#will never stop tagging him like that from now on that's his legal name in my heart

[misfitwizardry]

Come play with me in this space (M!ik Ch.367 spoilers)

He's not wrong, is the thing!

Iruma has shown time and time again that he is not only willing but actively invested in changing the lives of the demons around him. While we as the audience know that he has only the best of intentions, we can't deny that he is changing the netherworld and it's culture to his whims.

He is a threat to the current netherworld.

(Funny how that's exactly what we were told the demon king does, huh?)

But I think it's specially telling that it is Narnia, who we know is a "return to origins" supporter, who is so opposed to Iruma's entire existence in the netherworld.

Iruma, who is so in love with the demon realm but is also an outsider and so can see the faults in it and also act on them, is very much the embodiment of progress in the netherworld.

"It's just the way things are" or "That's how things should be" doesn't work on Iruma.

But that's exactly what "return to origins" is.

All of the current members of the "return to origins gang" have one thing in common, and that is that they hate the current demon realm. They want things to go back to how they were. They are stuck on an idealized vision of the past.

And that's all the current power struggle in the demon realm is about.

It's a conflict of the future vs the past.

[aurorawritestoescape]

HALLOWEEN NIGHT

Stepdad Joel Miller x f!reader || 500 words

Summary: you’re about to leave home for a Halloween party but your stepdad has other ideas.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, dub con but reader’s into it, legal age gap, perv!Joel, infidelity, unprotected piv (wrap it up), degradation, slutshaming, praise kink, daddy kink, swearing.

A/n: a brief and unexpected (for me too lol) visit from stepdad Joel. He won’t let me go I guess🫠 Happy Halloween, sluts (affectionate)🎃💕 dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more stepdad Joel

You’re hurrying down the stairs, wearing your Halloween costume - a top, a mini skirt with a tail and cute cat ears. Almost out of the door you hear your stepdad call your name from the living room.

“What?” you ask, peeking into the room.

He looks you up and down, brows furrowed.

“C’mere.”

“What?” You repeat, getting annoyed. “I’m late.”

You know it’ll take longer to argue with him so you do what you’ve been told.

He’s sitting on the couch and when you step up to him he leans forward and plants the elbows on his knees.

Your stepdad’s dark eyes slide over your figure and he takes a sharp breath.

“Lookin’ like a damn slut. As always.”

“It’s Halloween, Joel,” you grumble, rolling your eyes at the man.

“Seems like ya celebrate it every day, sweetheart,” he mumbles as his hand darts to his crotch and he starts palming it. You glare at him but already feel the tingling between your legs. He looks so hot wearing his white undershirt and worn out gray sweatpants.

When Joel’s free hand wraps around the back of your thigh you softly gasp and try to step back but he holds you in place.

“Shhh, little kitty, ‘s jus’ daddy.”

“Joel,” you plea, your mind screaming for him to stop while your body demands for him to continue.

“Gonna have fun tonight?” His hand slides up and up until it snakes under your skirt.

Your heartbeat is booming in your throat. You’re scared that your mom will catch you two but at the same time you’re trembling with arousal.

“Mmm— I — I don’t know,” your voice is shaky. “My friends are waiting in the car.”

“Hmm, what kinda friends?” You feel Joel’s warm fingers graze your ass and softly pinch your cheek. He’s looking up at you, his eyes obsidian.

“Just my girls.”

You’re barely breathing at this point.

The pads of his thick digits push between your cheeks and he massages your pussy folds through your thin panties from behind. You wonder if he feels how wet you’re. For him. For your stepdad. Oh god!

“Hngg — your girls’ll have to wait.”

His hand leaves your pussy and he leans back on the couch.

“Ya gonna ride this dick now. Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up soon. 5 minutes tops,” he’s telling you this as his hand pulls the waistband of his sweatpants down and he frees his hard cock. How the hell is he already hard?!

You open your mouth to protest, to reason with him, to tell him you don’t have time, that your mom, napping upstairs, can wake up any moment but his cock—

his gorgeous, stiff, leaking cock—

calling to you— Your pussy wants it—needs it.

You sigh and pull your skirt up before straddling Joel’s hips.

Your hand wraps around his girthy base and you line up his fat tip with your little hole. You’re soaking wet and your cunt is sinking down on it, easily taking his massive cock, while your eyes are locked. Your stepdad moans, his lids heavy with pleasure, before a smirk tugs at his lips and he mumbles,

“Happy Halloween—my little slut.”

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

MASTERLIST || more stepdad Joel

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

Stepdad Joel tag @megangovier @she-could-never

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Calling Your Name - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This one’s very sad, and very horny. I’m pregaming for Chapter 21. Title from I Don't Want to Live Forever by Taylor Swift and Zayn Malik.

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary/Warnings: Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. Usual warnings, with extra emphasis on smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, angst, smut

The last birthday Ben had celebrated was his 68th. Big fucking party, with lions and champagne, where women who Ben couldn’t remember the names of had thrown themselves at him, and men he’d never met in his life had congratulated him on turing 27.

It had been his eighteenth 27th birthday party. In another twelve years, he'd be 28. 

The event had cost a small fortune. Likely the GDP of one of those tiny fucking European countries that had been forming as the Soviet Union fell apart. Vought had rented him a castle—Ben hadn’t even known America had castles—and flown thousands of people Ben didn’t like out to celebrate.

Today he was 106, and alone in a haunted apartment as Her voice in his head called him old.

Did you take your meds this morning, grandpa?

No. Mallory still won’t just fucking give me drugs.

He could picture Her teasing pout. Woe is you, Pretty Boy. 106 and nobody to buy you cocaine.

He sighed into the empty room, and a small part of him still hoped she’d just appear. She’d walk out of the bedroom door or in from the hall, and she'd throw herself into Ben’s arms. She'd call him a grumpy cunt, and he’d get to kiss Her until she moaned and pleaded, and tell her he loved her. Maybe she’d get on her knees, or let Ben fuck her right here on the sofa. She’d smile at him. She taunt him and ask if Social Security had an expiration date, but she’d be smiling at Ben the whole time so he’d just scoff and let her.

She hadn’t told Ben her own birthday. He’d asked, once, all the way back in the safe housem, and She’d laughed. Told him she stopped celebrating her birthday when Homelander kidnapped her. 

“It loses the magic, Pretty Boy.” Her voice had been amused and bored, but there had been something hollow in Her eyes. “Being legally dead makes birthdays seem kind of pointless.”

He’d dropped it then. Now he wished he hadn’t. Ben wanted to know so that he could be a pain in everyone’s ass about it. He’d make them throw a party, and someone would provide a cake—homemade, chocolate, with a disgusting amount of frosting and ice cream just in case She hated cake—and everyone would sing that stupid birthday song in a voice worse than Hers until She felt loved. 

He’d make sure she felt loved. Ben would buy her a gift—he wasn’t sure what, but he’d figure it out—and it would make her feel seen. Then he’d stand silently behind Her while everyone celebrated how fucking perfect she was, and cut the cake so he could make sure she got the largest piece. 

Then he’d fuck Her. He’d carry her home, into this same apartment, and up the stairs into the bed so he could fuck Her. Romantically. If Ben got to do this, it would have to be romantic. In this perfect world he was creating for himself, they’d been fucking for a while now and he’d already told Her he loved her, so he’d know all the things she likes in bed, and which of them made Her come apart the fastest. Ben would be able to use that knowledge to throughly wreck Her—turn her into a sweaty, moaning work of art below him—and remind her that he loved Her the whole time.

That was what he wanted for his birthday. Her, home, in Ben’s arms so he could fuck her and tell her he loved her. So he could get some proper fucking rest tonight, and wake up with Her at his side. So everything could finally be good again.

He didn’t have a cake. He hadn’t told anyone it was his birthday, because it didn’t really fucking feel important. They had work to do, and no one on the team was going to jump out of their chair to celebrate one of Ben’s infinite birthdays. So he grabbed a candle from the cabinet—Balsam and Cedar, Her surprisingly aggressive purchase—went to light it, and realized they didn’t actually own a lighter. She was a walking lighter, so neither of them had bothered to purchase one.

It was almost midnight. This dogshit fucking day—where he’d eaten dinner with the team and combed through Vought records and tried not to think about how She was here, wasn’t home—had been the same as yesterday. Would be the same as tomorrow. All the days would be the fucking same, numb, thoughtless shit until She was home.

She’d tell Ben her birthday when she got home. He’d figure out a way to get Her to tell him. He wouldn’t be able to trick it out of her the way she was always somehow getting Ben to say what she wanted him to. If he asked, she’d ignore him or tell him to shut the fuck up.

He could fuck it out of Her. That was the only field between them where Ben seemed to have the slightest advantage. She wasn’t as fucking excellent at hiding how much she wanted Ben as he was at hiding how much he wanted Her. But he had months of practice. Weeks and weeks in the safe house of fucking his hand to the thought of Her without her catching on. And every time Ben had touched her she’d whimpered his name and fallen apart and fucking begged, so that’s how he’d figure out Her birthday. He’d make her cum on his face once—just because he wanted to—then he’d fuck Her into the mattress until Her perfect, insane, brilliant fucking brain was empty and she was molding into Ben’s body.

He’d lean down, lips against Her ears, and hiss the question.

“When’s your birthday.”

She wouldn’t answer immediately. She’d just moan and stare at him with lust-blown, pretty eyes. So Ben would pull all the way out of Her until she whined, and slam back in hard enough to break the bed before asking again.

“Tell me your birthday, beautiful, or you don’t get to fucking cum.”

It would be a bluff. She was a goddamn force of nature when she came, and Ben wasn’t strong enough to deprive himself of watching Her lips part and head throw back, feel Her back arch off the bed and her cunt squeeze around his cock like it had before on his fingers, hear Her scream his name. Maybe She’d squirt. Ben had felt how fucking wet she could get, maybe if he fucked her right, She’d squirt.

And She’d call the bluff. Even in the haze of Ben’s  body over hers, between moans and begs, she’d call him on his shit.

“Fuck,” she whimpered when he repeated that same move again. “Fuck you, Ben-“

“Birthday.”

It would take a while, likely several minutes of that exact dance, but he’d get it. Ben would lean down to Her mouth and kiss Her, sloppy and deep, fucking her faster, and tell Her he loved her. 

Then She'd tell him, and cum.

This was a foolproof fucking plan. Ben was a goddamn genius.

Maybe I don’t have a birthday, Benjamin. Have you considered that?

Everyone has a fucking birthday.

Well, what’s yours?

Ben frowned into the air. She was a figment of his imagination, she should know his birthday. Today.

Oh. The room was silent for a second. I forgot, I guess. Sorry. 

Don’t apologize. If you want to do something for me, come home.

It wasn’t really worth saying. This wasn’t Her, and even if it said, of course, Pretty Boy. For your birthday. The real her would still be across the river at Vought tower. And Ben had to be okay with that.

I want to. You know I want to, but I can’t. I miss you and love you, Ben, more than anything, but I can’t come home.

He sighed. I miss you and love you too.

Stop saying that-

Shut the fuck up. If you’re allowed to say you love me, I can say it back.

But-

No. It’s my birthday, no telling me I can’t say that I love you on my birthday.

Silence, then okay. For your birthday. Old man.

I love you, brat.

I love you too, Benjamin. Happy birthday.

End Note: I made Ben a Taurus, and I stand by that.

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

[nectardaddy]

AISLE ONE . . . DRY HEAVE

WHAT'S PLAYING ? ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| dry heave, tiger really || “maybe I'll never be the person that I // swore I'd give my everything to be // forever dumb and awkward skinny lonely // wasting time and drowning in my dreams”

masterlist

The man let out a sigh when his hand met with the handle of the front door. Embarrassing, he thought to himself just before pulling and swinging it open. He was immediately hit with the cool air from inside, prickling at his skin as he stepped in and the door shut behind him. Brown eyes flickered over the store - he had to squint just enough to see the far end of the building, his left eye being far worse than his right (a freak accident that left his vision blurry and skewed) - and he scanned over aisles and aisles of snacks, drinks, and junk before his eyes stopped at the man who sat behind the counter. 

The man was slightly older, at least in his mid-thirties, heavily tattooed, and propped against the counter on his elbow scrolling through his phone. A scowl seemed to be permanent on his features, a resting expression although nothing was going on; Ino swallowed hard as he came to the conclusion that the only person to ask about employment looked like he might rip his throat out.

He took a silent breath as he neared the counter, and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “You're hiring, right?” The man couldn't deny how stupid he felt, or how humbling the entire experience was as he stopped at the counter and paused. No uniform, as the man behind the register wore casual clothing, but a name tag that read ‘Sukuna' in scrawled handwriting on his shirt.

“That's what the door says, isn't it?” A curt reply from the man, supposedly named Sukuna, beyond the stained, wooden counter. Not even looking up from the small screen in his hand as Ino watched him scroll once more. “You a felon?” 

“What?”

The man looked up from his phone with a groan and suddenly the brunette felt minute. Small and unimportant as the other sized him up with a grimace, “have you been to prison?” Asked in a way that was almost demeaning, pronouncing each word with a bite that was meant to cause harm. 

“No.” 

“That's a first.” Sukuna rolled his eyes, “you do drugs?” 

“No.” Takuma truly didn’t know if it was wise to lie to the man, who was all too much bigger than him. On the other hand, it wasn't the smartest decision to be honest either; the truth was, he did way too many drugs, but that would entangle him in legal trouble if he were to actually admit it.

“Jeez- you're fucking boring at parties, aren't you?” 

What the fuck? He couldn't help but be taken back by the nonchalant, brash attitude; and he stared a moment before he shook his head. “Can I just get an application?” 

“We don't do those here,” Sukuna shrugged. “I'll tell Yaga you want a job, and congrats you got it.” 

“So I don't have to do anything?” 

“Do I need to speak up? You got the job, Mr. Boring, come back tomorrow ‘same time, Yaga should be here.” 

The entire interaction left him with more questions than answers; but he feared to ask anymore due to the annoyed expression painted on the other's face. Instead he simply nodded, “sounds good, thanks.” To which the other only hummed and flickered his eyes back down to his phone. 

As he turned to leave, the small chime of the front door bell hit his ears - a cheaply placed bell on the door frame that sounded every time the door was swung open. At the small toll, brown eyes glued themselves to the dirty, tiled floor as he started to make his way back to the exit; but Sukuna let out a loud groan upon seeing who entered. “You're two hours late!” A bark of a complaint that made the man's shoulders drop. The store was run down, dirty, and only offered strange selections rather than the normal; and now he knew that at least one person who worked there was a complete, and utter jackass - a coworker starting tomorrow. 

“Now we're even, dipshit,” the voice called back. But he took a sharp inhale at the sound, an eerily familiar one he knew to a tee, strong and brash, a cadence and tone that made his knees wobble. He was all too aware of who the voice belonged to, though he simply didn’t want to believe it. A voice that he used to hear every day, one of which would tease and prod with an err of endearment - a voice he hadn’t heard in two years. “You left me here three hours past my shift the other day.” 

The brunette's steps faltered as the voice was closer to him; and for a moment he thought about dipping behind another aisle as he heard her steps near him. But he didn't. Instead, he kept his head down and continued on, and hoped that the moment would pass just as she would. But it didn’t. Against his better judgment, and against his own racing thoughts his eyes flickered up, and he felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach once he did. He truly didn’t mean to lock eyes with her; if anything, he didn’t want to be perceived by her at all. 

If he felt small before, he felt like nothing now. 

It was a fraction of a second that seemed to pass in slow motion, like the world stopped spinning right then and there. It was as if he was sent straight back to high school when she looked at him; an influx of memories hitting him all at once that made him nauseous. It had been two years since he last saw her; her eyes were filled with tears then, and now they were filled with white, hot anger. He saw her brows scrunch in confusion just before her eyes widened, and watched as the realization set in on her features and switched to detestation. 

An overwhelming feeling of dread struck him in the chest, a suffocating emotion that forced him to avert his eyes back to the ground once more. Not a word was exchanged between them, but there was no need - the look of disgust would be permanently etched into his brain. Only a few feet away from the door, his face became hot and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. When his hand met with the door handle a wave of relief washed over him; although, he wished he hadn’t heard the beginning of what he imagined would be a grueling conversation.

“You knew who that was?” 

“Unfortunately, yeah. I used to go to high school with him.”

“Fuck, that’s rough, because guess who’s your new coworker?” 

“Like hell he's working with me, I'd rather swallow glass.” 

⋆˙ pins and patches at the top are ones that yn wears on her jackets! 

