— and he’s had people close to him die. He’s sad, but he knows he has to force himself to move on. If someone else killed you though? They’re not making it out. He’s a sharpshooter, yknow; they wouldn’t last another day.

Vincent- He’d be frustrated, sad, and would probably blame himself (much like he does when Farz dies in BTD2). It would affect him greatly, but he would try not to show it on the surface. He’d take a while to recover. If someone else killed you, they’re done for. He’d tear them apart in his wolf form easily.

Farz- Farz wouldn’t be bothered if he killed you, kind of like in game. Even if he did like you a bit, he knows it’s for the better; he’ll have Vincent to himself again. If you weren’t going away, it had to be like this. I don’t think he’d care if someone else finished the job. Maybe a little bit of sadness if he liked you, but it’s brief.

Cain- I imagine Cain wouldn’t accidentally kill you. He’d find a way to keep you alive. If he did, he meant to, and he’s moved on. If someone else killed you though, he’ll avenge you for sure. Same sword-through-the-chest fashion as he did with Vincent, maybe strangle them with thorns or something. He can’t let you go without some justification.

Rire- He’d be disappointed, but it’s easy to find someone new. He’d try to find someone who looks/acts similar to the way you did, but it will never truly be the same.

Derek- Kind of doesn’t know what to do now. He planned to keep you forever (and I believe he’s careful not to let you die, so he can torment you forever), but if he accidentally goes too far? He’d be furious. At you, for dying, at him, for losing his plaything. He’s frustrated because this is the first time he’s had an outlet for his anger, and now he’ll have to get a new one. But will they ever be as good as you were? He’d get snappy with people and be generally upset while he thinks of what to do. If someone else killed you? And stole his toy? Oh boy, you’re in for a fight. Either a regular fight, or maybe he just laughs. He laughs at them and walks away, saying “you’ll get what you deserve”. He has shady connections through his family’s ‘business’. That person never seen again.

Celia- Shed be extremely frustrated. With you, her life was just starting to become bearable. At first it was just because she had an outlet for her anger, but then she actually grew attached emotionally. And she can’t confide in anyone because you were a secret (or you both were on the run). She’d be a little lost as to what to do; she didn’t realize how much she liked you until you’re gone. If it was someone else, she’d hunt them down. Simple as that. She’d make sure they don’t get away with it.

Mason- He’d be a little sad, but he’d make sure to keep something to remember you by. Make some kind of art piece/object with your bones maybe, like he did with Sandy. You’ll never truly be gone if he has part of you with him. He’d be very sentimental about you, even after death.

[orangez3st]

In Some Other Lifetime - Chapter 1

No games, no war

Clone Commando Scorch × F!Reader

✧ Chapter Summary: Tantiss prison is insultingly boring that you no longer struggle and fight against it. However, you—quite stubbornly and unyieldingly—hold your true cause close to your chest.

✧ General Tags & Warnings: reader is a jedi turned bounty hunter, soulmate au, clone commando scorch fix-it-verse, the bad batch season 3 canon, rescue mission, prison break, other tags will be added

✧ Word Count: 3.3k

Story Index ✧ Join Taglist ✧ Other Clone x Reader

A/N: If you've been here before, then yeah this is a repost! And you're still here, appreciate it lovelies 💛

Present Day

“Nice seeing you again, Six-Two.”

The Imperial Commando barely tilts his bucket at your taunt as he strolls by. ICWS readily grasped, his gloved hands seemingly loose but you've always known they're always a change of stance, a switch, and a pull of a trigger away to actually incapacitate someone. And for the thousandth time during your imprisonment in Tantiss, you feel your heart plunge to your stomach at their ruthless and unquestioning capability to hurt someone.

Slowly, the echo of his boots against durasteel fades away. Rhythmically swallowed by silence the further he puts distance between your detention cell and wherever his end post is.

Having nothing to do, your ears have sharpened—you count. You count everything.

Every drip of water in the sink per minute that you'd notice there has to be something wrong with the water source if it drips too early or too late.

You count meal intervals. You aren't granted the luxury of having a chronometer that you use them as your chronometer. Three meals a day. Never too late. Nor too early. The droid arrives precisely when it means to.

Guard shifts. Their footfalls and how long it takes until it completely fades as they turn around the corner. How long is the corridor? You know. You do the math too. Your cell is located just right in the middle of a T. Gray walls, gray walls, gray walls. Lights. Gray walls.

Scorch's patrol.

The Imperial Commando does his rounds, passing by your cell, twice a day. A while after your lunch, and a long while after the supposed curfew that must be 2200 on the dot. You bet on 1300 and 0100—twelve-hour intervals. Tantiss is big. Every inch of it, every chatter, every hustle and bustle – all spells neverending chores, serving for the glory of their own hell.

Hemlock's lapdog. Sworn to secrecy, treated as nothing but an object they've always seen the clones as. Guard duties. Exhaustion is absent, not even through his footfalls that always sound tireless and steady. Always at the ready. His helmet—his buy’ce, he taught the word to you once—marshals every kind of expression. That man never sleeps. Your heart sinks again if that actually is the truth. You wonder if he swallows stim every damn day to forgo exhaustion. How many cups of caf does he have? Does he ever drink caf at all? You wonder too if he'd ever stripped out of his katarn-class armor for more than ten-minute-regulation shower.

His armor. Too clean. Makes you wonder whether he took a new set and discarded the decorated one. But he kept the paint; gunmetal grey and yellow streaks. His identity. Former identity, pre-Empire. What for? As far as you're concerned, he is not the man he once was. Now he's an Imperial puppet like many others. So why keep the paint that surely reminds him of his old armor?

No speck of dust and grime dotted across every inch of surface. You've always liked them dirty and dented and scratched. It spoke of experience. Battlefield is the other home to them. When talking about Scorch, them follows. Followed. Delta Squad is no more. Sev had been MIA. Last time you heard, their training sergeant headed to Kashyyyk. You never got the chance to hear what came next. The rest of the squad is nowhere to be found—not even in the ranks of the army. Dead. Or in hiding. Or living in a farm somewhere milking nerfs and butchering nunas and bounty hunting for a living. You throw your thanks to the Force either way.

Because they don't deserve to live like this.

You think about Scorch again.

Their brother is still within the grasp of the Empire. Controlled. Puppeteered. Existing as the absolute role model of a clone, 100% alike to what they've always imagined clones to be. Never questioning orders. Submissive. Obedient.

Your heart sinks again, this time burrowing impossibly deeper into your chest. It's almost painful.

You can't remember what ticking time should feel like. How long the interval is supposed to be between one second to another. Even with the silent option, you always had your chronometers ticking in your small apartment somewhere on Coruscant. If there wasn't any, you relied on the sun's trajectory. Easy to answer every what time is it? thrown at you when you were travelling. Now? No. Gray walls. Gray walls. 

Now, is hopefully an hour has passed. You've finished your meal, the tray picked up by you're sure the same droid. After they take your blood sample in the morning right after you and the other prisoners wake, they leave you to your own. Not even given a hole in the wall to peer outside. You don't even know what outside looks like. Is it rocky terrain? Endless sand dunes? Damp rainforests? Is it even breathable, that the foul bowels of Tantiss had to be fueled by oxygen tanks?

It's not like you're able to do anything, anyway.

So you meditate.

You were shit at meditating. You were famous for it. Even Qui-Gon Jinn himself, in his amusement, came down to teach you, a tough crecheling, the art of patience. Rest his spirit. And the others that had fallen during the Purge, too.

It hadn't always been like this.

The Temple was warm. It was home. You knew where your homeworld was—your parents believed in your destiny when they willingly trusted the Order to train you in the ways of the Force. Master Plo Koon was the one who found you (Force, you don't even know what happened to him. You hope he survives.) and showed you space travel for the first time. You were so young, you barely remember anything.

The ways of the Force taught you of life. Peace. Everything that is good, an image of what the galaxy is supposed to be. (If only not for that damned Chosen One prophecy. Look where you are all at now.) Unfortunately—that's your own branding to the matter and certainly not the other masters’—the way of the Jedi taught you not to relent to your soulmate mark, since it is by all means attachment, which they strictly forbid.

Your focus breaks like glass.

Seated on your bed, your back is against the wall. The source of light in your cell above your head smacks you in the eye as soon as you open them. Gray and boring durasteel insults you back, its blank and dull panels looking down upon your pathetic fate.

Or is it?

You stifle an annoyed groan as you will your body to sway to the side and your head to hit the excuse of a pillow. It gets thinner by a quarter inch every other day. You try to fluff them up, but it's the kind of comfort meant for inmates.

You snuggle into it, your head playing tricks for you into smelling a scent that wasn't there.

You wonder if he still smells the same. You'd only hugged him once, but you committed his scents to memory. Hot night summer air. Gunpowder. Fresh explosives. Firecracker. They all still hold fast, branded into your brain and bottled and displayed and ready for you to take a sniff any time. Soon you associated him with other things too that weren't relevant at all, but they strangely do all the same. Buttery breakfast waffles. Three sets of 15 push ups. Fun fairs. Honey. Forehead kisses. Bolts being screwed in. The joy that one gets after being gifted with homemade handicrafts. A crackle in a helmet’s voice modulator.

You wonder if it's one of the ways of the Force. You don't know. They didn't exactly teach you this in the Temple. The bottles never break, its content safely contained, the scent never fades, just like the mark etched along the inside of the ring finger of your left hand like a permanent inkwork.

As soon as you earned your mark the moment your age turned ripe, you were sent into a spiral of clashing ideals. You looked up the holonet to find that this happened to people too, and that it was a normalcy. You felt betrayed. A little. But you were so closed off. The outside world enticed you, or perhaps was it the prospect of romance? Of living with a partner that loves you and you only? A promise of happily ever after, without a threat of losing them to anybody else because the Soul Mark is for eternity. A certain ‘till death do us apart’ with no risk, no fear. A promise of love. A promise of easy things.

Disgustingly easy.

No.

Not with the mark on your skin being 1262 and the owner of that name will do his other patrol in approximately eleven hours. The same man who submitted to a corrupt order—to his thoughts that's not his own. Never his own.

And you're here to set him free.

Confidence burns bright in the beginning. Yet like fire, it smolders down into embers. It's only a matter of time where you'd regret for ever enlisting in Project War Mantle at all with the disguised noble cause—only a matter of time where the embers would eventually die and leave everything surrounding it in utter darkness.

You're teetering along the edge. The sounds of his boots are your only savior. Reminding you that he's still here, not lost to you yet even though he's lost to his own mind. Giving you hope to continue your true cause. Your true intention behind putting on a show to bow down to the Empire and following every single order and task given to you and the rest of the first Elite Squad.

Then you hope you could've gotten to some of the clones that rebelled against the chips. Gaining their testimonials. How did it feel? Were their own thoughts screaming and begging them to stop from shooting at their own traitorous brothers, or was it an on-off switch that wouldn't budge to the other way once flicked on all along?

You hold out your hope that it's not the latter.

Hope gives you nothing new behind the cell bars of Tantiss. Metal bars. Old school. Not even a ray shield. It's clever. It's mechanical. Hard to budge, impossible to slice within seconds. They don't need to deactivate something to kill someone inside. They only need to push the barrel of their blaster through the gaps. A tilt, a pew, a thud.

You continue to meditate. As always, the Force never answers to you. It gives you pain instead. Physically painful to reach out and latch onto what once used to be a set of comforting tendrils, the ones like a winter coat draped over your shoulder. It's as if the Force mocks you in the face. Yeah, you can't blame it. You sever your connection abruptly like a partner caught cheating and the argument erupts in the middle of a pavement—a public breakup that's full of betrayal.

You ignored them. You never reached back. You were annoyed how they tried to warn you before you could react, until they stopped altogether. You betrayed them. You scolded the young cocky bounty hunter that had been you.

Your meditations nowadays no longer seek for enlightenment. You’re bored and you have nothing to do to pass the time. Gray walls. You're certain to fall asleep somewhere in the hour. You wake up. Gray walls. You try to look for peace. For consolation. Solutions.

Nightfall arrives when you open your eyes. Still the same gray walls, though. Mourning the absence of enlightenment you used to gain, you were definitely sleeping. You have an inkling the droid would come soon to slide the tray of tasteless meal through the gap at the bottom of the door—dinner.

You hum. You turn the tap on to drink. Wash your face. Taking number 1 and 2 in the same room, flushing the stink before it could waft up and around the corridor and let it be sucked through the exhaust fan above you. You wash your hands. You lie down again. You sleep properly this time. Early. It's not even curfew yet, but you have your own intentions.

In your sleep, you used to always dream about him. You knew from the start he was a clone. The numbers made sense—those are his serial numbers. Where people have a name, you have numbers. Your soulmate is a clone. Once you found out, you didn't mind. You never do. You were intrigued, curious to see how this would go.

 Hearing his voice, his snickers and his jokes and the laughter that followed. He was such a ray of sunshine. The heart and soul of his team. The brightest—like the world seems to be for a moment once his explosive handiworks detonate. He captivated you easily. It only took you three nights that those weren't mere dreams—the dreamspace is a means of two-way communication. You looked up the holonet again to find that it's true. He was projecting his daily situation. Maybe unconsciously.

Guess what. No.

“I did all that for you!” the wisps of his boyish voice said, behind which you could hear an elated grin. “Thought maybe you'd love to see what I'm doing during the day.”

You finally found peace in his sweet thoughtfulness. The dream allowed you to see nothing more than projections. He was clever for figuring it out first before telling you the gist of it. They don't allow you to take form in the dreamspace. Just bodiless voices, and it's whispery, like faint streaks of clouds, like a comm without holo.

You woke up feeling well rested, as if you weren't awake all night talking with him. He couldn't promise to always be there for you because of his deployment, but he'd kept his word that he'd return home for you. You remembered imagining his shocked facial expression when you told him you were a bounty hunter. And again when he vocalized such a disbelief for the hundredth time—when you and him met face-to-face for the first time.

His footfalls from the end of the corridor awaken you.

Blame him for your kriffed up circadian rhythm. The lights in your cell all turned off during curfew, the ones in the corridor taking the turn to be the source. It's bright enough. Your berth is tucked to the side and away from the door, so you still have a little privacy. It's a rare luxury these days. Your toilet is in another corner of your cell.

You crawl out of your inmate berth, patting down your inmate suit, slipping your inmate footwear on. They give no sound when you take a careful step, and so you do, until you rest your shoulder against the wall by the door.

It takes you a little bit of courage and reassurance that this man is not the same as the one you used to… supposed to love.

“Fancy seeing you again, Commando.”

He was handsome. Raven black hair styled in fringe-up—the hair gel he used was shared with his brother. Warm amber eyes and beautiful bronze skin like any other clone. Explosion scar from a miscalculation and sloppy accident that threw him off his feet and claimed the skin of his chin and the bottom half of his face. Scorch was handsome. So beautiful, your eyes were practically sparkling when studying every single inch of him. Shame it was only one time. His schedule was tight. Managing a bagel and caf date was a miracle. And it was perfect.

“What are you doing, ES-08? It's curfew.”

Katarn with blue HUD glares down at you. ICWS in hand—the only time he's shown how threatening he is with the bigger gun. It doesn't hurt you. What hurts you is his armor paint. Gunmetal gray and yellow. The same colors, the same pattern, when he used to be a Delta—and yet the man behind them is not the same.

This is not your Scorch. Never your Scorch.

“I'm not bailing out of here, am I?” you try to relax, your voice lowered, “Shouldn't I be the least of your worries?”

The commando merely stares at you. Seemingly unimpressed. You can't tell. You stopped dreaming a while ago. You couldn't match his stance and whatever he's thinking right now to your dreams where your Scorch used to live.

Then he pivots on his heels and walks away.

Your heart jumps. Losing him out of your sight is a constant fear that grips your heart. Before you can even stop it, your mouth is already spilling, “Did you ever take off your gloves, Commander?”

He stops.

Six-Two. Delta. Commando. Scorch. These were the names he used to answer to. You always call him by his name—the one he earned after that ordnance accident he'd always have quite a joy telling you about, the one that he took with pride (and a little fear because his training sergeant was everything but soft). A fool's hope to use them in his face. Commander. You sneer. It tastes foul in your tongue. So wrong.

Every time you take off your left glove should be a reminder of why I'm here, you want to say.

You can't. You'd get a bolt to the chest.

“I don't see answering to you necessary, ES-08.” Force, even his voice sounds so wrong. Still the same old Scorch's boyishness during the glory of the Republic, but the ice cold hostility behind it now sounds so, so wrong. “Back to your cell.”

“Already in it,” you say, glaring down his blue HUD, “Not so easy to get rid of me, Scorch.” You swallow. There. You used it. As an emphasis, you raise your left hand where the Soul Mark is and wiggle your fingers his way. “As if you wanted to, anyway.”

That has to speak lengths because the Imperial Commando, Hemlock's beloved mind-controlled lapdog, goes silent.

“Oohh, contradictory body language against your thoughts? Against what they want you to think and do?” You smirk. “I can hear your brain clunking like a set of gears.” No you don't. But one thing after roaming free in the wilderness outside the dogma of the Jedi, is that you're helplessly in love taunting people. “Or maybe some of those dets you love assembling and juggling in the air back in the day?”

A click in his rifle. The barrel? No longer aimed at the wall. At you.

Is it a safety switch? A stun switch? Was it on stun all the time, that now he’s just switched it to live lethal rounds?

“Return to your berth now, ES-08,” he unwaveringly says, “And to your routine in the morning.”

You let out a breath. Blasters don't scare you. You were a hunter, after all. But finding yourself at the wrong side of the barrel? Your chest grows tight, your next taunt disintegrating from your tongue.

He nears your cell in slow, calculated steps. With raised hands against his weapon, you step backward, the back of your knees meeting your berth. The moment you plop down onto the mattress, you try to draw drowsiness to your person, the same moment where you dare the devil in the face. Fearing that he'd step away from the door at any moment, you take the chance.

“I've always been here for you,” you mumble, knowing his enhanced audio receptor would catch it. “And I won't stop. For you.”

You bite back cyare. You don't wanna be shot down. You don't know what kind of a man he is now.

The second he steps away and continues his duty, you gather all your spirit to ignore the pain in your chest. It's excruciating. Enough to put you down in a strike of fever perhaps, but you wouldn't let it. You let the hurt in, though. You let your tears fall and absorbed into the inmate pillow. Your eyes are closed with the hope of another dream.

And of course, like any other day since the fall of the Republic; none comes.

Taglist: @yoursrosie @msmeredithrose @hellfiresky @filamentlights @heidnspeak @lucyysthings

[violethursday]

I would like to dedicate the song Girls Just Wanna Have Fun to the rival octolings

[peppermintgrim]

*blows a kiss to my computer* this one's for you, Aldith Sereda Wilhelmine Aeducan, kinslayer & kingmaker

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[kimstills]

crazy

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, pussy!whipped hotch, age gaps, dirty talk, rough unprotected office sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving in the past), choking, hair pulling, ass slapping, groping, some angst if u squint, love confessions and some asshole behavior, hotch is a munch and masturbates in his office.

word count: 6.5k (yea…)

a/n: this may seem a lil out of character for hotch? we all know he’s a professional thru and thru but the point is this is that he’s pussy whipped! also lots of flashbacks in italics whoopsies <3

Aaron was sure he was going crazy.

Or maybe he already was, and he was just starting to feel the effects of his craziness.

Aaron Hotchner, usually poised in a way that unwillingly intimidated others and made them back away from him, was unraveling in a way he had never done so before.

Having a one-night stand with his subordinate, the same subordinate he had been harboring painfully arising feelings for literal years, often led to such a reaction.

He could still recount every single detail from that night, from the moment the tension between you both began building itself up to the moment it actually snapped. It was as if he had everything engraved in his mind; the views he never thought he'd get to see to the things he never thought he would get to feel etched into his brain.

It had all been a blur that night, and a part of Aaron still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you reciprocated his attraction towards you, letting him, not only touch you but also fuck you.

You two had stayed up late in your shared hotel room only to talk, really. After you and the rest of the team had wrapped up a somewhat good case, you only wanted to rant to one another. Aaron knew that you weren’t a ‘whiskey girl,’ or whatever it was that you said, but he had offered you a drink either way.

Neither one of you had even gotten tipsy, so he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. But the connection had always been there, though, one thing finally leading to another and all the unsaid words and stolen glances between you both began to surface.

It was as if everything you both silently felt for another was starting to seep through and everything that hindered you from telling each other no longer mattered.

It had felt so hot, from the way you held him close with your legs wrapped around his waist to the messy yet passionate kisses you shared, your bodies connected beneath.

It was everything Aaron envisioned it to be. But, as magical and heated as it was, he was the one to have ended things before they even had a chance at starting.

The morning after, as soon as you had both untangled your bodies from one another and got dressed to get back home to Quantico, he had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

“We shouldn’t do this again.”

You froze in your spot, half-way through tugging your pants up your legs. You blink at him from where he stood on the other side of the bed, already dressed, “This?”

“Yes.” Aaron says, voice awfully neutral.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip that same way you did when you were thinking, “May I ask why?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’m your boss,” he gives you a pointed look, as if he had to remind you after fucking you dumb, “and you’re my subordinate. This goes against several workplace regulations and if anyone were to find out we could both lose our jobs.”

You’re quiet for several moments after that, and Aaron uses the silence to his advantage to prepare for any arguments you could be thinking of to use against him. He can’t seem to read you, though, your expression pensive as you stare at the floor.

Then you shrug. “Okay.” You say, simple and nonchalant.

Aaron watches as you continue finishing getting ready and he doesn’t know if he should ask if you were actually okay with it.

He decides that it’s for the best, not getting any pushback or having to argue on why he’s just subconsciously pushing you away after having one of the best nights of his life.

“Okay.” He repeats, giving you a small nod, even though you weren’t looking at him. With one last glance to your surprisingly calm figure, he finishes collecting the rest of his things and heads out of the room.

Even after the team had checked out of their hotel and settled onto the jet, you didn’t spare him a second glance. You hadn’t necessarily moved to ignoring him or silently lashing out, but it was as if everything went back to normal, with no mentions or glances back to that night.

That should be what was driving him crazy; the way he didn’t know if you were only calm because you were planning on going to the higher-ups, to HR, about what had happened. If you were secretly planning on putting him on blast out of anger or betrayal or telling him that he had coerced you to sleep with him and threatened you in case you didn’t.

No. What was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t get you out of his head, even after he broke things off.

Everything was engraved into his mind, from the sight of you on your knees, mouth full of his cock while you stared up at him with tear-pricked eyelashes and basked in his praises. Or the way your nails dug into his skin as he thrusted into you and the way you felt around him, all while he took pleasure in the sweet sounds he emitted from you every second.

He was going mad, and the already established feelings he had for you weren’t helping, either.

Aaron stared at you from inside his office, studied your features from afar whilst you sat on your desk. Your face was set in a neutral expression, flickering your attention from your computer screens to the physical files in front of you, but all he could see was the same face and person morphed into the one that had been withering in pleasure underneath him.

“Hotch…” you whine, a hand wrapped around his bicep as he dipped a finger inside your glistening pussy.

He watched as your back arched off the bed, throwing your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his thick digit inside you, “What, sweetheart?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue easily. “What do you need? Hm?”

Your hips stuttered as he inserted another finger, thrusting them in and out you, “Y-You. I want you. Inside me.” You peered at him through your fluttering lashes, your mascara smudged underneath your eyes from the tears that had slipped out while you were sucking his cock.

“Yeah?” His voice is filled with amusement and bewilderment, one part of him indulging in seeing you this way—all disheveled and needy for him—while the other was still stunned at the whole thing. “Want my cock inside you after you just had it in your mouth?”

You nod meekly at his words, a sweet pout adorning your flushed lips.

Despite the heat and tension that suffocated the room, Aaron’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. The way you were asking for him ever so bashfully after just giving him the best head of his life tugged at his heartstrings and made his cock twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, bucking your hips upwards. A stuttered gasp emits from your lips when you feel the tip of his dick prod at your sopping entrance, “Aaron…”

Aaron lets out a low, throaty groan at the sound of his first name mumbled in desperation, and he thinks back to all the times he’s thought about you like this. How many times he’s dreamed of having you underneath him, encaged by his broad figure and whining for him.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he says promisingly. He lifts himself to his full height on his knees, lining himself up with your entrance and holding onto the meat of your thigh. Another groan utters from the back of his throat, mixed in with your gasps and puffs of breath as he begins to sink inside you.

A knock on his office door forces Aaron to snap out of his train of thought. He looks down at himself, registering the painfully hard boner he was now sporting. Quickly, he scooted further into his desk so that the tent in his pants wouldn’t be visible by whoever was knocking on his door. Clearing his throat, he lets out a somewhat proper ‘come in.’

In walks Garcia, and Aaron doesn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified it was her out of all people.

“Sir?” She asks politely, files in hand and head tilted in an ever so Penelope manner. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Right. It was barely nine in the morning and Aaron was already sporting a growing tent in his suit pants.

He nods, doing his best to feign being busy, “I’ll be there in five, Garcia.”

He wants to think he comes out as somewhat normal, but panic surges through him briefly when her expression turns into a curious one.

“Are you alright, sir?” She takes a step forward and Aaron has to hold himself back from screaming for her to stay where she is. “You look red and pale at the same time.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively yet good-naturedly, “I’m fine. Jack is coming down with something and I think I might be, too.”

Great. Now he was using his innocent son as a scapegoat for his own horniness and bad decisions. Some father he was.

Garcia nods, looking convinced enough before bidding him a nod shuffling out of his office and closing the door behind her.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. His boner had softened the slightest bit, and he was conflicted in trying to make it go down completely or taking care of it right here and now. But the thought of having to face his team after fucking himself into his fist mortified him. Of seeing you, right after fucking himself into his fist to the thought of you after leaving you hanging coldly.

He opted out of it, though it took more than five minutes to settle himself before heading over to the conference room. Once again, he tried to play it as casual as possible while he walked to his seat with everyone staring expectantly at him, including you.

“Let’s get started.”

The team’s briefings went on as so, everyone presenting their perspective cases and discoveries within them. It was a bit easier to lose focus of what he was thinking earlier when the gory crime scenes showed up on the TV screen each time someone went up, but all focus was lost when it was your turn.

You stood from your seat, taking the control from Penelope’s hands and talking everyone through the case you were currently focusing on.

Aaron held his fist up to his face as he tried to focus on the details of the case instead of you and your entire being. Your hair whipped out and into your face each time you looked from the screen and back to the team. The top part of your dress twisted with each turn and motion you made, the bottom part of it creasing along with it. Was it a new dress?

Didn’t matter. It didn’t compare to the pajama shorts he had slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled down your legs before–

“...makes me think he’s keeping them in a secluded space. He obviously likes the control and the pleasure of having his victims’ screams and cries for help to himself, so I’ve advised police to search condemned and empty areas far away from the city and even on the outskirts of the town.” You finished with a nod and once again Aaron was snapped away from his unholy thoughts.

While everyone else added their own commentary and advice, Aaron realized he had been the only to have not said anything during your presentation, too preoccupied with you once more.

“Adding in the possibility of him keeping them outside of the main town the victims have been found in was a smart move,” He quickly added, trying his best to comment on what he had paid attention to. His breath hitched when you turned to look at him. “Law enforcement might have missed that and can collaborate with police from the next town over. Good job.”

You smiled softly and nodded in appreciation, “Thank you.”

Fuck. How were you so nonchalant about this? Aaron’s mind wandered back to the probability of you getting back at him by going to Strauss about your rendezvous. It was only early morning Monday, the first day back in the office after said events, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t heard anything from her. Yet.

He nodded back in response, though, casting his gaze downwards and collecting his things, “Great. I expect everyone’s reports to be on my desk by tonight, please.”

Everyone stood from their seats, shuffling out of the room with mumbled conversations. Aaron held back, taking his time in looking through his files and stacking them together while you did the same, leaving the two of you alone once everyone else had gone.

He wanted to say something, gather the courage to ask you something. Anything, just to make sure you were alright. If the two of you were still right, in spite of everything.