⋆˙ there's a lot of history between ino and yn that we WILL dive into. just know that she doesn't necessarily hate him, but she definitely doesn't like him at the moment. and yes, there is a reason that he stopped talking to her.

⋆˙ ino is a big dumb loser boy <3

⋆˙ yn is about to have the best fight of her life after work. hakari and kirara are over the moon!!

⋆˙ yn does art too, remember that

taglist (open, send an ask)

@tomurafrlover23 @kr1nqu @popchrries @stillnotherapy @creamflix  

@nekozaki @gigiiiiislife @tomikixd @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @vorfreudevortex

@kameyyy @solaqes @nazwrites-2002 @aldebrana @sandwhitches

[vodika-vibes]

A Marriage Of Convenience

Summary: You and Kix have been friends for years, since near the start of the war to be more precise. So, when you ask him to marry you, in the hopes that a legal wedding would finally give him and his brothers the rights that they deserve, he jumped at the chance. It worked. And now, four years later, with the war over, you’re still happily married to your best friend.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 1298

Warnings: Some miscommunication

Tagging: @bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98 @Mira-Loves-Star-Wars @tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar @trixie2023 @kimiheartblade @padawancat97 @falconfeather23435

@etod @n0vqni

A/N: So this whole idea was born from the many asks I got on Saturday about this very topic. Also, I'm feeling much better, it seems like my fever finally broke late last night. Maybe. I haven't actually checked, lol.

Kix wakes slowly, taking his time to fight off the claws of sleep that want to drag him back into dreamland.

Not that there’s any reason for him to be awake, he’s not a soldier anymore and the clinic is closed today, so he could sleep in if he wanted to. But, even now, years after the war sleeping in feels wrong to him. 

So he lays in bed and blinks hazily at the ceiling, waiting to wake up enough that he’s able to roll over and look at his comm to make sure none of his brothers did something stupid last night.

Kix is about to roll out of bed, intent on starting his normal routine— an hour-long run, and then showering before making breakfast— when he hears a groan from next to him. 

His riduur is slowly waking up, and he can’t stop the smile that crosses his face at the sight of her lying there. Her hair is a mess, sticking up in random directions, and curling into her face. 

She blinks at him blearily, “Kix?”

“Good morning, riduur,” He sits up and leans over to brush a curl off her face, only for it to spring right back into place, and he has to muffle his laughter. “Your hair has taken on a life of its own.”

“S’alright,” She mumbles, “It does that sometimes.” She yawns widely, and Kix feels his heart clench. She really is unfairly adorable. Good thing he’s already locked her down and he doesn’t have to worry about anyone stealing her from him.

“You can go back to sleep, riduur,” Kix says lightly as he lightly pushes her hair out of her face so he can see her pretty eyes, “It’s early.”

“You’re awake,” She accuses as she rubs her cheek against his hand.

“I have a thing about sleeping in,” Kix replies, “You know this, cyar’ika.”

She squints at him, “Someday, I’m going to make one of your brothers tell me what those words mean,”

He leans in as if to share a secret, “They’ll never tell you because I’m scarier than you are.”

She pouts at him, and it’s almost enough to make him want to tell her what riduur and cyar’ika and cyare mean. Almost.

“Kix,” She whines his name and it takes all of his willpower to keep breathing, “We should sleep some more.”

“Cyare,” He teases her, “I’m going to go for a run.”

Somehow, her pout becomes more pronounced, “But sleep.”

“I’m not stopping you from sleeping in, cyar’ika.” Kix reassures, “And I’m certainly not going to force you to go on a run with me.”

“Good. If you did I’d ask for a divorce.”

“Ouch.” Kix replies with a laugh, “No need to worry, riduur, I know you’re allergic to running.”

“I’m only going to run if someone is chasing me,” She yawns again and buries her face in her pillow, her gaze locked on his face.

“Good to know.” Kix watches her watching him, and he raises a single brow, “Why are you staring?”

She grins at him and sits up suddenly, flinging her arms around his neck and knocking him back onto the bed.

It’s so surprising that a startled laugh falls from him, “Riduur—”

She buries her face in his neck and drapes one of her legs across his hips, her arms tightening around him, “There. Now we sleep.” Her breath is warm against his neck and Kix shivers, unable to help himself.

Slowly his arms wrap around her, one of his hands tangling in her hair, while the other slowly strokes her back, “Someone’s clingy this morning.” He murmurs in her ear.

“I’m clingy every morning,” She replies as she rubs her nose against his neck, “You just normally get up before I can be clingy.”

Kix hums thoughtfully and then shifts his head so that his nose is pressed into her hair. She smells citrusy, a mix of her shampoo, body wash, and the lotion she prefers. It’s a scent that he’s come to associate with her and with safety.

It’s a scent he’s come to associate with love. His love for her, to be more specific.

Kix doesn’t say anything for a moment, and he’s almost positive that she’s fallen back to sleep while half lying on him, until her fingers curl into the thin material of the shirt he wears to bed.

“What’s up, cyare?” Kix asks as he glances down to try and see her face.

She shifts so that her face isn’t buried in his neck, and the expression on her face isn’t one he’s ever seen before. It’s soft and warm and makes goosebumps spread across his entire body.

“Kix,” His name is a sigh on her lips and his arms tighten around her, pulling a startled squeak from her. A smile spreads across her face and she shifts so she’s able to press her hand against his cheek.

Kix closes his eyes and leans into her touch.

“I’ve been thinking,” She murmurs.

“About?” She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Kix opens his eyes to look at her, her expression has become slightly wistful as she gazes up at him, “Cyare?”

“This whole thing started as a way to get you all rights,” She murmurs, “And it worked. You’re all legal citizens of the Republic.” She pauses her thumb lightly trailing against his jaw, “If…if you wanted a divorce,” She says quietly, “So you can find someone you actually love—”

“Stop.” Kix interrupts and she immediately falls silent. He slowly moves his hands to cup her face, “I want you. Only you.”

She blinks at him, and then she huffs, “You don’t love me, Kix—”

“Says who?”

She blinks at him dumbly, “What?”

“Who says I don’t love you?”

“...General Skywalker said that the marriage was—”

“I haven’t spoken to Skywalker since the war ended. How would he know?” Kix points out.

She blinks at him again.

Kix sighs, “Listen to me, riduur. Are you listening?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you. I’ve loved you for ages. And it’s fine if you don’t feel the same way. I’m happy with how we are. I absolutely do not want a divorce.”

“...you don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

She shifts slightly so that she’s lying on top of him, her gaze scanning his face as if trying to determine if he’s lying to her or not. And then she releases a soft sigh and she leans in to press her forehead against his, “You love me?”

Kix smiles at her, “You single-handedly won rights for me and my brothers. How could I not love you?”

“Not single-handedly.”

“Close enough.” He counters dismissively.

A soft laugh falls from her lips, and Kix can’t help the small grin that crosses his face at the sound. 

And then, quickly, she presses her lips against his.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed since their wedding day and Kix immediately leans into the kiss, allowing her to set the pace. And when she breaks the kiss, she looks flustered and she won’t meet his gaze.

It takes him a few moments to reset his brain and his grin is broad, “Does this mean that all talks of divorce are off the table?”

She shifts and presses her face against his throat, but he feels her nod.

“Good.” Kix tightens his arms around her and adjusts her so that she’s lying on the bed again. “I suppose I little early morning cuddling would be good for us.”

She peeks up at him, a small grin playing on her lips.

Later he’ll comm Rex and get him to find out what, exactly, Skywalker said to his perfect riduur, but for now, she deserves all of his attention. And she’s going to get it.

[scuttling]

Flicker in the Dark - Jacob Black/Reader

Fandom: Twilight Saga Pairings: Jacob Black/Female Reader Word Count: 12,598 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Pining, Unprotected sex, Slightly aged up (Jacob is 20), Fix it fic Summary: My take on New Moon, if all of the characters were a bit more mature and Jacob got his girl. A/N: This is a third-person story that pairs Jacob with a girl who isn't Bella but who fills her role in the story; Bella doesn't exist in this universe because I find she's not as interesting to write as an original character, for me personally. The character has no name and no physical description, so treat her as an OC or a "reader," your choice there. :)

Keep reading below or link to AO3!

Bringing the idea of fixing the bikes to Jacob was the best thing she’s ever done: the best, and one of the dumbest, by far. 

They both have adult obligations now—she has class, and a part-time job, which are thankfully both online, and Jake works full time—so when the stars align and they’re free at the same time, they spend every moment in his garage like a couple of bored kids. They listen to music on his dad’s old radio, eat pizza and tacos standing up much more often than they should; Jacob isn’t twenty-one just yet, but they’re on the rez, so they sip beers sometimes, especially on the rare warm days where the sun shines into the garage and sweat prickles at their hairlines. 

He’s taller at twenty than he was when he was younger, broader and more filled out, like he’d said back on her birthday; she notices, sometimes, things like the tightness of his t-shirts stretched across his back, the way his jeans fit just, extraordinarily well. Those kinds of things you can’t help but notice, even if you’re emotionally, physically, and mentally unavailable, the way she is. 

He pokes fun at her age—forever a sore spot, especially when Edward is and will be twenty-two forever—but she catches him noticing her, too, sometimes, so she’s not a total embarrassment at least.

It doesn’t happen right away, like magic or anything, but hanging out in his garage does make her feel better; he makes her feel better, if she’s being honest with herself. He quiets the chatter in her brain, the anxiety, the self-doubt, and she smiles more when she’s with him, laughs more, gets out of her own head. She’s happier when she’s with him, too, bikes or no bikes—though the roar of the restored motorcycle engine certainly doesn’t hurt—and he’s good for her, there’s no denying that.

She remembers her dad’s advice, even more meaningful now that she’s moved out of his house and living on her own—sometimes, you gotta learn to love what’s good for you—and she even thinks she could, some days. 

That’s easy enough to say to herself, but so, so much harder in practice. She can tell Jacob is… interested, when they go to the movies, with the way he lays his hand on the armrest, palm up, in case she wants to hold it. Part of her wants to, really wants to; part just thinks about Edward and she clams up, can’t do it. She feels guilty, like she’s doing something wrong, even though he left her and not the other way around. 

She still loves him, will always love him, but Edward made his choice; she just wishes she felt free enough to make her own.

She feels guilty when they ride, too, because the one thing he’d asked of her was not to be reckless, and now she goes out of her way to find a rush wherever she can. Anything legal, be it motorcycles, rock climbing, running, skydiving, really, really big roller coasters—you name it, she’s done it, and though none of it ever worked as well as she’d hoped it would, she never stops trying. 

She knows better than to give herself over to things like drugs or binge drinking or meaningless one-night stands, but aside from that the limits to what she will try are almost non-existent. She loves the thrill of it all, loves feeling brave, feeling strong; In the end, she may wind up with a few cuts and bruises, but as long as she’s hurting no one but herself, she doesn’t feel too bad.

When she hurts Jacob, she feels awful, terrible, and she does hurt him—he’s so hurt for a while that he doesn’t want to see her, doesn’t even return her calls. She feels weak for the first time in a long time, like if she’d just been able to be what he wanted, to hold his hand, to kiss him, to get over herself, they both would have been happier. Now she just feels sad, and selfish, hurting the one person who has always been there for her, who’s always eased her pain.

She wants to respect his space, can’t bear the thought of hurting him more than she already has, but her anxiety gets the better of her; no amount of kickboxing or rock climbing has been able to take her mind off of him since that night at the movies, when he left in such a hurry. Even Edward has shifted to the back of her mind, though she has no idea when exactly that happened.

So she goes to him. Against his wishes. In the pouring rain. 

She’s so, so stupid.

He’s so, so shredded, even more so than usual; it’s the first thing she notices only because he’s soaking wet and shirtless and that makes it pretty obvious. The second thing she notices is his hair, no longer long and pulled back with a cord of leather, but cropped short, though inky black as always. The third thing she notices is the tattoo, a large, tribal design on his shoulder that looks well-healed even though she saw him less than a week ago.

She catalogs all of that, and then she remembers he’s avoiding her and that she’s here to ask for forgiveness (she’s willing to beg, but it’s sort of a last resort.)

She calls his name, but he doesn’t turn around at first, not until she’s right in front of him, fists balled angrily at her sides.  

“Jacob, I’m sorry… I’m sorry about the movie. Can we talk about it?” He huffs an unamused laugh, takes half a step closer; that kind of thing used to be playful, but now it seems almost menacing, between the muscles and the tattoo and the deepening frown on his face. 

“This isn’t about that. You–you need to leave. Now.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument… but then again, that’s never stopped her before. She steps closer too, more of a challenge than anything.

“Well if it’s not about that, what is it? What happened?” He turns away as if to leave and she reaches for him, fingers latching onto his wrist. She knows right away that when she tugs, and he turns, it’s because he let it happen; there’s no way anyone could force him to do anything now, not with how big he is, how strong, how solid beneath her hand. “Is it Sam? Did he get to you too?” 

“I was wrong about Sam. He’s helping me through it—just like he helped the others,” he says, but it sounds odd to her ears. If something was wrong, if he’d needed help, he would have come to her… right? “I can’t do this right now—you have to go. Please go.” 

Before, he was stern, but this time he’s pleading for her to leave, and that’s just not Jacob—they’d hash it out before he cut her off without so much as a word, instead of ghosting her and making his father lie for him and keeping secrets with Sam Uley.

“Jake,” she pleads too, but instead of tightening her grip on his wrist she brings her hand up to the nape of his neck, to brush through the short hair that lays there, drenched in rainwater. “Please don’t do this to me.” 

He closes his eyes like it pains him, and it very well might; she knows the similarities to the night Edward left are becoming almost too much for her to bear. 

Maybe that’s why she came here, after all, because she could, because at least she still knew where she could find him. Because even if he didn’t want to talk to her, at least she’d know he was okay. 

“I’m not doing this to you, I’m doing it for you. I’m not who you thought I was, I’m not good for you. You can’t be around me anymore.” 

Fuck that, she thinks immediately, because she is so absolutely tired of people telling her what she can and can’t do, what she’s strong enough for, what’s safe. 

She doesn’t want safe. All she wants is Jacob. 

“I decide what’s good for me; I decide,” she says, voice raised and rough, jabbing a finger in his direction, and he grabs both of her forearms and holds them between them. He looks like he wants to shake her, he’s so frustrated, but his grip isn’t tight. “You think you’re going to hurt me, or something? Because look at us, Jake.” Her gaze moves to his hands on her, holding her still but doing it gently, carefully. “It’s okay. You won’t hurt me, I know it.” 

He drops her arms like she’s burned him, like he didn’t even realize he was holding them, and takes two steps back, away from her.

“You’re right, I won’t—because you can’t ever come here again.” 

He turns and runs to Sam and the other guys, leaving her standing in the rain, soaked and alone, her stomach in knots. The chatter is back, the self-doubt, louder than ever now; if they could both do this, both leave her so easily, would she ever be enough for anyone?

She’s not sitting around her house moping about this, not again. She did that with Edward and it got her absolutely nowhere, so this time she resolves to just skip to the front of the line. She packs a bag for the trail and goes hiking, plans to take a long path deep into the woods, away from the bear attacks or whatever’s going on out there. Her dad would have her head if she walked headfirst into danger, and she knows better, anyway, isn’t going to actually risk her life just to get Rocky Mountain high. 

She hadn’t planned on risking her life, anyway, but how was she to know the formerly peaceful Laurent was back in Forks, red eyes and all, and that he was working with Victoria? That wasn’t on her supernatural drama bingo card, that’s for damn sure. 

She listens to him do the villain rambling for a moment, but irritation wins out over fear and she loses her temper, slips up and says that Edward is gone and he’s not coming back, and if he wants to kill her, well no one’s stopping him! 

He looks amused by her outburst, but the smile melts off of his face when an enormous black wolf steps out of the trees, followed by several others of all shades, shapes, sizes. She doesn’t get a chance to count them, just runs like hell in the other direction, but when she risks a look back they are going after Laurent with a precision she wouldn’t expect from wild animals just looking for dinner. 

She tells no one about the wolves—who would believe her anyway?—just runs back to her truck until she’s breathless, goes home and takes a steaming hot shower to rinse away the cold clamminess of his touch. She makes a cup of tea and changes into a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, then parks herself on the couch with her laptop for the rest of the night. 

Until the knock at the door that comes around 1 AM. 

It’s Jacob, and she’s so happy to see him that she forgets all about her day up until that point and wraps her arms around him, hugs him where he stands in the doorway. He hugs back, thank god, his embrace tight and warm and comforting, and then she ushers him in, offers to make more tea while they talk. 