Only when you finished collecting things did he bring himself to open his mouth, a soft utterance of your name to get your attention.

You stopped in your tracks, a good couple feet away from him and the door. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak with a neutral expression on your face.

Not one of annoyance or irritation. Just expectant.

God, you really were driving him crazy.

You raised a brow when he didn’t say anything, “…Yes?”

He clears his throat again before asking, “Is everything okay?”

You blink and tilt your head, dumbfounded, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aaron grips at his files, guilt consuming him all over again. “With us,” he clarifies, swallowing harshly. “Is everything okay with us?”

You blink a couple more times, eyes wandering to the side as if you’re trying to catch onto what he’s implying.

It makes his heart churn.

“Oh.” You finally say, meeting his gaze. “Yes. We both agreed, no? To what you said.”

Aaron can’t decipher if the smile you give him is genuine or jeering, and he can’t tell if what you say last is clarifying as his answer or if it’s something underlyingly petty.

Either way it’s something. You’ve given him something and he’ll take it.

He nods finally, “Yes, we did.”

You shrug, smiling a bit wider this time, “All good then.”

He gives another curt nod, stepping to the side so you could exit the room. He moves to follow behind you, but he gets a whiff of your perfume as soon as you brush past him. The scent makes him halt and he has to hold onto one of the back posts of a chair to stabilize himself.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the remnants that linger behind you for a moment.

He truly was going crazy.

The rest of the day goes by the same and hardly any work gets done on Aaron’s end. He’d scribble whatever he needed to write down or fill out then get distracted by the void of you.

It was getting impossible for him to keep working with the relentless problem that was his ongoing boner. He was tucked into his desk all the way yet it hurt whenever he leaned forward or backwards while moving around. Oftentimes he tried to give himself some sort of relief by running a hand over himself, but it didn’t help much, and the dirty thoughts about you certainly didn’t either.

The sounds that filled the room were lewd, your gags and moans from below mixed in with Aaron’s grunts and words of encouragement echoing off the hotel room’s walls. His large hand was entangled in your hair, pushing your head forward to take more of him, as if your jaw wasn’t aching enough already.

Though there wasn’t a way for him to tell, really. You gave no sign or indication that you wanted him to stop, your tongue swiping at the head of his cock each time he dipped your head even more. Saliva pooled from your tongue and leaked from your mouth, dripping into the carpeted floor and entailing a trail from your lips to your chin.

Aaron’s head was thrown back in utter pleasure and astonishment, bewildered that you’d ever be doing this to him. He didn’t want to finish before you, but it was taking everything him to not give in and fuck your face the way he truly desired.

He’d never received head this good, nor had he received it much recently. His legs were spread with you settled in between them contently. “That’s it sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face lovingly. “Taking me so good, such a good girl.”

His praises only edged you on even further, bobbing your head up and down a couple more times before pulling off of him with a slick ‘pop!’ You rest your head on his thigh in an attempt to catch your breath, a shaky, stuttered sigh heaving from your chest as your hand comes up to continue the rest of your work.

Aaron has to run a hand over his face to try and keep his composure, his nails digging into the skin of his palm albeit their short length. He throws his head back against his chair, a grunt threatening to emit from his throat as he coercively runs his hand over his boner.

At least he wishes he can say it’s coercively, really it’s just a tainted image of you he’s embedded in his own dirty mind.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to give in and reach inside his pants, sparing another careful glance to his now locked office door before springing his painfully hard cock free. A low, pleased grunt spills from his pursed lips as he wraps his hand around himself. He gives his length a good tug, bucking his hips up instantaneously, the same way he did when you first wrapped your mouth around him.

Still, as cautiously and quietly as possible, he begins to stroke at his length, a hand covering his mouth as he continues to dart his eyes from below himself to his door–as if anyone would walk in at any second and catch him jerking himself off in his own government-issued office.

He begins to imagine that his fist is you. That you’re sitting in the space between his legs with your hot mouth licking long stripes up his length and that your hand is toying with his balls the same way you did before. It only makes him pump at his fist even faster, the hand that was covering his mouth shooting down to the armrest of his chair, gripping at the cushioned leather as he began to reach his high.

“Fuck, Hotch, fuck!” Your whines are eccentric, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your legs wrap around Aaron’s waist, pulling him closer to you as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy.

Aaron groans loudly, silently thanking that his and yours room was placed further down the hall from everyone else’s. His hands rest at the bottom of your thighs, his large hand gripping the flesh for support as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your pussy grips him like a vice and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps from where you hold him.

His sight is focused on you only, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the way your mouth is curled into a wide ‘o’ from the pleasure you’re receiving.

“So good for me, baby,” he mumbles, hand coming down to grab at your breast, squeezing possessively before leaning down to crash his lips against yours hungrily.

You whine through the kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging while your other hand scratches at his back. A string of saliva connects at your lips when he pulls away, his head dipping down to kiss and suck at your neck while he grabs your hips to better pistol himself inside you.

A moan echoes through the room again and straight to his ear, your back arching into his chest, “Feels so good, Aaron, so good!”

Aaron’s release sputters everywhere messily and he has to bite at his fist to stop himself from groaning loudly. His come spills onto parts of his leg, his desk, and even onto the floor. He leans back into his chair, trying to contain himself and his heaving chest.

He takes a look at the mess he created–the mess you unknowingly entailed from him. Like clockwork, the paranoia and guilt from doing this begins to seep in and he’s quick to snatch a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the corner of his desk to clean himself up. He tucks himself back into his pants then moves to clean at his desk and his floor.

Clearly, he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Not when it came to calling things off between the two of you before they even happened and certainly not now after he realized the spell he was currently in.

The last hour of the work day comes by agonizingly slowly. After his little session, Aaron finds it a little bit easier to get the rest of his work done (key word: a little bit). The rest of the members all begin to spill into his office to hand in their finished paperwork and files, all of them sparing him brief glances of curiosity and concern–the same way Garcia had done earlier–before bidding him goodnight and leaving.

The only one that hasn’t come to hand in anything was you. He knew you were still here, he could see you sitting at your desk from the view through his blinds, scribbling away casually like you had been doing so the whole day. After you had stalled to follow behind the rest of your co-workers, Aaron had gotten up from his desk and pretended to be walking around his office with a file in hand, lifting his head every few minutes to see if you were ever making your way towards him to turn in your work.

He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. If you were secretly being tortured by the recollections of your hook-up, too, or if you truly didn’t care about him basically dumping you after having sex with you and telling you that it could never happen again due to your perspective titles.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the file he was still pretending to read. His eyes instinctively travel back to where your desk was at and his breath immediately catches in his throat when he sees that you aren’t there. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching closer and closer through the staircase that leads up to his office and you walk in soon after.

You freeze in the doorway when you see that he’s already staring at you. Your eyes flicker to a space behind him then back at him before you take a tentative step back and glance at the clock hung on the wall facing his desk, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

“No!” Aaron takes a step forward when you take another one back. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No, no, it’s not. I didn’t know you were still here. Everyone else left almost half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” you glance back behind you to the rest of the bullpen before looking back at him. “I was just finishing up the reports you said you wanted done by the end of today.” You jut your chin toward the stack of files you were carrying in one arm.

“Right.” He clears his throat, motioning to the pile of files the rest of the team had stacked on his desk. “You can just leave them there.”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

He watches as you walk over to his desk, taking in your appearance while you double-check that everything was correct. He swallowed harshly, taking in the way your skirt hugged your lower figure perfectly the same way it did during the morning debriefing. Your hair flows ever so slightly and he takes in a good look at your side profile when you tuck a loose strand behind your ears while you continue to flip through the pages of your file.

You’re breathtakingly gorgeous and Aaron doesn’t know if what suddenly makes him start walking up behind you is from what he’s felt since sleeping with you or if it’s everything he’s felt since way before that.

You halt your movements when you feel his presence directly behind you, gasping when you turn and find how close he was standing.

“Hotch–” you gulp, heat blooming through your cheeks albeit feeling confused. “W-What are you doing?”

Aaron takes in your tone and he can tell that you’re not asking in a disgusted, annoyed way, more so in a flustered way. He lifts a hand to brush the hair that frames your face past your face but doesn’t actually move to do it, keeping it there to see if you push him away. But you don’t. So he brushes it away.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” He mumbles, eyes boring into the side of your face as you stare up at him as best as you can from your practically rigid figure.

You scoff, a sound filled with so much humor yet so little at the same time, “You were the one that said this couldn’t happen again.” You twist your head, trying to turn your body around more with the way he had you pressed against the front of his desk.

“That was a mistake,” he whispers. He dips his head so that his mouth is by your ear, watching you shiver from the proximity.

“A mistake?” You repeat, brows raised. You lull your head to the side but you don’t know if you do it to get away from him or to grant him access to your neck.

Aaron takes it as the latter and hovers his lips over your skin, the same spot where he had left splotches of pink and purple last time.

“Yes,” he confirms, “a mistake.”

You want to ask why he said it then, want to press him for answers but you can’t when his hot breath sends shivers down your spine and arms. Your legs go weak when he brings a hand around you to wrap at your middle, big hand splayed across your stomach to pull you in even closer, if possible.

“H-Hotch,” you clear your throat. “We can’t. You said so yourself.” You roll your shoulders back in a weak effort to push him away, but all he does is hold you tighter.

“I was wrong,” he mutters, pressing a feather-light kiss to the very side of your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of your perfume again and letting out a pleased hum from the back of his throat. “I was so wrong.”

You gasp when he flings an arm out in front of you, proceeding to knock over the multiple things from his desk. Files, pens, and other trinkets fly off the hard wood and land on the floor with a loud crash. Aaron spins you around before you can process the whole mess, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Aaron-!” Your mind is a whirlwind as he grabs at your hips and easily sets you down on the edge of the desk. His lips crash onto yours messily and you hum, satisfied.

The kiss quickly becomes sloppy and hungry, muffled whines as you two practically devour one another. Your hands wrap around his neck while his own roam your body, curious hands searching for the zipper of your dress and bunching up the fabric in the process. You mewl when he finally finds it and slowly tugs it down. You break apart from the kiss in order to help him, scrambling from side to side so that it comes off from under you.

Aaron lets out a groan at the sight of you as he tosses the dress to the side. You’re wearing a matching set: a lacy white bra that cups your breasts gorgeously and a lacy white thong paired with it. It takes everything in him to not come undone right then and there.

Holding your gaze, Aaron sinks to his knees, shrugging off his suit jacket as he kneels before you.

“Aaron…”

He immediately shushes you, discarding the jacket somewhere next to your dress on his office floor. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Instead of obeying, you knock your knees together bashfully, the fat of your thighs pressing against each other.

Aaron’s eyes darken at your shy defiance. “I said spread your legs.” His hands come out to grab behind your knees and you gasp again when he spreads them apart forcefully, large hands holding them in place.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he utters, gaze locked on your soaked panties. His palms slide down your legs, eyes flickering back up at you as he begins to kiss at your calves. Each peck to your skin leaves a wet trail from your earlier kiss and you whine in anticipation as he makes his way up before coming face to face with your pussy. His fingers hook themselves inside the thin fabric and you immediately get the message, lifting your hips once more so he could slide them down your legs

Aaron swiftly shoves the wet material into his pockets, wasting no time before diving straight in and burying his head in between your thighs.

His tongue swiping at your folds elicits a loud moan from you, your hands shooting out to grab at his head, “Aaron!” You yell out, fingers tangling in his hair to stabilize yourself from the suddenness.

Aaron grunts from below you, the sound sending vibrations up your body and causing you to arch into his touch. He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of tasting you that night in the hotel room, too preoccupied with the pleasure he had received from you. But–dare he say–this was better than head, better than anything else he had ever gotten, tasted or even done. He wasn’t even a minute into devouring you and he had already decided that this was the best pussy he had ever had in his whole life.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this pussy.” He lapped at your juices, mouth hot on your dripping cunt. His hands continued to grip at your thighs, large palms still keeping you in place from where you were writhing in pleasure.

“A-Aaron,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. “Please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

Your head was thrown back in utter bliss, hips stuttering with each nibble at your clit. Your fingers tugged his face closer despite the longing you had to feel him inside you, caging his head to keep him there.

Aaron couldn’t help but bask in the sounds he was pulling from you. It was as if his mouth had a mind of his own and all it could focus on was licking up every single one of your juices, the taste nearly intoxicating. He flickered his eyes up to you, taking in the way your chest heaved and your breasts pushed against the cups of your bra, practically spilling out.

Without removing his tongue from your pussy, he reaches behind you and easily undoes the hooks.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders and aid him in tossing it somewhere in the room along with your dress. Desperately, you reach for Aaron’s hands and place them on your breasts, groaning when he rolls each already hard and sensitive nipple in between your fingers.

Your legs begin to shake and you’re quick to wrap them around Aaron’s head, the heels of your feet digging into his muscular back. “Mm, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you toss your head back as the coil in your belly threatens to snap.

“Yeah?” He teases, angling his head so that he could spit onto your cunt, all before diving right back in and swirling it together with your arousal. “You gonna cum on my mouth, honey?”

You nod, feverishly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Go ahead, pretty,” Aaron ushers, voice deep and rough from his non stop nibbling and sucking. “Come on my mouth, sweetheart.”

A certain bite on your clit immediately has you seeing stars and the office is soon filled with your cries of ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you violently. Your body shakes and stutters as you ride out the high on his face, leaning backwards until your back was resting against his desk.

Aaron doesn’t relent even as you begin to come down from your high, enhancing the way your legs shook from where they were wrapped around him.

“No, n-no more, Aaron, p-please,” you begged, keeping your back on the desk while weakly attempting to push him away.

“Just one more, honey. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, back arching off the desk as his fingers prodded at your entrance briefly before he shoved two inside. A high-pitched moan emitted from your swollen lips and your hips rutted against his face once more as he scissored the thick digits inside your gummy walls.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it,” Aaron’s sultry words only encouraged you further, his face wet with your arousal and the release of your first orgasm. “I’m gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. But first you gotta give me another one.”

His thumb came up alongside his mouth to rub rough circles on your already sensitive, swollen clit and you immediately felt that coil snap once more, mixing in with the first orgasm you hadn’t even properly come down from.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You mumbled dumbly, mouth agape and head hanging back from the desk as you rode out your second high on his face, the heavy wood shaking with every motion.

Aaron’s head was buried even further in between your legs, lips trying to catch every single drop that leaked from your hole, pulling out your fingers and cleaning them with a swirl from his tongue. He delivered a sweet kiss to your folds before standing, his knees cracking in response to being kneeled on the ground for so long.

He leans over, bringing a guiding hand to the back of your neck to get you to sit up, “You good, honey?” Aaron asks, brushing away the stray hands of hair that had stuck to your face. “Still with me?”

You hum, nodding weakly, “Need you, Aaron.”

Aaron chuckles at your fucked-out form, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “I got you, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You stand on wobbly legs and do as he says blindly, the need to have him inside you outshining your nearing overstimulation. You feel yourself salivate as the sound of him undoing his belt is heard from behind you and you look back to watch him pull himself out from his boxers.

He hears you gasp when his cock springs out and hits against his stomach, tip an angry red and leaking with precome. He wraps a hand around himself and groans at how painfully hard he was. He quickly lines himself up with your entrance, slapping his length against your dripping folds before easing himself inside little by little.

You whine from in front of him when he bottoms out, the tip of his dick easily hitting your sweet spot the same way it did before in the hotel. This time, though, it feels even better with how wet you already were, his cock glistening when he pulls out before shoving himself back in roughly.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to set a brutal pace, hands on your hips as he begins to pound into you from behind ruthlessly, a stark contrast from the way he had asked you if you were okay.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me since I first fucked this pretty pussy,” Aaron grunted form behind, fingers digging so hard into your hips he was sure there would be an imprint there. “Had to get myself off in my own office, that’s how crazy you had me going.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your mouth is wide open, small huffs the only noise you can make while a line of saliva drools from your tongue. It’s only when you feel him wrap your hair in his hand and pull your back flush against his chest that you squeal, the angle pushing his cock further inside you.

“You like that, pretty?” He asks deeply, voice hoarse and gravely as he continues to pound into your pussy, the squelching that comes from beneath scandalous. “Like getting this pussy fucked by me, huh?”

You nod dumbly, too fucked out to properly answer him. A harsh slap against your ass makes you cry out, the sting somewhat snapping you back to reality.

“Answer me,” Aaron commands, tugging at your hair and making your back arch even further against him. “Did I fuck you dumb like last time?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, legs shaking even in your standing position. “I l-love it, Aaron. Feels so g-good.”

He chuckles against your ear, the way you could barely register his questions only making him quicken his pace, “You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna give me one more wrapped around me?”

You nod with as much fervor as possible, “Yes, y-yes, can I, Aaron? Want you to c-cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum?” He asks. He doesn’t bother to correct you when you don’t answer, instead snaking his hand to your front and down to your pussy.

The feel of him rubbing circles on your clit is the final push you need before you’re clenching around him, body trembling against him as he continues his assault on your swollen bud.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to spill his own release inside you, giving you a couple more shallow thrusts as he comes down from his own high.

You whine when you feel him pull out, a string of your mixed releases following suit on the tip of his cock.

“So good, baby,” he praises, wrapping a hand around your neck gently and pressing soothing kisses on your cheek. “Did so good for me.”

You lean your head against his shoulder as he reaches for some tissues to clean you up, “So I guess we’re definitely doing this again?”

Aaron laughs, a pink adorning his cheeks, “Yes. Yes, we are. In fact, I’m telling everyone to work from home tomorrow so I can take you on a proper date. I’m not risking going crazy again.”

You suppress a giggle, “You went crazy? Over my pussy?”

He sighs, “If only you knew.”

[gutsby]

Brighter Times

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Reader

Summary: You’ve always been Joel’s favorite. Always.

Warnings: 18+. NONCON. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Graphic depictions of nonconsensual sexual encounters, past and present. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced breeding. Allusions to disordered eating and depression. Age gap. Lima Syndrome (i.e., a reverse of Stockholm Syndrome, wherein a captor grows an attachment to their victim). Orgasm vis-à-vis nipple stimulation. Dacryphilia (brief).

Word count: 8.3k

You made him happy.

Few in your group fully understood the importance of keeping a man like Joel Miller content, but when you didn’t do your part as expected, they sure as hell felt it.

When your wet cunt didn’t wake him up first thing in the morning, or greet him within minutes of his return from a hunt or raid, all of them became the objects of his wrath. He got angry. Impatient. Cruel. Not that those sorts of things weren’t already percolating beneath the surface of your leader’s cold and callous exterior, but when you weren’t fucking him punctually, the bad got much worse.

Which was why you didn’t resist when he called on you all hours of the day. It didn’t matter if you were mending clothes, preparing a meal, feeding the livestock, tending the garden, washing heaps and heaps of bloodstained whatever-the-fucks needed cleaning after the latest, most violent incursion the group had made—Joel took precedence. He always did. His dick was as tyrannical and repulsive as the man it served, and that man didn’t like to wait. For the sake of the group, you never let him.

“Why does she get to stop after just one bucket?”

That came from the same sniveling cunt it always did.

You were picking berries. Your knees groaned and ached from having been plastered to the forest floor a grueling hour and a half last night, getting nailed from behind. One of Joel’s men had died that day. Evidently, it was as much your problem as it was his. Now, it hurt to stand.

It also hurt you to sit, so you were currently propped up against a tree and relishing the momentary respite while the rest of your company went scouring for blueberries.

The woman who led your group—the only other person who knew about your little ‘arrangement’ with Joel, and saw you wincing as you walked to the fields that morning—shot the younger girl a look. She murmured something about it being none of her goddamn business what you did or didn’t do, just mind your own, and silently, you thanked her. You didn’t chance a smile, knowing how much worse the accusations of favoritism would get, but you squared your shoulders. You cast a look around.

And then, as if on cue, the second most dreadful voice you could’ve heard that morning shouted your name from somewhere behind you. You turned, frowning.

“Yeah, Tommy?” you yelled back.

Yards away, the younger Miller brother waved you over.

“C’mere. Joel needs you back at camp, sweetheart.”

As soft, kind, and saccharine as the words seemed reaching your ears, their sound produced the opposite effect. Every head turned to you, and several snickers ensued. Others scowled or rolled their eyes. Meanwhile, your legs felt as heavy as lead trudging that way, and your gut clenched. Why did he have to do this now?

Surely Joel could’ve picked a less conspicuous time.

Was he trying to humiliate you? Let it be known that you were his own human fleshlight, to be used on any urge?

Well, that was kind of what you were. Still, this sucked.

And you were startled again when next Tommy yelled:

“Bring Rachel with you!”

Rachel. The same bitch who berated you relentlessly for getting ‘free passes’ during work and made you feel like shit about yourself every hour of every day? That Rachel?

If Joel was asking for a threesome you’d personally kick his teeth through the roof of his mouth. What an asshole.

To your dismay, Rachel was already trotting beside you.

Smiling.

“Must be my lucky day. I get to fuck off and do noth—”

“Shut up.”

Your new companion’s grin only grew. She leaned closer.

“You think Joel’s gonna ask me to suck his big, fat—”

THWACK.

Admittedly, self-control was never your métier. You smacked her across the face and kept plodding on.

Luckily, the hit was quick, and Tommy didn’t see.

Your voice lowered to a hiss as you drew closer:

“Be my fucking guest. Fuck his geriatric brains out for all I care—it ain’t all the fun you seem to think it is. It sucks.”

And that was the truth. You detested Joel. Every other day was like a waking nightmare with just the Cordyceps shit alone, but having to fuck a creep three times your age? Go right ahead, Rachel. Take him off my hands.

You just hoped Joel would leave you out if she did.

All he’d needed you and Rachel for was mending a fence.

A fence.

Half the camp was gone for the day—either out in the fields or doing recon in a nearby town—and that had meant Joel had had some extra slots left open on perimeter duty. He’d just needed two warm bodies to carry boards over to fix a gap that was left in the thing.

And you felt fucking stupid for being singled out in front of everyone else, all of whom assumed that you and Rachel were sent back to camp to ‘service’ Joel.

The fucking twat.

You’d left as soon as the job was done. You hadn’t bothered going back to scavenge for food or have another little tête-à-tête with your best friend Rachel. You’d gone home and stayed home, where you remained all afternoon in a half-enraged stupor. Your knees ached.

Your head throbbed, too, when, after supper came and went and you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to go, your stomach was empty. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the night before, when Joel had abruptly dragged you out of the canteen for your brutal forest rendezvous. Though the idea of a meal sounded revolting to you, you knew you needed to eat. You just wished it didn’t have to end with your knees bleeding and your back smeared with cum. You rolled onto your side in bed and sighed.

And just when you contemplated closing your eyes and trying to sleep, you heard a knock on your front door.

It was quick and soft.

Probably the kind older woman from your group. She sometimes dropped food off at your place if she noticed you’d been missing from a meal. Slowly, you sat up.

“I’m fine tonight, Cleo!” you called out weakly.

Your belly ached and your head swam with nausea and pain, but right now, the last thing you needed was human interaction. Especially the courteous kind.

The knocks sounded again.

“Cleo, really, I’m alright.”

You felt a bit like shit for treating the one and only friend you’d come to make in months like this, but something in your head just wouldn’t allow for pleasantries. You stared blankly at the door from where you lay in bed.

When several seconds passed and the knocking ceased, you started to close your eyes again, softly and slowly.

And jerked them right back open again when the front door to your home went crashing back on its hinges.

The lock was snapped. The wood bent in with a kick.

You shot up in bed to see Joel Miller barrel through the threshold, arms bulging and broad and bracing themselves hard against the wood that gave way beneath his force. One bicep bled through his sleeve.

“Joel!” You instinctively flinched back where you sat.

You cast a look around yourself to make sure you hadn’t left out any contraband—whether that was magazines, books, or even food your leader didn’t want you eating outside of the dining hall—and your pulse quickened. It spiked when Joel thrust himself into your bedroom next.

You expected him to speak. He didn’t.

You expected him to claw at your body first thing. He did.

Seeing greedy hands outstretched and moving fast on your thin, pale dress, you had only to yelp a weak protest—‘Joel, please, please, no’—and swat helplessly at him. He shoved you off. Ignored your pleas. Didn’t blink twice when your face screwed up in pain at the first pull on your hair. In fact, his grip only tightened. He yanked your face up to greet his own in the dim glow of your room.

“Joel, I don’t wanna,” you whimpered like a beggar.

Joel’s hand made a fist.

“Don’t wanna what?”

Well…have sex.

You couldn’t say the words aloud, but your eyes were silently welling with tears. Your two hands pawed at his forearm and tried to pry it away, but Joel kept holding.

“Don’t wanna what?” he growled.

He glowered down at you. The man wanted a reply.

Slowly, you got your lips to work: “Don’t wanna…do it.”

You had no idea why you were afraid to say the word ‘sex’ around him, but your throat was tightening, and the moisture in your eyes had begun to slide down your face. You met Joel’s gaze with another watery, pleading look.

“By ‘it’ do you mean ‘eat’?” he scoffed. “‘Cause I don’t recall seein’ you in attendance at dinner, sweetheart.”

Your stomach involuntarily clenched.

Your grip loosened from his arm.

Joel’s only constricted. He tilted your head to keep your eyes locked on him. And then he thumbed at your skull.

“What? Cat got your tongue tonight?” he sneered.

Seconds had passed and you still hadn’t spoken.

Your throat was thick with discomfort, but somehow, you managed to muster up the courage to respond quietly:

“I just couldn’t…move much today. I’m still sore, Joel.”

And when you blinked, a new barrage of tears fell.

Frankly, you half-expected your leader to slap you across the face. No bitchin’ about a sore, achy cunt, y’hear me? Your body was made for it. But instead, the hand that ordinarily doled out punishment for whining took to stroking your cheek while the other held your hair.

Joel nearly looked sympathetic to your plight.

Then he cupped your chin. Lifted it to him.

“Was I too rough on you last night, hm?”

You nodded slowly.

For some reason, seeing him appear kind and contrite made your stomach turn worse than if he’d just hit you. You winced when his thumb stroked your bottom lip.

Then he loosened his grip from your hair and your chin and he dropped down beside you in bed. He sat back.

Joel straightened against the headboard and regarded you with an inscrutable look. You couldn’t tell if he was pitying you or preparing for the roughest fuck of his life.

Maybe both.

You sniffled and wiped at your nose.

“I-I know you like what you do to me—and how good it makes you feel—but my body ain’t made of rubber, Joel. I can’t just…go back to normal after you…you do those…”

Without your permission, your face screwed up again.

Fuck, were you about to start full-on sobbing?

No, no you were not.

You forced your gaze to the ceiling and started blinking.

And before you knew it or could attempt to get him to stop, Joel leaned in closer to you. He brushed a knuckle against your cheek, which sharply turned from his touch.

“Hey,” he started, low. You expected him to strike you.

Then the words came out even more softly than the first:

“‘S’alright. I know it hurts. I know you’re still hurtin’.”

Almost as quickly as you’d turned from him, your head cocked back. You couldn’t believe that tone of voice.

Joel had never spoken so gently to you in your life.

It wasn’t like he was incapable of it. The man had a dog, and every so often, you heard him talk sweet to the little wiry-haired mutt. C’mere, sugar, that’s it. You like those little scratches jus’ behind your ear, don’t ya, Daisy girl?

It sounded pathetic, but there had been a time when you wished Joel would speak to you that way. At least with the dignity he gave a dog—why didn’t you deserve it?

Presently, your eyes were fixed on his. You frowned.

“What? Y’think I’m some kinda monster who can’t tell when somebody’s a little wore-out? C’mere, kiddo.”

C’mere.

Well, at least you got the same treatment as Daisy.

It wasn’t regularly in your best interest to be drawing anywhere close to Joel Miller, so your body stayed planted where it was on the other side of the bed. You grimaced only a little when you felt his hand close around your wrist and tug you over to where he sat.

His shirt smelled of blood and something woodsy.

Both made you want to recoil, but Joel held tight.

“Now don’t go squirmin’ away. Hey.” He shook you once, when you’d unconsciously jerked back from his grip, and your body froze in place. You knew that hold well, and how tight and unforgiving it could get. You didn’t move.

“That’s better,” Joel hummed. “Now, on your side.”

The order made your skin bristle, but you followed it.

Joel smiled and proceeded to lie down next to you.

That big, broad, bleeding arm you’d seen before was shortly enveloping your frame, dragging your back to press up against his front, and then snaking around your waist. Joel held you to him so that his face could rest comfortably behind your shoulder. You tensed up.

This was how it started.

Joel behind you, holding you tight so that you couldn’t escape. In no time at all, he’d be unzipping the fly on his jeans, unbuckling his belt, and then pressing his palm flat across the side of your face, telling you to stay still, or I’ll make sure you regret it. You didn’t often get a warning before Joel pushed inside. There had never once been a time when he’d asked if it would be OK to do it.

You didn’t expect tonight to be any different.

In an effort to ease his passage and save yourself any more pain than was absolutely necessary, you closed your eyes and tried to think about pleasanter things.

Like plush, stubbled lips brushing up the column of your neck. Hands kneading the flesh around your hips in a comforting way. Eyes trailing lightly—appreciatively—over your body as you’d always thought a lover might do.

It wasn’t like you were craving romance, per se. Hell, the concept of it half-scared you to death, with the thought of someone else touching your body and cherishing it and not wanting to use it merely as a means to an end seemed like something out of a fairytale book at this point in your life. You’d accepted that love would never touch you personally; these fantasies that played on repeat in your mind were little more than a vestige of a world no longer in existence. There was nothing wrong indulging when faced with a thing as awful and raw as—

“Hey.”

Joel shook you again.

Your chin jerked back to him, and you blinked.

“Y-Yeah?”

Over your shoulder, Joel stared back at you.

“You need a minute?”

You blinked again. You couldn’t hope to control the look of pure bewilderment that was painting your expression.

“What?”

“Do you…need a minute? Y’know, to stop the…hurtin’.”

Joel had never stopped to consider your pain in all the years you’d known him. Not on a raid, not out in the fields, not on a ‘job’ you both knew you hated, like cramming his dick in your mouth or any other place he deemed appropriate. He’d regarded your feelings as something ancillary, always. Even as you’d sobbed in his arms before, his choices invariably, inevitably defaulted to him. Without fail. Why he was acting any differently now was beyond you. You sat back, fully dumbstruck.

“What?” you asked him again.

Behind you, Joel just smiled.

He trailed his touch up the side of your body as if it were the most normal thing to do in the world, and he stopped when it reached the crook of your neck. He brushed his knuckles against your pulse point, then stroked it more.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

Your mouth was dry. Somehow, you managed to indicate with your fingers and a murmur that it hurt right…here.

Just below where his own hand had strayed, there was a bite mark on your collar bone where Joel had sank his teeth into flesh the night before. The wound was bright red and throbbing, reminding you every hour how wholly he controlled your body. Your frock bared the sight for everyone in camp to see, including the man himself.

Joel leaned down and kissed it.

Where canines had once punctured skin and pulled back to flash you a smug, conceited grin, beaming at the way they had marked you up, Joel’s lips only soothed it now.

He caressed the little lesions on your skin and drew back.

“Where else?” he asked.

Still, your mind was too discombobulated to form a single coherent sentence, so you pointed instead.

With a slow, shaky hand, you gestured to your legs.

Joel peered down after it, down the mattress.

“Banged your knees up pretty bad, huh?”

“Y-Yes.”

In your mind, you sounded pathetic. Yes, these poor little legs had to hold yourself up in doggystyle last night after Joel had decided to fuck a day’s worth of frustration into your cunt. That was the norm.

And this was where Joel would slide down the bed to grip your thighs, hold them tightly, and press his lips to all the cuts and bruises on your kneecaps, apparently.

You watched it all unfold with a harrowing sense of awe.

He’d never touched you there. He’d never kissed you there. Joel Miller had never so much as held your hand unless it had been to drag you someplace dark and isolated, and now he was petting your injured legs?

Out of habit, you jerked back from that touch.

You clambered quickly, gracelessly up the bed into a kind of half-sitting position, and with your eyes wide and fixed on his, you managed the first words in what felt like ages:

“What are you doing, Joel?”

The man who’d just kissed your neck and your kneecaps planted a hand on the bed. He slid closer to you, no doubt seeing a fear seize your features as he did.

He placed that palm on your thigh. He squeezed it lightly.

“I’m tryin’ to be nice. Helpful an’ all that.”

You didn’t know what that meant.

You were so stunned by his words and actions that you scarcely even felt it yourself when fingers tapped skin.

Joel drummed a gentle beat, posing a new question.

“Where else does it hurt?”

“It…it…”

You shook your head. Blinked through your present daze.

“Show me where it hurts. Use your hands,” Joel said.

So you did.

Gingerly, wordlessly, you drew your hand to your tummy. You placed a palm over your middle and felt pretty silly.

It hurts inside.

You didn’t give me a chance to prepare last night, and now every inch where you invaded feels like it’s on fire.

You wished you had the strength to tell him it hurt. That you hated him for it and wished he were dead most days. Instead, when Joel placed his hand over yours and searched your eyes with a soft, tender look in his, you felt tears spring up again. You shook your head, wincing.

“It hurt here, too?” Joel nearly whispered.

Now you nodded your head. Yes, it hurts.

And Joel stroked it gently. Delicately.

He lowered his scarred, stubbled face to yours, and in yet another act that would leave you shocked for hours, he kissed your cheek. He continued to rub your stomach.

Meanwhile, it felt like your gut plummeted to the floor.

Done jumping away for the time being, though, you tilted your head to him. You opened your mouth to either speak or suck in a breath, and suddenly that, too, was invaded by his mouth. Joel kissed you on the lips.

It was so soft you didn’t think to stop him.

The man had forced your mouth to his plenty of times before, but never had it felt like this—featherlight, gentle.

The kiss was as calming as it was disconcerting. Joel’s lips worked expertly over your own, which were limp and unmoving, and a hand cupped your cheek. You didn’t close your eyes, even when his tongue traced the seam of your lips. This was how the lovers in your dreams always kissed. But Joel was no lover; this was odd.

“Wanna lay back?” he asked after pulling away.

You didn’t. But you did it anyway.

With Joel following your descent to the bed, slotting overtop your body in the fashion of a man about to mount, you thought surely it would happen now.

He would fuck you, whether you liked it or not.

Those kisses had been but a sickening prelude to something much worse, something more violent than you could likely even imagine. You closed your eyes.

Joel slid between your legs.

He pressed his hips to yours.

His breaths fanned over your face in a familiar and menacing way, and his expression was probably cruel.

He kissed you again.

This time, you couldn’t help but jump. He was using tongue, gently. Working the muscle in your mouth like he wanted you to enjoy the feel and savor the taste of him.

You’d been fucked against your will many times. You had no idea how to tongue-kiss someone and make it good.

You whimpered into Joel’s mouth, and as if sensing your thoughts, he drew back. He peered down, smiling faintly.

“Is this OK?”

A beat.

“I— I guess.”

Joel fully grinned at that, teeth gleaming in the lamplight. He pecked your lips again, softly, and you could feel a chuckle rumble through his chest as he did.

“You are too precious, y’know that?” he said.

You sat in silence while he leaned back to lift the hem of your dress. Again, you thought he would be undoing his belt and the zip on his jeans and then shoving his cock inside you in the next moment. That was usually how it went. But for what felt like the hundredth time that night, you were surprised to find that he wasn’t pursuing that route at all. He was simply raising your dress above your belly so that he could rub the tender skin that was there.

He pressed a palm to your tummy, and it had an alarmingly calming, warming effect. Your muscles eased under his touch. Though your chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths at the prospect of what was to come next, your lower half was tranquil. The pain ebbed away.

Your gaze flickered to Joel’s face, and you found he was already watching you intently. He tipped his chin down.

“Feel any better?”

You waited. You watched him back.

After a second, you nodded your head.

And that wasn’t a lie. His hand smoothing circles over your stomach had made the ache from last night drain out of you, it seemed. You couldn’t believe it. Slowly, a pleased smile worked its way onto Joel’s face, and he was rubbing circles even gentler than he had before. He kissed your forehead, and something stirred inside you.

You ignored it.

You blinked, and suddenly, Joel was lifting your hemline higher with his other hand. Up your belly, your ribs, and—

“Hey.” That came out as more of a squeak than a plea.

Joel’s smile didn’t flinch. He dragged the fabric past your chest, baring your breasts to the open air, and strangely, his gaze never left your face. You shot a look down in embarrassment, wanting him to pull it back into place, but you didn’t dare take hold of the hem yourself. You just sat back in muted discomfort, wanting to move.

“‘S’okay. They’re just more body parts, kiddo. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with showin’ ‘em off when I’m here.”

They were nothing he hadn’t seen before, either.

You squirmed in place and pursed your lips.

And, though you wanted his gentle ministrations on your stomach to continue, this kind of development made you antsy. Achy. You couldn’t quite explain the medley of strange emotions that came from being bare around a man like Joel, in a context like this, but you were almost positive you didn’t like it. You peered up at him, pleading.

“What’s the problem? I just wanna help,” Joel replied.

And, before you could shoot another look his way or turn from him, curling away, he did something unexpected.

He leaned down and, just like he’d done with his mouth working yours, he pressed a kiss to one of your breasts.

He didn’t budge, even when you did.

Even when you jumped—plainly frightened of that new, wet feeling latching onto your nipple—Joel rooted himself in place and didn’t stray an inch from where he was. He sucked on that stiff, hardened peak with all the assuredness he had mowing down herds and herds of infected in the woods outside your community, and it didn’t seem to register at all with him that you were uncomfortable. He simply licked and sucked and kissed.

The ache in your belly got bigger, but not with any pain.

Joel sucked your nipple into your mouth, and you felt it—trembling pleasure. The kind you fantasized about when the man was otherwise draining the sensation from your body with every brutal stab of his hips. At last, it was a thing for you to feel, and not just dream about. The shock hit so hard you had to grip something behind you.

Your pillow.

That was fine.

You sucked in a breath that sounded a bit more like a gasp than a normal inhale, and you clasped on harder.

“Joel,” you mewled.

Joel lifted his head.

“What’s wrong? Did that hurt?”

Your wide eyes met him, bewildered.

“I…”

You swallowed, so wholly unacquainted with the feeling you didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t painful, just a bit…

“Strange, huh?” Joel grinned.

The hand that rubbed your stomach moved to your side to tickle it lightly. You jerked again, and the grin grew.

His mouth lowered back to your breasts—the other one, now—and his eyes never left yours once while he did. He kissed your nipple like he’d done to the first. You saw his tongue dart out past cracked lips, under a sea of mostly grey facial hairs, and he licked that hardened nub. He smeared saliva all over the flushed little thing, and you should’ve been disgusted by how much spit spread down your skin, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to hate it. The feelings his actions roused were pleasurable.

You blinked and let out a ragged breath.

You drew another into your lungs, and your chest shook.

Joel couldn’t have looked more enamored if he tried.

“Does that make the hurt go away? Make you feel a little…warm and tingly inside?” he asked you delicately.

“Feels…yeah.” You’d lost the power to think again.

You’d lost the powers of basic human cognition, and all you wanted was for his lips and tongue to caress your nipples. This man that you hated made you feel something good. You didn’t have words for it.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?”

Right as he asked it, Joel returned to where he’d been and dragged his mouth over one peak. He sucked it in between his lips, then released it with a loud, wet pop.

You couldn’t help it; you whimpered.

You let out a shrill, soft whine like this was the single best thing you’d ever felt, and Joel Miller was the cause of it.

He did it again.

And again.

And he reached up to tweak your other nipple between his forefinger and thumb at the same time, and that was when you felt it: a hot coil. A tightening knot. You sighed.

Your chin jerked down to your chest to see the chaos for yourself, and you found Joel grinning back up at you.

“Has anyone ever done this to you?” he reiterated.

“No.”

You shook your head. You wanted more.

You needed more of his mouth, more of this feeling, and you hated feeling beholden to anyone else, but a pleasure like this felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to a girl like you, and you had no idea when the next time Joel would ever be this nice, so you asked.

“Can— can you do it again?”

Joel obliged you without another word.

He took sweet, pebbled flesh between his teeth and tugged it. Pinched your nipple with his fingers and twisted. Licked you repeatedly, drenched you with his spit, and somehow, you loved every filthy second of it.

You ground your heels into the bed. The own noises bubbling out of your throat were growing louder, and Joel’s suckling sounds, too, were picking up volume as he worked his mouth quicker and harder and greedier than he had before. The wrinkles and the greys on his face showed his age with every breath he took—made this whole encounter feel that much more depraved—but how he took you between his lips made him seem years younger. Ebullient and spry and keen in how he did it.

That old, strange something in your tummy was growing. You were hardly aware of what it meant, much less able to control how it spread. It swelled inside you, and all you knew was that you wanted it to keep billowing, keep rising, keep numbing the pain inside you, and save you from the harsh, cruel reality of the hand you’d been dealt in sex to date. You wanted to get to feel good, for once.

Joel drew your nipple in his mouth one last time for a thick, wet brush from the tip of his tongue, and that was when the knot in your stomach snapped. You cried out loud, eyes almost crossing from the sheer pleasure that was coursing through your body and—shit, was this what Joel got to feel every time he pushed himself in you?—your toes curled. Your eyes closed. Your back promptly arched off the bed, pushing your chest even more into him, and the man clearly didn’t mind in the slightest. He continued to lap at your taut, sensitive flesh while he pinched at the other, and something like a groan thrummed through his chest. You could feel it.

When your eyes opened again, they landed on his face.

Joel’s was upturned, addressing you with a beaming sort of look while he hovered no more than an inch or so over your breasts and panted like he’d just sprinted a mile.

“Did you just…orgasm?” he asked, half-breathless.

You weren’t totally sure what that was—had never experienced one yourself, so you couldn’t say with certainty if that was what it had been. You stared back.

“I don’t know.”

You swallowed, hoping that wouldn’t make him angry.

On the contrary, Joel swept you into his arms a moment later. He held you tight to his chest, your breasts pressing to his white, soiled shirt and briefly commingling with the blood spattered there.

You tensed out of habit. Then you eased just a bit.

He was hugging you. Crawling up your body in bed and laying you back in the sheets, where you’d so kindly just showed a climax Joel almost certainly wasn’t expecting.

He kissed your neck. Your cheeks. Your lips. He overcrowded your space, but your head was so busy with all the bright, fuzzy feelings of release that you didn’t have the sense to notice. Dimly, you heard the clink of a belt, but in your near-anoetic state, it didn’t fully register.

That was what it was supposed to feel like.

No crying, no begging, no pleading for your life.

Just bliss, swollen to the limit and flooding your system.

You wanted to do it again. Maybe not with Joel, but just a man who put your pleasure first. The one you always pictured in your fantasies could be a reality, someday. He’d probably be a little closer to you in age, maybe learning these things for the first time like you. You could experience it together; you wouldn’t have to remain the way you were under Joel’s thumb if you just branched out a bit. Talked to people who weren’t him. The sudden influx of dopamine and oxytocin had your head humming with new ideas, and you knew it was likely too soon to start planning a way away from Joel, but just maybe—

“That was the best thing I ever seen,” he said presently.

You snapped back into the moment and saw Joel hovering over your frame: hips bracketed by your legs and arms bracing themselves on either side of your head on the pillow. His jeans and boxers were shoved down his thighs, just far enough to let his cock spring free of its confines, and currently, the round, leaking head of the thing was gliding up and down your slit. You shuddered.

“What— what was the best thing?” You needed to stall.

Joel brightened above you, like he was charmed by the tone of voice you’d used. He leaned in and kissed you.

You tried not to wince. You tried to look positive.

“You. Cummin’ from just my tongue and fingers on your nipples. Sexiest sight I seen. I knew you’d come around.”

Joel grabbed the base of his dick and started lowering his hips to draw closer to your entrance. He bumped the ring of muscles with the tip, and you were stunned to hear a weak, but audible squelch from where he met you.

You couldn’t see it now, but you could feel the insides of your legs soaked through with your arousal. It dripped like nectar from your cunt and gave Joel the perfect opportunity to slick himself up with your wetness.

The old man rolled his hips and nudged you again.

“It’s gonna be so much better from now on,” he went on. “Tommy was right—a little sweet talkin’, nipple tweakin’ before a man gets to stick it to his woman and she’ll make it real easy by gettin’ wet. Even better if she cums.”

Your stomach turned at those words: his woman.

You didn’t want to do this with Joel again, at least not in the way he’d just made you climax. That felt intimate, and completely wrong for the dynamic you two had developed. As you slowly made the descent from replete pleasure to dread, you sensed something extra warm, leaking beads of precum at your still-wet entrance.

Joel planted an arm even closer beside you and nudged your nose with his own. His eyes were glossy and wide.

You knew a good man wouldn’t be found behind them.

He sank the first inch of his cock within the embrace of your cunt, and the face above you twisted. Yours did, too.

His was out of pleasure. Yours was more like a life-sized, grating kind of agony for which you could not find a name. Your body ached with it, though you didn’t dare to show it on your face. You sighed instead. You bit your lip.

And all the while, Joel was wedging his impossibly hard member inside you. Making way by force, but in a much less painful way than he had before. You were wet enough to give him a tolerably smooth entrance.

He filled every ridge and crevice of your most intimate place, and he heaved a groan at the gratifying sensation.

Joel always enjoyed sex with you.

Even at his lowest, with his eyes seeing nothing but red and likely viewing you as more sentient hole than human being, he always preferred the space between to your legs to anyplace else. As far as you knew, he had sex with no one else but you. Sometimes, you wondered why.

But tonight, you couldn’t think for long when the tip of Joel’s cock kissed the edge of your cervix. For the first time in your life, it didn’t hurt, and in fact felt pretty nice. You made a face to mask the pleasure, and his length buried itself even deeper. Joel groaned as you whined.

“That feels good, don’t it?” he murmured. His hips increased their pace, and suddenly, his thrusts were shaking you. Your bed frame clanged against the wall.

Out of sheer necessity, you had to wrap your arms around the back of Joel’s neck as he fucked you. You felt the weight of his balls slap your ass with every thrust he delivered, and your heels dug hard into his lower back. Slick sounds and stifled whines were all you could hear for several seconds, save for Joel’s breathing, which was loud and shallow. You detected a trace of bourbon on it.

“That feels nice, havin’ your old man balls deep in this sweet, perfect cunt, huh? Tell me,” he said, tone dark.

You nodded once.

Your eyes pricked with moisture again, and this time, you couldn’t tell with any degree of certainty which emotion it stemmed from. You felt vulnerable. Overwhelmed. Like you weren’t in control of yourself—which, physically, you weren’t—and you couldn’t decide what words or sounds would come from you next. You held onto Joel tighter.

His cock plunged in and out at a dizzying pace. He didn’t slow when he saw your tears, but they did beckon him in.

Joel cupped your face in a sly, patronizing way. Smiling.

“You’re scared to feel good. That’s what’s holdin’ ya back,” he said gently, as if it was the most obvious thing.

His thumb brushed your cheek just as he bottomed out, and your body convulsed. You cried some more, wanting to push him out completely, but the feeling was oddly stimulating, too. Joel went on to catch every tear that crawled down your face, and he wiped each one away. He got a half-crazed look in his eye, and he smiled again.

Then he stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked.

He was fucking you, and he was tasting your tears.

You’d never seen anything more disturbing in your life but were forced to hide your aversion as Joel continued.

“Pussy’s all wet. Soakin’ me just like these pretty little tears. That must mean she likes me, darlin’. She likes it.”

“But I—” you started, breath catching on a particularly hard thrust. “—I’m still hurtin’. You— you’re hurtin’ me.”

Perhaps an appeal to his pathos would slow him down. Get him to stop, or at least quit eating your fucking tears.

Joel’s tongue would lick you occasionally when a fresh stream trickled down. He did it again, even while you writhed in pain. He grabbed your face, and he groaned when your walls clenched involuntarily around his length.

“It’s all— all in your head, honey. You want this. Your cunt wouldn’t be half as soaked as it is, and you wouldn’t be cryin’ with pleasure if you didn’t need it as badly as me. You’re just…scared to feel good, is all it is. Let go of that.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing—and were equally dismayed to find that your wet, achy cunt was making noises beneath Joel’s thrusts so obscene you would’ve sobbed harder to know it was you who was making them. Slowly, sluggishly you pushed at his chest.

“I ain’t— ain’t scared, Joel. I don’t like this,” you wailed.

“Sure you are. You feel guilty about how good this feels.”

Well, maybe there was some truth to—

“No.” You shook your head. “I-I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don—”

“Is that why you sent her over for me, sweetheart?”

You froze. Joel’s thrusts slowed down a little.

What was he talking about? Who was ‘she’?

As if reading your mind, Joel went on.

“Rachel. You sent her, didn’t you?”

You had no fucking clue what he was talking about. All you knew was that you loathed the girl and were trying your hardest not to succumb to the pleasure that was building with every second. Somehow, Joel’s gentler strokes made you throb and ache in the best way.

Your gaze flitted down to see his hips meeting yours relentlessly—cock plunging in and out at a grating rhythm and making a mess of your shared fluids. Sweat coated your skin; the bed continued to creak and groan.

“R-Rachel?” you whimpered back.

Joel’s gaze narrowed at you.

“Don’t act naïve, honey.”

Suddenly, he was stopping completely to push your legs over his shoulders. Your limbs were limp and gave no resistance. Then he resumed his soft, steady thrusts.

Your pussy squeezed him even tighter at this angle, and Joel swore under his breath. You whined at feeling it, too.

“After you two helped…fix that fence,” he grunted out, eyes focusing on yours. They were markedly more stern. “I was back home tendin’ to my arm. Rachel stopped by.”

You glanced to Joel’s bicep, which was bulging and still staining the sleeve of his shirt through the fabric. The red patch seemed to grow darker with every push of his hips, but maybe you were imagining things. Trying to distract yourself from the eyes that were boring into your skull.

“She must’ve heard I got hurt last night. Or somebody told her,” Joel went on, unfazed. His cock kept drilling, rendering you immobile on the bed underneath him. “Either way, she made it real clear…real fuckin’ quick that my injury wasn’t the only thing that brought her there.”

Gradually, heat rose to your cheeks.

No way had Rachel done what you thought she did. What you told her sucked, and wasn’t worth any of her time.

“She seemed to think you were gettin’—” Joel paused to drive his cock in hard, hitting your sweet spot as he did. “—preferential treatment of some kind, on account of what you do for me. She wanted the same treatment.”

Now your face was on fire.

That fucking idiot.

“W-What did you say?” you asked weakly. It wasn’t even your curiosity that was piqued—it was genuine fear for what Joel might’ve done had he been of a mind to be offended by her offer. What he was liable to do if he thought you were behind it. You swallowed hard and had no choice but to ignore the growing coil in your stomach.

“I said what any man in my position would’ve told her,” Joel sneered, and your feelings of trepidation only rose.

Against your will, the pleasure in your lower half stretched commensurate with your panic, and you found yourself trembling, teeth grinding together, and eyes itching to roll back in bliss and raw, unmitigated dread.

You weren’t sure if this was preparation to cum or to cry. By the look on Joel’s face, it appeared he craved both.

He gripped your chin in one hand and brought his face right down to yours. His hips didn’t withdraw again; he wedged his cock in deeper and deeper, until it felt as if something were ready to snap, and you cried out, shrill.

“Joel, please.”

“Wanna know what I said?”

“Y-Yes. And stop. Please, no deeper.”

His tip was hitting your cervix repeatedly. His knees were bracing themselves hard against the bed, like he couldn’t get far enough inside your soft, lithe body and the mewling sounds you made were invitations to go further.

They weren’t.

He knew they weren’t.

Still, Joel’s grin was wide as he pinched your face in his hand and grit his teeth like he was proud. Listen to me.

“I told Rachel to get fucked, that’s what,” he snarled. “But not by me. I only fuck women I’m in love with.”

Out of all the things he could’ve said, that was the worst.

Your face fell where he held it, and your eyes widened.

You wanted to shake your head, but his grip was tight.

“Joel.” At the same time, fear flooded you.

Nothing made sense like it should’ve. Nothing felt right, and that was ignoring the fact that you were being forced to fuck a man you so thoroughly despised.

Joel was watching your expressions. Waiting for you to process what he’d said, and when he saw that you had, he assumed an even more brutal pace with his thrusts. He carved at your insides with his cock, pleased as ever.

“Didn’t even…realize it until she approached me today,” he confessed, chuckling when he felt your walls clench—and at the same time, more tears welled up beneath him.

You were going to cry again, except now you were also on the brink of climax. Split down his cock and whining.

“You were made for me, sweetheart. No one’s ever…ever gonna touch what’s mine or get between me and you.”

Those words made you want to die.

Tears were spilling out, and you sobbed.

“You— you don’t mean that, Joel,” you cried.

“But I do, baby,” Joel teased. He pushed your legs even higher when he leaned down to kiss you, and you didn’t miss the way he licked at your tear-streaked skin after. He was sick. Repulsive. Shameless in what he was doing. “If someone like Rachel thinks she can drive a wedge between us, who’s to say there ain’t others who feel the same? Folks need to see who you fuckin’ belong to.”

With that, the man seemed to confirm your worst fear.

His gaze locked on yours, and he thumbed at your cheek one last time. Then he slid his touch down your body, to find your clit, and started rubbing mercilessly. Your hips bucked under his touch, throat working and begging him, hoarsely, stop touching me there, I don’t like it.

In truth, that place was about to send you over the edge. You didn’t like it; you loved it. You hated that you relished every second stretched over Joel’s length and how good it made you feel. You hated him. You hated him so much.

“I love you, honey,” Joel panted, lips grazing over yours.

One more push of his hips and your ankles were almost hovering by your ears. He had you folded in half for him.

And his circles on your clit weren’t stopping anytime soon. He jerked himself in and out of you, again and again, a little sloppier now with how much focus he was placing on that tiny, pulsing bud. Your stomach clenched.

Your walls bore down, and it was clear you didn’t have a say in the matter: you were tumbling toward climax again whether you liked it or not. Your whines turned to shrieks.

“I— I-I don’t love you, Joel,” you said through your teeth. “I fucking hate you. You’ll never mean…anything to me.”

Frankly, you didn’t give a single fuck whether he beat you for it later. He was damn near making you say it.

And rather than bristle with rage, Joel only beamed.

“You mean it, baby?”

Fucking psychopath.

You would’ve reached up and clawed at his face in desperation had your own not been cupped in his hand next. Gently and affectionately, he drew it closer to him.

You mean it?

“We’ll see how you feel when you’re carrying my child.”

Your eyes went wide. Joel’s grin grew bigger.

No.

No.

No, no, no, no, NO.

You weren’t thinking. You reared back and finally landed that taut, sharp blow across his face. The man didn’t flinch, even as you reached out again and raked your nails into his cheek—you fucking sick, sick bastard.

His skin bled. His lip split from where you’d hit him.

All the while, he kept that smile stretched wide.

He seemed to revel in your hatred, leaning in to tell you again: ‘Folks need to see who you fuckin’ belong to, hon.’

“And now they will,” he went on, tone taunting and low.

Joel made sure you felt him from then on. Ensured he shouldn’t budge a single inch and you wouldn’t either. Even as you grit your teeth, cursed him up and down, kept fighting tears—and losing—he wasn’t letting you off.

He would be getting you off, though.

With one more kiss to your neck and a quick series of circuits with his thumb, you were coming apart beneath him. You couldn’t help it. Every last nerve-ending in your body was shot, and you couldn’t breathe without sobbing through tears of misery and pleasure.

Like most every other moment you’d endured that night, your climax was against your will. Your walls pulsed and spasmed, and the fast circles on your clit nearly sent your vision blurring from how indescribably good it felt. All the while, inside, you were cursing Joel’s name and hating him more than you ever had before. Your orgasm triggered his own, and you wished you’d never been born—if this was how your life was to be spent, with the spray of a pervert’s seed painting your walls every night until you gave him a child, well…you would rather be dead.