“About the other day,” she begins, filling the electric kettle with water and plugging it in, but he cuts her off, panicked. 

“I wish I could explain,” he says, and he’s almost got those puppy dog eyes that always get him his way; he doesn’t even do it on purpose, just looks like that, and it’s incredibly hard to resist. “But I literally can’t.” 

“No, I know, I… I mean, I think I know.” She has a box of tea in her hand and she’s gesturing a bit wildly with it, so she sets it on the counter, walks closer to him, so there’s about a foot of space between them. “First rule of fight club is you can’t talk about fight club—wait, it’s not an actual fight club, right? Because you’d dominate.” 

He laughs, a real one, with his head thrown back, and she all but grins. There he is. Her Jacob. 

“No, it’s not a fight club, but you’re right. I can’t talk about it, I can’t tell you anything.” His tone of voice hurts her, because it’s clear this is something he wants, needs to share; she moves closer, eyes on his.

“And what if I guess? Is that against the rules?” He shakes his head fervently, rests his palm on the counter beside him.

“No, no—in fact, that’s exactly what I need you to do. Sam can’t stop you, and I know you, you’re smart, won’t stop until you figure it out.”  He reaches out with his other hand, tentatively, and links their fingers together like he did at the movies; when he brings their hands up to his chest, this time, she doesn’t pull away. “It would be so much easier if you knew.”

His face is so soft but so serious, his brow furrowed, and she squeezes his hand.

“I’m going to feel really silly if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. I’ve been working on it all night.” With her free hand, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, shows him the same screen she has up on her laptop in the other room. It’s a list of all the facts she has, her own speculation, and finally, in size 42 font, one very important eight-letter word. “You said before that Sam was collecting disciples—a pack of them, Jacob, right?” 

“Yes. Fuck,” he breathes, and though she’s heard him say it in the garage many times, this one is special because it means she’s right. He slides down to a seat on the tile floor, looks so relieved it makes her chest feel tight, and she kneels in front of him, hands on his bare shoulders. 

“You’re a werewolf, Jake, just like the legend—your tribe is descended from wolves. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

He doesn’t say a word, and at first she’s afraid she is incorrect, but then he reaches out and pulls her close, crushes her to his body. He breathes hard into her hair, holds her tightly, and she can’t help it, she cries, hot tears leaving tracks down her cheeks.

He brings his hands there after a moment, wipes the tears away with his thumbs, then holds her face like she’s something precious, lips turning up into a half-smile.

“Thank you. I knew you could do it.” He tips forward, presses their foreheads together, moves his hands to her waist. “You don’t know how badly I wanted you to know.”

“Oh, Jake. I’m sorry—I should have caught on faster. It’s obvious, when you put everything together, when you… You know. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen.” He nods his head and swallows, presses his fingertips into her side. She shifts closer, or he does, maybe they both do, so their breath mixes between them, soft and warm.

“It’s okay, you’re here now. You’re here, it's okay,” he repeats, and she pushes fingers through his hair, softer now that it’s dry. 

“I’m here, and I don’t have to stay away.”

They don’t quite kiss, because she’s still nervous, maybe even more so now—they were so close to being separated, and now that he’s back in her life, in her house, she doesn’t want to risk breaking this delicate, fragile thing between them. His mouth just brushes over hers, more a swipe than a press of lips, and she turns her head so the rest of it catches her cheek instead. 

He sighs, but he’s not upset, and he lifts a hand to smooth through her hair before dropping it altogether. 

“I should go,” he says, but she can’t bear the thought of losing him again already. She stands when he does, takes his hand the way he did before. 

“Can you stay the night? Please?” She squeezes his fingers, tries her hand at her own version of those sad puppy eyes. “I understand if you can’t, but I’d feel… I want you to,” she’s clear to say, and eventually, he nods. 

She makes up a bed for him on the sofa, intends to head upstairs when he’s comfortable; she doesn’t know what stops her, but she stretches out on the other end of the couch instead and they put on a movie, something black and white, volume low. She couldn’t say for sure who’s the first to fall asleep.

She’s the first to wake up, so she takes a quick shower, does some work, brews some coffee. He’ll probably head out the moment his feet hit the floor, so she prepares herself for that—she just hopes that the rest of his pack knows he’s there, that they aren’t worried, or frantically searching the preserve for signs of him like she would be. 

She asks him that when he pads into the kitchen an hour later, eyes sleepy, bedhead evident, and he pours a cup of coffee and sits across from her at the table. 

“Nah, they knew I was coming,” he assures with a sip. “They know by now that if they can’t find me, I’m probably here with you.” That makes her smile, though she looks down into her mug and tries not to show it. He takes a few more quick gulps despite the temperature and sets down his empty cup with a smack of his lips. “Speaking of the pack, I think you should meet them. We gather at Emily’s—that’s Sam’s fiancee—sometimes, and they’ll be there today.”

“Will they be angry that I figured it out?” she asks, genuinely curious. She wants to meet them, wants to know more about the group of guys Jacob is now supernaturally entangled with, but she’s not so sure a house of angry werewolves is somewhere she’s ready to be so soon after her last brush with death. He breathes a laugh and shakes his head. 

“They won’t be angry. They’ll probably be irritated with me, because I couldn’t just let you go…” Their eyes meet, and she thinks of reaching out to touch his hand across the table, though she doesn’t in the end. “But as for you, they’ll probably just be impressed.”

The pack is both impressed by her and slightly irritated with Jacob, but stern glances and eye rolls quickly turn to laughter and playful shoving, as they pile into Emily’s small but cozy kitchen and make introductions around a batch of fresh muffins.

She gets official confirmation on things she’d only read about—like their ability to hear each other’s thoughts when shifted, the accelerated healing, their speed, their power—right from the wolves' mouths, and they learn from her too, everything she knows about vampires like Laurent and Victoria. She doesn’t talk much about the Cullens, mostly because their secrets are not hers to tell, but she can see Jacob’s brain working as she mentions Victoria’s vendetta, as she shows the group the pale, silvery bite mark on her arm. 

“If she’s here, she’s here for me,” she tells them, and Jake tenses, his jaw tight, veins visible, shoots Sam a look that conveys they have a lot to talk about when she’s not around. 

Later, she suggests to Jacob that he take a walk with her, because she can tell how all of those stories have put him on edge. Together they amble slowly toward the beach, close but not touching, and this time she does take his hand, leans in so their forearms brush. 

“It’ll be okay,” she murmurs, tilting her head to look up at him. “You guys are strong, fast. You took down Laurent—I have no doubts you’ll get her too.” 

“Before she hurts you?” he says, staring ahead, voice rough because he’s been mostly silent all day, listening closely to her and taking everything in. “Because if she does…” 

“She won’t. The others are watching her,” she says, hoping like hell that’s still true, “and even if she finds me… I trust you to protect me.” He stops there, on the wet sand, and she turns toward him so she can see his expression, to get a better idea of what’s on his mind. 

“If they come back, I’m not allowed to fight on their land—I’d be breaking the treaty,” he says with a pained look. She understands the words he’s not saying: if they come back, I wouldn’t be able to protect you in your own home.

“They’re not coming back,” she whispers, because she can’t say the words any louder than that, even though they’re true.  “He made his choice, and that’s—that’s okay.” 

“Is it?” Jacob asks, leaning in, and she gets it, gets why; she hasn’t exactly been positive about Edward’s departure, how his choice affected her, took his family away from her too, and now suddenly she’s okay with it?

It isn’t sudden, though, not really. It’s been a gradual acceptance, something she’s been coming to terms with since the day he left. She knows Edward’s decision wasn’t made easily; she knows he didn’t leave because he didn’t love her, but because he loved her so much he put aside his feelings for her and did what he thought was right. 

He went about it all the wrong way, removing every trace of himself from her life, banning his family from communicating with her, taking her choices away, but in the end his heart was in the right place, and she’s found a way to respect that, despite everything. 

Maybe it’s just Jacob. He brought her out of her post-breakup shell, made her smile again, laugh again, feel important and wanted and cared for. Maybe he filled in the cracks of her broken heart so she could use it again, without the need for exhilaration and adrenaline to cover up the pain of what she’s lost; maybe it’s just Jacob, bright like the sun they so seldom see, special and rare and wild. 

“It’s okay,” she assures him, voice steady with her conviction. She raises their conjoined hands and presses her lips to his knuckles, just briefly, before dropping them back to her side. 

Jake nods, accepts her answer, and they walk further along the beach until the sun goes down in a hazy blend of blue and orange and red.

He offers to drive her home, and even though it’s impractical, and she’d usually put up a fight, she wants that extra time with him. Wants to be that close to him. She sits in the middle of the bench seat, neither up against him nor really on the passenger’s side, but close enough for Jake to throw an arm across her shoulders, and they listen to the radio and talk about his pack while cruising down the road. 

“I better go,” he murmurs before she can even unlock her front door, and she tries not to let her face fall; she’d been hoping he’d stay over again, or come inside for a little bit, at least. 

She must fail at controlling her expression, because Jacob smiles softly, like he’s pleased with himself, and leans in, brushing his fingers over the line of her jaw. 

“We’re patrolling tonight—got a vampire to kill. But I’ll call you tomorrow?” 

She nods beneath his touch, and he pulls back and turns to leave, jogging down the street and toward the forest that’ll lead him back to La Push.

He does call the next day, but it’s brief; Victoria’s back, just as Sam expected, so they’re running all night, all day, trying to catch her off guard, taking breaks only to eat and sleep when they absolutely have to. Jacob promises to check in when he can, but after three days with no contact—and a voicemail from her father about locals spotting wolves in the woods—she’s on edge again, less concerned for her own safety, more worried about Jake’s. 

She’s an absolute idiot for doing it—going to the beach, to the tall cliffs that loom over it—but she needs the rush again, doesn’t feel right when it’s just her own troubled voice in her head. She needs to hear the purr of an engine, the hum of a plane, the crashing of pure, white water against rocks… or maybe Jacob’s heartbeat. But the cliffs are the simple option at the moment, and all she can think about until she’s actually there, looking out over the ocean, the gritty scents of sand and salt in her nose. 

She takes several deep, long breaths. That’s the key to these things that bring her so much excitement—using all of her senses, so she’s not just herself but everything around her too. She needs to see the sun on the horizon, taste the spray of seawater and clean, crisp air. She needs to smell the damp earth, touch the frothy bubbles that lap at the shore, hear…

She hears a wolf, actually, howling solemnly in the distance, but doesn’t register the sound until after she’s already jumped. 

The waves are choppier than they’d appeared when she was looking down at them, and it knocks the breath out of her lungs when they crash into her body, pulling her down into the dark vastness of the icy sea. Her arms and legs move instinctively, fighting to bring her back to the surface, but the water is deep and heavy and she’s already so tired of trying. 

She’s so cold all she can feel is cold, her teeth chattering, so even when she hits her head on a boulder and it starts to bleed, she doesn’t realize what’s happened until everything turns black.

She’s warmer, suddenly, that’s all she knows, though the ground beneath her back is rocky and wet, uncomfortable. She thinks maybe it’s a blanket that feels so warm, but quickly realizes it’s Jacob above her, soaked to his bones, a sigh of relief passing his lips. 

“Oh thank god. Can you hear me?” He cradles the back of her head in his palm and helps her sit up, then presses his fingers tenderly to the sore bump beneath her hair. “Your head’s not that bad, but I bet it hurts.” 

“Hmm. Hurts,” she mumbles, her throat raw, temples throbbing. She’s cold and tired and thirsty, but ashamed above all else; maybe she really does need someone making the decisions for her, if this is the kind of stupidity she gets up to when she’s alone. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he answers quickly, and he runs his hands over her arms and legs, her neck, her face, checking for further injury. “I’m just glad you’re alright. The waves are bad today; you could have been swept away.” 

“I didn’t realize that until it was too late,” she admits sheepishly, and when he brings her closer she rests her cheek against his chest, feels tears stinging her already tired eyes. “I’m sorry, Jacob.” 

“It’s okay, I’m here. It’s okay.” His voice is as soft as his hands as they curve around her, holding her against him, and they sit like that for a couple minutes, until Sam runs over and tells him to get her home. 

He drives again, but this time she’s even more grateful, because there’s no way she could have done it herself. She feels so much at once—dumb and scared and childish, but also brave and calm, while somehow her mind races with thoughts of the wolves howling and Jacob’s hands in her hair. Her focus is shot, and even though she’s wrapped in one of Jake’s thick, fleece lined hoodies, she trembles, heavy and cold, as she peers out the passenger side window, watching the trees go by.

“Hundred and eight degrees over here,” Jacob says eventually, with a half smile, and she blinks for a moment before giving in; with a sigh, she scoots closer, wraps an arm around his waist. She can feel the heat of his body even through the layers they wear, and she shivers involuntarily at the pleasant but abrupt change in temperature.

“You still want me this close? Not afraid the bad decisions will rub off onto you?” It’s a joke, a self-deprecating one, and an apology all bundled together. “What I did was stupid, I know. I could have gotten really hurt, and you should have been out there with the pack, with Harry, not saving me.” 

He tilts his head, leans closer so his cheek rests against her hair.

“Well it wasn’t smart, but we all have our moments. And you couldn’t have known about Harry—don’t be too hard on yourself.” A long beat of silence passes, and she turns toward him, pressing her icy nose to his neck with another sigh.

“Mmm. You’re so warm. It must be nice, never getting cold.” 

“It’s a wolf thing,” he says with a shrug, but it’s not, not really, and she can’t let that stand. 

“Maybe, but trust me, it’s a Jacob thing too. You’ve always been warm.” She just sits there, breathes him in, lets him warm her hands and nose, so content she almost doesn’t notice when he pulls up in front of her house.

“This is better. Now that you know about me,” he says, tipping his face down, after he turns off the truck. She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, to try to gauge his intent.

“But?” He swallows hard, looks away for a moment before returning to her face.

“You saw what happened to Emily. Sam got angry, lost it for a split second, and Em was standing too close. He’ll never be able to take that back.” He shakes his head, as if imagining the two of them in the same situation. What he could do to her. What she would think of him. “What if I get mad and I hurt you?” 

“You’re new to this—even if you are a natural,” she says, remembering a comment Embry had made when they’d last spoken. “You’ll learn how to control it, how to read the warning signs, and you’ll either stop yourself from turning or get somewhere safe. We’ll be okay,” she promises, resting her hand soothingly against his neck, and he sighs softly.

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m gonna disappear. Like one day it will be all wolf and no Jake.” He leans in, close enough that their noses just barely brush, and the way he looks down at her is something like… 

Yearning, she thinks to herself after a beat. It’s a powerful emotion, but she’s never seen it look quite so beautiful before. 

“You’re not going to lose yourself. I won’t let that happen.” 

“How?” he asks, bringing a hand up to cover hers, and she wets her lips, shakes her head to clear it; it’s swimming again, in this small space, so very close to him—especially when he’s looking at her like that.

“I’ll tell you all the time… how special you are to me.” She looks up, feels like she’s showing her soul to him, like this incident has stripped her down to bare bones and she’s letting him see her, once and for all. He stares into her eyes for a long moment, then leans in slowly, tentatively, and this time she doesn’t stop herself from meeting him in the middle, from pressing her mouth to his. 

She can actually feel the relief wash over him when she doesn’t reject his kiss, like he’s been tightly coiled and tense and can finally relax because she wants the same things, feels the same way.

She expects his lips to be warm, soft, but he is scorching against her skin, even more so when he moves his hand to her cheek in a gentle caress. With the palm against his hip, she pushes up his t-shirt, gets her fingers on his body, and they both gasp softly into the kiss, deepen it. 

“Jacob,” she sighs when they part for air; he seems okay, if a little shaky, but she feels flushed, eager, almost vibrating with the need to keep kissing him. She wants more, even though her throat burns like the last time his lips touched hers, when he forced the water out of her lungs and saved her life. 

That’s what he does best, her Jacob—like a flicker in the dark, he always pulls her away from the dangers of her own making and brings her back into the light.

“Is this real?” he asks, his breath a ghost on her lips; his other hand, on her lower back, pulls her closer to his body, and she turns her head and kisses the palm resting on her cheek. 

They kiss again, hands a bit less careful, hers sliding up his back, his weaving into her hair to control the tilt of her head. She gives in to it all, lets him set the pace, gripping him like a life preserver and letting his heat warm her from the inside out. She feels like she can’t get possibly close enough, wants to be pressed skin to skin, but she settles for sliding into his lap, ducking her head so she doesn’t hit it on the metal roof of the truck. 