Better yet, he should be dead.

The idea took root in your mind the second Joel had emptied the last spurt of warmth inside you and drew back with a crooked, sleepy grin. When he kissed you, and licked up the side of your face to collect whatever tears had trickled down since your orgasm had hit, the thought was cemented in your mind. Tired as you were yourself, you couldn’t show this on your face or betray a shred more of your outright contempt, or determination, than you were feeling right now. You let him kiss you. Let him lick you wherever he pleased, tell you he loved you and knew you would love him too, one day, as much as you would love his baby. His cock rutted deeper inside you with a low and sickening squelch, and by the time he’d rolled away, you’d made it a promise to yourself.

Whether it was today, tomorrow, or ten years from now—no matter how long it would take—Joel Miller was dead.

And that made you happy.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction To You Being Their Controversially Young Girlfriend

Warnings: Implied Smut, Legal Age Gap, Age Gap Relationships, Daddy Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Possessive MW2, Degradation, Mention of Corruption, Mentions of Innocence, Mentions of Naivety, Praise Kink (M Giving), Implied Choking Kink, Angry Sex, Groping, Brat Taming, Man Handling/Woman Handling, Dumbification Kink, Gentle MW2, Rough MW2, Self-Consciousness, Mentions of Blood/Injury, Insecurity, Profanity, Pet Names, Fem Pronouns Used For Reader.

Ghost

Pretends he doesn’t care about the age gap, but he secretly does.

You’d never know it, but he worries that he’s roping you into a relationship – a long-term one at that – when you should be out, meeting guys, gaining life experience.

He also fears that, in some way, he’s corrupting you, that his selfish desire to keep you close to him will lead to you being targeted or you eventually resenting him.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him otherwise, he’s still going to worry about you.

There are a few ways you can put his mind at ease, though. Namely of the bedroom variety.

More on this later 👀.

He spoils you silly, absolutely rotten. Anything that catches that pretty little eye of yours and he’s already got it gift wrapped. He feels it’s the least he can do after you’ve shown  him that life isn’t just an endless cycle of suffering – an infinitum of anguish – that he does deserve happiness and a chance at love.

Very gentle during sex. Unless you ask him not to be.

Expect a lot of praise in bed.

Many a night have you found yourself pinned under Simon, his mouth to your ear as he pants, moaning, telling you how you’re “Such a good girl, taking me so well,” while he fills you with long, languid strokes.

Other times, he’s not so gentle.

Oftentimes, usually as a result of purposefully making Ghost jealous, have you been pinned against a hard surface – one of convenience rather than comfort – with Simon at your back, the tent in his pants catching you.

His voice is deep, husking and carnal as he reminds you who you belong to.

“Like having your pretty little cunt ravaged by an older man, don’t you, Love.”

He’s very protective of you.

He sometimes construes your young age as innocence, naivete. Hence, he never lets you out of his sight when you’re out together.

Scary dog privileges.

Absolutely feral, down bad for you: you only have to do or say the most minimal of things to make him melt, to become a slave to his adoration for you.

That being said, he’s paranoid that one day you’ll see him as he views himself and leave him for someone better – someone you deserve. Someone younger.

He’s damaged goods, you still have your whole life to live. And yet you stay with him, promise him that he’s the only man you’ll ever love.

As stated earlier, Simon can be persuaded of your dedication to him via special, particular means.

However, if you play into his insecurities, even to get a rise out of him, he’ll pounce on you, grab your wrists and pin you to a wall, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

And, beneath dark lashes and darker eyes, he makes a promise to you.

“Oh, you think a younger lover can pleasure you like I can?” he says, his head tilting. “Don’t you worry, Darling. I’ll fuck that idea outta that pretty little head of yours until the only thing rattling around in there is me.”

König

Somewhat insecure in your relationship. Especially when he gets disapproving glances and glares from passers-by when they note the very obvious age difference between the two of you.

But, his love for you can overcome any measure of anguish, social or otherwise.

He’s the gentlest giant you could ever hope to meet, both in and out of bed.

When he feels like it.

He treats you like you’re innocent and pure, shielding your eyes from graphic scenes on TV and gruesome stories in the newspaper.

Sometimes he has to remind himself that you’re a fully-grown woman, even if you are younger than him.

You send him absolutely feral whenever you wear his clothes btw.

Seeing as any one of his shirts could be your nightdress, he calls you his “Minnie Maus”, and treats you as such.

Pls sit on his lap, he’ll only be able to die happy once you do.

He fears judgement from others whenever you enact PDA, so to make up for his lack of willing to be physical with you in public, there isn’t a moment where you’re without him at home.

Extended periods of time in your presence tend to send him a bit…funny.

A little bit silly.

And by silly, I mean there’s a single thread of humanity keeping him from tearing your clothes off at any given second.

Especially if he’s seen a younger guy looking at you earlier in the day.

One of the few times he’ll get physical with you in public is whenever he catches someone looking at you with a glaze over their eyes he knows all too well.

He approaches you from behind, slipping a pythonic arm about your waist and pulling you into him.

Only now does your admirer look away, leave the premises entirely, once they catch sight of König’s gargantuan proportions and the rabid look in his eye.

Once you get home, he’s on you before you can even shut the door.

It’s times like these that König doesn’t feel insecure about the age gap between you.

Because he knows, no matter how little you’re willing to admit it, that nobody will ever be able to make you scream and cry and tremble like he can.

“Did you like that boy’s attention earlier, Maus?” he says, his eyes cattish and voice serpentine. He bears down on you, his hand about your throat as the other travels under your skirt.

“Is my love not enough? Are my affections wasted on you?”

His eyes glint in the dim light of the bedroom. His teeth look sharper – primal – in the low glow of the bedside lamp.

“No matter. I’ll make you remember how much you need me,” he presses into you. The bulge between his legs feels far too big for you to take.

“Inch by bloody inch.”

Valeria

You’re her little Angel, her Goddess, the light of her life and her reason for living.

That does not exempt you from her teasing, however.

Sexual or otherwise.

She’s particularly fond of randomly grabbing your backside when she’s walking past, or smacking it so hard that you yelp and she’s grinning from ear to ear.

Even if you use your puppy-dog eyes on her, disobedience is not accepted under her roof.

In fact, trying to wriggle out of any punishment she has planned is enough to make her grab you and pin you to a wall, her grip unrelenting as she sucks and bites your neck, leaving harsh red marks and a sense of helplessness as she does what she pleases with you.

“Don’t go fucking around behind my back again, Chiquita,” she tells you, her nose touching yours and her eyes black. She brings her knee between your legs, pressing into you.

“Or next time I won’t just stop at your throat.”

She loves dressing you up in the finest clothing money (and a ghastly reputation) can buy.

She thrives on having you hanging off her arm like a dog on a leash; she gets to show you off to her subordinates and business partners who know they’ll never even have the thought of having a chance with you entertained.

Valeria’s mood can fluctuate in bed.

Sometimes, she treats you like a common whore she found on the street, fucking every ounce of rage, hate and venom into you until some part of you’s left bleeding as Valeria’s panting on top of you, her lips to your cheeks as she kisses your tears away with a whiplash-inducing gentleness she seemed incapable of minutes ago.

Most of the time, she’s loving and kind, putting your needs above her own.

Sure, she still teases you, makes you work for her love and dedication, but you know she’d do anything for you.

You can tell in her tone as she tells you of how she would “Scorch the earth if only to find a fragment of you in the wreckage.”

You disappearing or being taken from her is her biggest fear, and at night she holds you tightly against her chest, your buffer against the world she would sooner see in flames than relinquish you to.

Price

He’s so father-coded fr.

He calls you his little girl, his Princess, Love, Darling, Dollie — anything that highlights your fragile nature.

Shows you off to his friends just so he can show them what they’re missing. He adores the feeling of you curling further into him under the eyes of his task force, the look in their eyes relating something savage, primal, as they look at your bare thighs – the pinnacle of which shadowed by John’s shirt – and watch something they can never have, never touch.

John hides his insecurity well, but he does secretly worry about the age gap.

Especially when he watches younger men looking at you in ways he does.

The difference being that, while they offered you the world and would give you nothing, you are John’s world.

When you can tell John’s feeling worried, comforting him is a surprisingly easy task.

A kiss to the temple and the promise that he’s the only man for you is usually enough to put his mind at ease and make his face break out into a smile.

On the rare occasion it isn’t, however, alternative methods are at your disposal.

E.g. screaming John’s name into the night as your nails drag down the expanse of his back, bodies scorching as he brings you to tears with his touch and his unrelenting pace.

He will absolutely hold his rank/age over you when he’s like this, no longer a point of contention or shame for him as he tells you he’s the “Only one who can make you whimper like a fuckin’ dog,”

“Such a good girl for me, my good little cocksleeve,” he rasps in your ear as he bounces you on top of him, his hands about your waist, preventing you from fleeing or falling off.

“God, you’re so beautiful — so— fuck— gorgeous.” He’s panting, gasping, growling.

“And all mine.”

Horangi

You’re the only thing that matters to him.

At this point, he only remains as a military contractor to ensure that he can keep you in the style to which you are accustomed.

Calls you 자기야 (Jagiya – Honey, Darling).

His favourite thing to do is sit you between his legs and wrap around you like armour.

In case you couldn’t tell, he’s highly protective of you.

You can make him do absolutely anything — he’s at your beck and call.

You can get him to buy you anything if you give him what he likes to call ‘kitten eyes’ eyes.

Even if you’re being a brat, he remains calm and treats you like his little angel, his sweetpea.

Unless you push him too far.

At which point, he won’t hesitate to tame you if you try your luck.

He’ll have you bent over his lap, holding you down with his forearm as he turns your thighs and backside red-raw with the slap of his belt.

“Don’t start crying now, 자기 — you brought this on yourself.”

He never fails in the aftercare department, though.

Always filling your head with words of affirmation as he bathes you, carrying you to bed and tending to your skin with soothing creams and soft touches.

Hong-jin goes super feral crazy when you call him 오빠.

A common honorific used towards any man older than the person using it.

Even if you don’t understand the implications of it, Hong-jin does. And yes, it does tend to make him a bit silly.

Silly enough to know that he’s not going to last long and needs to get home ASAP to deal with…something.

Which he also makes your problem, pressing messy, desperate kisses to your lips as he tries to get his shirt off, your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat skyrocketing.

“I need you, (Y/N),” he says, breathless, almost growling. Yet, his eyes are wide, pleading. A doe-eyed prince with the aura of a wolf king. “And I’ll have every inch of you.”

Alejandro

Pre-established passionate lover.

One who is fiercely protective over you.

If anyone — and I mean anyone — catcalls you, makes passes at you, or even looks at you in the wrong way, Alejandro makes sure to enact righteous fury upon them.

He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re 110% satisfied, regardless of context.

You want a new wardrobe ? It’s done. A new car ? All yours. You need Alejandro now and it can’t wait ? Why, how can he say no when you whine like that, when you tug at his sleeve and tuck your head against his shoulder.

He calls you “mi Princesa” and makes sure everybody knows you’re his and he’s yours.

A thorough lover is how you might describe him.

Especially after he’s so willing to bend you against the nearest surface to get you off, no matter the time of day.

You can bring him to his knees with just a look. Turn him from the most respected soldier in his department into a feral wolf.

Which, if you play your cards right, can end very well for both of you.

Alejandro likes to play a game whenever you’re riding him.

He grabs you by your hips and anchors you on top of him.

“Let’s see how long you can hold on for, mi Corazón,” he says, flashing you a sultry smile before he’s bucking into you at the pace of a mechanical rodeo horse at full speed.

“Holding on” can mean anything from not being pounded off Ale’s hips to staving off your orgasm for as long as you can.

Failure to do either is when you see Alejandro at his most wicked. When he’s all teeth, a shark’s grin, his eyes dark and his voice low as he tells you that he needs to “Train your endurance. How else are you going to take me again, hm?”

Needless to say, you’ll be lucky to be able to get out of bed the next day.

Rodolfo

His heart beats only for you. And as a result, he treats you like royalty.

As he should.

You want it ? You got it. 

In abundance.

You have the best of everything and Rudy loves nothing more than seeing your face light up when you receive one of his many gifts.

That, and having you sat on his lap, raking your fingers through his hair as he tells you about his day.

He omits the more gruesome details, fearing he’ll taint you with the blood on his hands if he doesn’t.

Speaking of lap-sitting, it’s your one-way ticket to an eventful afternoon with Rudy.

Cockwarming is his go-to, your legs wrapped about his waist as he fills out reams of paperwork, pressing kisses to your shoulder and telling you “What a good girl you’re being, mi amor,”

Be prepared for a tidal wave of praise for doing the bare minimum.

It doesn’t matter if Rudy’s topping or bottoming, he’s going to let you know how you’re making him feel, how nobody will ever ensnare him like you do.

“I love you,” he rasps, eyes half-lidded and skin glistening with sweat as you take him.

“I love you, I love you so much–” He growls, back arching into you as you catch a sensitive area. His chest is heaving and his eyes are dark.

“I’ll never let anyone else have you.”

Graves

This guy was made to have a controversially young girlfriend.

Calls you “Babydoll”, “Babygirl”, “Little Lady”, etc.

He unironically refers to himself as “Daddy”.

E.g. “You were eyein’n up that necklace for a while, Darlin’…” His hand slips to the crotch of his jeans, rocking his bulge into his palm.

“Maybe if you ask Daddy real nicely, he’ll get it for you.”

He’s actually very caring. He’d buy you the world if it meant seeing you smile.

He never expects anything from you in return.

He just can’t pass up the opportunity to have you in his arms, to touch you.

Graves can tend to go overboard with the gifts, though.

Calls you “young thing” when he’s feeling humourous.

On the flip-side, he can (and will) use your age gap against you. Like Price, but more Southern.

He’ll be very condescending when he’s mad, tending to use terms that undermine how intelligent and capable you really are.

“If you’d just listened to me and gotten it through your tiny head that I’m doing what’s best for you, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

On the flip-flip-side, he uses your age gap as a jumping-off point into…dubious activities.

#1 dumbification kink enjoyer.

He’s a switch with top lean, what can I say.

“Can’t do anything without me, can you, Sweetheart.” It’s not a question. His eyes are too serious, too stern, for it to be. He’s  pounding into you, hands either side of your head, caging you beneath him.

Between his panting, he presses a wet, uncoordinated kiss to your lips.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even think without me by the time I’m done with you.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[deusfoundry]

min ho who claims to hate you, insists that you're the most annoying, bothersome person in his life, but is also the one who knows every little thing there is to know about you.

min ho who complains that you talk too much, that he's never given a moment of peace whenever you're around because of your incessant yapping, but he's the first person to bring up the latest episode of your favorite show. the topic sends you into an unstoppable spiral, has you going on and on and on that you don't even have the time to think about how he knew there was a new episode to begin with. min ho rolls his eyes once your rambling ends, makes a quip about how he didn't know you'd talk that much, and acts as if he hadn't been listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. like he didn't ask you questions, brought up details from past episodes that he knows would get you to talk more.

min ho who drags you through the mud for being such a picky eater, eyes the vegetables you shove to the side of your plate with disdain, but he wordlessly reaches into your plate to pick out everything you don't like before you can do it. he leaves just enough of it, though, if he knows it's not something you're allergic to. he doesn't give you the chance to whine, claiming that your not eating of those nasty veggies is the reason for your skin breaking out. but really, min ho just wants you to eat something healthy for once.

min ho who comments on your less than decent grades, borderline making fun of you, but he gives you a copy of his meticulously written notes complete with a set of practice problems. he tells you to meet him in the library after your classes, and you find him in one of the tables tucked at the very back, away from prying eyes. he's got almost every inch of the table's surface covered with notes and books and flashcards, and you spot a bag of snacks he'd smuggle in hidden beneath. you gather the courage to ask him why he's putting in so much effort for you, and he says it's because your grades are pitiful, that he can't let anyone associated to his name horrendously failing.

min ho who confesses in the quiet of the night, just before a week long break from school when he knows no one will be checking the dorms. who remembers that you like confessions that are intimate, none of those grand, over the top gestures in public but rather, something that's shared between two people. between the only people who really matter.

it works for him, too, because in all the years he's spent dating, asking girls out left and right like it's as easy as breathing, you're the only one who's brought him to such a state. an embarrassingly deep shade of red dusting his cheeks that's thankfully hidden by the darkness of his room. the hesitation in his voice that's so unfamiliar, it tastes like acid on his tongue. the way he stumbles over his words, flailing helplessly as you stare at him wide eyed.

it's maddening, what you've done to him. how you seem to have no knowledge of just how deep his feelings run for you.

but it's worth it, min ho thinks, when your stunned expression morphs into one of delight.

it's worth it, when you take his hands into yours, clutching at his fingers for dear life as you tell him that you like him too.

it's worth it, now that you're his.

[blkkizzat]

PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ 𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟓 — 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨, 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: nov 19th 8:52pm ⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: onsen + dubcon + coercion + fingering + riding + mating press + bath sex + breeding + sassy!reader ⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 5751

𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Suguru reclines against the edge of the onsen, arms stretched lazily along the stone. Steam curls around him in languid waves, the mineral-rich bath soothes his bones but does absolutely nothing for the ache between his muscular thighs. The weight of his erection, stiff and heavy, anchors against the flat planes of his stomach—a silent testament to the tension that even the warm waters cannot wash away.

19 days.

It’s been 19 days since the start of 'No Nut November'—an ordeal that began with your unwelcomed and completely unsolicited suggestion during a meeting with Suguru's top benefactors.

The meetings with these so-called patrons, eager for a taste of pseudo-importance in his cult, were just another way Suguru expertly exploits their inflated sense of superiority to pull them, and their bank accounts, deeper into his web of indoctrination. Growing irritated at the mere memory, Suguru’s muscles tense up as if the onsen’s warmth had never touched him. Normally his secretary, Manami, would sit-in to take notes during these meetings, but with more pressing matters elsewhere, she had sent you in her place.

You were the newest member of Suguru’s sorcerer family—a position you accepted, albeit reluctantly, thanks to a recommendation from your long-time friend, Manami herself. Still, Suguru isn't blind.

He knows you didn't join out of loyalty nor conviction—you needed protection.

Aligning yourself with Suguru’s cause was a way to escape Jujutsu Society’s relentless pursuit. They were hunting you for your various crimes as well, and being under Suguru’s protection offered you a chance to survive.

And yet, the subtle side-eyes you throw his way, the faint twitches at the corners of your mouth, the tiny snorts that you so skillfully turned into sneezes at his various words or proclamations—they spoke volumes. 

You thought he was full of shit.

Not exclusive to just his cult either—his entire ideology.

Although, you never openly defied nor disrespected him.

On the contrary, your behavior was impeccable surface wise.

Anyone if asked would say you were a sweet yet quiet girl who showed Suguru the utmost reverence in your mannerisms and diligently carried out every task assigned to you. 

Your rebellious yet inconspicuous expressions of skepticism were too minor for others to notice in order for him to justify any kind of punishment. Not to mention your babydoll-like mannerisms that made you look even more like the picture of innocence. Your rap sheet as a cursed user was the only sign anyone would ever have of your deviant ways and yet with just a bat of your eyes you'd be able convince anyone you were the one wrongly persecuted. No, Suguru he couldn't risk openly punishing you for no reason lest he be seen as a hypocrite in front of his newly made family. After all, he had vowed to do no harm to fellow sorcerers not standing in his way.

Besides, even if you didn't approve, you also weren't a hindrance to him—you were an asset.

Nevertheless, there was still a lingering air of smugness about you that irked, crawling under Suguru's skin like a parasyte. A secretive defiance against him, like you thought you were somehow above him because you deemed yourself more intelligent.

Your attitude combined with your charms reminded Suguru far too much of Satoru—a resemblance he would never admit aloud, but unfortunately, couldn’t ignore.

As a result, Suguru tended to avoid you. The quiet challenge you presented unsettled him—a subtle reminder of unresolved feelings toward his old friend-turned-foe. It was easier to sidestep you altogether, a pacifist approach to maintain his sanity and preserve his standing among his cursed user peers.

However, your filling in for Manami had been unavoidable on such short notice. And as Suguru expected, you seized the opportunity to mock him under a carefully crafted guise of loyalty.

With all the false earnestness your doe eyes could muster, you offered an insightful suggestion during the meeting—a so-called new way to bring his followers deeper into the fold and reveal the most worthy of his believers.

You proclaimed only Suguru’s most devout and faithful followers could perfectly embody the spirit of his cause and to prove their honor, they should adopt an ancient Roman warrior tradition—

—the practice of 'et non nux novem'—a month of silence, meditation, prayer, and of course—

abstinence.

All in honor of the gods—or, in this case, their fearless god-like leader Suguru.

Needless to say, the pompous dumbass monkeys in the room eagerly lapped up your grandiose words. You, the forked-tongue tempress, worked your soft-feminine charms to the point they were eating out of your palm.

These so-called 'elites' of Tokyo might have had wealth and status, but wisdom and worldliness?

Clearly lacking.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t have fallen into a cult in the first place, let alone been fooled by a dead language none of them could even understand.

None of them were versed in latin, that is, except Suguru.

Like a single spark on dry brush the idea of ‘et non nux novem’ spread like wildfire and every single monkey follower in his cult wanted to show themselves as worthy by participating.

While you were praised for your faithfulness to the cause, Suguru found himself trapped. Forced to participate in this charade to set an example of solidarity and faith. And while Suguru could handle many things, losing wasn’t one of them. What infuriated him even more was the way you’d turned his cult against him, audaciously meeting his bullshit with your own.

For the first-time since the start of his cult someone had checkmated him.

Not to mention, you’d effectively cucked him, and you knew it—the small, self-satisfied smile on your plump lips every time you'd seen him this month said as much. Every tiny gesture of yours Suguru scrutinized and deemed to be in mock of him. Even the quick flick of your moist, pink tongue to wet your dry lips felt like a deliberate taunt.

The sight would send a visceral rage through Suguru who'd immediately take his leave.

But as the month wore on, those feelings morphed into something darker, invading his thoughts in more scandalously salacious ways. What used to be him envisioning him ripping your insolent tongue right out of your mouth, Suguru found himself wondering how your lips might feel wrapped around his cock, putting your mischievous lil' tongue to better uses.

You were too smart, too sassy, too sexy—and far too much like Satoru.

A dangerous combination that gnawed at Suguru's sensibilities, especially when every throb of his unattended member reminded him that you were the cause. It was more than he could bear—so, Suguru resolved to even the score. 

You had to be dealt with lest you destroy him entirely.

Should be any minute now.This particular bathhouse on the compound was for sorcerers only and every member of his family had a scheduled time to use it.

Of course this just so happened to be your hour to bathe.

*CREEEAK*

Like clockwork you enter the onsen, sliding open the heavy wooden door and entering the bath.

Obscuring your vision, steam rises in soft clouds, condensing on the wooden ceiling and blurring the perimeter of the bath, not allowing you to see that it was already occupied.

Thinking nothing is amiss, you walk in completely bare with your tenugui towel draped over your arm. It’s not until you tentatively dip a toe into the water that Suguru clears his throat. "Ahem..."

The sudden sound startles you, and you trip, tumbling into the water with an ungraceful splash. Between the thick steam and the complete suppression of his cursed energy, you hadn’t seen Suguru at all—he caught you entirely off guard.

Drenched and gasping as you emerge to the surface, the presence of Suguru’s overwhelming cursed energy hits you all at once. It fills the room like a crushing wave, and you can’t stop the instinctual tremors that send ripples spreading through the water around you.

“G-Geto-sama!?”

Your entire body flushes with heat and as much as every nerve is screaming at you to flee, the quickest way to cover your nakedness was remain in the onsen.

Shit, did the bath schedules change and you had no idea?!

The urgency in which you practically dove back under the water, only the tip of your nose visible has Suguru chuckling.

“Now, now, you can cut the shy act, princess. There's no one for you to perform for here—tsk, a devious brat like you couldn’t possibly be so flighty.”

Glaring at him through the steamy mist, your cheeks burn with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. Insults and pet names swirl in your head as you try to take stock of your current predicament, searching for some semblance of composure.

But it’s impossible to ignore the weight of his gaze. You can feel it—piercing through the obscuring vapors and the milky mineral water as if they weren't even there.

“Hah?... m’not shy— or flighty for that matter! You just scared me a bit is all—I didn't think I'd have to be on my guard in the onsen!”

In an act of defiance you sit up fully and remove your arms covering your chest. Your buoyant breasts rise to float in the water as you attempt to stop your fidgeting.

Suguru hums.

You can't see but you can feel his expression turn darker through the haze as if he is pleased he unsettles you so much.

“We're preparing for war, princess—you should always be on guard."

Suguru scolds you playfully, though the patronizing edge lingers like a teasing blade.

"Even from you?" Testing him, you slowly build your nerve back with the challenging question, his cockiness getting under your skin as it always does.

"In your case? Especially from me."

Suguru’s rich, sexy baritone drips with intent, sending chills racing down your spine and pooling deep in your core. Despite the soothing warmth of the onsen enveloping you,you are desperately on edge.

Never in your dreams did you think your casual teasing of him would ever push him this far. Even so, you can't bite back the sass that spills from your lips.

"So you admit you're a fraud? The self-proclaimed sorcerer messiah?"

The energy around Suguru crackles, and your sharp, audible breath betrays your shock. Suguru strains as he struggles to maintain his calm and keep the upper hand, the heat of his anger brewing through the water. Yet the power radiating from him is unmistakable—a silent warning that he’ll take control, one way or another.

"You came here for my protection, yet you more than anyone are most liable to undermine me. Your duplicitous nature could shift against my favor at any moment. If I didn't know better I'd think he'd sent you to mock me... ”

Your face frowns in confusion, unsure of who Suguru is referring to but you are left no time to ponder as he continues.

"Now come here brat, tell me why I shouldn't cast you out—hand you right over to the higher ups and be rid of you for good."

You freeze, chewing the inside of your cheek as you debate whether you should actually run. Suguru was no rat, you knew he wouldn't turn you in. Cast you out to fend for yourself? Perhaps. Deep down though, you know you wouldn’t get far if he decides to catch you so you remain. The cracks in Suguru’s easy going demeanor—the one he carefully maintains for his sorcerer family—are starting to show.

Revealing just how fucking intense Suguru really is underneath it all.

“—I said come here. Or if you’re scared you can flee, little dove—flee this bath, my cult—and my protection for good.”

The timber in Suguru’s voice makes your nostrils flare, a reaction he anticipated all too well. He knows you’ll play right into his hands—escape was never truly an option. Reverse psychology was his favorite tool against pride as childish as yours, just as it always worked with Satoru. So, of course you take the bait despite yourself.

Although you knew you should fear him—that you were gambling at a game far above your metaphorical buy-in—the thrill of it was too intoxicating to resist. The feeling akin to standing at the edge of a cliff, fully aware of the drop but unable to step back as the wind whips around you inching you forward.

Swallowing hard, you rise to your feet, forcing yourself to keep your hands steady at your sides. Every nerve in your body screams at you to look away, to break the tension, but you don’t. Instead, you move toward Suguru, your own steady gaze locked on his, refusing to flinch.

Approaching him, with each step closer, more of Suguru is revealed to you.

Your eyes shamelessly drink him in, unable to resist the temptation the cult leader, known as Geto Suguru exudes. Water droplets glide down his sculpted pecs, trailing over his abs and glistening off the sinewy muscles of his arms. Like a siren from mythology, Suguru’s slicked-back inky hair cascades over his broad, chiseled shoulders, pooling into the water around him, each strand seeming almost alive with its own allure.

There's no big mystery why he had so many people throwing themselves at his feet.

You blink hard, shaking yourself free from the allure of the beautiful siren-like man before you. 

No, you’d never be one of them…right?

Your distracted thoughts keep you from noticing but Suguru is equally captivated by you. His predatory eyes sweep over your body, as if cataloging every detail of your curves to memory. You're sexier than he imagined under those sweaters you'd wear, hiding your perfect form from him. His cock pulses impatiently beneath the onsen waters, betraying his eagerness. 

Suguru was secretly relieved you couldn’t see just how badly he wanted you at this moment—how badly he’d wanted you all month, for that matter. He’d gone through every stage of denial, convincing himself it was nothing—that you were nothing, before finally admitting the truth.

And now that he had successfully snared you he wasn’t going to deprive himself of you any longer.

“Stop there.” 

Suguru’s commands are smooth and unwavering.

“Stand here.”

The spot he indicates is directly between his legs.

You swallow hard. 

With your towel gone and the water receding in the shallow area of the onsen where he sits, your bare pussy is now at eye level with Suguru. His piercing scrutiny makes it impossible to remain still, every nerve in your body on alert. The longer he stares, lecherous and hungry, as if he might devour you whole, the quicker your breath hitches.

Your embarrassment slowly gives way to a simmering arousal you can’t control despite your growing annoyance for this man.

Suguru didn’t have to reach far at all to touch you and soon his fingers trailed featherlight touches up your inner thighs, sending tingles straight into your dripping pussy as you tried to remain still and pretend it's the water from the onsen and not from your cunt glistening on your thighs.

Like Suguru already knows how wet you are for him, his lustful gaze intensifies, smirk carving deeper into his features like a predator savoring its prey.

“This 'et non nux novem' is complete bullshit. You know it, like I know it." The sensation of your soft, wet flesh beneath his fingertips has a fresh surge of heat coursing through him.

"But since we're the only two who know the truth and you wish to stay under my protection, you’ll just have to take responsibility for the rest of the month—can you do that?”

You're breathless from his touch continuing to explore around your hips and upper thighs. Trying to resist leaning into his touch your words are clumsy as they spill out of you.

“Mmm…w-what about maintaining s-s-solidarity?” 

Suguru brings you in, muscular arms wrapping around your waist deviously.

“Fuck solidarity, princess.”

You’d think you'd giggle at that if he hadn’t just murmured those words into your tummy. Suguru's warm breath dips into your navel and your tummy contracts—jailed in his strong grasp there is no running away from him now.

Yet his smooth words continue, as if he fully expects your obedient compliance.

“Will you be my devout, good lil' slut then, hm?”

You chewed your inner cheek. 

Suguru’s attractiveness was never lost on you, but you saw him as an arrogant asshole who'd on top of that forever seems so distant. Plus, he always seemed irritated by your presence which is why you'd started the prank in the first place.

All of this only made his sudden attention now even more disarming. 

You look away, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt to mask your flushed expression. The gesture, meant to appear casual, only makes you seem shyer and more vulnerable, offering him an even softer view of you. You know you need to pull it together, but your bravado is slipping, painfully exposing your awkwardness as you grow increasingly pliable under his touch.

“Hm, does this bratty princess pussy think she's too good to serve?”

A startled squeak escapes you as Suguru’s hands resume their practiced exploration of your body. Agile fingers find your breasts as Suguru pinches your hardened nipples, rolling and pulling your sensitive buds firmly. The motions are like a silent punishment for the answer you haven’t even given yet—delivering molten pleasure to burn in your core.

“Answer me, slutty girl before I finally lose my patience with you.”

Suguru's fingers trace their descent back down your body to spread greedily over the soft curve of your ass. A sharp crack follows as his hand lands on your dampened skin, the sting radiating through you and snapping your gaze back to meet his. You whimper, the sound pitiful and almost apologetic, as his fingers knead and caress the tender flesh in the aftermath, leaving you trembling. Every touch is a reminder that you belong to him—every inch of you subject to the pleasure and pain he so expertly delivers.

“I-I'm not your s-servant...”

You weren’t convincing at all and the sight of your luscious body quivering in his hands has Suguru all the more eager to have you submit to him—to have you utterly threadbare and unraveling before him.

"Eh, are you not though?"

Expression darkened with intent, Suguru face is mere centimeters from your core as he inhales the intoxicating, sweet scent of your dewy pussy. His sultry eyes lock with yours looking up at you as if asking for your consent, your admission of desperation—your absolute obedience.

"Would you want to be?"

Fuck, the man was too deviously sexy to resist.The debauched scene made your entire body shudder, a needy moan falling from your lips as you instinctively angle your hips toward his hot awaiting mouth.

“...hnn—p-pleaseee, G-Geto-sama.”

However, just as you were certain he’d taste you, Suguru pulls back. His pretty, thin lips parting only to curl into a taunting smile.

“Oh? Now she begs. No, only my good, devout slut gets my mouth, princess. You'll have to do better than that if you want it.” 

Your face crumples but all thoughts of protest vanish the moment the pads of his fingers brush lightly across your clit, now engorged and peaking through your folds. Working your tingly nub in slow, agonizing circles with his knuckles, while his thumb mirrored the rhythm against your hip. 

The dual sensations has your thighs quivering, as delicate mewls spill from your lips uncontrollably—a clear sign to Suguru that it's been far too long since you’ve had a proper fuck.

“So sensitive… so responsive for a slut claiming not to be my servant.” 

Suguru’s whole demeanor is voice saturated with amusement, but you felt so good and he looks so sinfully erotic with his hand in your folds, you don’t even care now that he is toying with you. 

“You’ve been non nux for a long while now, haven’t you, princess? Wanting the rest of us to suffer with you, hm?”

You hated his smug ass but you let out an affirmative sigh despite yourself, drawing a chuckle from him.

Suguru sees it immediately—the way your body shakes, touch-starved and desperate for the attention he’s lavishing on you. His long finger glides through your slick, webbing the gossamer of your arousal against his thumb before sinking it into your pussy with deliberate precision.

Honeyed in your creamy nectar, his thick digit tows through every inch of your pretty peach.

“So fucking wet for me…this is why you wanted my attention, isn't that right, brat?”

Suguru slips a second long finger into your gooey core, the stretch immediately overwhelming—his one finger easily the size of two of yours. But you’re too lost in your own loud moans to notice Suguru’s low hiss, he's utterly caught off guard by the way your walls clamp down on him so fiercely.

Driving into your slick gummy walls harder and faster your cunt eagerly slobbers around his fingers as they reach into the very depths of your core—now zoning in on the firm, spongy spot within you.

Desperately, you fall forward and your pretty manicured nails puncture his shoulder as a third finger enters you.

Suguru typically doesn’t let anyone touch him so freely—yet he can’t bring himself to push you away. Watching you struggle to hold yourself together only made him more determined to break you completely, now with his fingers—then with his cock.

Resolved, Suguru hooks your leg over his other shoulder, forcing your body to open to him. Leaning-in Suguru gifts you steady, sloppy kisses up your inner thigh, stopping occasionally to languidly suction your plump flesh enough to leave a bruise—all in sharp contrast to the furious pace of his fingers pumping inside your dripping cunt.

Too skilled at siphoning out your juices, your creamy wetness slicks down his entire forearm to his elbow and then into the onsen as he works you over.

“Shiiiit—Geto-sa—MAAAH!”

Your free hand instinctively dives into his hair, tugging at his long raven strands at his scalp. Suguru’s eyes flare and he growls a warning in his throat at your audacity. But it's all easily forgiven, as you so beautifully slutted out before him—your head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as your serpentine hips meet the urgent plunge of his fingers grazing your womb.

Picking up his pace, Suguru’s fingers move deeper and faster. Your cries grow louder, unrestrained, your tongue hanging out as a strange immeasurable pressure builds under your tummy.

“NNNNGHH...m’no moreee—stawp—m’gonna pee in the onsennnn, pleaseeepleaseee!” 

Your voice is distraught but your nails dig deeper into the flesh of his scalp and shoulder and your hips never stop rolling to meet his fingers.

What a perfect whore you’ve become for him. 

“Tsk, silly slut—don't you know that's not pee princess? So don’t you dare hold back—show me how dirty this pretty lil' pussy can get grasping onto me like she's worshiping my fingers..."

Suguru sinks his teeth into the thick meat of your thigh, the bite leaving deep impressions in your soft tender flesh. The overwhelming buzz of opposing sensations is blinding to the point you’re soon spraying milky fluids all over his arms, chest and face.

Your eyes lodge into your skull as your orgasm peaks and crashes over you. Buckling forward as your legs become goo, yet Suguru's grip on you is steady as he pulls his fingers from your still spasming pussy. Without hesitation Suguru licks them clean, savoring the remnants of your release on them—it's a pity so much of it ended up in the onsen and not in his mouth.

Fuck— you’re so sweet on his tongue Suguru regretted not tasting you fully and robbing himself of your flavor. He had half the mind to feast on you now but the incessant throbbing of his long ignored cock needed to be dealt with first.

Wrecked from his fingers alone, your mind is hazy as the lingering pleasure clouds your thoughts. You barely register Suguru’s movements as he guides your body—lowering you until your soft tits press firmly against his hard chest. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs, framing him as he swallows your plump hips in his large grip under the warm bath water.

“Breathe.” 

Suguru murmurs softly into your temple, his voice deep and commanding, yet the instruction doesn't reach you in your dazed state. It’s not until the bulbous head of his cock pushes its way past your folds that the meaning sinks in—just as he thrusts upward, seating you completely onto him in one swift motion.

Immediately your body shudders, stretched and filled to the hilt. Every inch of Suguru bullies its way into your guts, shifting them forcibly creating space for his girthy intrusion.

You're completely at his mercy.

Simultaneously your voice croaks while Suguru releases a loud groan—fuck you're tight. Even with his preparation, the sheer size of him tearing through your walls has you clenching like a vice. Wrapping your trembling arms around his neck, you struggle to breathe, the sensation so intense it’s as if he’s actually breached your womb.

The heat inside you soon burns hotter than the onsen's steaming waters, and Suguru swears under his breath trying not to cum from how tightly your cunt is strangling his cock. Suguru figures he’s the biggest you’d ever taken but you’d surely melt his dick off if you didn’t ease up.

You hiccup, tears streaking your puffy cheeks as his large palm rubs soothing circles on your lower back, the other guiding you up and down his thick shaft in slow, deliberate movements. The blend of pain and pleasure blurs together, overwhelming your senses. 

“NGHHH, too m-much, S-Sugu—so deep!”

Babbling into the crook of his neck, your voice cracks as you plead with him.

“Come on, princess…” 

Suguru softly chuckles, but when your sobs turn into full-body tremors, your nails digging into his back with desperate intensity, he pauses.

Gently pulling you from his neck, Suguru examines the flush spreading across your body. The heat from the water and Suguru become too much and you can barely keep your head up as it rolls back from dizziness, your consciousness fading.

Suguru sighs, brushing damp hair from your face.

“What’s wrong, brat? You’re shaking and clenching like some—” 

Suguru stops mid-sentence as realization strikes. Your shyness, your sensitivity, hell even the awkward veil of confidence that was quickly revealed as soon as he pulled your card a lil.

Gripping your face, you wince as his sharp gaze locks on yours. 

“Answer me truthfully, girl— are you a virgin?”

“...n-not anymore.” 

Although weakened, your voice is still laced with a trace of attitude that makes Suguru snort despite himself.

Fuck. He should’ve known. 

As troublesome as you are, he’d pegged you for a slut. Instead, you were an innocent dove—still troublesome, but innocent nonetheless.

With a quiet curse, Suguru pulls out of you and the water in one fluid motion. Droplets cascade off your bodies as he gently lays you onto the warmed stone floor beside the onsen.

Grabbing a cool cloth from a nearby bucket, he dabs your forehead, then across the rest of your body to cool you. A soft sigh escapes you as the chill seeps into your heated skin, soothing the burn of exertion.

When he wipes the rest of your body, his gaze catches on the streaks of red staining his cock and your thighs. A flicker of guilt flashes across his face, and he silently berates himself. Had he known, he would’ve approached this with a bit more tact.

Yet when your trembling hand grabs his bicep, vulnerable and pleading, his control crumbles.

“N-No, no, p-please… d-don’t stop now…” Voice breaking, as it stammers under the weight of your desperation.

You’re sore, yes, but the emptiness between your legs burns hotter, the ache of arousal far outweighing any lingering discomfort now that the rest of your body has cooled from the bath.

Suguru’s lips curl into a slanted, tight-eyed grin.

So you did want to be corrupted by him after all?

He could oblige you in that.

Wasting no time, Suguru is hovering over you. Sinking back into your heat with care, you feel every thick, veined inch stretching you open, plunging so deep it sets your walls ablaze.

Your head tilts back as your spine arches, and a sudden gush of slick erupts from your pussy, heavy and uncontrollable. The rush of fluids splashes between you, nearly forcing Suguru’s cock out as your walls quake violently around him. He growls, bracing you against the floor to steady your trembling body.

Broken whines spill from your lips from Suguru wrapping a hand possessively around your throat, his grip grounding you as his arrogance seeps through in a low, rumbling chuckle against your ear.

“Shit princess—you’re squirting like a goddamn faucet on my cock—wetter than the onsen. Can’t even take a lil’ dick without soaking us both? What a slutty virgin...”

The deep vibrations of his words ripple down your spine, intensifying the way your pussy clenches around his cock. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into his hips in a desperate attempt to keep him buried deep inside you.

However, Suguru doesn’t allow it for long. With a deliberate shift, he changes positions—he hooks his arms under your knees, folding you in half as he presses them to your shoulders. The new angle draws a whimper from your lips, allowing him to go much deeper as he drags the ridges of his girth along your walls, savoring every inch of your snug fluttering cunt.

Stuffed full of him again, Suguru moves in measured strokes. The initial sting of his size gradually melts into a searing arousal, coiling deep in your belly when Suguru flicks figure 8 circles on your clit.

"Don't run from it princess...." Suguru coos a warning to you when your small hands slip over his abs to slow the pace of his hips. Your cute face scrunches up, fueling his hunger for you.

Yet it's the moment your hips start to squirm uncoordinatedly, desperate to meet his rhythm, he knows you’ve adjusted.

That’s when Suguru really lets go. 

His cock slams into you with relentless force and leaves you clinging to him for dear life while your screams echoing throughout the bathhouse. Suguru doesn't care if anyone outside can hear, if anything he wants them to, it be a lewd testament to how good he was fucking you.

The feral slaps of his balls against your ass also grow louder as his pace quickens, grinding his hip into you harder, deeper, and more wildly with every thrust. The raw, primal sound of your bodies colliding fills the air, matched only by your shared moans and the filthy, wet squelches of your cunt greedily pulling him in and forming a creamy ring around his base.

“HNNNG—AH! Feels s’gud, c-cock s’gud, pleasepleaseplease fuckmefuckmefuckme, Sugu!”

Suguru’s hips stutter for a brief second, your voice is raw with need as you coo his name. Your inexperienced virgin pussy having the gall to give him any demands like he's the one submitting to you.

How did it end up like this?

“Am I not fucking you, slutty brat?!” 

Irritation rumbles deep in Suguru’s chest, more at himself than at you. The intense urge to please you grates against his belief that, as his follower, it is you who should be working to satisfy him. Yet his body betrays him, his loins burning with the undeniable truth that he's addicted to you now. Picking up inhuman speed, sweat dripping off his brow, Suguru drills into you, determined to coax more of your silky squirt from your body.

“OOO—OH FUUUU—CK! Y-Yessss, Geto-samaaaah!”

The glare Suguru gives you is piercing as his hand leaves your clit and weaves around your throat in an instant.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare call me that when you’re moaning under me like a whore and commanding me to fuck you.” 

Bullying into you harder, your back arches off the stone floor as pure euphoria floods your senses.

“It's Suguru to you when I'm fucking you dumb, princess." You nod your head frantically, nails raking welts along his back. "If you understand, then say it—you had enough audacity to use it once before—now I want my slutty brat to moan it for me loud enough for every monkey in this compound to know you’re my whore.”

Screaming it like a mantra as you cum again once more splashing squirt and fluids that gather into a puddle on the stone beneath you, flowing back into the onsen.

Hearing his name leave your lips so desperately has Suguru releasing buckets inside you—an ungodly amount of cum spurting into your abused lil' cunt. The obscene sound of it bubbling and spilling out accompanies each additional plow of his hips, on a mission to bury as much of it inside you as possible.

The heat, the overwhelming fullness—it leaves your body shuddering, your limbs weak and boneless against him as he uses you like a fleshlight riding out his remaining waves.

You are unsure how long you laid there with him collapsed on top of you but as the fog of euphoria begins to dissipate, your pussy aching, you glance up to find Suguru staring down at you.

His expression is smug, victorious, as if he’d claimed some grand prize and you pout.

Your plan to cuck Suguru for an entire month failed spectacularly!

Suguru doesn't need to say anything as the loss is written all over your face. Yet he still rubs it in a bit more with a chaste kiss placed delicately on your cute pouty lips. 

“I-I still think you’re full of shit y-you know, Sugu.”

You exhale a shaky breath of defeat, your voice raspy and chest rising and falling in uneven puffs.

Sucking his teeth in amusement, Suguru’s smirk hasn’t left him yet.

“Yeah, and now you’re full of me—funny how life comes at you fast, huh princess?”

Your scoffs quickly turn into soft goans as Suguru presses down on your belly. The pressure on your womb makes you squirm beneath him as your cunt squelches out more of his cum, unintentionally making him hard inside you again with the urge to fill you until you are walking out of her limping and leaking his cum in puddles.

“Hm, now my devout lil' slut—shall I continue to breed your bratty not-so virgin pussy in honor of ‘et non nux novem’?”

blkkizzat ©2023-2024 no ai, reposting, plagiarism nor translation allowed.

𝐚/𝐧: next non-queued post (comment on m.list for tag) nanami, kento

okay i gotta say i ate this. had to even stop a few times and calm myself down while i was editing this thats why this was so delayed lol. reblog and comment please if this also took yall places dkjcajndkjsh

[simpjaes]

(not) strictly business.

Jay walks, talks, and fucks in business mode. anon request: could you do Jay and the reader in the back of his limousine?? wc: 1.7k A/N: probs not that good considering i'm basically brain fried from finals but ayyye! not proof read. MDNI.

The plush seats are no where near as plush as Jay's lips when he puts them against you. Bruising, so brash and rough compared to what you expected from him.

He looked so...expensive just hours ago, but look at him now. Acting like a starving man in need of something. Acting as if you paid for this limousine to bring him back to after a chance meeting. Leaving his wallet with all of those heavy weighted credit cards tossed to the side as if you'd never think to steal them. For a moment in the club, you thought his passing glances were coincidence. After all, you're not the prettiest or most flashy girl here tonight. In fact, you only got in because your boss put your name on the list. "Stay professional" has been the thought on your mind all night too. After five or so drinks though, professional becomes something else. It becomes flirting with your boss. Flirting with your boss' sister, flirting with the bar tender, with the bouncer, with anyone walking up to the table since it's not professional to go out and dance. When Jay approached, an upper management dick, or whatever, from your company's competitor, you remember drinking the paid for drink by him as if it was an insult. Like it didn't taste like fucking heaven. You endured your boss shit talking him, and the whole company he works for. You endured the fuzzy feelings in your gut when more drinks kept coming with his name attached through a whisper from the waiter. It was for the whole table just once, now multiple times, only for you. And where did that professional persona go when you looked your boss in the eye as Jay walked you out of the club? Where did it go when Jay's lips formed a smirk at your boss' more pursed expression, with narrowed eyes solely because you laughed?

That smirk now. So, so soft compared to that fake ass company-man voice used to speak through them. He's saying sweet words now. No more work-related terms, only praise, only wants, only needs. Curiosities. Oh god. "Ever fuck your boss?" Jay had mumbled against your neck, kissing along your pulse points and making damn sure you shiver. You lend him a giggle and a shake of your head. "Fuck no." You laugh out, drunkenly and slurred just like him. "Good." He had said back, while simultaneously pushing his fingers into you through the deep make out session with both your lips and your neck. You didn't quite pick up on the possessiveness there, nor did you really care. "Heard he wasn't of much use," Jay continues to mumble against you, angling his fingers up, down, forward, trying to learn your body and become an expert at it in record time. "Seeing how he let you walk right out with me, I'd argue the rumors may be true." You moan before you pause, wrapping your legs around him and feeling the leather against your shoulders. His fingers are working magic despite the tight space he's created on top of you like this, but still, you pause. He notes the slight confusion, or perhaps you're just as curious as he is. The response to your pause is a breathy laugh and a lick to your jaw before he whispers again, right against the shell of your ear. "Just shocked he hasn't tried anything with you yet." Oh, so those other rumors are true. You've heard your boss may be a bit of a playboy. A fucking asshole about it too. You didn't really pay much mind to those rumors though, after all...someone who runs an entire department usually has some enemies. "Oh, you think he'd fuck me?" "Who wouldn't?" Jay chuckles again, shutting you up efficiently this time when his fingers hit the spot he had been looking for. The soft, spongy surface planted on your upper walls. His mouth falls open when yours does, mimicking your expression before that slack mouth turns to a wide and sparkling toothed grin. "Right there?" Your arms and legs both squeeze at him as you nod aggressively, eyes closing tightly when you let out another moan, this time more broken. "Yes!" You choke out, chasing his fingers with your body as if to invite him to hit the spot harder, harder, harder. That's all Jay needed though. To find it with his fingers, watch you fall apart, and then leave you with nothing. He shakes his head at you when he pulls his fingers out, placating anything you want to argue by sliding his fingers past your lips and giving you a look that, somehow, silently tells you to "wait." You do, watching as his other hand makes itself useful by means of shoving his tight pants down in one go. He grimaces at the harsh feeling at first, the stiff waistband dragging past his pulsing cock all at once, almost making him shiver even through the pain. "Yeah?” He asks for confirmation through a slur, eyes drowsy but dark and piercing. 

You nod instantly, feeling your pussy throb at the need for it. You can’t even see it but fuck, fuck, yes. You want it.

You want it right now.  He mimics you again, nodding along with you as he gives you that same smile, with those plush lips. Then you feel it. The head of his cock feels average at the first prod of it. He’s tapping your clit, gently pressing against your hole, sliding up and down. You can’t truly pinpoint his size through this, nor does it really matter because you feel good regardless. You could do all this and not ever have a single glimpse of it as long as he knows how to use it. The slide inside of you is bigger than you had been prepared for though, and he is well aware based on your expression. The head alone, thick and dribbling with precum fills you beyond expectation. Your mouth falls open again, to that of the look he seems to enjoy the most out of you. He leans closer to your face now, inhaling your small, open-mouthed whimpers at the way he doesn’t stop.

He keeps sliding in, all the way, until he feels that tight hole pulse around him as if it’s struggling to fit the last inch of his girth. In all fairness, you are struggling, but your legs don’t loosen, your grip around his shoulders tighten, and you finally blink up at him with glassy, drowsy eyes. 

“Fuck–” He moans at you, watching the way you endure it, the way you let him give it to you however he pleases. And, well, he takes that thought and runs with it. Slamming into you hard to fit that last inch, holding himself there for a moment to feel your tight heat struggle, then he pulls out, and then slams back in. Over and over again, up until you relax and release that held breath of yours for him to swallow up. 

And you know, this limousine is quite spacious but Jay manages to make it feel as cramped as any shitty little car. He’s so crowded up to you, so tightly packed into you, you can't help but hold your breath out of fear you’d steal all the oxygen in this space. 

Still, the leather seats are comforting, slicking up the more the straps of your shirt nudge down. The sweat offers a slide similar to that of Jay’s cock inside of you. You move easily under him, and he uses it to his advantage for a moment. Lifting up and looking down at you, watching the way your entire body slides up with each harsh thrust into you.  The image is more delicious than any expensive drink he could buy right now, and goddamn do you look good in a space that probably costs more than your home. He can’t help but feel like you’d look even better attached to his arm, at his company, with his friends. 

“Quit your job.” Jay suddenly blurts mid-groan, his gut bubbling with arousal and pausing his thrust at the sheer arousal of it. Financial domination, financial bribery. You’ll take it just like you take his cock, he knows you will. 

You’d scoff at the mid-fuck bribe if it weren’t for the fact that you’re well aware of what even the lower level employees make at that company. You had sent your resume to them long before you considered the company you currently work for. He’ll probably think he’s done some dirty-tactic in the business world at getting you to quit, but to be quite honest…you don’t really care.

“Okay.” You respond in a broken way, a tone and pitch to your voice that Jay clings to. 

“Yeah? Gonna stay right here for me?” Jay continues, slowly urging the conversation back to that of fucking you, repeatedly. “Gonna do as I say from now on?”

“Yes.” You nod aggressively, wondering if having Jay’s cock in you right now means a higher pay later when you inevitably pack your shit and are given a new office, in a new building, in a much nicer part of town. 

“Fuck–yeah, that’s right.”

And, well. You’re both kind of right.  ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

That night in the limousine ended with you in his bed. The mattress in his loft was just as plush as his lips, and his cock repeatedly proved to you over and over again just how much worth the decision would end up being for you. 

“Name your price–” He had mumbled against you at one point, as if slightly questioning that you’re just telling him what he wants to hear. 

“You don’t have to pay me to fuck me, you know.” You had responded to him, sick of the work talk by that point. “I’m not a prostitute.” 

“I know.” He had responded, solidifying in your head that the confidence he has is for good reason, and the fucking asshole is genuinely negotiating pay with you while his cock is lodged in your uterus. 

Well.  “Give me the highest paying job I qualify for.” 

Wife, is what Jay would suggest if he lets himself think with his dick, but he holds that one back. He’s not ready for that shit yet anyway. 

“Assistant.” He mumbled in a moan, gripping your tit tightly before shutting himself up with your perked up nipple. 

You hummed in response, brushing his hair with your fingers. Assistant to him, you assume. And considering he is a big wig in the company, you can only imagine that soon, your apartment, car, and wardrobe will appear far better than it is now. 

He’ll make sure of it. 

[martiniblues]

JUNO , spencer reid

pairing boyfriend!spencer x fem!reader

synopsis while babysitting henry for jj, spencer’s seeming disinterest with children starts to shift. this makes your mind wonder into unfamiliar territory you and spencer hadn’t spoken of yet: kids.

genre talks of pregnancy and children (duh), very suggestive towards the end but no smut, this is very self indulgent since i can’t get this song or spencer off my mind so here you go lol.

wc 2k?? (i got a little carried away)

“sorry for this being so last minute!" jj scrambled, passing henry over to you along with his diaper bag. the blonde ran a hand through her short hair, adjusting from where the two-year-old played with it upon their arrival. 

“it’s all good, seriously. you know how much i love babysitting this cute thing.” you tickled henry’s side, making him squirm. 

jj’s eyes averted to the figure behind you, pursing her lips. “you sure he’s okay with this?” you turned your head, noticing spencer trying to look at the two of you without being noticed. 

it’s not that spencer didn’t like kids; it’s just hard to know how to talk to them when you were a child genius. 

you turned back to jj, attempting to ease her worry. “he’ll come around to it.” you shrugged, knowing that spencer would either sit and observe or fully engage. no in between.

after bidding your goodbyes, you walked over to spencer, taking a seat beside him on the couch. “so what should we do, little man?” you perched henry in your lap, resting your feet on the coffee table so he could sit against your perched thighs. 

spencer looked at you as if he were the “little man” in question. henry just babbled, throwing his arms around as you cooed. “what do we do with him?” spencer asked, leaning closer into your shoulder to inspect the baby in your lap. 

you laughed at his seriousness, turning to look at your boyfriend. “have you never been around a baby in your life or something?” you teased, lifting henry so he was closer to you both.

“did you know that babies are born with about seventy reflexes? that’s why when you place a baby on a surface to stand, they automatically start doing a stepping motion.” he spoke, watching henry kick his legs as you stood him on your lap. you looked over at him quizzically. “for someone who’s so awkward around babies, you sure do know a lot about them.” 

spencer flushed slightly, “i just haven’t had the chance to be around any until now.” he nudges your shoulder before crossing his arms. 