He groans as she twists fingers into his hair, as she pulls him into her and feels the long, hard line of his body against hers. She kisses faster, harder, and he matches her fervor, wraps an arm around her waist and catches her chin with tight fingers. 

They kiss for a long time, and the cabin heats, windows fogging up as they share breath and saliva, as they murmur each other’s names like prayer. Her lips are red and raw when she finally needs to pause, and she rests her head against his chest and listens to the thunderous, wild beating of his heart. 

“Will you stay the night? Please?” she asks, voice a little broken—rough with need, and soreness from nearly drowning, and breathlessness caused by the most intense kiss of her entire life. 

Jacob nods, and he sets her carefully back on the seat, removes the keys from the ignition and climbs out of the truck. She slides out behind him, and he closes the door, takes her hand in his just like she did on the beach.

He locks the front door behind them when they’re finally inside—as if that will stop anyone we need to worry about, she teases with a soft laugh—and she takes the lead, walks up the stairs toward her bedroom with Jacob trailing behind. 

Despite his surreal body heat and the thick, warm sweatshirt he’d given her to wear, she’s still cold down to her bones, and wet like a drowned rat, so she pulls off her shoes and socks and sets them down by the radiator. Jacob watches her every move from a couple steps away, eyes lingering as she shrugs out of his hoodie, then pulls her damp sweater over her head. 

There’s nothing sexy or seductive about it, it’s not a striptease by any means, but he doesn’t look away when she’s down to her bra, and she doesn’t want him to. He bends down to take off his boots, to line them up next to hers, then bridges the distance between them and leans in for a deep, slow kiss. 

It’s not long before they both sink down onto the bed, and her fingers slip open the button of her jeans, then hesitate, wait at the button of his. She looks up at him, and the confirmation is all but written there, in the darkness of his eyes, the swipe of his tongue over his lips, but she needs to be sure. 

“I want you, all of you,” she murmurs, and then she brushes a hand through his hair, leans in to just rest her mouth against his. It’s delicate like the first time, but full of meaning, and he presses up into her kiss. “Do you want this?” 

“I want this. You. All—all of you.” He nods, licks his lips again, eyes softer but no less hungry, and she flicks open the button and kisses him like she did in the truck: hands on his body, in his hair, her breath all his. 

They don’t part, not really, just fall back against the pillows and tug at clothing, pressing kisses to throats and palms. His t-shirt drops to the bedroom floor, then her jeans and underwear, his, and the room is quiet except for the sounds of eager, wet kisses and soft, needy moans. 

She sits up, reaches back to unclasp her bra, and Jacob drags the strap down her shoulder, helps her take it off, leaving it somewhere in the bed; his mouth moves to hers, then down her neck, over her collarbone, and finally caresses each nipple with a gentle reverence that makes her ache all over.  

“You’re still sure?” he asks when she is shaking beneath his touch, strong arms wrapped around her back, and she nods and shifts up into his lap. 

When their lips meet, the kiss is hard, and she curls an arm around his shoulders, weaving a hand into his hair. They’re both panting when she leans up, guides him inside her, and when she sinks down it’s like a flash of tingling heat takes over her entire body. 

Jacob groans, holding her securely, thrusting up as she works her thighs above him. They kiss, deep and messy, graceless but passionate, her fingers tugging, his pressing hard into her skin. 

It’s not at all how she’d expected her first time to be; she’d imagined it would be with Edward, of course, and slow, but she can’t get enough of Jacob and it seems like he can’t get enough of her either. She’d imagined a cool, pale body above her, but it’s Jacob’s deep, rich, hot skin she presses her lips to, her fingernails against. She’d expected Edward’s hard, marble arms around her, and while Jacob is strong and firm he’s still soft, skin slick with sweat as they move together. 

“Jake,” she murmurs, the taste of him on her lips, his scent in her nose, woodsy, clean. “Jacob.” Her body trembles and he holds her tighter, presses his face into her neck. 

“I’ve got you.” She sighs happily at that, grabs his hair more roughly, rides him faster. 

“You’ve got me. You’ve always got me.” 

Jacob looks up at her, eyes fiery, liquid, then pulls her in with a hand on the back of her neck and kisses her like the first time—soft, nervous, sweet. The juxtaposition of that gentle kiss and his possessive grip makes her dizzy, and when he pulls back his face is all she can see, all she wants to see, all she needs.

“I’ve always got you,” he promises, his gaze tender, unflinching. “Always.”

He’s got her when he comes, holding her tightly with one thick forearm and dragging his free hand over her breasts, then lower, to rub her clit as she bounces herself to climax in his grasp. “Oh, god,” she breathes, voice like a shiver, and her fingernails dig half-moons into his biceps as they both slow, slow, slow, then stop altogether.

He eases them both down against the bed, arms around her, their legs entwined, and they catch their breath, just look at each other until the exhaustion of the day catches up to her. Her eyes flutter closed, and pressed so close to him, so warm, all she can do is sleep.

When she wakes, it’s still mostly dark, and she desperately needs to clean up in the bathroom and get a glass of water. Jacob’s t-shirt is the first piece of clothing she sees—or the first she wants to see—and she pulls it over her head and pads to the bathroom for a human moment—a very human moment indeed. 

She pauses, while washing her hands, to look over her reflection in the mirror. Rationally, she knows nothing has really changed, but at the same time everything has. 

The bathroom water is never cold enough to drink, so she treads down the stairs, across the kitchen, turns on the tap and lets it run until the water is icy and crisp. She fills a glass, takes a couple of sips, then almost drops it when a cool hand is suddenly pressed to her shoulder. 

It’s Alice, and she uses her other hand to catch the glass before it can hit the floor and shatter. 

“Relax. It’s just me.” Her eyes are soft, and it’s clear she is happy to see her, but there’s something else in her expression, something inquisitive. “You’re alright.”

“I’m fine. I’m… good, actually.” She shrugs, which bares her shoulder, in the large t-shirt she wears, that she’d forgotten she was wearing. She freezes—she knows how she must smell to Alice, like Jacob and like… Jacob—but her friend just shakes her head. 

“I couldn’t see you; well, I saw you jump off a cliff, and then you were gone. I thought you died.” 

“Alive and well,” she says with a tone that’s hoping for lighthearted, but… 

She has no regrets about being with Jacob, not one—she just hadn’t expected to be confronted with a vampire she once considered a sister almost immediately after. She doesn’t know what to say right now, how to act. Who to be.

“I was cliff jumping, recreationally. It was fun... for a minute.” Alice rolls her eyes, but it’s clear she’s happy she’s unharmed—though perhaps irritated by her tendency toward life-threatening idiocy.

“That doesn’t explain why I couldn’t see you, why your whole future went black.” Her golden eyes stare seriously, unblinking for a moment, and then she looks away. “Though maybe I owe that to the wolf in your bed.” 

Of all the nights for Alice to come back to Forks, she thinks, a suddenly uncomfortable pit in her stomach. Then she hears footsteps on the stairs.

“Not in her bed anymore,” Jacob says, voice low, from the doorway to the kitchen; he takes half a step forward, an aborted move, like he wants to put himself in between them. 

“This is Alice, Edward’s sister. Alice, this is Jacob,” she explains, trying not to focus on his shirtless torso, or the pained expression on his face. She blows out a deep breath. “It’s okay. She won’t hurt me.” 

“She’s hurt you before,” he counters, no doubt remembering every heartbroken, aching expression she’d worn in the months prior. He takes a step closer, so he is next to her, his forearm grazing hers, and Alice takes a step back. “I’d like to stick around, if it’s all the same to you.” 

He’s posturing, that much is clear, but she can't find it in herself to be irritated, because at least he’s giving her the option, letting her choose.

“I thought you couldn’t protect me here,” she says, turning her face up to look at him, and Jacob’s response makes heat pool low in her belly, just like the night before. 

“There is nowhere in this world I won’t protect you—treaty or no treaty.” 

She wants so badly to kiss him, but Alice is there, Alice, right in front of her after all this time, and she’s conflicted. Torn. He can tell, she knows, but he doesn’t take it personally, just reaches up to scratch his head, sighs. 

“So are more of you coming? Is–is he…?” 

“I came alone. And no,” Alice replies after a moment, but she’s looking at her instead, probably knows that he’s just saying what she’s too worried to ask. “He only calls in once every few months. Says he wants to be alone.” Jacob scoffs.

“Great. He wants to be alone, so you all leave her behind, unprotected? That red headed vampire is after her because of him.” 

That gets a reaction out of Alice, whose eyes darken protectively.

“Who, Victoria? I haven’t seen her.” She stares off into the distance, like she’s searching for memories, visions, sifting through what she’s seen and trying to piece together what she hasn’t. “Just like I didn’t see you get pulled out of the water. There’s a lot I haven’t seen, apparently,” she adds under her breath, and the other girl presses her lips together, sighs. 

Not the time or place for this discussion, and they both know it, but that doesn’t mean it’s avoidable for long. 

“So you can’t see around Jacob. The wolves,” she guesses. “I’ve been with them a lot lately.”

“With him a lot lately,” Alice corrects. Jacob huffs, but it’s not untrue, so she lets her think what she wants. Her silence must speak volumes, because Alice takes a deep, wholly unnecessary breath, and gestures toward the door. “Should I go?” 

“Please don’t,” she says quickly, nearly begging. It’s the first she’s seen of Alice in almost a year and she cannot let her leave as abruptly as she’d shown up. “If you could just give us a minute…” 

“Take two,” the vampire says, and it’s with a half-smile that turns into a smirk. “I’ll go Febreze the living room while I wait: it smells like wet dog.” She turns to leave, a bounce in her step that the other girl can’t help laughing at, shaking her head. 

She sobers up when Jacob turns toward her, takes a step that moves the both of them, so her back is pressed up against the kitchen counter. He looks so serious, and her heart beats for him everywhere. 

“Do you believe her? When she says she came alone?” he asks, and she tilts her head, nods softly. 

“Of course I believe her. She just had to make sure I was okay, that’s all. There’s… there’s nothing for them here.” 

Even as she says the words, she hopes they’re not true—hopes that, even if they really aren’t meant to be together, that she and Edward, she and the Cullens, can still be… Friends isn’t really a strong enough word, but she wants them in her life, potential bloody accidents be damned. 

“So if he came back,” Jacob says, leaning in closer, his lips hovering over hers, “you wouldn’t go to him?” His tone is light, but she understands the weight of his question, takes a moment to find the right words to answer it. 

“If he came back, I’d want to see him. Just like I want to see Alice.” She reaches out to touch him, his warm, bare skin, places her palm over his thumping heart. “But I wouldn’t go to him. Not like this.” 

It’s true, and she wants to say more, to promise him, reassure him, but just after she says it, the landline rings. Jacob sighs, his breath on her cheek, and reaches out a hand to answer it. “Hello?” The person on the other end speaks in a low tone she can’t make out, but she can see the tick in Jacob’s jaw, a hard set to his eyes. “He isn’t here right now, but that’s not who you really want, is it?” 

There’s another moment of conversation she can’t hear, and Alice walks into the room looking stunned; Jacob hands the other girl the receiver, and she looks from him to Alice and then speaks into the phone. “Hello?” 

“You’re alright.” 

It’s Edward, his voice cool and smooth but thick with emotion. It makes butterflies flutter around in her stomach, just like it used to. 

“I’m alright.” She doesn’t give him more than he asks for, doesn’t take more than he offers. She’s aware of two sets of eyes on her, feels more nervous than before, in her oversized t-shirt and sleep-mussed hair.

She’s glad he can’t see her and wonders exactly what that means.

“Good. Rosalie said Alice had a vision…” He trails off, but they both know what he’s not saying: everyone thought she’d given up and killed herself. She crosses her arms.

“The vision was incomplete. I’m fine. Stupid, but fine.” Edward huffs a laugh down the line, and she can imagine the exact cant of his mouth, the glimmer in his eye that always seemed to be reserved for her.

“You are many things, but stupid is not one of them.” There’s more he wants to say, she can tell; as a man of few words, many of their conversations were punctuated with heavy, meaningful silence. Part of her wishes she could see his face, at least. That always helped. “Who answered the phone? Jacob?”

She looks up at him involuntarily, notes the tightness of his mouth, his arms folded in front of his bare chest. 

“Yes, Jacob. He’s the one who pulled me out of the water, the one Alice didn’t see.” 

“Hmm. He still doesn’t seem to like me much.” Her lips turn up at that—understatement of the century—and she wonders if Jake can hear him too. Based on the stoic expression he wears, he either can’t, or he’s not paying attention. 

“No he does not.” A beat passes, then two. “You should call your family more often, go see them. They miss you.” 

“It’s difficult,” he says, swallowing, and she nods at no one. 

“I know, but don’t punish them. Please.” She knows how it feels, to be totally cut off from people she loves, to constantly wonder, always fear the worst; she doesn’t say it because she knows he knows.

“I’ll consider it, if you don’t go jumping off those cliffs any time soon.” She laughs softly, surprised at his humor; this was not how she would have ever anticipated a call like this to go, but she likes it. Likes them, like this. 

“Deal. Alice is looking at me like she’s going to steal the phone any moment,” she warns, which is putting it mildly. “So I’m going to put her on. You can call when it’s not life or death, you know,” she adds quietly. “It would be nice to hear from you. If you ever want to talk.” 

She doesn’t know if he responds, because Alice takes the receiver, winds the cord around her arm, and scolds her brother with love in the way only a sister can manage. 

While they talk, she walks toward Jacob, then past him, toward the staircase, but she takes hold of his hand as she goes, and he follows just like the night before. This time, he closes the bedroom door behind them. 

“I’m sorry this happened like this,” she says, sitting down on the bed, one leg beneath her and the other hanging over the edge. “I’m not sorry Alice is here, but I’m sorry that’s what you woke up to. If you were… worried.” Jacob takes the space next to her atop the rumpled duvet. 

“I was worried when I smelled a bloodsu- vampire,” he corrects quickly, “and you weren’t beside me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, this time leaning closer. “But thank you for giving me the phone, letting me talk to him. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.” He shrugs, like it was no big deal, even though she remembers how angry he’d looked at the sound of Edward’s voice. 

“I almost didn’t. I mean, technically, he didn’t ask for you.” She rolls her eyes—definitely guy logic—then stands up, scoops his jeans off the floor and hands them over to him. Her face heats at the memory of removing them in the first place, but she snaps out of that for her own sake and grabs fresh clothes, steps into the bathroom to make herself presentable.

When she’s done, she heads back to her bedroom, where Jacob is now clad in jeans and boots, sitting shirtless on her bed. She deposits the borrowed t-shirt onto his lap, and when he thinks she’s not looking he brings it to his nose, inhales long and slow, before pulling it over his head.

That action does things to her, and she wishes for a moment that she had his senses, so she could smell the two of them the same way he does, their scents deeply saturated and blended together.

They head downstairs when they’re both dressed, and while he rummages in the refrigerator for something to make them for breakfast, she treads into the living room and sits down next to Alice on the couch. 

“So,” Alice says, and then she gestures to a cup of tea. The other girl picks up the mug and thanks her, brings it to her lips. “How long has that been going on?” 

She feels her cheeks heat, and she hides behind another sip of tea. 

“Really? I haven’t seen you in almost a year and that’s what you want to talk about?” 

“Oh, forgive me for being curious about what it’s like to date a werewolf when last I saw you were grieving the loss of my brother.” Alice’s tone is more playful than it would seem, and her eyes smile even if her lips don’t. 

She always knew that Edward wasn’t telling the truth when he said he didn’t want her. He just couldn’t bear it, knowing that being with him put her in so much danger, caused her so much pain. She knew it was worth it, but if he didn’t… there’s nothing she could have done to change his mind, she knows that now. She can’t feel guilty for moving on when it’s exactly what he’d wanted her to do in the first place. 

“Okay, you’re right. Let’s talk about how I’m going to comb the woods, find Victoria, and rip her into confetti for threatening to hurt you.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jacob says, walking into the room with… a cup of tea. He looks over at the mug in her hand, then sets the one he brought her down on the table without a word. “The pack’s got it covered.” 

“All due respect, but if the pack had it covered, she wouldn’t be a threat anymore, would she?” Alice tosses over her shoulder. The other girl sets her tea down and sighs. 

“Alright, can we not do this? The age-old vampires versus werewolves thing? Especially if I’m in the middle of it. Maybe you guys could work together for a change; Alice can’t protect this part of the territory all by herself.” She picks up her drink—a drink, the one Jacob made, this time—and takes a long sip, looks up at them over the rim of the mug. 

“The pack could help, if you give us the authority to amend the treaty,” Jacob says to Alice, though he’s kind of looking at the ceiling, his arms crossed. “But wherever she is, I’ll be.” 