“well, here’s your chance.” you held henry out to spencer, which made him squirm and mumble yet again. “hold him while i go bring his bag in here.” 

he hesitated, looking between you and the baby as if this were a test. yet, despite the nervousness, he reached out, mimicking your position earlier. when you were content with how henry laid on spencer’s legs, you walked out of the room.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposely take your time collecting his things, wanting spencer to have some alone time with henry. finally satisfied with your departure, you peaked your head into the room, nearly melting at the sight. 

the once stiff and nervous spencer you had left with henry was now replaced with a content, smiling one. his voice went up a few pitches as he responded to henry’s nonsense. “oh wow, really?” his lips were pulled into a smile as he played with him, letting henry’s small hand encase his slender fingers. 

you couldn’t help but let your head wander; how could you not? sure you thought about a future with spencer. a future where you were married and maybe with kids, but you had never brought it up being too nervous to scare spencer off.

but now watching him light up with henry in his lap, you wanted nothing more than for your daydreams to become reality. 

“someone wants you back in here, i think.” you snapped out of your daze, focusing on the two sets of eyes staring at you. both holding the same smiles and wide eyes. 

god, you swore you felt your ovaries jump.

“i see that you two are getting along now.” you placed henry’s diaper bag on the table, sitting yourself on the ground before laying out his blanket and a few toys. spencer joined you, placing henry on his stomach, then laid beside you, mirroring the baby’s position. 

“who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?” you laughed, in awe of how much spencer had adjusted to the small being in just a matter of minutes.

he looked up at you as he shook a little plushie in front of henry’s face. “sorry to disappoint, but this is still your boyfriend,” spencer quipped before you pushed his head jokingly, messing up his hair in the process. 

the sound of high-pitched squeals took both of your attentions away from one another. there henry lay, clapping his hands in favor of you and spencer’s playful fighting. 

“yeah, you like when i show him who’s boss, huh?” you caressed the soft skin of henry’s cheek, making him giggle. spencer sighed, “come on, man, i thought we were really becoming friends” he exasperated, laying his head in his hands dramatically.

this only brought more squeals from the baby, making your cheeks almost grow sore from how hard you were smiling. 

“awe spence, it’s okay.” you egged on your act by petting his hair back into place. this caused your boyfriend to lift his head; a big pout on his lips made yours perk up. 

with your attention being taken away from henry by spencer’s rare expression, you hadn’t noticed the stuffed animal caught between the baby’s hands. before you could do anything, the small bear was chucked into spencer’s face, causing an uproar of noises from henry.

“i’m starting to question this whole babysitting thing.” spencer winced, looking at you as you laughed along with henry. 

 

despite the teasing from earlier, spencer continued to be enamored with henry. him even insisting he help feed and change him when time came.

the whole ordeal feeling so domestic, apart of you wished jj could have spent a couple more days for her and will in favor of you seeing spencer like this for longer.

“thank you, again for taking care of him.” jj propped her hip against the counter as she fumbled for her phone out of her purse.

“of course, it really was no problem.” you turned at the sound of spencer’s soft voice, thanking henry for “helping” him clean.

“honestly, i think someone enjoyed this a bit more than we thought.” you gestured at spencer as he settled henry on his hip, the baby grasping onto his button-up shirt. 

your whole body ran hot at sight. spencer looked really good as a pretend dad. 

“no kidding, the team is going to flip when i show them the pictures you took of them.” she glanced at her phone, noting the off-guard photos you stole of spencer and henry. 

one was of him feeding him as he walked around the living room, another of him explaining some of the books organized on his shelves in a very formal fashion despite henry’s lack of knowledge, and finally one of them eye-to-eye playing on the floor with various toys. 

your heart swelled looking back at them, the questions you had been so careful not to ask begging to be verbalized. 

before you could sink any further, spencer came over, handing jj henry and his bag almost reluctantly. noticing the time, jj was quick to leave in order to keep the baby’s sleeping schedule on track but thanked you guys repeatedly before finally closing the door. 

clicking the lock shut, you mentally prepared yourself for the words about to come out of your mouth. 

“you had more fun than you bargained for, didn’t you?” you met spencer on the couch, him reaching out to pull your legs over his, making your heart leap. 

“i did, actually.” spencer began smoothing his hands up and down your calf before continuing. “honestly when you mentioned henry coming over, i was a little- i don’t know scared? i just didn’t want to disappoint him or you.” he bit his lip like he was stopping himself from letting the whole truth out. 

“oh spence, you were perfect. honestly, i’m very proud of you.” you reached out, caressing the side of his face, causing him to look at you. 

he noticed your wondering eyes, waiting for you to continue. “actually i um…” you shifted pulling your legs under yourself so you could sit up. 

breathing in deeply, you continued, “today kind of got me thinking about us and our future.” spencer was looking at you with such admiration that you had fixed your gaze on your hands.

“i know we haven’t really brought it up before, but seeing you and henry today had me-“ 

before you could finish, spencer’s lips were pressed against yours, resulting in a shocked gasp from you. he kissed you, mumbling words each time his lips parted to take yours in again. 

“i want that, i really do.” he breathed, finally separating from you for just a moment. 

“you want what, spence?” you were in shock, to be honest, knowing what he meant but wanting to hear him say it word for word. 

without another word, he positioned you in his lap, legs straddling his own. “i want a family with you. i want a sliver of what we had today to become ours one day.” his eyes didn’t break from yours, his pupils blown wide and sparkly.

for the thousandth time that day, you had to bite back a smile. “you mean that?” you questioned, one hand coming to comb through his hair and the other resting on his neck. 

he kissed your cheek, forehead, nose, and finally your lips before he spoke. “every single one. i mean, one of you is cute.” he cupped your cheek as he spoke. “but two though? that’s something.” he finished, smirking at you. 

you couldn’t contain your happiness, crashing his lips to yours again feverishly. even though you knew the both of you were in no place to have a kid now, there was no harm in playing with the fantasy for now. 

even if the real thing wouldn’t come to be for a good few years.

spencer pulled you flush against him, one his hands leaving your hips to trail up your spine and settle onto the back of your neck. a moan slipped past your lips as goosebumps erupted on your skin. 

you pulled on his shirt, hinting at where this was going as if it weren’t obvious to the man beneath you. he looked up at you, kissing you once more before dragging you to your shared bed. 

your blouse and shorts were off before your back hit the sheets, spencer still standing ahead of you unbuttoning his work shirt. 

you sat up on your knees, crawling to the edge of the bed to take over. after each undone button, you kissed his skin, making him gasp as his fingers raked through your hair. 

pulling his shirt all the way off, you made your way to his pants, pulling him closer by his belt loop. you bit your lip, noticing the gears turning in his head.

“you know statistics say missionary or doggy are the best positions to get pregnant in.” spencer let out in shallow breaths as his belt clinked on the floor. 

“oh, yeah and why is that genius?” you leaned back on your elbows while spencer finished removing himself of his pants. he took you in, the tiny pink bow on your underwear made spencer rethink his crude response. 

“deeper penetration,” he said almost too smoothly, making you laugh. it was hard to take statistics seriously when you were both nearly naked. 

before he could settle above you, you shimmied up the bed. ridding yourself of the rest of your clothes, you positioned yourself on your hands. looking over your shoulder, you saw the way spencer’s eyes widened in shock.

“have you ever tried this one?”

my first spencer fic omg. lowk crazy because i’ve been obsessed with this man since the ripe age of 12 but here we are. will probably be writing a lot more of him since im rewatching cm at the moment so stay tuned! request box is always open <333

[kismetlotts]

cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

[highvern]

Totally Scrooged

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

Genre: neighbor!au, idiots to lovers, fluff/angst/smut

warnings:  alcohol consumption, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), protected sex, lots of crying, mentions of cheating (not reader or seokmin), theater nerd Seokmin

Length: ~16k

Note: I was hoping to post this way earlier but alas. I got sick back to back over the holidays. ANYWAYS thank u my sweet @gyuswhore for beta reading and talking me down from the edge and @miniseokminnies for all the theater knowledge. And @ugh-yoongi bc words are hard. CHECK OUT the rest of the fics on @camandemstudios and keep an eye for our next project

summary: When your ex decides to propose to his best friend he told you not to worry about only eleven months after your breakup, you decide the holidays aren’t worth it this year. You’re dedicated to ignoring the red and green splashed on every surface, but your neighbor has a way of convincing you maybe the holidays aren’t totally bad.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Shot number four is about the time you realize drinking your sorrows alone in your apartment on a Saturday night is a little bit pathetic. But you unlock your phone out of habit and the same picture of your ex down on one knee in the middle of the street in marathon gear stares back at you and a fifth shot sounds exactly like what you need.

At least the burn of peppermint schnapps is festive.

Ten months. You and Sam split barely ten months and he’s already engaged to Carson. 

After three years of dating, getting Sam to talk about plans further than a month out was like pulling teeth. When he asked you to move in with him you thought there was a very real chance he suffered some head injury that day. Sam and long term commitment didn’t mix. Your entire relationship felt like borrowed time. His engagement proved it was the truth.

In hindsight, you should’ve trusted your gut about Sam’s “platonic” “childhood” “best” “friend.” 

They did everything together. Their families vacationed in Montauk every summer, they alternated who hosted which major holiday despite living next door, there isn’t a single milestone either achieved without the other. Every time you visited his parents house the plethora of photos of your boyfriend and his best friend from cradle to present day seemed to grow exponentially. 

She’s like my sister.

Most people would frown upon dating a sibling after breaking up with their long term girlfriend, who was sick at home with the flu during Christmas, via text but what do you know? You’re the one sitting on your couch in a tiny apartment you can barely afford wallowing in drunk sorrows while they’re out celebrating.

It’s addicting. Scrolling through all the comments on their engagement photos, with a blanket over your head like some fairytale witch. Sam’s friends you tried so hard to bond with flood the comments, gushing about how cute he and Carson are, how happy they are for them. 

Your friends text you how much of a jerk he is, a few call but you ignore them. All you want is to wallow in self pity.

Like the judgemental diva she is, Shinx watches from her tower in the corner, green eyes disdainful. She never liked Sam anyway.

It’d be better if Carson wasn’t objectively likable. Everyone liked her, you included. At least, until your boyfriend dumped you in a three sentence text and she posted a picture of them together on her Instagram not twenty four hours later with the caption “the best things take a while” – color coordinated for the Spencer family photo shoot in front of their lake house.

Assholes.

Even when she isn’t dolled up for pictures, you can’t even pretend she isn’t pretty. Carson looks like she belongs on a Hollywood set, even after running a 5k at the crack of dawn. Perfect messy ponytail, face rosie but not too red. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Shot number seven empties the bottle.

Through the living room wall your neighbor belts the lyrics to Celine Dione’s “All By Myself.”

It was ignorable the first few times he replayed it – a little poetic even given the circumstances – but it’s been nearly twenty minutes and you don’t need to be reminded how alone you are. You rocket off the couch and land against the wall with a thud.

“Keep,” knock. “It.” Knock. “Down.” Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

Mr. Neighbor, because you don’t know his name, sings louder.

In the months you’ve lived in this apartment you’ve met your neighbor exactly twice. When you first moved in only two weeks after your break up because Sam’s name was on the lease - not yours – and this was the only place you could find on such short notice in the middle of winter. You had the unfortunate privilege of riding the elevator with him in complete silence, only the sound of your pathetic cries as you moved soggy box after box. He was at least polite enough to take the stairs afterwards. And last month, during a building-wide fire drill because someone on the second floor fell asleep while making boiled eggs. Neither of you felt very chatty at four in the morning.

You couldn’t care less about splotchy cheeks or if your eyes were bloodshot. In your drunken righteousness, you don’t care that there’s mascara running down your face or the sweatshirt billowing around you has grease stains. Something snapped in you. Gritting your teeth, you rush out to the hall and straight for the neighboring door.

Your knuckles sting with each knock but he doesn’t answer until you escalate to pounding against the metal door like the police.

Mr. Neighbor must hear that because Celine cuts off mid-belt. Seconds later the door flies open.

He’s taller than you remember, your eyes level with a hole in the collar of his sweater. When you drag your gaze away from the dip of his throat the combination of tears and booze make deciphering his face incredibly difficult because he has four of them and they keep moving back and forth in blurry circles. His dark hair sticks up in a million directions. Like he put his finger in an electric socket and then tried to fix the mess himself.

Mr. Neighbor stares at you, expression unreadable. “Can I help you?”

“You know,” you start, teetering on drunk feet as you shove an indignant finger into his chest. “Some of us just want to come home from work and relax! Not listen to their neighbors screaming at the top of their lungs.”

“I didn’t realize it was that loud,” he hiccups. “I’ll turn it down.”

It’s hard to be angry when he looks like a mirror image of you. Wet, red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. There’s booze in the air which could be yours but with the state he’s in it’s doubtful. Who listens to “All by Myself” ten times if they aren’t also sobbing alone in the dark? 

Guilt squeezes your chest. “Sorry, I’m just…rough day.”

Mr. Neighbor doesn’t say anything for a long time, appraising you silently. If you weren’t drunk off your rocker then the fact you aren’t wearing a bra and the old sweater you tossed on does nothing to hide that fact might be embarrassing. Or how you aren’t even wearing shoes, just fuzzy socks with a hole in the ankle. You also smell like a drunk elf who escaped the North Pole.

“It’s okay. Sorry about the music.”

Mouth moving before you know what comes out, you stop him from leaving just yet. “Why are you crying?”

“Stupid shit,” he says. “Why are you crying?”

You want to brush it off. You’re not looking for pity. Sam objectively sucked and your relationship would’ve ended one way or another. While most people preferred not to be humiliated via social media, it showed his true colors and firmly shut the door. But sometimes, it just feels good to cry all the frustration out and wish the worst on people who deserved it. And you really would prefer not to do either of those things with your neighbor you hardly know. 

Especially, when you realize he’s objectively hot even through the blur of tears and intoxication. But alcohol has a way of losing even the tightest lips.

“My ex got engaged.”

His eyes widened in shock before softening in pity. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

You don’t sense any ulterior motive. Mr. Neighbor has the vibe of someone who never met a stranger, one of those people you tell your life story to in the airport when your flights are delayed only to leave and realize the only thing you learned about him was he also hated airline food and thought flying first class on domestic flights was a waste of money.

Maybe whatever “stupid shit” he was crying over can be a distraction from your own baggage. If it can’t, at least the invite to complain to a person completely unexposed to the drama of your love life wasn’t half bad. 

But you don’t know him. His stupid shit could be infinitely worse and then you look like the asshole while he’s crying over his childhood pet passing away back at his parents house while he’s stuck in his apartment because flights during Thanksgiving were ungodly expensive.

Either way, another person to whine about the world with sounded nice.

You say yes, following him inside.

Mr. Neighbor’s apartment is similar to yours; mirrors the layout of your cramped one bedroom except with neutral colors and a lot more decor. The couch divides the living area from the kitchen. Comfy blankets and pillows littered around. Someone actually lives here, unlike your place where the most personalized thing is fridge magnets. You didn’t feel the need to decorate an apartment you didn’t see yourself staying in very long. Even if it’d been almost a year and the lease renewal sat on your countertop, signed and ready to drop off at the leasing office.

He walks into the kitchen, leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room while he fishes in the cabinet for something. You sink into one of the leather barstools and watch as he pours water from a pitcher in the sink and slides it across the counter.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You drink it all in one go while he waits, sobering up enough to realize how embarrassing this all is. You’re drunk, in your mysterious neighbor's kitchen, crying about your ex-boyfriend. But he was drunk, listening to one of the most depressing songs in history, crying about “stupid shit.” Mutually assured destruction. 

“We only broke up at Christmas last year.”

“And he’s already engaged?”

“To his best friend.”

At that, Mr. Neighbor procures another glass and pours a little bit of whiskey before presenting it to you. “That’s rough.”

This time, you don’t even wince when you swallow.

He stares, waiting for some sort of reply, tipping the bottle into his own cup but not drinking it just yet. Now that he only has one face instead of four, your face heats. Drunk, sad and a little horny because he has really nice hands, and an even better face.

You tug your phone out and push it across the counter as a distraction for you both. Not that he probably needs it, you’re a wreck. “Here look at this picture.”

Mr. Neighbor scrolls through each picture methodically. Zooming in on strangers he doesn’t even know. Mouthing the caption in silent horror. In effort not to stare at his fingers, you focus on everything else in his apartment. 

His fridge is covered in magnets and take out menus, but mixed into the collage are pictures. Photobooth strips in black and white, some large normal photos better suited for a frame. You’re too far away to decipher any of it but curiosity itches you to get a closer look. Postcards from different places, sport theme magnets. Baseball seems to be his favorite.

“He proposed to her at a Turkey Trot?” he says, like the idea is incredibly alien.

“Their families have done it since they were born. Like their moms ran it pregnant and pushed them in strollers until they could keep up.”

“That is….”

You laugh. “Insane.”

“I’m glad you said it,” he chuckles. “Who proposes after running a marathon?”

“I know!” you cry.

You tip the bottle of whiskey into your once again empty mug. There will be hell to pay in the morning but you need something to do to distract from the way your heart pinches at the sound of his laugh. The sad drunk stage is tapering into the horny drunk stage and you really don’t need to ask your nameless neighbor if he wants to make out on his couch. Although, it looks leagues comfier than the second hand lump sitting a wall over. Drinking any more will only make it worse but you need something to do with your hands that doesn’t involve touching him, or thinking about touching him.

He circles the counter and takes the barstool next to yours. Close enough you can feel the heat from his body, the smell of soap and citrus faintly tickling your nose. You want to dive into his shirt and breathe it in until you fall asleep. 

Mr. Neighbor is just a decently attractive man that has been overly generous with his time and not been a creep. That is the only reason why your brain is latching onto him right now; you know it. In a few hours, when your head hangs limp over the toilet bowl, you’ll regret this entire interaction and even more if you make it weird.

You balk, rushing away from the thought and looking for a distraction. “I’m not like…pining over him, if that's what you’re wondering. It just sucks seeing your ex who was staunchly against any long term commitment make it clear he was only against long term commitment with you.”

Mr. Neighbor seems to believe you. So many of your friends thought you harbored feelings for Sam this long after the break up but the truth is, you almost expected things to end. Not on Christmas with nothing but a text message, but it always felt like you and Sam had one foot out of the relationship. The end brought certainty and for that you almost felt relieved.

“If it’s any help, I don’t think it was a ‘you’ problem.”

For a second, you want to believe he actually believes that. He’s not just saying it because he’s being nice and letting you cry in his kitchen and drink his booze. Everything about Mr. Neighbor screams PERPETUALLY NICE. Like he saves kittens from trees and walks old ladies across the street in his spare time.

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, but he’s the one that kept you around while waiting for someone else. Sounds like an asshole to me,” he says.

“He is an asshole,” you whisper like a secret. Mr. Neighbor smiles back and you remember you don’t know his name.

He tells you without a shred of judgment.

“Seokmin.”

“I’m YN.”

“I know,” he blurts. His ears tinge pink just before his cheeks. “You had a friend come over one time, she yelled it pretty loud.”

Lydia only had two settings when talking: loud, and louder. Seokmin probably knew a lot more than just your name but was too polite to mention those sordid details.

“So, Seokmin. My drama aside, why were you crying? Or do you listen to depressing music to pregame a wild night out?”

Seokmin nods at your offer to top off his cup and chugs half of it with a wince.

“It feels kinda dumb now but I volunteer at the city theater downtown.”

That explains the framed playbills and theater tickets splashed across the living room walls. A story of all the productions he probably attended or participated in. You only recognized a few of the names. Perpetually Nice, indeed.

“Did one of them dump pig's blood on you while on stage?”

“No, nothing like that.” His mouth unzips into an amused grin. It looks much more fitting than the tears from earlier. “The director won a month-long European cruise and now I’m in charge of the winter production.”

What do people even do on a boat for that long?

“And I’m assuming you don’t want to be the director.”

“I did!” he groans. “But everyone is already emailing me and calling me, trying to bribe me into giving them bigger parts. Have you ever dealt with theater parents?”

Shaking your head, Seokmin grabs your hand with wide, terrified eyes. “They’re like dance moms on crack. I can’t handle it. Not to mention - surprise! - there’s no money for it and I have to do all the fundraising myself.”

Instead of responding, you fill each cup with another generous shot, clink glasses, and swallow them in tandem. The burn is long gone. Now, you feel like you're standing in the ocean, bobbing at the mercy of the waves as he keeps talking about the theater. How someone held him hostage after a meeting for an extra thirty minutes trying to convince him they didn’t need to audition. Someone else proposed an original production of Dracula as a break from the holiday slush every other theater planned. It glides right over your head, until he forces a glass of water into your grip.

“Sorry about my music,” he says.

“Sorry for being a bitch.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

“Your ex also broke up with you for their childhood best friend?”

“No. The last one broke up with me for her dog walker.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, well he’s bald now.” He shrugs and takes another swig. Water not whiskey by the lack of grimace. “She’s also trying to audition.”

At least you have the privilege of watching your ex’s new courtship through the filter of social media. Seokmin is watching it play out a few feet away from him with a constant reminder that his ex-girlfriend was onto seemingly better things with a man who picked up dog shit for a living. Small mercies.

“How long have you two…” you trail off.

“Three months.”

His tone makes it clear there is nothing else he wishes to share on the matter. You get it. Three months after Sam you weren’t ready to talk about it, still kept all the shared memories you two had together in one of the boxes shoved deep in the hall closet. It wasn’t until nearly eight months passed that you finally donated what you could of the gifts he bought you and threw the other half away. Now, you can laugh at the way you sobbed over the ugly monogrammed dish towels from your shared apartment. When his mom gifted them for your birthday, the first thought you had was to burn them. 

“So what’s your play?”

Seokmin looks grateful for the swift change in topic. “A Christmas Carol.”

“Never seen it.”

“What?” he gasps. “It’s a classic!”

Below the counter, his knee presses firmly against your thigh. Seokmin doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because it stays there. Warm and grounded and all too tempting but you don’t move away either. A trickle of embarrassment heats your body when you realize you’re wearing the pajama pants Lydia got you for Secret Santa last year. The ones with cartoon gingerbread people fucking in small print all over them. If Seokmin looked down he’d see them in flagrante.

It didn’t mean anything but it felt nice. No way he saw your frumpy clothes and puffy face, crying over your ex and thought I want a piece of that. Typically, drinking only had two paths. On a normal night, you’d go from pleasantly buzzed to “wooo girl drunk,” as Lydia put it, then horny drunk shortly before falling asleep. Tonight, crying drunk meant no woo-ing and definitely no inappropriate thoughts. But Seokmin is the first real man to stoke a tiny ember of interest in months. 

It’d be messy. Not the act itself. Maybe. You’re tipsy and he doesn’t look any better but a sloppy makeout wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. However, making out with your neighbor and then dealing with the fall out of such a clumsy entanglement probably wasn’t worth whatever his hands were capable of.

So you snuff it out.

You shrug. “Not really a big Christmas person.”

“I would invite you to come see it but at this rate I doubt we’ll even have a show to begin with.”

You discover that given the chance, Seokmin talks a lot. Shares his entire life story about moving to the city with a group of friends from college, most of them living with their partners. How he found the theater while on lunch break from his job that he didn’t hate but didn’t like. Started volunteering. Met Martha, now ex-girlfriend, there. 

He also asks question after question about you, and somehow it doesn’t feel like he’s prying even though he hardly shares about himself. Probably because you’ve reached sleepy drunk and your eyes drop shut, responding while half asleep. You tell him everything. It’s not like you can embarrass yourself any further. But Seokmin doesn't make you feel the slightest bit of shame.

How you met Sam at a friend’s wedding and Carson was his plus one. How Carson’s boyfriends never seemed to meet Sam’s standards. How she was a little too friendly towards you but Sam swore Carson liked everyone. And from your experience, everyone liked her. Then, last Christmas, you stayed at home with the flu while the annual Phan/Spencer celebration took place and woke up to a nice heartfelt text message.

“That’s so fucked up.”

“Yeah, well what’s even more fucked up is his mom posting a picture of her with Carson captioned ‘the daughter I always wanted.’” you huff. “That really sucked.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything. Not that he can. How do you comfort a stranger about a shitty relationship with even more beneath the surface? 

Instead, you both sit in comfortable silence, locked in separate trains of thought. It isn’t until he messes with his phone and Celine Dion materializes into the room once again that you realize how weird it is to be sitting there, sharing woes with a complete stranger.

“Well, I’m just gonna…” you start, sliding off the bar stool.

“Yeah…”

You don’t look back, making a beeline for the door. “Have a goodnight! I hope you aren’t eaten by steroid fueled theater nerds.”

You’re in the hallway, lock latched firmly behind, before he can respond.

You don’t see Seokmin for another week. Not like you saw him much before but now you have a name to the face, along with hobbies and a personality. And his hands. Which don’t seem to leave your memory despite the desperate effort you put into doing so.

Even if you don’t see him though, you hear him on the other side of your living room wall shuffling around when you get home from work. 

He keeps his sad playlist to a minimum, and his singing about the same, flat rumbles through the shared wall you can easily ignore. Sometimes you don’t. Occasionally, you’ll pause whatever Netflix dating show poisoning your brain and listen, eyes closed as your mind wanders.

You hear him humming as he passes your door on the way out to work in the morning while you sip coffee and answer emails from your kitchen counter. Sometimes it's showtunes you don’t recognize, others it's Christmas carols. Seokmin has a lovely voice you realize, now free from irritation. It’s weird you never noticed before.

Apparently, Lydia noticed him long before you did.

You finish telling her about the entire debacle with Sam and Carson. Lydia doesn’t believe in social media of any kind so all of her life updates come over Bananagrams and face masks during your semi-weekly Thursday girl’s night at her apartment.

“You just hang out with your hot neighbor drunk and don’t make a move?” she tsks.

“How do you know my neighbor is hot?”

“Unlike you, I pay attention to my surroundings.” 

Part of the reason she deleted all her social media was because she wanted to be more ‘in the moment.’ This proves that maybe it actually worked. 

Grabbing more letter tiles, you brush off the taunt. “Well, unlike you, I can keep it in my pants.”

“How long has it been since you let someone under the hood?”

“Not that long,” you grumble.

“Really?” Lydia rolls her eyes at the next word you spell, S-A-D. 

“Shut up. It was the only one I could find.” You take another sip of hot cider. The hangover from last week's bender still haunts you. “Horny isn’t spelled with an ‘I’ or an ‘E’.”

“It’s been so long I thought you’d forget how it's spelled.”

A few hours and a couple of episodes of Temptation Island later, you're back home. The chilly air creeps into the mailroom, numb fingers struggling to unlock your mailbox. Bill. bill, catalogue, not yours, bill…

As the elevator carries you up to your floor, you find the last letter. A gold wax seal, velvety envelope. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But it is real and it’s exactly what you’re afraid for it to be when you rip it open right there in the hallway. The picture of Carson and Sam staring deep into each other’s eyes, love-soaked down to the finest details. His hand on her knee, both oblivious to the camera and not in the faux staged way of so many wedding announcements. 

Michael and Dena Spencer along with 

Jason and Zoya Phan 

Invite you to celebrate the marriage of their children,

Samuel Spencer and Carson Phan

You fling the card away like a venomous snake. 

What the hell is wrong with them? Is it not enough you were the collateral damage in their whirlwind romance? Now they go and rub it in your face how happy they are together. You were the last obstacle to make them realize they couldn’t live without each other, the catalyst for their happiness. And now you have a tangible reminder of the fact.

Thankfully, the hallway is empty so no one witnesses your mental breakdown. A silent stand off with a glossy wedding announcement. You’re tempted to leave it there, let Sam and Carson get trodded on until they’re nothing but limp confetti. 

But you can’t. You snatch the announcement from the floor and bolt to your door, key scraping the lock again and again. You just need to get inside. Get inside and then you can go DEFCON 1, shred the entire letter and do something else rash like give yourself bangs you’ll regret in the morning.

The key still won’t find home in the lock and you’re on the verge of giving up when you realize Seokmin is singing along to some record just a few feet away.

You don’t know him well enough to go banging on his door. One drunken bitch session did not a friend make. Even if the drunk bitch session involved recounting life stories and embarrassing childhood moments. Or pajamas with gingerbread people fucking which he definitely noticed.

But you can’t be left alone with this bomb.

Seokmin is standing before you barely a second after knocking, eyebrows scrunched together. You shove the invite into his chest and wait.

“How does he have your address?” he asks.

You shrug. “I made him mail most of my stuff.”

“Why?” Seokmin turns back into his apartment, the door open in invitation as he falls onto the couch.

“Because he cheated on me. The least I could get was him paying three hundred bucks in shipping.”

“You are a very scary woman.”

You follow. This time, you notice more details. His record player is tucked in the corner, crates of vinyl stacked next to it. The candle burning on the coffee table fills the room with the scent of teak and orange. You recognize it as the same one Lydia got you for your birthday; ‘the boyfriend scent’ as she called it. Of course, he’d have it.

“Thank you.”

Now that you’re here, you’re not sure what to do. Seokmin keeps looking at the invite like some puzzle. Like some underlying explanation is written in invisible ink. There isn’t one. The reason for the invite is clear: your feelings don’t matter and they never did. 

“I can’t believe they sent you a wedding invite. That’s so fucked up.”

“I’m probably gonna see all the pictures on Instagram soon anyway. At least, this ripped the band aid off. It just sucks they get to rub it in my face.”

“You still follow them, do they follow you?”

They do. Carson and Sam both follow you but you haven’t posted a single picture since the break up so it’s not like they’re reminded of your presence. Not the same way they remind you. There hasn’t been much worth posting either. You go to work, come home, shower, sleep, repeat. The occasional weekend at the farmers market or trip to the bookstore breaks up the monotony don’t inspire you to post. 

“Why?” you ask.

“You want something to rub in their faces.”

“And what exactly would that be?”

“Is there anything he hated doing while you guys dated?”

You laugh at the irony of the one thing Sam hated more than anything else. “He hated being posted on social media.”

“I have an idea.”

“Does it involve more Celine Dion and whiskey?”

“No,” he smiles. “It’s called a ‘soft launch'. One of the high schoolers explained it to me today.”

“Why are you talking to highschoolers about relationships? Actually, nevermind.” You snatch the invite away from his hands and flip it face down onto the couch. “And what is the point of me soft launching a nonexistent relationship?”

“He sent you a wedding invitation.”

“Okay?”

“So he’s either insane or isn’t completely over you. This is a way to show him you don’t care.”

“He broke up with me on Christmas while I was dying of the stomach flu. I don’t think he cares.”

Seokmin rises from the couch and heads towards the kitchen. “Do you want some wine?”

“Just water.”

He’s wearing the same costume as last week, sweatpants and a sweater. But his hair is a little wet and falls over his glasses. The look, the boyfriend candle, everything Lydia suggested… You should go home before making an idiot of yourself.

Seokmin returns with two glasses, places them both on the coffee table before tossing you a blanket. How can you leave now? It’d be rude. Besides, you want to find out where his offer is going.

“As I was saying: soft launch.”

“I still don’t understand where this is going.”

“You post it on your story, he sees, feels like a huge idiot, and then—”

“And then what? I don’t want him back.” But the thought of making Sam squirm is a validating one. Let him see you the way he’s forced you to see him. Happily moved on with someone else. Even if it isn’t real. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

It’s an easy photo. In theory. Nothing too suggestive, nothing that shows his face. But should you be touching? How much touching is appropriate for a man you’ve talked to twice? Seokmin doesn’t seem to know either. He searches the internet for inspo, some far too intimate for you to dream of. Sitting on his lap? Absolutely not. Having him hold you around the waist? No way. None of it would be believable.

“Okay, what about this one?” he asks after twenty minutes of scrolling.

On the surface, it’s nothing bad. The picture is relatively innocent with Person A’s legs draped over Person B’s lap, hand placed on Person A’s shin. Nothing crazy. At this point, you just want it over with.

“Fine.”

You wore semi-decent sweatpants this time so you don’t worry about that. It’s the entire premise of touching Seokmin so casually and having him touch you in return. But you take it in stride as you both maneuver and twist until you're a perfect copy of the already existing image.

Opening the camera on your phone, you snap a pic and hand it to Seokmin for approval.

“Eh…”

“‘Eh’? What does ‘eh’ mean?”

Apparently, ‘eh’ means Seokmin is wrapping his entire hand around your knee, the other hand on your ankle, and pulling you closer until your butt rests flush against the outside of his thigh. And then he doesn’t move either hand while waiting for you to snap a new picture. It feels like a thousand  pounds.

When you’re done, he leans over to assess the photo and you’re stuck with the image of him hovering over you. The picture goes up on your story, embellished with a heart emoji and Seokmin leaves your space but only barely.

“Should I RSVP too?” you joke. It’s weak, your voice thin because you don’t know if he can tell your sweating. 

He leaves even more space between you at that, scratching the back of his neck. “Ugh—”

“I wouldn’t actually go but I like the idea of them wasting money.”

“You know what? Do it. Did they give you a plus one?”

You jolt at the idea of Seokmin filling in the role. Focus. 

Their wedding site is filled with Pinterest inspiration level engagement photos. You ignore the fact it’s at the park Sam took you to for your first date. You don’t own Emerald Park, or the fountain in the background of their pictures where you and Sam first kissed, and you certainly didn’t own the botanical gardens frozen around them as they walked hand in hand. Hundreds of other couples, you and Sam included, visited Emerald Park all the time. It just feels tacky they would do a full photoshoot where half a dozen of your relationship landmarks lay. But Carson probably owned those spots well before you came into the picture.

Once you hit ‘Yes’ on the RVSP, including your fake plus one, things peter out into awkward silence. You’re still draped over Seokmin’s lap, his hands absentmindedly running up your shin, smoothing the wrinkles in your pants.

Who gets turned on from having their shin fondled?

“How is your play going?” you ask.

“Not horrible.”

“But?”

“Our sets are old, we don’t have costumes and we open in three weeks.” 

Seokmin seems to be in the acceptance stage of his grief. At least he isn’t wailing any more Now That’s What I Call Depressing music.

“So it’s not too late for that space idea then?”

He cracks up at that and you feel glowy from the sound of his laugh, the way his chest shakes. He squeezes your ankle. You preen. He still has his hand on your knee, thumb burning uneven circles through the thick fabric.

“I don’t know if anyone wants to see Scrooge in a space suit.”

“Who?”

Seokmin takes the question as a personal affront and decides you can’t leave his apartment without watching at least one version of A Christmas Carol. 

You try not to read into things but there aren’t many explanations available. The TV plays the animated version with Jim Carry starring in almost every role which is apparently second only to the muppets version.. Seokmin popped popcorn. And when he came back to the couch, he pulled your legs back over his lap like it was normal. You’re rusty on dating but the amount of times your hand brushes his in the popcorn bowl is starting to border on ridiculous.

Instead of focusing on how this feels a lot like a date, you focus on the movie. Or try to. It helps that Seokmin remains unaware of your inner turmoil, he’s too busy gauging whether you hate or love the movie and looking for your reaction every time one of the ghosts appears. 

The angle isn’t conducive to watching the movie either. You can’t turn without straining your neck, unless you pull away from his hold which you don’t want to do at all. And Seokmin is so focused on your reactions that he isn’t catching much of the film either.

He clearly loves it, and wants you to love it too. So you act extra interested but it’s not difficult because clearly he sees something spectacular happening on screen and it makes you eager to see it too. Even if only to distract from his thumb slipping beneath your sock and circling the knob of your ankle.

The movie fades to black, Scrooge is redeemed and your neighbor is watching you with bated breath.

“So…”

You smile at his eagerness. “It was good.”

“Isn’t it? It’s a classic.”

Something about his sheer enthusiasm tugs at your heart strings. 

“I’ll help you.”

Everything in your body screeches WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Seokmin must think the same thing, face slack in disbelief. Too late, you’ve already committed. 

“My company is always throwing money at stuff during the holidays,” you rush, face heating. “Maybe they could sponsor you guys to help with the sets or something.”

He keeps staring and you keep talking because you’re not sure if this crosses some invisible line. Unlike the touching, or the picture, or the ugly crying last week. Slowly, amazement rooted on his face.  Even in your rumpled clothes, he looks at you like you’ve dropped nothing short of a miracle in his lap.

In a flurry of motion, Seokmin drags you into a hug, arms tight around your back, crushing you into his chest. The baggy sweaters you’d seen him in all of once hid firm ridges of muscle. You try not to indulge but your hands are wedged tightly between your bodies, and you’re practically sitting in his lap at this point. 

And as fast as it happened, he lets you go and nearly flings himself off the opposite end of the couch. 

“Sorry! I just—” His head cocked to the side. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated—”

“I love taking money from people who don’t need it. It’s one of the few joys in my life actually,” you say. “And if they don’t sign a check, we can always try armed robbery. Do you own a ski mask?”

He pretends to think before smiling. “Funnily enough, I don’t. But something tells me you do.”

“A woman never reveals her secrets.”

The next few days pass uneventfully. You hear Seokmin come home later and later, pointedly aware that you’re aware of his coming and going. Occasionally, when it’s still early, he knocks an odd rhythm on the wall separating your living rooms and you learn it's a summons. He wants to watch a movie, or share dinner because he made too much, or hear something about your day that didn’t involve a six year old attempting an accent for their character and sounding like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. 

Even when you give him your number, he still knocks. Everytime you fight the urge to squeal like you’re back in high school.

The show is going as well as it can. People have their parts (with minimal complaining). Most of the costumes are free of mold (he sent you pictures wearing half the wardrobe). And Seokmin is maintaining his sanity. Barely.

In the rush of it all, you made a promise not to fuck where you eat. One messy break up requiring a move was enough for a lifetime. While Lydia took every update as another sign he was into you, the risk was too much. What if you misread everything? What if Seokmin wasn’t completely over his ex-girlfriend? She hadn’t come up again since that first night but that didn’t mean anything. At that stage of your break-up you hardly talked about Sam. Maybe Seokmin was still pining for her and you were just there. Or vice versa. He could see you were having a difficult time with the engagement and offered a shoulder to cry on.

Even worse, what if you did sleep with him and it was bad. So bad you could never look him in the eye again. Or he could have a weird dick. Or cry after sex. What if he secretly had a piss kink and that was the real reason Marta broke up with him? The lack of red flags only point to some flaw below the surface you hadn’t learned about yet.

Lydia thought it was ridiculous.

“I will bet my first edition Hobbit that his dick is completely normal,” she huffs through the speaker, the sound of her stationary bike echoing in the background.

Your Friday nights are usually spent curled up on the couch with wine and a movie but you couldn’t wait to give Seokmin the envelope containing a metaphorical golden ticket. The downtown streets are crowded near the theater where the entire cast and crew are spending the evening polishing up the existing set pieces but you brave it, if only to see the look on his face at the number of zeroes on the check.

“You just want me to sleep with him.”

“Is it so wrong I want my best friend to sleep with a nice, attractive man? Do you know how rare those are in this city?”

Your eyes roll. “He is my neighbor.”

“Your hot neighbor. Who has a normal dick and listens to Celine Dion when he’s sad.”

Something stopped you from telling her about the picture, and how Seokmin stayed cuddled up to you the rest of the night. Probably because you know she’d add it to the mounting pile of reasons to ruin whatever tentative friendship built between you. 

You find a parking spot and bid Lydia goodbye.

The building lobby, with sleek marble archways and a dusty chandelier the size of your living room, is empty sans a lone security guard scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t try to stop you as you stroll right past and into the auditorium. You don’t want to be a creep that watches from the dark but the sight of your neighbor stops you in your tracks. To hear about his work was one thing, however, seeing him in his element is another. 

He’s got paint all over his shirt and jeans and his hair is a mess from running his hands through it but he addresses the entire cast with confidence. Answers their questions, points the crew in the right direction, scans his binder next to someone with a headset who must be important. 

Everyone is caught up in their work so they don’t notice as you approach from the aisles, footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. You’ve never been here before but the history of the building isn’t lost on you. The walls and ceiling stretch high above, intricate moldings weaving up to frame large murals of greek-style motifs. The cushioned seats had seen better days. Red velvet crushed flat, ripped seams and stained with time. But it has a charm to it.

It was easy to imagine Seokmin finding home in this place. Losing himself on stage, spending hours and hours hidden away with a script.

He finally notices your presence when you approach one of the side stage staircases.

“And what do I owe the honor?” he asks, lips unzipping into a grin you can’t help but return.

You wave the white envelope in response, bowing comically low. “I come bearing a gift.”

“Is that—“

You nod solemnly, forcing it into his hands. “Open it!”

Seokmin stares at the envelope the same way he stared at you the night you offered to help him out. A small miracle in the palm of his hand. Your boss signed the check without question. It was a good look to sponsor local events, great publicity and a tax write off. The second you mentioned there were children in the cast and it was volunteer only he doubled the donation.

Seokmin opens the envelope, pausing to read. His eyes bulge. “Two grand? Are you serious?”

“Yep. All it took was the promise of two pages in the back of the program. So if you could get that message passed along.”

He hasn’t looked away from the check as a flush rises up his neck. “I’ll get their logo tattooed on my forehead if they want.”

“Tried that…” you joke. “They went up to two thousand with the promise you wouldn’t..”

“This is…” 

You’re swept into a hug tight enough to pop something in your back. Too tight, with your arms wedged between your chests like the first time but you don’t mind. Seokmin is warm

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chants, spinning you around.

You soak in the contact for as long as you can. Seokmin gives great hugs, better than great. You didn’t realize you craved the firm comfort of his arms until you had it once again and now that you do, you don’t want him to stop.

You notice someone watching over Seokmin’s shoulder. She’s pretty. Dark curly hair, button nose, big doll eyes boiling with indignation. 

“Is that her?” you whisper into his neck.

“Her who?”

“Mrs. Bald dog walker.”

Seokmin loosens his grip just enough to look.  “Yeah. Why?”

You bury your face back into the crook of his and give him a squeeze. Seokmin returns it instinctively, arms slug across the small of your waist like a puzzle piece. 

“Marta isn’t the jealous type,” he whispers.

“Huh, that’s weird.” Your lips purse. “Because she just stormed off.”

Seokmin whips around to look at the now vacant spot where his ex-girlfriend once stood.

“Consider it as my thank you for the soft launch.”

“Did that actually work?” he asks.

You can’t admit you forgot to check if either Carson or Sam looked at your post. Coincidentally enough, you were too wrapped up in thoughts of the man before you to remember the entire reason he touched you so casually that night was for petty revenge and not because he actually wanted to.

“Who cares?” you bluff. “Anyway, I was thinking of another fundraiser. Maybe it can give you guys some money for some updated set pieces.”

They could definitely use it. One of the stagehands staples fabric across a hole in the couch so wide you’d bet money the next person who sits on it would sink straight through to the ground, another slathers a thick layer of white paint on a dry rotted board. What good are new costumes without good props?

“If you keep helping us out, they’re gonna have to change the name of the building.” Seokmin smiles down at you. His hand is still at the small of your back but even through the many layers protecting you from the chill you can feel the heat of his touch.

“I’ve always wanted a theater named after me. Like a Rockefeller or something.”

“So what is this idea?”

You gaze at him expectantly. “How many of your friends are single?”

It took little convincing for your plan. Seokmin turns out to be a bartender and his boss agrees to host it (pending a small cut of the proceeds), and several of his friends volunteer to help a good cause.

You’ve never been to this bar either but it somehow fits him too. Not a complete dive but cozy and well weathered. Multicolored string lights hang from the rafters so thick you can’t even see the ceiling, and posters, neon signs, and other decor obscure the walls. A low platform in one corner clearly meant for live entertainment becomes the auctioneer block with a banner strewn above reading THEATER FUNDRAISER in painted bubble letters.

Most of the people in the crowd are involved in the theater one way or another. Volunteers, cast and crew, a few parents coming for the drink specials and a show. A few outsiders mix in with the batch; regulars, people who saw the chalkboard sign on the street and got curious. Seokmin’s friends linger around the pool table in the corner, nervously shuffling around.

You’re on your way over to finalize the order when Seokmin and Lydia intercept you. 

“Small problem,” he says.

“What?” 

Lydia sighs. “Mingyu has a girlfriend.”

“Since when?” you ask.

“Apparently fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh,” you say. “Good for him.”

“Except we’re a man down.”

“I’ll do it,” Seokmin interjects.

Your gut curls. The idea of someone, not you, going on a date with him leaves a sour note in your mouth. But you’re not in a position to say anything. 

But it doesn’t stop you.

“You can’t!” you blurt.

“Why not?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Lydia looks down right maniacal at your outburst. No way are you going to admit whatever feelings you have for Seokmin right now. 

“Who is gonna be the host if you’re busy?”

“I’ll do it,” Lydia says. There’s a dare in her gaze. She can smell bullshit a mile away. “Unless there’s some other reason Seokmin needs to host.”

She bats her eyelashes with all the innocence of the devil.

“Fine,” you nod.

Lydia snags the mic from Seokmin and bolts for the stage. “Alright, settle in! Tonight we’re raising money for a good cause. So let’s get this show on the road, and remember—no refunds, no takesies backsies, and no funny business! We take Venmo or cash. No checks! Now, first up, we have Seungcheol!”

Seungcheol steps up to the stage, body lax as the crowd eyes him up and down. He was the first person to volunteer when you explained your idea – spawned from many sorority fundraisers in college – to Seokmin. The others followed suit shortly after, giving you six men in total willing to go on a date (no funny business) in the name of supporting the arts.

“Twenty dollars!” a woman in a dark jacket calls.

“At least let me tell you about him before going at him like a piece of meat!” Lydia jokes.

Someone else interjects. “Forty dollars!”

Lydia ignores her. “He enjoys camping, sports, and long walks on the beach,” she reads off the notecard. “And he can fix your car courtesy of Choi Mechanics.”

“Seventy five.”

People keep increasing their bids, Seungcheol clearly enjoying the attention as he jokes and winks towards the more eager ones. He’s preening while you and Seokmin watch in giddy amusement by the pool table, faces hidden in your drinks.

“Two hundred dollars!” someone near the back calls.

“Two fifty!”

“That’s Seungcheol’s girlfriend,” Seokmin whispers from your side.

You try to get a better look but Seungcheol’s girlfriend remains hidden at a table behind several others. 

“Then why is he doing this?”

Seungkwan comes up beside you. “Because they’re exhibitionists.”

“Sold!” Seungcheol yells.

“I’m the one with the gavel,” Lydia objects. She pounds the gavel to emphasize her power. “Sold for two hundred and fifty dollars!”

Seungcheol drops a wad of cash from his own wallet into the bucket at the front of the stage and disappears into the corner of the room where his girlfriend waits. You make a mental note to avoid that side of the bar for the rest of the night, just in case.

The other guys go easy, thriving on the momentum of Seungcheol. Soonyoung gets a date with a woman old enough to be your mother but he looks positively thrilled. Even Mingyu stops by to drop a couple bucks into your hand as an apology. Then it’s Seokmin’s turn.

“He can cook, he’s good with kids, and he makes a mean mojito,” Lydia announces. “Give it up for our favorite bartender, Seokmin!”

The crowd has mellowed out but remains enthusiastic, regulars and theater people alike clapping as he comes forward. Even his boss behind the bar rings a large bell mounted on the wall reserved for good tippers. Someone wolf whistles and Seokmin goes red.

“Let’s start the bidding at thirty bucks,” Lydia says.

“Fifty!” someone calls.

By some feat of the universe, Seokmin transforms into a maroon faced mess.

You look around the bar and spot her at a table close to the edge of the stage. That ugly gut punch from earlier rears its head again at the gleam in her eyes, like she can’t wait to sink her teeth into Seokmin the first chance she gets. You don’t want Seokmin going on a date with her. You don’t want him going on a date with anyone.

Your mouth is open before you realize. “A hundred.”

Seokmin, Lydia, and just about everyone else in the bar whip their head in your direction. You refuse to look at any of them, staring down your competition as she raises her hand to counter.

“One fifty.”

“Two hundred.”

“Three fifty,” she says, smirking at you.

Lydia levels you with expectant looks. Seokmin watches you like you’re a wild animal, unsure of your next move. You’re in too deep now. 

“Four hundred dollars.”

Your competition opens her mouth to rebut; however, Lydia is already swinging the gavel, “Sold! To the beautiful woman in the ugly sweater. Come get your man!”

Seokmin catches your arm before you can open your purse. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s for a good cause. Besides, think of it as a thank you for saving me from spending all my money on take out.”

He stares at you for a second too long, frozen in his own disbelief. You’re lying and you both know it but to admit that him going on a date with someone else, even for a good cause, made you jealous ventures over a line you’re not ready to cross just yet.

“Alright, that was our last man of the night,” Lydia announces into the mic. “Which means we’ve raised a whopping two thousand six hundred dollars for our local theater.”

Everyone cheers once again. The atmosphere is light but the bubble surrounding you and Seokmin is anything but. 

He raises an eyebrow skeptically as you shove bills into the collection bucket, pointedly looking anywhere but him lest your face match the red of his own. It doesn’t matter though. You can feel the heat on your cheeks, the sweat at your hairline. Four hundred dollars to go out with a guy. 

At least it’s for a good cause.

Seungkwan saves you from whatever questions Seokmin has, pushing his friend back to work behind the bar before cornering you into conversation.

“You,” Seungkwan says.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I’m having a pre-game at my house tomorrow night. You’re invited.”

“Oh,” you blink. “I’m not really a partier.”

“It’ll be a small thing. Most of the guys here and my roommate. We’re going to Jane’s after.”

“I’ve never been there before.”

Seungkwan stomps indignantly. “You’ve never been to Jane’s? Jane’s is a neighborhood institution.”

“I guess I never got around to exploring much,” you shrug.

“Why not?”

A creature of habit such as yourself, you rarely went to new places. You liked the places you already knew, the ones you didn’t have to guess if you liked. Besides, you hadn’t felt like going out much in the past few months, something always coming up including reasons, such as: you liked your apartment with cheaper drinks, less cigarette smoke, and no strange men trying to mansplain American Psycho.

Lydia appears at your side, new drink in hand. “Did someone say party?”

“It starts at eight thirty, but don’t come until nine. Seok will give you the address.”

Seungkwan disappears into the crowd, leaving you and Lydia hovering at the edge of the stage all alone. If there was one person besides Seokmin you didn’t want to be left alone with, it was her. But it’s too late to escape.

In the face of total mortification, you try to put on a brave face.

“Four hundred? Really?” Lydia asks.

“Shut up,” you mumble into the cup of melted ice.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I’ve met your friends before,” you snort.

Seokmin rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, but they can be a lot and that’s coming from me.”

You refused to let the car ride on the way over be awkward, plowing through whatever cobwebs lingered between you two. Luckily, Seokmin went along, recalling horror stories from Seungkwan’s yearly holiday pre-game. There was the year Soonyoung attempted making hot cider and gave everyone food poisoning. The year after where Mingyu ended up breaking the bathroom doorknob resulting in the fire department coming out to free him because he got stuck trying to crawl out the window above the shower. And most recently, Jeonghan – who you haven’t met yet – hid under the couch for the sole purpose of grabbing people’s ankles as they walked by; except he fell asleep and Seungkwan found him the next morning while cleaning.

Nothing you couldn’t handle.

“Well, if it's too much I’ll send you some code to leave.”

“What should I be looking for exactly?” he asks, lips quirked.

“I’ll start making ghost noises.”

Seokmin snorts when you start demonstrating. “But that happens so frequently. How about morse code?”

“How about I scream at the top of my lungs?” you grin.

“Works for me.”

Seokmin knocks against the dark wood door leading to Seungkwan’s apartment.

“COME IN!” Seungkwan belts, flinging the door open wide. “For me?”

You hand over the bottle of wine with flourish. Heaven forbid you show up anywhere empty handed, a habit hammered in by your mother. “For you.”

Seungkwan pulls you inside. “I like you more and more. Come on, everyone else is already here.”

The doorway leads straight into the crowded living room. You recognize Seungcheol, a woman his same height tucked into his side as they chat with Lydia on the couch. Coincidentally, she lives two floors above Seungkwan and Vernon and was thrilled to discover mailroom guy had a name and good taste in music.

You quickly scan beneath the couch for any full grown men and are mildly disappointed to find none.

Seokmin gets caught up in ‘hellos’ while you pad down the hallway after Seungkwan; into the kitchen where Mingyu stirs something on the stove.  Cocoa and vanilla flood your nose, the warmth of the kitchen driving away the lingering chill from outside. Seungkwan puts the wine on the counter before pulling mugs out of the cabinets. 

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Spiked hot chocolate,” Mingyu says. He adds a splash of peppermint schnapps to the pot and starts stirring again before pouring two mugs: one for you and one for Seokmin. “There’s whipped cream over there.”

You’re shaking the can of whipped cream when an arm reaches over your shoulder and pulls it out of your grip.

“Just say when,” Seokmin says.

He piles a comical mountain of whipped cream into your mug, and then a matching one on his own. There are sprinkles as well as chocolate shavings and you both artfully decorate your drinks with handfuls of each.

“I think we have more whipped cream than hot chocolate,” you say.

“There’s no such thing as too much whipped cream.” 

You both take a long sip and when he’s done you choke. He’s got whipped cream on his nose, his lips, and his cheeks. 

“What?” Seokmin asks.

“You’ve got,” you laugh. “Let me help.”

He stands perfectly still as you wipe his face with a paper towel. You’ve been this close to Seokmin before but with amusement instead of nerves clouding your system, you notice details you hadn’t before. The mole of his cheek. Two. One a little more pronounced than the other. Cute.

“Alright, all done,” you announce, finally noticing the way he stares down at you softly. So much for not having any nerves. “C’mon, I wanna see if Jeonghan is hiding under the couch before we leave.”

You lead him out of the kitchen, looking for anyway to cut the tension—

“KISS!” Lydia demands. 

You scan the room for who she’s screaming at in an apartment full of strangers only to find her finger pointed straight above your head.

Mistletoe.

Mingyu barrels out of the kitchen to join in on the chaos.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” they all chant. Soonyoung cups his hands around his mouth and belts it loud enough your heart lurches. 

“We don’t have to,” Seokmin whispers, cheeks and ears bright red.

“It’s fine.”

You plan for a quick peck on the cheek but Seokmin goes for his left while you go for your left and you’re not kissing but something dangerously close to it. The sticky residue of sugar and chocolate registers against your lips, a little bit of stubble missed when he shaved this morning. Barely a second of contact, just the edge of his mouth against yours but the world spins backwards and you nearly fall over. 

As fast as it happens, you both draw back, staunchly avoiding eye contact but staying pressed close.

Seokmin wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you against his check. “You okay?”

His breath skims over your lips. The temptation to roll on to your toes and kiss him for real sends your heart racing. Your chin lifts. Seokmin looks at your mouth. And…

“Who's ready to party?” Chan calls, breaking the atmosphere. 

The walk to Jane’s is nothing short of hell. Snow falls in thin sheets, frigid air sneaking past the lining of your coat and straight into your bones. In the middle of the pack you aren’t as exposed thanks to Seokmin to your right, Lydia on the other side, and a gaggle of the others walking in front. 

Your hand keeps accidentally brushing Seokmin’s, sending a rush of pins and needles up your arm each time. You both pretend to ignore it.

The barren street outside the bar doesn’t hint at what waits within except for the dull hum of life sneaking past the door. It feels like half the city is packed inside, forcing everyone to slither past each other because there is simply no room. 

Seungkwan wasn’t lying when he said it was a neighborhood institution. A stage is set up at the far wall, drunks belting their hearts out. Your group fans out to the bar, snagging drinks before taking the pilgrimage to a small table near the stage. Seokmin keeps you close the entire time. Guiding you to a seat, insisting on standing right behind the chair and talking to his friends over your shoulder.

You sag in your seat, content to soak in everyone else's conversations. The edge of your mouth still burns from the contact of the kiss, the same sensation everywhere Seokmin touches. You crave more. Like a sunflower searching for the sun. You lean against the back of the chair for a chance to feel his chest against your back. He doesn’t shy away when you do either. You can’t see his face but Lydia sits across the table watching with a pleased smirk. 