“You can’t be with her every second,” Alice counters, and her exasperation makes it  sound like an argument she’s had before. “It’s not good for either of you and could put her in danger; if Victoria picks up on it, she’ll be able to use your scent to track her anywhere. Trust me, yours is a lot stronger than hers is, and it’s all over her.” 

She thinks Jacob makes some kind of noise, like a low growl in the very back of his throat, but it’s hard to hear. Alice raises her eyebrows like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. 

The three of them discuss potential ways to coordinate with the pack, and Alice mentions calling in Emmett and Jasper to see if they could help with the search; the sooner Victoria is gone, the better, is the general consensus, and Jacob thinks he can get Sam on board with that as well, even if it means more Cullens coming back to town. 

She finishes both cups of tea, then a plate of eggs and toast Jacob put together from the bare-bones contents of her kitchen—she reminds herself to make a shopping list, then absently wonders if she’ll have a grand escort to Trader Joe’s. 

“I’ll make some calls while you’re gone,” Alice says as she is taking her last bite; she looks up from her plate, confused, and Alice waves a hand. “I saw a glimpse of you at the grocery store, but then it went dark; I assume that means he’s going with you.”

“I thought about it for a split second, as a joke,” she clarifies with a huff of laughter. “I don’t think I need a bodyguard in the produce aisle at eight AM.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Alice and Jacob say, at the same time, and her lips twitch in amusement. 

Looks like they’re not so different, in the end.

She gives in and allows Jacob to drive her to the supermarket, though not without a long look from Alice as he walks her to the truck with his hand on the small of her back. 

They breeze through the store thanks to the list in her head—she buys a little more than she usually would, because it seems like Jacob plans to be around. She likes the thought of that even more than she’d expected, likes choosing things solely because she knows he’ll enjoy them.

“I think we should talk about last night,” Jacob says, voice low, when they’re nearly back to her house. She cringes internally, because that’s never a sentence a girl wants to hear after a night like that, and he clears his throat. “I know cliff jumping ended up being kind of traumatic for you, and it didn’t feel like it last night, but if I took advantage…”

He looks over at her, his expression pained, and she shifts closer and wraps her hand around his forearm.

“God, no, Jake—that’s not what happened.” He brings the truck to a stop in her driveway, puts it in park, and she presses her palm to his cheek so he’ll focus on her instead of fixing his gaze out the window. “I wanted everything, every moment. I still want it,” she murmurs, and he looks over her face like he’s still not quite sure he believes it.

“You do? Even after… after you spoke to him, and everything?” It’s a fair question, and again, one she answers very carefully.

“I think we needed to talk, he and I, but it didn’t change anything. You’re the one who changed everything,” she admits softly, tentatively, wetting her lips. She hopes her eyes convey the certainty her voice can’t seem to. “Do you want to kiss me?” she breathes, leaning closer, her fingers winding a path through his hair, and he nods his head and presses his mouth to hers. 

She gets up on her knees so she can be closer to him, but she doesn’t climb into his lap like before—she does have some self-restraint, despite what it may seem. She curls one arm around the muscles of his back, pulls him in for more contact with the hand in his hair, and it’s a few minutes later when she remembers they’ve got bags of perishable groceries in the back and a vampire with excellent acoustic abilities just inside her home. 

She pulls back, smiles a little at the soft, unfocused look on his face, then runs her hand down his chest before lifting it away entirely.

“I know we’re kind of at DEFCON 1 right now, but more of that a little later would be nice.” 

“Hmm. Very nice,” he agrees with a nod, his voice slightly rough, and he turns off the ignition and carries all of her groceries into the kitchen with one strong arm. 

Emmett and Jasper do come back, with Rosalie and Esme, to her delight and Jacob’s discomfort. Between the pack, who comes to get the vampires’ scents so there’s no friendly fire, and the family, who split time between her house and the one they left behind, the place is a revolving door of the supernatural for the next few days. 

All of them take turns watching over her house at night, while the others patrol the woods. She catches up with everyone she’s been separated from—even Jasper gives her a crushing hug, so at least the time away was good for something—and it’s wonderful, but it means there’s not much time to be with Jacob aside from planning sessions and the occasional quick check in. The most time she spends with him is when they attend Harry’s funeral, something somber and intimate, with ethereal music and a glowing campfire and endless stories about the Clearwater line. 

She is introduced to Leah and Seth, Harry’s children, and while Seth seems welcoming and friendly his sister is cold, standoffish—though not without reason, she soon learns from the pack. 

“She’s not always like that… mostly just when she’s around Sam,” Embry says where they stand on the edge of the forest, away from the thick smoke that burns her very human eyes. She looks over at the pack leader at the mention of his name. “Now that she’s part of the pack, we have to live the Leah/Sam/Emily painfest all over again.” 

She turns back to him, to Quil, who’s standing beside him, and tilts her head, curious.

“I don’t think I follow—Sam left Leah for Emily?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not what you think. He hates himself for hurting her, but he couldn’t help it. Emily was ‘the one.’” Quil says it almost sarcastically, with air quotes for emphasis, and she frowns.

“The one?” She doesn’t mean to sound skeptical, but these days she’s not as big a fan of providence and destiny as she used to be.

“Sam imprinted on Emily. It’s kind of like… soulmates, but bigger. Cosmic. They were literally meant to be together.”

“Like fate,” she says, filling in that blank, and then a large, warm hand is splayed across her back, fingertips pressing into the fabric of her dress. 

“We make our own fate around here,” Jacob says tightly, and she looks up, regards him curiously. He’s not just upset about Harry, or Victoria… there’s got to be something else making his jaw tense, his eyes hard. “And I think that’s more than enough of the pack soap opera for tonight. Are you ready to go home?” 

He turns his gaze to her, and it softens, for which she is grateful; he is her guardian on duty tonight, and despite the solemn evening—or maybe because of it—she wants to spend the night as close to him as she possibly can.

She nods, and after they say their goodbyes he walks her to the truck, opens the door for her, closing it carefully when she’s safely inside. He takes the spot behind the driver’s seat—his usual, now—but doesn’t drive straight to her house like she expects. 

“Ice cream?” she asks when he turns off the engine outside of a mom and pop shop selling sundaes, cones, and shakes. She exits the car at his indication, and the two of them walk hand in hand up to the illuminated window that says Order Here. An older couple is ahead of them, pointing at the chalk menu board, and Jacob leans in to speak in a hushed tone. 

“This place was Harry’s favorite. You like chocolate, right?” 

“Has anyone ever answered ‘no’ to that question?” she asks softly, playfully, and it works as intended, lightens the mood just enough to bring a brilliant smile to his painfully beautiful face. “I think this is a wonderful way to remember him, Jake.” She wraps a comforting arm around his, and Jacob nods, lips pressed together, eyes sad.

“Just kind of feels right.” 

He orders for them when it’s their turn, two waffle cones with two scoops of chocolate ice cream each, and they sit at a picnic table on the side of the building, eating their tributes with heavy hearts and looking up at the stars.

The ride home is quiet, contemplative, at least for her; by the time they arrive she has been running through thoughts of mortality, finality, how short life is and how very precious. 

These are all normal thoughts for a person to have, and certainly after a celebration of life like the one on the reservation tonight, but she thinks seriously for the first time about Jacob and his desperate need to protect her, the way he puts himself in danger—stupidly, recklessly, completely—every day to keep her safe.

When they’ve made it inside, she exhales deeply, looks up into earnest, curious eyes, and wraps her arms around him, presses close so she can bury her nose in his clothing.

She breathes him in long and slow, his usual scent of crisp air and rain and oak dulled by the smoke of the bonfire, and then his hands are in her hair, tipping her face up for a decadent, passionate kiss. 

God, how is he so good at this? she thinks as he sips at her lips, glides his own down the tender line of her throat. She sighs and grabs for his arms, something to ground her as her desire threatens to take over, to leave her a whimpering, begging mess beneath his hands. 

Jacob turns them so she’s got her back to the kitchen table, sets her on top of it, and she parts her knees for him, pulls him closer. Her fingers itch with the need to touch his skin, so she tugs at the hem of his shirt and gets her hands beneath it, skims them over the taut muscles of his bare back. 

“I can take it off,” he murmurs against her neck, and she nods breathlessly and helps him pull it over his head. His hands bracket her hips, palms flat on the table, and her arms curve up around his back, bringing him closer; she kisses him eagerly anywhere she can reach—his throat, shoulders, face, everywhere.

She whispers his name into his own skin, presses her lips to his biceps, scrapes her teeth over the lobe of his ear, and he shudders at her touch, tilts his head to look up at her, his eyes dark and almost… dangerous.

What does it say about her, that she finds that look so goddamn attractive?

“I’m sorry, I—I need a minute,” he says, panting through gritted teeth, and she lets her hands fall away, leaning back a little to give him space to breathe.

“Take all the time you need,” she assures him calmly, patiently. It’s the first time she’s ever seen his wolf so close to the surface, and she’s completely unafraid, would hold him and help him ride out the tension in his body if she thought he would let her. “It’s just us, Jake, just me and you.” 

“Just us,” he repeats, his fists clenching and unclenching, taking a long breath with his eyes closed. She breathes with him, has always found that helpful when she herself is overwhelmed, and after a few moments he presses closer and she runs a soothing hand over his chest. “I’m okay,” he says eventually, leaning in slowly for a kiss as though he’s afraid it will be rejected. She brings her hands to his face, deepens it, so it’s still soft and easy but with enough meaning behind it to convey her thoughts. 

“I know,” she murmurs, just to be certain he believes her. “You did so good; so good, Jake.” He nods, pulls back a little so he can look into her eyes. 

“It’s not that I can’t control it, I can, but…” He looks away for a moment, swipes his tongue over his lips. “The instincts are so strong and I don’t always want to fight them. Sometimes when I’m with you, I want to let the wolf win.” He says it like he’s ashamed, and she puts her arm around his shoulders and brings him down for another kiss, this one just a gentle press of mouths.

“I understand that more than you think I do.” His breath on her lips makes her crave more of his heat, but she knows it has to be slow now, or he’ll get too in his head and never let himself enjoy their night together. “I may not be supernaturally inclined, but sometimes making decisions with my body is all I want to do. Especially with you,” she adds, just a sigh between them, then touches their foreheads together. 

They stay like that for a moment, embracing in their own way, until he initiates a kiss that is so thorough it makes her toes curl. She brings her hands to his waist, guides him closer, and he rests a broad palm at the base of her throat and kisses her, again, and again, and again. 

Her arms curl around his body the second they separate for air, and he lifts her from the table, carries her up the stairs with an ease that makes her long for more frequent displays of his strength. 

Getting his clothes off is quick enough, since he’s already shirtless, and his hands are tender and gentle as he sweeps her hair away from her neck, pulls down the zipper of her dress, slides it off her bare shoulders. 

Neither of them bother to pull back the covers, simply lay back on the bed, her knees apart again, Jacob hovering between them and letting his eyes move over her like he’s committing her body to memory. It makes a wave of heat rush through her, and since tonight is less hurried she does the same, lingers over every curve of muscle, every sharp line of bone. He leans in, lays an arm behind her head, glides his lips over her jaw, her cheek, her mouth.

“I was right, before,” she says after another satisfying kiss, letting her fingers press into the flesh of his hips. He looks into her eyes, tilts his head curiously, and she smiles a little, can’t help herself. “You really are beautiful.” 

Jake breathes a laugh, even blushes a little, then kisses her until they’re both panting; her fingertips press harder when he pushes inside, then glide up his back to keep him close while the two of them move together. 

Jacob feels so different this way, is so much deeper, filling her in a way that makes it so she really can’t tell where she ends and he begins. He is heavy on top of her, but not uncomfortably so, and when her body shifts up the bed with every thrust it’s thrilling, incredible—she’s never felt so much in her life.

His face is serious, eyes focused, and she weaves her fingers into his hair and catches his lips in a kiss, moans into the end of it when he finds a spot inside of her that takes her breath away. 

“Oh, god, Jake.” He leans in for another kiss, deep and wet, nods against her lips. 

“You’re perfect—so perfect,” he huffs, breathless; he moves his hand to her hip, runs it over her stomach, then presses his palms to the bed and repeats his previous motion, over and over, her body coiling tight with pleasure. “Can’t believe I get this.” 

“We get this,” she corrects in a whisper, won’t let him think for one second that she’s not as completely in awe of him as he seems to be of her. She skims her nails over his lower back, his ass, tightens her thighs on either side of him and tips her head back just as he makes her come. “Don’t stop, Jake, please,” she whines, shaking, holding him so tightly with her entire body—she never wants it to end, never wants to be separated from him again, and he agrees, if the way his body presses down on hers is any indication. 

“Can’t stop… need you,” he groans, pushing her leg up further, so he feels almost impossibly thick and deep. Her arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer, holding him there as he ruts into her, scorching flesh pressed against flesh. 

“Yes, oh—”

Before she knows it she’s quaking again, gasping when he brings his teeth to her throat, scrapes them over her throbbing pulse. He growls in her ear, a deep, low, animalistic rumble she can feel in her stomach, then comes inside, claiming her with a broken, raspy, “mine.”

He lays half on top of her, half on the bed, after, their skin soft and damp with cooling sweat. She can’t stop looking at his face, his dark eyes, sharp jaw, and he cups her cheek with a gentle palm and gazes just as intently at her. 

“Come here,” she murmurs, a soft smile on her lips, and he kisses her slowly, makes her sigh with a pleasure so complete—mentally, physically, spiritually—it feels like she’ll never be the same. 

He gets up after a moment, comes back with a glass of water and a towel, and helps her clean up well enough to hold her over until she’s ready to get out of bed. She pulls the covers back while he’s gone, slides in between the cool sheets, and he follows her lead, pressing close to her beneath them.

“Are you upset you didn’t imprint on me?” she asks carefully, propping herself up on her elbow and using the other hand to run fingers through his hair. “I noticed that when the guys were talking about it, you got kind of tense.” He shrugs slightly before shaking his head.

“No, not upset… I was just so sure you were meant for me; I really thought it would happen sooner or later.” She understands that, can picture him wishing and waiting for something that would never come to pass. So patient, her Jacob.

“Do you wish it had? Do you think it would make this more real?” Her hand moves from his hair to his collarbone, down his chest, over his stomach, so very low. “Because when I’m touching you like this… nothing has ever felt so real.” 

He presses her against the bed, hovers over her, kisses her breathless, and it goes without saying that he agrees with every word she says. She softens beneath him, tired and pleased, and he shifts into a more comfortable position, laying behind her, that she knows means sleep for the both of them. He drapes an arm over her, and she draws circles into his skin with her fingertips, feels his warm breath on her neck, closes her eyes and revels in the weight of him at her back.

“Anyway,” she whispers, one last thought on her mind before she succumbs to sleep, “I almost think it’s better like this, that we have to fight for each other. No help from fate—just your will and mine.”

A/N: I got my start in fandom spaces by writing Twilight fanfic fifteen years ago, but I never posted it because it was... bad. Last week was a crummy week for me, so I found comfort in watching New Moon, and I literally couldn't help myself from re-writing it in Jacob's favor. There's no Edward hate here, and he'll play a bigger role in the next part I have planned, but Jake took hold of me in this one and didn't let go.

[miss-hyoko]

arrange marriage with Floyd leech?

"Excuse me, dear customer. I believe this is your order, [The Eel's Fiancé(e)] gado-gado. I hope the taste is to your liking."

The Eel's Fiancé(e)

Character(s): Floyd

Summary: You were betrothed to Floyd since childhood

Tag(s) and warning(s): GN!Reader, fluff, romantic, reader is NOT Yuu, arranged marriage, slightly Yandere!Floyd if you squint, and Floyd Leech is his own warning

Note: Floyd is really an interesting character to write, I hope I can write about him more often (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Almost all merfolk know the Leech family, one of the most influential families in the Coral Sea. Countless people want to curry favor with them, including yours. Using some mysterious methods that you don't really want to know, they somehow managed to set you up with the younger twin of the Leech family, Floyd Leech.

The first time he heard about his engagement to you, Floyd wasn't too pleased. He's a free eel, he would rather not be bound to anyone; especially to a stranger he had never met before. Therefore, on the first day you guys finally met each other, Floyd tried his best to look intimidating to scare you off so that he can get out of this arranged marriage thingy. But as soon as he lands his eyes on you, the sinister aura that surrounds him suddenly disappears when he sees how small you're compared to him. You clearly seem to be wary of him, but you still force yourself to befriend with him, even though your expression is full of objection about this whole stupid situation. It's such a funny sight, even Floyd couldn't stop himself from grinning widely. Now, his original intention to scare you away has completely disappeared; replaced by a strong desire to bully you.

Since that first meeting, Floyd has come to see you almost every day. If the two of you accidentally bump into each other, Floyd will immediately swim up to you and start shouting your name while waving his two hands enthusiastically, regardless of the surroundings. No matter how hard you try to avoid him, Floyd always manages to find you before dragging you along to play with him and his brother.

Physical touch is Floyd's love language. He likes being touchy-feely with you, but he'll be even happier if you do the same for him. Especially if you try to surprise him with your affection, such as suddenly hugging him from behind, holding his hand when walking together, or giving him a peck here and there. It may look simple and plain, but those small actions never failed to improve Floyd's mood. Believe it or not, every time you give him your affections, he will immediately show it off to the next (unfortunate) person he meets.

Floyd's mood swings are very unpredictable. If he was in a bad mood, everyone should immediately keep a distance from him. Floyd is quite violent when he's in a bad mood; anyone breathing near him would immediately get beaten black and blue, even if it's Jade or Azul. But you're the only exception. No matter how bad Floyd's mood is, he can still recognize you and will never hurt you. With a hoarse voice, he will tell you to stay away from him for a while because he's not in the mood to see other people. But if you insist on staying with him, then prepare yourself to be squeezed tightly by him until his mood improves.

There have been countless times that Floyd has almost 'pounced' on you, but luckily, he always managed to control himself at the last moment. He can't help it, all right? It's just his instinct to dominate his partner and own them completely, both body and heart. If it weren't for his mother's strict upbringing when he was a child about how he should respect his partner, Floyd would have surely gotten his way with you the moment you both were past the legal age.

Floyd never bothered to hide his relationship with you, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that the whole NRC knows about the engagement between the two of you. But every so often, there are some stupid people who don't know their position and want to test their luck by trying to approach you. Fortunately, before they could do anything funny, Floyd would appear right behind you and tell them to leave you alone (aka fuck off) with a scary grin. Days later, that same student disappeared without any apparent reason, never to appear at school again.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 15. disciplined

chapter tags/warnings: someone becomes your special teacher ;) straight-up degradation. dick sucking and facefucking. spanking. pet names ("kitten", "slut", "whore", "idiot"). nonconsenual undertones. infidelity/adultery. strong language. humiliation. classism. can be read as stand-alone!

word count: 3.6k

notes: happy new year, dear readers! apologies for not posting in a while. not that i lost motivation or got writer's block, but i was so busy with my last semester at university. i'm thankfully done now! enjoy the update! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

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“Because I wonder what would happen once I spread you over the car hood and took you right there.”

Holy—  

Choso’s words stirred awake fantasies that never before crossed your mind—how you would be perched on the Corvette, how Choso would press your legs to his chest, how he would slowly fuck himself into you, how your warm cunt would eventually get the better of him, how his cum would then drip onto the shiny blue metal of his car.

As the mental images left your heart seized in your chest, you twisted at your wedding band in anticipation—a habit you had yet to break.

“You…wouldn’t actually do that, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Although he exhaled to control his composure, nothing could hide the visible bulge under his black jeans, the sight sucking nearly all your willpower to avoid staring at the silhouette like a wanton whore.

“Because people would see us.” You then masked a thick swallow. “You would have to be crazy to fuck in public.”

“You think that’s crazy?” he repeated but did not seem insulted in the slightest. "Oh, I’ve done much, much crazier.”

Even crazier?

As much as you were concerned about the legality of his insinuations…That wild side of him, you wanted to see.

The thought alone left you holding your breath, blood rushing south when his hand began to run up and down your inner thigh.

The only thing that could distract you was how the inked ivy on his forearm flexed as he switched lanes, not that this new fixation stopped your squirming anyway. Still, you watched him swerve to the next exit and coolly navigate through a network of narrow and unlit roads, the convertible’s speed slowing considerably until he makes one final turn into an empty lot.

Choso, in one smooth motion, parked his Corvette in the spot where one could revere the Tokyo skyline glittering across the bay—although, in your honest opinion, the only view worth admiring was the stud beside you. The said man, however, turned off the engine and let go of your thigh, causing you to wince from the retracted warmth.

You nearly begged him to keep his hands on you until you watched him step off the vehicle, walking around the bumper with long strides to the shotgun seat, then gripping the handle and swinging the door open.

You stared dumbly at him, a gaze he returned with black-as-night eyes alive with some unreadable emotion. Before you could make any sense of your clouded thoughts, Choso leaned over slightly.

“Out,” he commanded. His voice had roughened up into a hoarse, his face shadowed with seriousness. “And get on your knees.”

The sheer egregiousness in his demand is enough to leave your heart stopping for a hard beat, especially since his height was formidable compared to the seated you. When you didn't respond immediately either, Choso’s long exhale from above grazed against your skin. He was losing his patience.

“C’mon now. I didn’t stutter. I gave you an order, idiot.”

Hands growing clammy, you avoided his stare. “But—"

Except Choso didn’t want to waste time dealing with your bullshit. He reached for you, his right hand darting outward and gripping your small wrist like a lifeline. Before you could even process much, Choso yanked you from your seat and essentially tossed you onto the ground.

You cried out as you stumbled and then fell onto your knees, hands instinctively planted on the concrete to support yourself. The new cuts on your palms would surely sting for the next few days, not to mention the red marks that his fingers also left on your wrist.

Although you try to stand up, the pain made you falter such that all you could do was sit up with your feet tucked neatly beneath your bottom. The gashes hurt, and Choso approached just as your eyes began to line with tears.

When his steps stopped mere inches away, your neck craned at an awful angle just to glare into the murky pool that was his eyes. “Are you insane?”

The jerk, handsome but enigmatic as always, shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So that’s a yes.” 

At that, a thumb thrust between your parted lips shut you up.

“Stop complaining,” Choso snapped, his voice the deepest and most demanding that it had ever been. His thumb shoved further past your lips, pressing at your tongue to keep you from talking, not caring how you were gagging on his finger by now. “I’m playing nice even after all the shit you’ve been pulling on me last night. I don’t see you whining with all those other guys you’ve been fucking. What’s the matter?”

Petty, you thought and then scoffed.

But Choso caught that.

He responded with a harsh pull at your jaw. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

Rhetorical question. Choso already knew the answer, and his nostrils flared with irritation even as his free hand dangerously toyed with his fly.

“You know, I’ve been real patient with you, so show some respect, alright? My fingers didn’t even play with your pussy, but anyone could tell how wet you were in my car. And don’t think I didn’t notice you stealing glances at my boner earlier, you lil’ minx.” Noticing your eyes blow wide, his frown twisted into a smirk. Except everything evil about this felt so good when you caught sight of the piercings that gleamed by his ears. “What a dirty, dirty girl.”

So, he knew.

His comments were downright embarrassing—mortifying, even. Nonetheless, the humiliation stoked the flame of arousal within you anyway, possibly more so than you cared to admit. Choso was much more perceptive than you expected, which made sense given the skills he needed to assess sex-deprived clients during the day and stalk targets at night.

Therefore, when Choso eventually tore his thumb from your mouth, you thought that he finally took notice of your sorry state and pitied you.

That was until his other hand popped his jean button loose and tugged his zipper down.

You were stumped at first. With knees still pressed to the floor, you glanced at him from under your lashes, your lips puckered perfectly into a confused pout.

However, that confusion morphed quickly into realization once Choso lowered his jeans and boxers together, his large hands pulling the thick fabric down until the waistbands rested underneath his balls. His cock—thick and proud—sprung free and into the newly found freedom. Precum from the head oozed shamelessly down his shaft, the pretty pink tip mere millimeters from your nose.

Despite the depravity of this all, your heart fluttered at the sight, your stomach folding in sick anticipation.

Then, whatever premonitions you had were all confirmed with Choso’s one-word order: “Suck.”

Immediately, you panicked at the command. Just one glimpse at his twitching cock indicated that you would have trouble fitting that enormous dick any more than a few inches past your lips. You would gag.

Hell, you were sure to choke.

When a fear-filled lump coagulated at the back of your throat, you glanced up at Choso with your poor little puppy eyes, hoping that would distract him from his primal desires.

As if Choso would ever let you off the hook that easily.

“What?” he asked in the end, voice split between curiosity and impatience. “Haven’t given anyone a blowjob before?”

You decided not to answer; this wasn’t any of his business anyway.

Rather, you approached him meekly. When you wrapped one hand around the base, Choso hissed at the contact. His cock was already so hard, and from what? You had barely touched him, yet his dick spasmed from your grip, the foreskin sweltering hot against your roughed-up palms.

A harsh sting bloomed on your right cheek, only then realizing that Choso had slapped you right across the face.

“You’re losing focus, idiot. Pay attention to me.” His thumb prodded at your mouth again. “C’mon. Open up wide.” As he waited, he caught a strand of tousled hair between two long fingers, then delicately tucked the loose strands behind your ear. He peered down, giving you the sweetest sickliest smile a man can give. “You’re supposed to be a nice slut for me. Right, baby?”

Baby. He had you right there.

“Y...es,” you murmured. He had you wrapped around his finger, and you're suddenly too entranced to notice. "Yes...I am."

“Good. Then, I’ll show you how I like my cock sucked.”

What?

Before you could even process that last statement, Choso dug one large hand into your scalp. Messy strands now threaded through his spread-out fingers, he tugged forcefully at your hair—his warm fingertips pressed against your skull, his girthy cock suddenly shoved past your parted mouth, his fluids a foul bitter on your tongue, and his dark eyes wide at the moisture and warmth that sheathed him.

Tears, both due to the pain at your scalp and the burn at your throat, trickled down your flushed cheeks.

Breathe...

Even with your nose smushed against his crotch, even with your eyes popped wide open as you gurgled and gagged, you still had to breathe and soon the only other sensation aside from pain was that faint maple leaf scent that was so distinctly his.

“Oh...no, no, bimbo,” he hummed when you attempt to dig your nails into his skin, swatting your feeble hands away. “No touching. Bad girls aren’t not allowed to touch. Only I can. That’s what you get for not following my rules the other night. So, I’m going to hold your head, and you’re going stay still and be a good cocksleeve for me.”

Even if alarm bells should be going off in your head now, your heart palpitated at the prospects of what he just might do. Therefore, when you eventually nodded instead, Choso chuckled and muttered something about how you were always such a pretty little mess, such an ‘eager little pleaser.’

He had jerked off plenty, but there was nothing he loved more than having you completely under his control, fucking into your mouth with long and languid motions. He also loved hearing the noises that spilled from your mouth—the choked sobs that soon became garbled whimpers and breathy squeals.

Choso also always thought you were rather pretty, but when his eyes managed to leer downwards and saw what you looked like, mouth full of cock and spit dripping down your chin, he knew you’d never looked better.

For a man like himself, letting anyone see him this vulnerable was something that Choso had promised he would never do. Nonetheless, here he was...hamstrings tensing every time his tip bumped the back of your throat, fingers flexing each time his dick went in deeper than he thought possible. There was just something so different about seeing you on your knees, taking in his dick when his precum had already been bubbling from the tip.

“That’s right,” Choso hissed at some point, although you couldn’t tell how long he had been abusing your throat by then. Nothing aroused him more than to discipline with his dick and boy, did he love watching the way you bobbed your head back and forth, letting your saliva trail all over him. “Real fuckin’ sweet and obedient now, aren’t you? Do you follow directions this well for all those other therapists you fucked?”

You shook your head as his scrotum smacked into your chin, which Choso approved with a satisfied tug.

“Good.”

Muffled wails dropped from your mouth as he kept fucking your face, but he ignored you. After all, this was what you got for being so naughty. Plus, even if you thought his actions were entirely degrading before, the crazy thing was that you found this morbid fascinating now.

“Dumb, dumb puppy,” Choso chuckled when you unconsciously moaned around his cock.

As though to prove his point, Choso pulled his dick out of your mouth, marveling at how you whined at the emptiness. He didn’t want to keep you (or himself) waiting for too long though. Wordlessly, he pulled you up from the concrete even bewilderment riddled your expression.

“What are you—”

“One more word and I’ll make sure you won’t ever be able to use that throat again.”

So just like a well-behaved pup, you decided to shut up.

Once he led you to the front of the car, he slammed you onto the Corvette’s hood. As disoriented as you may be, he swiftly made a home between your thighs and manhandled you to his convenience—flipping you to your back, spreading your legs apart, hiking up the hem of your dress. After pawing at your pink panties, he finally pulled the fabric off in one smooth motion.

You didn’t know how or when, but you were utterly soaked. How embarrassing, the way your folds had lubricated themselves in anticipation. You unsuccessfully hid a shiver, not expecting the cool evening air to graze your sopping cunt.

“Fuck,” Choso groaned, liking what he sees. Nothing could hide the perverted glint in his gaze.

Holding you by your torso, he slid you halfway off the hood to roll his hips right next to yours. His cock bobbed as he readjusted himself, a few drops of precum landing on your skin. When he lines his cock with your slit, the face that he made when he finally had your wet cunt kissing his tip was obscene, but that was nothing compared to how your entire body shuddered in pleasure.

“F-Feels good,” you breathed, barely audible. You tried to catch your breath, clawing at his white sleeves and feeling up his arm muscles underneath in the process. How you wanted to hold onto him for dear life. “Feels so, so good.”

“I know.” He could tell from how you were practically begging for him to stuff you and, when he finally eased himself deep inside you, from how you would roll your eyes right to the back of your skull. He grinned. “So fuckin’ slutty.”

A choked moan dissipated from your lips when you felt the head pressing against your cervix. Soft, trembling...you were trying much too hard to be good. Nothing could compare to this utter gratification, his hard pelvis hitting your clit each time he forcefully plunged into you, sending waves from your abdomen up to your nipples.  

“Just like that,” you would say, over and over.

Choso Kamo would never admit this aloud, but he sure thought your kitten-like mewls sounded real cute up close. At the office, he had heard you moan and cry out before, but there was something nice knowing that he himself was the one making you feel this good. He sure doted on your cute expressions as well, the way your face would scrunch in pleasure, plush lips shaping into a perfect pout.

“Desperate bitch,” he said upon the soft plea of his name, although he was the one rutting through your folds like an animal in heat. “Always crying for people to stuff you. Such a whore.”

Fucked dumb, you nodded, not processing the shame of what he was saying.

“Yes, I am,” you hummed. If anything, his cold voice had only made you feel hotter. “Am your whore.”

“That’s right,” Choso sneered, your babbles the only words he had ever wanted to hear. “Let me hear you again. Don’t be shy—it’s just the two of us here. Keep acting like that, and I...I might just forgive you.”

Forgiven. You want to be forgiven.

Spurred by the possibility, you obeyed. An eager little pleaser indeed. Look at yourself, muttering all sorts of crude declarations until there was one that caught the therapist’s attention: “Use me like I’m all yours.”

Acting just like his little whore should.

Wholly satisfied, Choso picked up the pace, increasing his speed until he was hitting your g-spot with stunning accuracy. He anchored you by the hip with a firmer grip than necessary, making sure that every thrust would bring him back to the right place.

“Oh...” you sighed. Without looking, you could feel a mixture of slick and saliva trickle from you as he pounded harder—the juices sliding out from your cunt, down along your crack, and onto the metal underneath.

“Shit,” Choso mumbled once he caught sight of the scene. He swatted at your ass as a warning, ignoring your gasps in pain. “You’re making a mess of my hood. Messy girl with a messy cunt.”

How filthy.

Right when you were about to make more of a mess on the scene too.

With the familiar pressure building in your own lower abdomen, your teeth clamped your lower lip. Even that couldn’t stop the involuntary noise that eked from your throat—a whimper. But that was only because you were suppressing a pitiful melody of painful pants and sharp sputters in its stead.

“Choso,” you squeaked, nerves on fire at this point. “If you keep doing this...”

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso to pull him in, only for him to push you away. To properly admonish you, he slid a hand up your thigh and roughly squeezed at the flesh.

“Who gave you permission to enjoy yourself?” Choso snarled while you winced. He cocked his head too, which gave you a glimpse of his black ink-covered ink by his sweatshirt's collar. “This isn’t for your pleasure. This is to teach you a lesson.”

Before you could try defending yourself, he raised his right hand, which came down hard to strike at your ass. You yelped, so for his own sick reasons, he did this again and again and again until reddened marks littered your skin. What a nice color, quite appropriate for a naughty lassie like you.

After a particularly hard swat, tears started to prick again at your eyes.