“A toast,” Seokmin starts as the song fades and the next group to the stage. Someone wrangled a tray of red and green shots to the table and Seungkwan passes them around. “To Y/N. We wouldn’t have a show without her.”

“Yes, you would,” you correct.

“But we wouldn’t have new costumes,” says Seungkwan. “Do you know how old the costumes we were gonna wear are?”

“And we have new sets. We haven’t bought a new set piece in like fifty years,” Chan interjects. 

Soonyoung speaks up next. “And I got a date!”

Seokmin slings an arm over your shoulder, squeezing you into his side. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Cheeks hot, you hide your smile at the bottom of the shot glass.

Focus shifts as Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan take the stage for “No Scrubs” the entire bar signs along to. They’re born performers. Soaking in every minute of attention, riling the crowd up until your ears go numb.

You try not to think of the almost kiss but it’s hopeless. Two drinks down and the only thing on your mind is the eclectic feeling on his mouth on your skin. 

You’re so deep in your thoughts, you don’t notice Seokmin has come back to the table with a new drink for you until he’s nudging your shoulder with his.

“How do you like it?”

“Way better than the depression playlist,” you joke.

“Celine Dion is a classic.”

“Yeah, but after the first five times she loses her edge.”

Seokmin shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Blasphemy.”

Vernon and Seungkwan are singing Crazy in Love. Or, Seungkwan is singing and Vernon is head banging to the beat. Just watching makes your neck hurt.

Someone bumps into you from behind, sending you reeling straight into Seokmin’s chest.

“Woah, you okay?”

You nod into his chest but don’t let go. 

The shots earlier were a mistake. Seokmin looks good under the neon lights of the bar, better with the swirly haze of alcohol. You want to kiss him so bad it’s embarrassing.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, voice husky.

When you look up at him, something dances across his face. There and gone before you can figure out what it is. Home sounds like a great idea. Better to lock yourself in your apartment where your mind can run wild before you do something stupid – like drag Seokmin into a corner to make out – in front of all your new friends.

You step out of his grip. “I can get home on my own. You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m good to go. Promise.”

Not willing to brave a thirty minute walk home in the snow, Seokmin orders an Uber while you say goodbye.

Once outside, Seokmin wraps his arm back around you. Away from prying eyes, you let yourself indulge with the excuse of sharing body heat. Friends share body heat all the time. There is nothing wrong with a platonic penguin huddle.

Too soon, he pulls away as a car pulls up to the curb. “This is us.”

Seokmin makes conversation with the driver while you stare out the window as the city whips by. He’s just being nice, treating you the same way he would all his friends. Touching and almost kissing aside, Seokmin is your friend and you don’t want to jeopardize it with complications.

“YN?”

“Huh?’

“We’re home.”

You stumble through the cold, Seokmin hot on your heels through the lobby and into the elevator. It’s a fragile type of silence between you. 

“I’ll see you later?”

“Night,” Seokmin says.

“Goodnight, Seok,” you murmur back, pushing open your door.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I left my keys at Kwan’s.”

“Should we call them?”

You invite Seokmin into your apartment while he tries to get ahold of his friends. Shinx offers timid emotional support by curling up in his lap, purring loudly as scratches under her chin. Now you’re jealous of a cat. 

How dmbarrassing.

Calling proves futile. Seungkwan’s phone goes straight to voicemail and Vernon doesn’t answer either. He tries texting them with the same results.

“You can sleep on the couch,” you offer.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re sitting in the hall all night,” you say. “Let me get you a blanket.”

In your room, you quickly change out of your bar clothes and into pajamas. It takes some time to dig out a pair of sweats and a tshirt that’ll fit Seokmin but you eventually find something for him. Snagging a pillow from your bed and an extra blanket from the linen closet. you head into the living room.

You force the clothes into his chest. “Here. Get changed and I’ll make your bed.”

A dark look glazes his face and for a second you think he might kiss you. Or you hope he’s thinking about it half as much as you are. But the moment passes. He locks himself in your room while you busy making the lumpy, itchy couch somewhat comfortable for him. 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

You settle on Krampus. Neither of you have seen it but even after tonight you doubt you’d be able to recall a single detail. Seokmin pulls your legs over his lap like second nature, covering you both in the blanket, his hands resting on your shin. Choosing shorts over pants was a mistake. The heat of his thigh against the back of yours makes you squirm. The calluses on his palms scratch an itch leading straight between your legs as he rubs up and down absentmindedly, never trailing higher than your knee.

You’re shaking. His hand squeezes and you nearly heave.

“Cold?” 

No.

But you nod anyway. 

Seokmin pulls another blanket off the back of the couch, carefully layering it over the first, tucking you in tight before putting his arms back over your legs.

“You know, you’re a really good guy, Seok.”

“Thanks.”

It’s shameful. How bad you want to kiss him, for him to kiss you. 

“I mean it.”

“I don’t know if it's true though.”

Instead of asking what he means, you lean closer. Then Seokmin does too. You’re too busy staring at his mouth to notice him doing the same. All your thoughts hone in on if he was as good a kisser as you imagined. And if you kissed him right now, would he kiss you back? If you touched him, would he touch you too?

Someone moves first. It doesn’t matter who because his nose nudges against yours, then you're swallowing his sigh, and you both practically melt at the relief. 

It’s better than anything you could have cooked up in your head. His lips are soft, the rough pads of his fingers gentle as he tips your chin. You like it. You like him. 

Your lips catch on his bottom lip by accident but it's the first domino to topple into a chain reaction. Seokmin’s lips part, your hands bury in his hair. His thumb hones in on the strip of skin between your top and your shorts. You maneuver into his lap, fingers cataloguing the expanse of his shoulders, his neck. Back into his hair. Close as you are, it isn’t close enough. You arch into him, dragging your lips across the line of his throat when his head falls back.

His hands are everywhere. The small of your waist, the base of your spine, lifting your shirt until it’s tossed to the floor and your topless in his lap, shaking with anticipation.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. His eyes lock on your nipples, tight from just a few light touches.

Seokmin pulls you back down, kissing you slow and heavy while his hands touch you with gentle reverence. 

Clothes come off. The borrowed sweater he’s wearing reveals so much skin you don’t know where to start. But Seokmin doesn’t let you linger too long because he’s taking off your bottoms until you’re completely naked. Seokmin eases his body over yours, heavy between your thighs. 

A particularly harsh pass of his hips pulls a wire down your spine, back arching painfully, moaning at the ceiling. 

“Ha,” you waver under his teeth, his tongue worshiping your chest, leaving broad strokes you imagine will feel amazing on other parts of your body. Head tipped back, you display yourself openly for him to touch and tease.

“Take your pants off,” you beg.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay,” he says, mouthing against the sensitive spot below your jaw. His smile is clear. “We don’t have to do anything.”

You make a sound between a whine and a grunt. You want to have sex with him. Right here, on your shitty couch. But you aren’t willing to take the risk, no matter how badly you want it. Even if he does have a weird dick which you doubt based on the feeling of it against your naked cunt.

“You think my dick is weird?” he asks, half shocked and half amused.

“No! I—” you scramble. “I don’t think your dick is weird.”

“But you’ve thought about my dick?”

“I’m not supposed to.”

Seokmin grins, clearly amused. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my neighbor.”

“Oh.” He rushes to rise off you, kneeling between your spread legs. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“I do want to. That's the problem,” you whine.

He hums in acknowledgment, body shaking with barely suppressed giggles. 

You thrash. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not, I've just…never had someone be so eager.”

He kisses you like he’s the eager one, tongue tracing your bottom lip until you welcome him in with a lewd suck. It only lasts for a second before he’s back down your chest and then kneeling in front of the couch, nuzzling the meat of your thigh while his fingers stroke against your wetness timidly.

“Is this okay?”

“Yep!” you choke. “Great.”

Your legs verge on numbness from being bent in half for so long but Seokmin keeps finding those spots that make it worth it. You need something to hold onto; his hair, the cushions, your own breasts. Seokmin seems to love that the most. Grunting into your pussy as he watches with reverence as you play with yourself.

“Taste so good,” he rasps. “You’re so hot.”

Fingers thrusting, Seokmin strings you out. When he crooks the digits buried deep inside you, your back breaks in half. The hand pinning your waist down holds tights, the lean muscles flexing in your view. 

“J-just like that,” you hiccup. 

He never falters. Seokmin does exactly as you ask until you curl and come wet and hot on his face with a cry. It’s not until you push him off that he stops completely, rubbing the mess of his fingers on his pants and crowding you back into the couch cushion to taste yourself off his tongue. 

You moan against his mouth. “Wanna taste you.”

“I’m good.”

“I want to,” you beg.

“No like—”

You paw at his crotch only for the enticing hardness to be absent. He’s soft. Confusion furrows your brows for a brief second until the rosy tint to his cheeks registers. 

Seokmin hides in the crook of your neck, sigh ruffling your hair as he gets cozy in the warm space and allows his nose to trace the curve of your shoulder. “It usually doesn’t happen like that. I don’t—”

“That's so hot,” you mumble. The heat of his body combined with an orgasm and the last bit of your blood lulls you closer to sleep with every second.  

Seokmin tugs your shirt back over your head before pulling you close, his bare chest against your back, legs tangled beneath a quilt. Pure content tickles across your senses, followed by the warm drag of sleep.

Seokmin is gone by the time you wake up.

Shuffling from the couch into the bedroom, you accept he probably left early to get his keys from Seungkwan and didn’t want to wake you. Your head pounds in time with your pulse, stomach turning at the thought of getting off the couch. Thank God he didn’t try to wake you. There’s nothing less attractive than wanting to lay on the floor and wait for the sweet release of death.

The second time you wake up is to the sound of Shinx shredding a scrap of paper at the foot of your bed.

“You bastard,” you groan.

A set of large eyes stares back at you for a moment, before she meows and gets back to work on her kill. You nudge her off the edge of the bed with your foot. She bolts for the living room while you hide back into the pillows until it’s dark outside once again.

When you start feeling human enough to shower and eat, you check your phone. A text from Lydia and a few other notifications greet you but none from Seokmin. Not a call, or a text, or anything. Complete radio silence.

You hear him come home, the shuffle of his feet down the hallway and the slam of his front door. But there's no singing; not even so much as a hum. No knocking on the shared wall. You can’t hear a single thing from his side even when – embarrassingly – you press your ear against the wall like an eavesdropper. 

It’s like that for days.

Seokmin leaves his apartment after you get home. Or when you come back from work you hear him rush to turn down his music like he wants you to believe he’s out. He’s avoiding you. And you don’t know why.

You’ve thought about trying to catch him in the act; waiting by the door and popping out to ask him what his problem is. But you’re not sure if you want the answer to that question. He probably regrets kissing you. He definitely regrets kissing you if he's acting like this. But you don’t want to rush to conclusions either. The show opens Friday night and being director requires all hands on deck. Seokmin probably doesn’t even have time to brush his teeth let alone think about whatever it is between you too. Add the fact the actor for Scrooge broke his leg just before the auction and the only person comfortable enough with the role is also directing, he’s under a lot of pressure.

But none of the reassuring thoughts get you to leave the house the night of the show.

It wasn’t as if you had to be there. You helped fundraise but you weren’t cast or crew so your attendance was optional, even if there were two tickets waiting for you at willcall. Missed calls and texts rack up on your phone screen. Lydia, Seungkwan, Chan… But none from Seokmin. You should have turned your phone off to avoid the fall out from ditching. 

Instead, you accidentally pick up Lydia’s call. 

“Where are you?” Lydia screeches through the speaker. “The show's about to start.”

“I’m…I’m sick.”

You even fake cough but Lydia doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“Get your ass down here or I swear to god I’ll drag you by your hair.”

“Why would I go? He hasn’t talked to me all week?”

“So? Who cares!” she huffs, “You worked really hard to make sure this all got done. They wouldn’t have costumes or a set without everything you did. Forget Seokmin, come see it for yourself.”

“I—”

“Listen. Whatever happened between you two happened. But don’t let that chase you away from this. We can plot revenge tomorrow but tonight you should celebrate how hard you worked to make this happen.”

“Alright.”

You race to dress somewhat appropriately. Sweater, leggings, and a nice coat are all you can manage if you want to make it before intermission ends. It’s a miracle you’re not pulled over for speeding or running through yellow lights at the last minute but you get downtown in record time.

The street outside the theater is quiet, fog rising from the damp pavement. Through the glass doors into the theater, people mill about. You missed the first half of the show but there’s still time.

Lydia waits on the steps, exhaling a foggy breath when she finds you.  “Thank god.”

“How's it so far?”

“Good. I can’t believe I’ve never come to one of these before.” She types furiously on her phone before locking it and tossing it back into her purse. “The costumes look so good.”

The theater is packed to the brim, the lobby practically bursting at the seams as people chat through intermission. The costumes look better than good and so do the sets. Seokmin plays a more than convincing Scrooge, even better than the ones you’ve seen in the million movie versions of the play you’ve watched together. There’s no way he can see you with the bright stage lights but more than once it feels like he’s staring right where you sit, looking for someone. Looking for you.

Your eyes remain glued to the stage, unable to blink just in case you miss a second. It's dizzying watching him perform, as if you're staring up at the sky for too long and starting to feel unmoored; like you can't look away, can't accept that something so captivating exists.

After another hour, the lights go up, the cast take their bows. Without warning, you’re blinking into a harsh spotlight.

“Stand up,” Lydia whispers, prodding your side.

“What the hell is going on?”

“This production wouldn’t have been possible without Y/N. We’re so thankful for someone like her.”

You smile awkwardly and wait for the clapping to die down as the spotlight moves back to the stage. The second it's over, you’re up the aisle and into the lobby.

Straight into Seungkwan, who is subtly guarding the door like he knew you’d run at the first chance.

“You’re coming to the after party, right?” he asks.

Other people start filtering in from the auditorium. Maybe, you can lose him in the chaos and go home. 

“Of course she is,” Lydia interjects. Her arm weaves through yours, a firm threat that she’ll drag you if she has to.

The after party is for cast and crew of legal drinking age at Jane’s. Lydia and Seungkwan ride with you, another silent threat looming in the air.  They chat the entire way, undeterred by your silence. It's nice having friends that care but all you want is to hide under a blanket on your couch and spend the rest of the night crying while Shinx watches you with unveiled disgust.

Outside the bar, you promise one drink, claiming that you really are sick and want to go home. Which might be true. You’re off kilter, head spinning, stomach twisted into untangleable knots. But that might be because you can hear Seokmin’s laugh as you enter and your muscles twitch to dive beneath a table until he leaves.

You manage to find a stool in the corner. Even in an attempt to remain unseen more than half the bar stops by to thank you; crew members you haven’t met or cast you’ve seen in passing. Lydia stays by your side throughout, a steady presence as you lose yourself in the party. You can almost forget who is floating around the outskirts of the bar like a ghost. 

“Vernon sent me to ask if you want to play pool,” Seungkwan says to Lydia.

She sends you a sideways glance. Not asking for permission but like you’re a kid she can’t leave alone.

“Go,” you say, brushing her away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t leave without telling me.”

“I’m leaving right now,” you tell her.

“Fine,” she sighs. Then she pulls you into a hug. Lydia isn’t a hugger, in the years you’ve known her you can count on your fingers the number of times it’s happened. “But you should clear the air before you go.”

“I live next to him. There are plenty of opportunities.”

She gives you an extra squeeze, fully aware you’ll continue pretending he doesn’t exist until everything smooths over and you and Seokmin are back to neighbors who tolerate each other's existence in fragile silence.

Which would work if the second you turn around to leave you don’t run straight into him.

He rubs the side of his head. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say. “Can we talk?”

He nods before turning to leave the bar, not waiting to see if you follow but you do. 

The party inside the bar echoes out onto the snowy street. It seems no one else is crazy enough to have an overdue conversation in a snowstorm, but better here than anywhere else. At least after Seokmin lets you down, you can run back to your apartment and pretend he doesn’t exist anymore.

Seokmin stands a few paces away, barely illuminated in neon signs and string lights strewn across the street. You aren’t drunk, not even tipsy. Alcohol would make this conversation worse but it’d take the edge off your nerves and dull a little bit of the cold.

You shove both hands in your pockets, unsure what to say now that you have him all alone.

“The play was good.”

“Thanks. Next time you’ll have to see the first act.”

It comes out like a joke but you can feel the vitriol like a bucket of ice water. Ouch.

“I—”

“If you’re not over your ex it’s okay,” he winces. “We can stay friends.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Sam. You still have feelings for him. It’s fine if you do, I get it. I’m not mad or anything I just thought…”

“I am over Sam.”

“Well, congrats on getting over him I guess,” Seokmin shrugs but his grin is forced. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“Are you serious?” you scoff, venom stinging the tip of your tongue. 

His face glazes with annoyance. “What else is there?”

“Why did you leave?”

“I had work.”

You want to smack to frown off his face. 

“But you didn’t text me or leave a note. I woke up and you were gone and then didn’t hear anything from you.”

“I did leave a note. You iced me out,” he argues.

“Where? Because from where I’m standing you left as soon as you could and then ignored me like it never happened.”

“My phone died so I left a note on the counter. And you never texted me or anything so I thought you were trying to let me down easy.”

He left you a note. The shredded paper on your bed…

“Oh my god,” you gasp, ire evaporating. “Shinx.”

“Your cat?”

Laughter bubbles out of your throat, so thick you choke on your next words. “I think she ate your note.”

The realization hangs in the air, Seokmin froze as your words sink in. He stares at you for a moment, still recovering from the absurdity of it all, before he finally exhales a long breath.

“I thought she liked me,” he whines, face lit up with the beginning of a smile. 

“Shinx is loyal to no one.”

His body meets yours, like cards precariously leaned against one another to prevent a topple as you both shake with laughter. The cold of the street disappears in the warmth of his touch. 

“You’re not that kind of guy. I know that. I shouldn’t have—”

“I could’ve texted you after I went to Kwan’s,” he interjects. 

“I could’ve called you.”

Seokmin’s gaze roams across your face. “How about we start over?”

“I’d like that,” you smile, closing the scant amount of space left between your bodies. 

“Me too.”

Your lips brush against his, the faintest contact sending a storm of butterflies through your stomach. You’re both smiling too much for it to count as a real kiss but neither of you seem to care. His hand slips around the back of your neck, holding you closer just for a moment longer.

Seokmin convinces you to stay at the bar for a few more hours. He holds your hand, keeps you under his arm, looks at you after each joke to make sure you’re laughing too. Seokmin is nothing like Sam. You’ve known that all along but the fear lingered and you refused to acknowledge it. He’s someone you actually could fall for if you let yourself. 

He might hurt you but the potential for something great outweighs the bad in spades.

As the night drags on, you end up closer; sitting on his laps, his hands protectively wrapped around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder and you lean back against him. The slow burn between you roars to a boil when you trace mindless shapes against his palm, Seokmin’s breath shaky in his chest.

“Ready to go home?” he whispers huskily. His breath rushes down your neck, goosebumps bloom in its wake. 

You shift closer – the seam of your jeans only further worsening your arousal – and nod.

Once outside, you’re tangled in each other once again, limbs indecipherable. The sudden chill of midnight air has you turning back into his chest, the arm previously on your back curling low on your waist. Seokmin orders an Uber and immediately focuses back on you the second he can. You catch a text on his screen before he can lock his phone. Seokmin holds you the same as before but it’s different this time. You’re both waiting for the damn to break and the flood to wash away whatever tension lingers between you. 

[10:56PM] Mr. Boo: do not fuck this up

[10:56PM] Mr. Boo: lydia said she would kill you and i think she’s serious

The cab ride home is a blur. You’re focused on not scandalizing the drive while Seokmin keeps a hand firmly on your knee, perfectly proper if it wasn’t for the grit in his jaw when you return the touch just high enough for your pinky to graze his zipper. 

The second the car stops, you throw the door open and pull Seokmin out and inside the lobby, straight to the elevator where he grabs your waist and uses the leverage to kiss you with so much heat you sweat.

He tries pressing you into the wall but you beat him to the punch, crowding him into the corner, front flush with him from head to toe. Seokmin groans, pushing back as you grind over his thigh. One of you pushes the button to your floor.

When the doors open, he gains the upper hand. Tugging you down the hall, he bypasses your door and goes straight for his own. He fumbles with the keys from the way you suck at his pulse but after a few tries he succeeds, pulling you inside and pressing you into the wall of the hallway.

“I like you,” he admits, rushing to unzip your coat and stuff his freezing hands inside, curling them against your waist. “This isn’t just sex.”

You nod dumbly. “I know. I like you, too.”

“And we should – hmmm – go on a date sometime.”

“Okay,” you rasp. 

His thigh slots back between yours. All those memories of his mouth and fingers rush to the forefront, teasing you with the fantasy of Seokmin on his knees right here, eating you out next to his front door. 

He presses hard against your core, fingers tracing the seam of your pants. Your hands reach beneath his shirt; pulling, squeezing. Nails digging into his tense stomach with each bump against your covered clit.

“Seokmin,” you whimper.

You're pulled off the wall. A trail of clothing is left in your wake to his room. Hats, coats, sweaters, undershirts. Seokmin manages to keep his pants on but allows you to unbutton them for a weak handjob over his briefs.

“God,” he exhales close to your ear.

In all the nights you two have hung out you’ve never been in his room. You try to take in as many details as possible but Seokmin dedicates himself to driving you insane with his lips on your neck, gently nipping and sucking until you shiver.

If you had any foresight this was going to happen then you would have at least picked matching underwear. But he seems thrilled as he crowds you into the bed. 

His mouth replaces his hand, lapping at your nipple, completely disregarding the fabric of your bra, before sucking it into his mouth. The hand that was on your chest dips beneath your panties. Fingertips circle your clit, gliding through the wet mess, dipping shallowly inside you.

Your hips rut into the touch. You want more. Need more. And you know Seokmin can give you what you need.

You guide his mouth to your neglected nipple, pushing the cup out of the way and arching as he gives it the same attention. “Please.”

“I got you,” he promises.

Seokmin melts down between your legs, kneeling at the side of the bed; one on his shoulder, the other pressed up your chest. Your hands bury in his hair as he licks a long strip up your core. Each pathetic sound fleeing your lips is rewarded with a deeper curl of his fingers, a harsher lap of his tongue. He leaves wet kisses on your thighs, spreading the mess of arousal and spit before diving back.

You squeeze tight on his fingers. “O-oh, oh fuck.”

Your hips stutter into his mouth. It washes over you, muscles clenched so hard it hurts. The way your heels dig into his back must hurt too but you don’t care. Neither does Seokmin. He doesn’t stop as you claw at him, following that inferno scorching through every tissue, begging him to keep going until you wilt into the sheets.

The ceiling comes slowly into focus, dots floating across your vision. You’re sweating despite the chill hanging in the air. Thankfully, Seokmin blankets you in his heat as he kisses across your hips, then your sternum, then buries his face into your neck. Your shivers have nothing to do with the cold.

“Wow,” you pant. 

Seokmin’s face cracks into a tired grin. Fatigue ghosts over the room but you're not done yet. The weight of his cock between your legs demands attention, and you’re all too eager to touch him.

He doesn’t object when you push him onto his back, or to the trail of soft kisses down his front, allowing you to mark up the smooth expanse of his chest and belly how you see fit. You savor the warmth of his body with each touch. Allow your fingers to gently wash away each press of your lips and warm him up for what's to come.

You suck the head of his cock through the fabric, teasing him with your tongue until the taste of pre-cum floods your mouth. 

He sinks into the bed. A hand finds its way into your hair, unsure if he wants to pull you off or sink deeper into the heat of your mouth, even if it is just a tease. You tug his underwear out of the way and continue torturing him. Thrilled by the way his stomach tense with each desperate whine from the way your tongue traces every ridge.

He gently guides you back and forth, taking the strain off your neck as you take more and more before he pulls you off. “Wait, shit.”

“What–”

“I was gonna come,” Seokmin explains, pulling you up his chest to drop placating kisses against your chin.

“That’s okay,” you smile. “I want you to.”

“But I want to fuck you.”

“Next time?”

“Fuck yes, next time,” he pants as he rolls you on to your back.

He keeps his mouth on yours, tongue sliding hotly against your own while blindly searching for a condom in the bedside table. 

Your hips angle and so do his, a little wiggle and then he’s inside you and it ruins your life. Just the first inch seals your eyes shut, vision filled with stars. You can feel everything; full in a way you’ve never felt before.

Seokmin draws back timidly, allowing you both to watch the way your body takes him so easily.

Somehow he manages to rock deeper, stretch you at just the right angle. Surges right into that spot that curls your chest tight with rough fluidity. The muscles in your thighs are at war with whether to spread wider or squeeze around his waist.

“I wanna ride you.”

There are so many things you want to do with him. To him. But you start with this, taking command of his lap, sinking back on his dick with another tight stretch; glowing as Seokmin watches slack-jawed.

“God, you’re perfect,” he praises.

You fuck yourself on him, knees digging into the mattress as you grind back and forth and all Seokmin can do is watch. A loose grip on your hips as his face glazes over. Your thighs cramp but the way he looks against the pillows, hazy around the edges, hair flat at one side and wild on the other, encourages you to finish what you started.

“Touch me,” you beg.

His neck goes red, ears too, when his hand wedges back between your thighs. “Wanna see you come again. Fuck, you’re so pretty when you come for me.”

Your hips cant wildly, stuttering under his free flowing praise. Too full, too much. You nearly scramble off his lap to snatch at your sanity drifting away.

He kisses you gently, sweet praise ghosting over your lips. “That’s it. Just like that.”

You’re not even moving. Seokmin works your clit raw, fucks up into you with limited motion as you choke on another orgasm that leaves you wet at the eyes and the room spinning. 

“U-ugh. Fuck,” you shiver, collapsing into his chest.

“Can,” he chokes. “Can I—”

An imperceivable dip of your chin and Seokmin rolls you back over and flattens your thighs open; hard rushes of his hips, stomach taunt.

“Come for me. Want you to come inside me,” you sigh. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he chants as he shakes beneath your hands before slumping over.

You rebound faster than Seokmin; he’s almost snoring against your chest as you rake a hand through the tangled mess of his hair, melting under the weight on your lips against his hairline.

“You’re pretty when you come, too,” you tease. 

He swats your hand away, rising off you to dispose of the condom in the bathroom before rushing back into bed to clean you with a washcloth. When he’s done, he throws it into some forgotten corner of the room where the rest of your clothes hide and dives under the covers with you in tow. 

Your limbs lace with his, all nude skin on skin. 

“I would like to take you out for real sometime,” Seokmin whispers.

“Good thing I have a four hundred dollar date to cash in on.”

“You know,” he smiles into your cheek. “You could have asked me for free.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

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[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

A continuation of this post

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Doey & Player who's not all there

★ Doey is very concerned when he first sees the state you're in. He closely watches your behavior, just to be careful. You don't seem dangerous, only a little unstable and deeply troubled.

★ When Poppy wants you to keep going, he puts his foot down. There is no way you're going outside the Safe Haven, not when you're like this. He stands his ground and refuses to let you leave. This starts an argument with him and Poppy.

★ But before getting into it, he brings you some small comforts. A blanket to sleep with and a cup of water. He personally delivers them to your tent. Then going into the generator room where he and Poppy talk.

★ "They're not just tired, Poppy. They're exhausted. Just look at them! They need time to recover." Even though Poppy doesn't like it, she can't do much to go against him. And there is no denying that they all could use a break.

★ When the Player roams the Safe Haven, they sometimes forget what they were doing. They might start searching for Doey but get distracted by the toys, losing track of their goal. Then start doing something they did as an employee.

★ You fret over the small toys, all of them are so dirty! Despite everything that's happened, you're still incredibly gentle with them. Carefully wiping down the hard plastic surfaces and bushing out fur.

★ Doey really appreciates it when you try to tidy up the Safe Haven, he can never find the time to clean. Chances are you don't remember doing it. But it's appreciated nonetheless.

★ Occasionally, you have moments of clarity where you tell him about wanting to go home. Reflecting on what got you into this mess. These moments break him. He knows what that feels like. All of them do.