“Stop! Please!” you cried out.

“Not until you show me that you're sorry.”

As far as Choso was concerned, all he wanted to do was discipline you—more specifically, break ­you—so that you would know to never mess with him again. He realized then and there that he liked to fuck you as he spanked you because he could never confess how much your pretty faces would egg him on.

“This is what you deserve,” he justified right as a large hand punished you once more.

“I’m sorry! I,” you gasped at another strike, but you...liked the pain? “I'm a bad, bad girl! I truly am sorry.”

As your stomach muscles tightened, your heels dug into his lower back and Choso responded with a low grunt.

His unforgiving thrusts were quickly losing their precision as well. At this rate, he might just blow his load earlier than he wanted to. He had originally hoped to pull out of your pussy and let you take his load down your throat, but he didn’t think that he would make it. That dick sucking earlier pushed him much closer to the edge than he originally thought.

“Think you earned my forgiveness?” 

You nodded. “‘M promising I won’t spread myself for anyone else again.”

This time, he slapped you across the face rather than your ass. “A complete fucking lie,” he scoffed, completely disappointed by how your tears were streaming down now. Weak. “Loose women like you can’t help taking more dick than they can handle. Right?”

“Yes!” you prattled, afraid of how else he would punish you if you disagreed. Not that he was wrong, per se. Steadying yourself, your small hands buried into his sleeves, watching how your juices were just pooling on his hood by now.

From above, Choso complained—something about how you were getting distracted again, but you couldn’t quite discern the words as a haze messed with your cognition. To bring you back to your senses, he delivered the most forceful blow on your left cheek instead.

“Just...Fuck...!” you screamed when the pain rushed straight to your pussy, causing you to slide right into a heated orgasm. The tight strings that had built in your stomach suddenly snapped, your jaw slacked as electricity shot from your core to your fingertips, causing you to twitch in uncontrollable ways. “Too much!”

Choso’s gruff grunt sunk into the night as you came around his cock, your puffy pussy gripping his length. He chased his own climax and dug his fingernails deep into your hips, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks on your unblemished skin. 

Knowing that he shouldn’t, Choso still peered down at the space where you’re connected, unable to resist the temptation. He riveted in the lewd image before his very eyes, your wet cunt still convulsing around his fat cock, the image far too much for him to handle especially when you’re making such a fucked out face.

“Take it,” he found himself saying unconsciously. “Take me, baby. Fuck—"

His words stopped short, whittling to nothing more than a low haggard rumble as he met his own end.

“Fucking take it,” was the last thing he said before he slumped over, pushing deep into you as his balls seized and released repeatedly, thick ropes of hot cum painting your inner walls with white.

Choked moans chorused into the evening, the sounds sucked into the nighttime’s void. For the first time this evening, peace and silence settled in, the heavy pants slowly giving way to even breaths.

After several more moments, Choso slipped out with a wet pop.

You blinked past the post-orgasmic haze, expecting to see him offer a disapproving look only to find that he was smirking. This man had fucking beautiful eyes, even when he wore the most mischievous expression.

Asshole.

“I’ll accept your apology. Since you’ve made things up for me.” Leaning over, he planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, his nicest gesture to you ever. He pulled his pants back on and then gently swiped a thumb over your bum, at a spot where the bruises hurt the most. “I won’t even hold you for the mess you’d made on my car.”

Flustered, heat suffused your face. "Thank...you."

He fished his Corvette keys from his back pocket, ready to pop open the trunk. "Let me return your little dress from last night, too."

"Thank you...again."

"Of course, baby."

Choso would never say this, but he was smitten. Look at how polite you were now, almost as though you were a changed woman. All that took was a little teaching.

"Then, shall we head back?" That was no question. That was an order. "I want Naoya Zenin to see you like this."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: 1) choso is so mysterious in canon—and I LIVE for it. i did my best to convey that obscurity, dominance, and sexiness in his character here. 2) also, his blue corvette is a reference to that line in eiffel 65's blue. that 1990s song lives in my mind rent free.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @pulchritxde-blog @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan​ @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @nemoyr @tsukiyohanayome @tokyometronetwork​ @downtown-roponggi​ @the-cosmos-network

[bullet-prooflove]

Flowers: Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader

Tagging: @corruptedcoffin @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond  @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard

There’s flowers on your kitchen table. Flowers that Chibs did not buy you.

He investigates the vibrant boutique as you head into the bedroom to change out of your court clothes, the sound of your high heels clicking on the hardwood flooring. He knows there’s a slew of other men that want to bed you, ones that don’t know about him. You don’t hide the relationship, the same way he doesn’t but the two of you move in separate circles. The outlaw and the lawyer, it shouldn’t work but it does.

He tries to think of the last time he bought you flowers…

He doesn’t think he ever has.

This fucking thing is huge, and he knows from the range of flowers that it’s expensive. There’s lavender, orchids, and all sorts of shit bursting out of it, classy shit. It’s set up in one of those fancy water boxes.

It’s when he spots the card that his heart sinks.

It’s an ornate rectangle of cardboard, embossed with gold swirls in each of the corners. He plucks it from the holder before examining the thing, his thumb tracing over the writing.

Love Al x.

The name is written in a cursive scrawl he doesn’t recognise. He runs through everybody you’ve ever mentioned trying to find the source, but you’ve never mentioned an Al. He’s sure of it. He wonders if it’s that prick prosecutor, the one that’s been trying to get into your pants when the gun charges came down on Jax and the others. He’d wanted to smack the shit out of the guy back then, he wants to murder the fucker now.

He thrusts the card back into the holder when he hears the bedroom door open, busying himself by pulling out a bag of freshly ground Columbian coffee and setting it down beside the French press. It’s when he opens the coffee bag, that rich, delicious scent flooding his nostrils that he has his epiphany.

He’s not supposed to be here. He doesn’t belong in this house with you. He’s not meant to be with you. He’s too rough around the edges, he doesn’t fit into your life the way someone like Al would. He doesn’t go to the fancy dinners, or the conferences. He doesn’t have the patience for the fundraisers or the Mayor’s Christmas party, and you know that which is why you never ask him.

He places his palms on the counter, the line of his jaw tightening. You deserve better than this, better than him. He’s not good enough for you, he never will be. He senses your presence behind him, your perfume is light and airy flooding his nostrils in a way that makes his heart ache because he can’t be around you right now. He can’t do this with you anymore.

Your palm comes to rest in the space between his shoulder blades, thumb skirting lightly over the leather of his kutte. You lean in close, lips brushing over the stubble of his cheek. He closes his eyes and savours the moment, the sensation of having you in his proximity before he pulls away.

“Jax just called.” He tells you, jerking his thumb towards the door. “I need to head back out.”

“Oh O.K.” You say with understanding before flicking the kettle on. “Do you want to leave you something to eat for later?”

“Don’t worry yourself love,” He tells you, pulling his leather gloves out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I won’t be coming back tonight.”

********************

You don’t see Chibs for days. He doesn’t call and he doesn’t text. He can’t stop thinking about Al and the bouquet of flowers on your kitchen table, it haunts his thoughts through random moments throughout his day. He’s always been confident in himself, self-assured but seeing those flowers has rocked him, it’s the first time he’s felt inadequate, the first time he’s caught a glimpse into the life you could be having if you weren’t with him.

He takes the bracelet out of his pocket, the one that he’s been working on the past couple of months. He knows you prefer jewellery that has a beaten look to it, hammered metal he thinks it’s called. He looked up the technique a while back and realised they had all the tools he needed to create something for you in the workshop out back.

It’s been a labour of love, there’s been a lot of trial and a lot of error, but he’s finally managed to complete the piece he set out to make. Each selection of precious metal is the size and shape of a ring pull and he’s spent hours hand crafting each one to give it the look that you love. It seems ridiculous now, he thinks as he runs his thumb over each of the dimples in the metal.

“You have been avoiding me.”

It’s rare that anyone gets the drop on him, but he’s been so lost in his thoughts that he hasn’t even registered your presence as he perches on the rolling stool in the garage.

“Jesus Christ love.” He jolts at the sound of your voice, the bracelet tumbles from his fingers and hits the concrete with a clatter. He feels the colour rise in his cheeks as you reach down to pick it up. It’s beautiful, silver, gold and bronze fragments all pulled together to make one unique piece. You study the craftmanship, running your thumb over the veins of metal, it superb. You think Kerrianne will love it.

“It’s stunning.” You tell him as you try to hand it back to him. Chibs shakes his head, his hands delving into the pockets of his overalls.

“No love.” He says softly. “I made it for you.”

There’s something in the tenderness of his expression that breaks your heart. You can’t speak for a moment, the well of emotion builds up in your chest as you clutch the bracelet tightly in your hand

“Filip…”

The way you say his fucking name, it ruins him.

“Fuck Filip, I love you.” You say quietly, your hands coming to cup his face, guiding his gaze up to meet yours. “I know we don’t say it, but I do.”

He sees it in your eyes, and you see it in his. There’s a depth between the two of you, a connection that’s raw and otherworldly. He swears when he looks into your eyes it feels like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes with you by his side. He thinks in this world and the next, that you were always destined to find each other. It’s not the shit a good Catholic believes but then again Chibs has never been a good Catholic. He’s lost track of the multitude of sins he’s committed.

“The flowers they were from Lowen, Ally Lowen, my practice partner.” You tell him as your thumb traces over the scar on his left cheek. “She knows what Peter was like, she was congratulating me on the divorce. I realised after you left that you may have thought…”

“Fuck.” He exhales the word as a small smile tips up at the edges of your mouth. “I…”

“I know what you thought.” You tell him. “And I want you to know that the relationship the two of us have means the world to me. There’s no one else and there will be no one else. I want to make that very clear.”

“C’mere.” He mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you down onto his lap. His arms wrap around your body, holding you in place against him as he buries his face into the curve of your neck. “There’s never going to be anyone else for me love. There’s just you, there’s only ever going to be you.”

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[redlegumes]

Dec 3rd: Stolen Pine

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles

prompt: Mutual Pining | AO3: link | wc: 946 | rating: G | cw: none | tags: idiots in love, 'pine' ing, Christmas tree without glasses, light theft

Summary: Spontaneous tree theft and decorating, paired with some pining.

⍋↟⍋♡⍋↟⍋

They'd hauled in the tree. Eddie kept talking about how the evergreen part was the important bit and continued to explain Christmas's stolen nuances from paganism. Steve nodded and did his best to follow along. That was what he did lately, follow Eddie. Whether it started with a need to assure himself the guy was okay after their Upside Down torments, or if he'd honestly found Eddie intriguing from the get go, Steve couldn't say. 

It didn't really matter anyway. He was positive that his feelings weren't going away as he nodded along with Eddie's excited ramblings. He hadn't even hesitated to join Eddie that night without product in his hair, glasses on.

…

Steve's vision had started to degrade. He'd noticed after his first run in with a Demogorgon. Pretty soon he legally needed corrective lenses to drive. Vanity prevented him from letting anyone other than Robin know. She'd assured him, ‘a boy is allowed to have his secrets. Just not from his platonic soulmate.’ Kinda the same reasoning behind why she knew how utterly hopeless he'd become around Eddie. The type of lovesick that had him helping Eddie with his non-christ related, Christmas tree caper.

continues after the cut

Eddie already knew about Steve's vision after helping Steve through an awful migraine where he just couldn't stand to have the contacts in. Steve'd been so nervous but Eddie just teased him about commiting to an ’Indiana Jones’ look and they kinda just moved on.

Steve hadn't expected Eddie at all that night when he knocked on his door. He'd come late to ask for help stealing a tree off some wooded, government owned property. He took one look at Eddie's ridiculous smile and dancing deep eyes and threw on a parka to help.

…

Now they were attempting to get the damn thing in a stand in the white-walled, impersonal living room of the house the ‘’Department of Energy’ had provided Wayne Munson with. They managed with no small amount of grunting and sappy fingers. More than once Steve reminded himself not to stare too hard at Eddie through the pine branches. He even liked Eddie's frustrated faces, the downward curve of his lips, the wrinkling of his forehead. Jesus, I'm pathetic. 

When they finished he and Eddie stood back admiring their fresh cut theft.

“Wayne's at work for another two hours. Think we can get it done ourselves before he's back?”

“Do you have decorations?”

Eddie sheepishly twisted where he stood. “I picked up some lights, and yeah, there's a box of ornaments.”

Steve stilled, bowled over by the waves of ‘adorable’ pouring off of Eddie. “Uh yeah, I think we can manage.”

—

The box was one of the few items in a very small storage room Al Munson's name was on outside of town. Eddie had been contacted once as ‘next of kin' to make payments on the thing, and that's when he went to see it himself. Inside were his dad's ‘tools of the trade,’’ some suspicious looking luggage and duffels he recognized from a hair brained scheme or two. What a lame cache, he'd thought at the time. That was before he reached the cardboard boxes in the back. They were his mother's. Winter decorations and clothes that were never brought back out when the seasons changed after her death. 

It was one of those boxes he'd picked up and brought to the new place, dragging it out now for Steve. Steve stopped unraveling lights to examine the ornaments. “These look like heirlooms,” he said, carefully picking up a blue, blown glass sphere and turning it in his strong hands. 

Eddie loved the care and attention Steve directed at the one piece. The way a tendril of hair fell over his forehead; the consideration on his face. Steve was already in his ‘Clark Kent look’ when Eddie'd shown up to his place that night. Which made sense, it was late, but Eddie loved the glasses on Steve. He liked the superman analogy too. Steve was basically Eddie's superman anyway.

“They were my mother's,” Eddie said, touching the edge of a carved angel's wing inside.

Steve's mouth made a small ‘o’ shape and he carefully set the ornament back into the nestled layers of tissue paper. “They're beautiful Eds.”

They decorated together, and it was easy. Eddie was warmed just being near Steve but they seemed to naturally work well together, joking and spacing the lights and decorations just right. Steve got Eddie's radio out and they listened to crackly Christmas tunes as they went along.

They finished about thirty minutes or so before Wayne's anticipated return. The men stood back to admire their handy work. Steve took his glasses off.

“Prettier that way,” Eddie asked, breathier than he wanted to sound.

Steve chuckled. “Good both ways, but yeah. One of the only perks I guess? The lights all expand and blend a bit.”

Eddie stared at Steve taking in the tree. If the lights were as fuzzy as he'd said, Steve wouldn't notice Eddie's stare. Truth be told, Eddie always wanted to stare at Steve. The lights reflected in Steve's light brown eyes… Christ, he is so pretty. Eddie's fingers itched to twine themselves with Steve's. He was dying with every little kindness Steve showed him; dying to bite the bullet and confess. He wanted to know if his crush was one sided, but if things took a different turn... Telling Steve could ruin what they had, and then who would help him steal a Christmas tree at two am?

He could live with this for now, watching Steve lit by the glow of Christmas lights they hung together. 

“Thanks Stevie.”

“Anytime Eds.”

2023 RedLegumes Steddiemas 1 2 3 4 5 6 10 SteddieHolidayDrabbles 1 2 3 4 6 8 9 10

[the-insomniac-emporium]

SWORDTEMBER '24, DAY 11: PATCHWORK

Item ID: E6-2411 Item Name: Sir Teddyson the Brave Category: N/A Origin Point: Unknown Owner: Unknown, Dockworker? Description: A medium plush stuffed animal, worn from many years of being carried around. Traditional Earthen design, somewhat resembling the now-extinct polar bear. This item, referred to as a Teddy Bear, is a common comfort item for human children. Close to the left leg of the bear is a small tag, labeled with the bear’s name: Sir Teddyson the Brave. While many traditional bears do not come with accessories, this item is dressed as an Earthen warrior known as a knight, equipped with armor, a cloak, and detachable sword with shield. Due to the item’s age, it has been previously torn in several places. These spots have been thoroughly repaired with new stitches and, where necessary, scraps of different fabric. The end result is a patchwork of materials that has clearly been adored for several generations. Cataloger’s Notes: If we don’t figure out who this belongs to, I am going to cry. This lil guy has all the markings of something passed down between family members. Who knows how many children have held this thing? How many parents or older siblings have worked to repair the damage, just to ensure a young one will have something to comfort them and keep them company.

-----

Nobody seems to know where the bear came from. It has all the marks of something accidentally left behind by another employee, having been found in the parking lot instead of in the loading bay, but so far no one has inquired about any lost items. As such, it had fallen to Cynthia to catalog the item so they could legally put it into temporary storage. Only a handful of the FPA’s employees are human, and she was the first one in for the day, so she had been deemed the best fit to handle such a “culturally significant” item.

Currently, she’s in a video call with Naomi, trying not to get too emotional while talking about the bear in her hands. To her credit, Naomi is listening intently, occasionally offering up anecdotes about her own childhood plush (a teddy styled like a ronin, whatever that is), and overall being very supportive. They’ve been talking for over an hour now, the time passing without notice, and Cynthia has just about finished her write-up on Sir Teddyson.

During a quiet moment, with Naomi stepping away to talk to her brother about his planned homecoming, the sound of footsteps and voices grows louder from the hallway. A moment later there’s a knock at her office door, and she presses the button to let them in. Immediately the conversation pauses, and a rather frazzled looking dockworker steps inside. He’s a Bophellian, a bipedal species with slanted eyes and a thin layer of fur covering the body, with traditional silver jewelry adorning his pointed ears. In one hand he holds a phone, the other covering the device’s speaker.

“Hi, hello, I’m so, so very sorry to interrupt, but-” the man (Xerro, according to his nametag) says, stopping when his gaze lands on the teddy bear. That’s all it takes for him to visibly relax, a rush of air coming from his lungs. Quickly, he says something into the phone, the speech too fast for Cynthia’s translator to parse. “Again, sorry to interrupt, but my daughter left her Knight Bear here when my wife picked me up yesterday. We spent a couple hours looking for it last night, but I see you’ve found it”

Relief fills Cynthia, and she’s more than ready to hand the bear over (she’s never been introduced to Xerro before, but she’s talked to the other dockworkers enough to hear he’s a beloved coworker). Still, Xerro hangs up the phone after confirming that he found the bear, and proceeds to provide photo evidence of the bear being his daughter’s. Apparently it had been given to her by her birth father, who had passed when she was only a few years old. Since then, her mother had married Xerro, who had been more than happy to raise the little one, regardless of a difference in species.

It was a very cute story, all in all, with some adorable photos (including one where Xerro was dressed up in a homemade knight costume for his daughter’s birthday). By the time he left, Sir Teddyson in hand, Cynthia felt her heart full with joy. Once his footsteps faded, she resumed her call with Naomi and updated her on the conclusion to the story they had become so invested in.

[malavera]

Babysitter (18+) — Joel Goodsen, Tom Cruise

summary: you became Joel Goodsen’s babysitter because Joel’s Mother had always liked you. You’re her best friend’s daughter. She’s fully aware that Joel would be alright being alone by himself but she doesn’t really trust him. Little did both of you know, Joel has always had a crush on you.

warnings: unprotected shower sex, agegap, breeding kink

tagging: @deanscroissant @love2write2626 @tomsf18 @helloitstsyu @call-sign-shark @moondustfairies @lynnsthoughts @sparklylap @gypsymoon548 @elenavampire21 @katherineswritingsblog @cherriescruise

“Why are you here, Y/N?” Joel crossed his arms across his chest, standing in the middle of the living room watching you flip the magazine on your lap.

“What do you mean, Joel?” You innocently asked, looking up to him while your hands never stop flipping through the pages of the magazine.

“I’m 18. I could take care of myself, besides, don’t you think it’s a little weird that… You need to babysit me?” Joel sat down in front of you on the coffee table.

“I don’t think so. I’ve always loved being around ever since you were 15, it’s alright, Joel.” You shrugged your shoulders

You’re 21 years old. You and the Goodsen’s family go way back but you’ve started the babysitter service on Joel was when he was 15 years old. Joel’s parents has gone out to business trips a lot, and they couldn’t bring Joel. So, they asked for your help and you would never say no to them aside from being polite, you got nothing much to do, and also because you find the boy cute.

But, you never acted on anything that is frowned upon especially with the age gaps. Though, now he’s legal.. You might have a thing or two in mind. The only thing that is stopping you is that you never know if he enjoys your company whenever you’re around to babysit him, as you don’t want to make a fool out of yourself and caused any trouble between you and the Goodsen’s. Because, who loves being nannied and watched?

Joel pursed his lips before he lets out an irritated sigh, “I’m going to my room.” Pushing himself off from the coffee table you watched him stormed out of the room with a pursed lips.

The weather is scorching hot you could possibly cook eggs against the pavements. Joel sighed once he tossed his Tshirt off and proceeded to lay back on his bed with a magazine on his hands. Even with the fan on, it still didn't help the very hot atmosphere. If only my parents own a swimming pool, I'd jump my ass off, he thought. Although, going out to a public swimming pool sounds like a good idea during this weather, he thought of inviting you.

Joel tossed his magazine away as his feet padded against the wooden floors making his way to look for you. He hollers your name but no answer received. Except, he heard a shower running down the hall, his legs has the mind of their own as they took him down the hall to find the bathroom door slightly open.

He knew it was you in the bathroom by the sound of your soft moans. His curiosity gets the best of him as he pushed the door softly further more open.

Joel’s eyes widened listening to your moans falling out from your lips, he watched the way your head throws backwards. He couldn’t tell what made you do so as he is only watching the shadow of your figure behind the shower. You knew he was watching, you stopped your movements before you pushed the sliding door open to showcase your naked, glistening body to him who is standing at the foot of the door.

The whole atmosphere became very seductive, Joel couldn’t move an inch of his body—his muscles seemed to forgot to function with his brain. He should’ve sprinted away and never look back, for he just trespassed a sinful moment that any human being should’ve been ashamed when caught. Though, not for you. You may or may not have intended to pull this whole situation. May not as the weather is scorching hot you needed a cool shower, may as you purposely left the door slightly ajar.

“Do you want to join me, Joel?” Joel couldn’t form any words out of his mouth, he could only swallowed down his saliva, his lips slightly trembles.

You decided to take matters into your own hands, as you stepped down from the shower booth—slowly making your way towards him. With a smirk on your face, your hands reaches for his before you guides them around you to grip on your ass.

You leaned towards his ears before you lowly muttered, “I promise, you won’t regret it. If you promise me not to tell anyone about this.”

You pulled away, looking into his eyes. Joel has gained full control of his body as you felt him squeeze your ass, his bottom lip pulled in between his teeth.

“Do you want this, baby boy?” The words you spoke sounded so delicate—so safe, yet such a sinful invitation. Though who is he to kid himself? He’s been dreaming of this ever since he was 15 years old. He’s had a big fat crush on you, he’d dream about you. Yearning to be your girlfriend at the age of 16, yearning to be the only guy who could give it to you at the age of 17, and how would he knew at the age of 18 he’s standing here groping your naked rounded ass as you invited him for a fun shower.

“Just, don’t think about it.” You whispered, grabbing the hem of his shorts, undoing the buttons. In a matter of seconds, he finally decided to give into his sexual desires.

You had him pressed against the tiled walls with the cold water running down to yours and his body. Lips moving in sync—started as a soft and delicate kiss that turns into tongue battling for dominance when a soft moan had escaped from your lips that encourages him thinking he’s doing the right thing. He turned you both around—now pushing you against wall. His lips went to your neck, his hands busy playing and groping your full rounded tits that he thought was very nice. You had such a great tits he couldn’t help but pull his kiss away from your neck to suck on your harden nipples, the other played by his thumb.

“Aah… Joel.. Mmhh.. Please.” You moaned, as your hand went to grab his pulsating hard cock. You gave him a couple pumps before aiming his cock towards your throbbing entrance.

Before you could slip him in, he stopped you. “W-wait! I’ve never done this before.” He mumbled in worry.

You chuckled before you kissed his lips, “It’s okay, You’ll love it.” And with that you helped him slip himself inside your needy cunt—slowly he adjusted as your walls felt like they’re squeezing his cock so hard.

“Ohh!” Joel breathily moans, his thighs vibrated a little bit due to the newfound sensation he’d just experience. Your pussy felt nice. You hummed seductively before you wrap one leg around his waist, pushing him closer against you from your heel. Joel grabbed onto your leg while the other grabbed onto your breast.

“Fuck me, Joel.” He moved his hips upwards, lifting you up a little bit with the thrusts. He started of slow as he is trying to keep himself away from coming undone just by the strong grip of your pussy. He couldn’t help but fasten his pace when he listened to the way you moan.

It’s so pornographic he felt like he’s in one porno films.

“Mmh.. Mmhh.. Yeah fuck me. Just like that baby, faster.” You moaned in his ear.

“Tell me, Joel. Do you like this pussy?”

“Does my pussy suffocates your cock?”

“Mmh fuck, look at you fucking me like a dog in heat.”

All the filthiest words ever, spoken out from you as you try to coax him—bringing him faster to his release.

“You wanna cum, Joel? You wanna feel how good it is to cum in your babysitter’s pussy?” And with that last straw, Joel’s hips snapped vigorously to chase his release before he ended with a rough thrust—shooting out the strings of his warm seed inside your cunt with the most loudest moan you’ve ever heard from him.

“Fffuuckk..” He whispered, you smirked and chuckled—leaving a kiss on his forehead as you bring your leg down to the ground from his waist.

“Atta boy.”

[irbcallmefynn]

Pinned Post for 2024!

A new year calls for a new pinned! Hi! I'm Fynn (you can also call me Fynni if you want)!

https://pronouns.cc/@irbcallmefynn <My Pronouns Page Furry, artist, autism+adhd+ocd+chronic anxiety (undiagnosed) so bear with me. I'm 20, so I reserve the right to be a freak! Despite that, this blog should be safe. I do have an 18+ sideblog but I don't wanna tag it here. I will tag things to the best of my ability when needed. If I have tagged something wrong, or forgot to tag something, Please Let Me Know. Send an ask or a message or something.

DNI lists don't really work. If I don't wanna see you here I'm just gonna block you.

I'd be careful if you're a minor. I tend to tag things as "#suggestive" fairly well, so block that if you don't wanna see that stuff and you should be fine. Especially since I have a separate 18+ blog now. If I do slip up and either forget to tag something or accidentally reblog something to or from the wrong account please let me know so I can fix it!

I'm Sex Repulsed (I do experience sexual attraction, but actual sex grosses me out), Polyamorous and Demiromantic (taken x2: @ricochete29 & @0rionslay <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 )

I'm Therian to some degree. I know I'm not a wolf or mantis or anything. Never have been. But I really wish I was anything other than a human. So Therian it is! I'm also Plushie-kin and Program-kin. Just feel like there's a lot in common between plushies and what I want to be like, and the dependence betwern programs and the machines they're on is my ideal type of relationship. I'm also Alterhuman, Please refer to me as a wolf or dog or puppy or bug or plushie it makes me happy :3 you can find my kinlist thing here

I try and stay out of politics, but sometimes I've gotta say something. So keep that in mind. If a political topic stresses me out to see constantly, I will block the tags/content. I am the master of my online experience, so if I'm seemingly ignoring a major political topic, it's probably because I don't want to stress myself out with it constantly.

I have three main OCs: Fynn (not to be confused with me. I took his name :3) is a he/him half demon wolf thing who magicked his mouth off and is basically the mascot of the blog. Nauno is a he/they avali and is extremely gay and very kleptomaniac and I love them. Euphi is a she/heart protogen that happens to be immortal for some reason. Click on their names to see their reference sheets! Click here for a link to the lore doc all about them and the world of Cosme! And click here for my truesona's ref sheet(s)!

And now, some tags. "#fynn art" is for all of my art things. Pictures mainly, little bits of music here and there maybe. "#oc lore" is for when I talk about the lore of my ocs (or worldbuilding for them). "#bedposting" is something I do every night, just kinda whatever's on my mind before bed (may be very weird so heads up). "#art rb" is just for when I reblog art, if I keysmashed a whole bunch in another tag it means I really love it :3. "#transfur" is for any furry transformation stuff cause I like that in sfw ways here. "#reblog forcing" is a tag I will use if I decide to reblog something that other people are aggressively trying to make people reblog by saying things like "You have to reblog this" or "Reblog this every time you see it" (stop doing this shit please, a lot of people have anxiety about these sorts of things).

FAQ (frequently-ish asked questions):

Do you take Commissions? No, and I currently have no plans to. I don't want to make money off of my art. I create for the sake of creating, not for fame or fortune. Unfortunately, capitalism means I need to make money or I will Fucking Die. So maybe some day I'll open icon commissions or something. I don't have any means of giving or accepting money online anyways, so that's not a possibility.

What does the IRB stand for? My real initials. My legal first, middle, and last name. It's a force of habit. If/When I get my legal name changed I will change the blog name.

Thanks for taking the time to read my pinned! Assuming you actually read it and didn't just scroll to the bottom. Regardless, I hope you have a nice day!

[puddle-nerd]

Positive Reinforcement

Summary: You had always been very self-conscious about your curves. Rotxo is determined to make you feel beautiful about yourself.

Prompt 18 (Mirror Sex) for my submission for LunasKinktober2023

So, apparently, I’ve been typing Rotxo’s name wrong this entire time, switching the ‘T’ and the ‘X’ so it was Roxto instead. So, apologies for my blunder and I’ll be typing his name correctly from now on, to the best of my ability. Na’vi Translation: Paskalin – ‘honey’ (term of endearment) Tawtute – human Tewng – loincloth Story Tags: No use of y/n, Female Reader, Aged up characters, everyone is legal, Yes they’re both eighteen+!, Curvy Female reader, Curvy Reader is Spider’s Half-Sister, Mirror Sex, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Na’vi Biology (Avatar – Cameron), Size Difference, Vaginal Fingering

Before you and your half-brother had joined the Metkayinan People at Awa’atlu, Rotxo had never seen a mirror before. You had a big one in your bedroom of your tawtute shack and you forgot why the Na’vi had poked his head into your room that first time, but he had caught sight of his reflection in the surface of the mirror and had been utterly fascinated. It had been adorable to see him looking at his image upon the glass so after that first time you’d let come by as often as he wished, quickly developing a friendship that turned into a friends-with-benefits thing with the sweet Na’vi. And while you had great fun watching him enjoying seeing his reflection whenever you two hung out in your room, you weren’t fond of seeing yourself on the surface of your mirror.

Rotxo, dear, sweet Rotxo, was determined to change that.

You’d come back into your room to find your situationship waiting for you with that look in his eyes and had quickly been brought under him, your Na’vi inspired clothes hurriedly discarded so he could feast upon your body in preparation for taking his cock. You’d found out through trial and error that him eating you out at least once before he sank inside of your body helped ease the ache of stretching around his girth.

As his roughly textured tongue lapped at your channel, you saw him glance into your mirror and smirked to himself before he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, earning him a whine which you tried to bury behind your hands.

If your half-brother and Lo’ak were in the next room playing video games, you’d never hear the end of it.

Your Na’vi pulled back from you, murmuring, “Come on, paskalin… Don’t hide from me. I need to see your face and make sure I’m making you feel good.” You shook your head, your hands still covering your panting mouth and instinctively flinching away from looking at the mirror. He frowned and sat up, seeing your reaction.

“Rotxo?” you asked, realizing he was pulling himself away from you.

He glanced at the mirror before he looked back at you, his brow still furrowed heavily. “Why do you do that?” he inquired softly, his lips glinting with your slick. In any other situation, that would be so hot. “You flinch away from the mirror unless you’re fully dressed, especially when we’re together like this. Don’t you know how fucking sexy you look?” You pressed your lips together and looked away, silently denying his claims. He glanced in the mirror again and suddenly ginned as a new light entered his gaze. “Do you trust me?” he asked. You nodded and watched him in confusion as he suddenly twisted himself about to awkwardly position himself to lie across your bed before he grabbed at your thick legs, pulling you towards him easily, like a child with a ragdoll.

“What are you do—ohhh,” you cut yourself off with a mewl as Rotxo manipulated your body to sit upon his face in such a way that you had to face yourself in the mirror.

“If you stop watching yourself, I stop paskalin,” he muttered against your cunt. “You need to see how alluring you look.” His tongue lapped at your wetness. “Watch yourself come apart.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond as he wrapped his hands around your plush thighs to stabilize you and began to devour your pussy like a man starved, licking and sucking and tongue fucking you like you were his favorite meal.

And, oh Eywa he was so fucking good at this; he had been from the very beginning, though he’d told you he had very little practice.

You weren’t sure if you believed him.

Rotxo watched you struggle to watch yourself, resisting the temptation to look away from the image of the curvy woman who didn’t quite look like you because of how utterly wanton she appeared riding upon your lover’s face, bracing her hands behind her upon his firm chest. The reflection showed a beautifully sensual tawtute female in the throes of passion that you couldn’t quite believe was you if you hadn’t been the one grinding down upon the Na’vi’s hungry mouth, chasing your pleasure with repeated snaps of your hips over his mouth as he ate you out like a fucking champ.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he mouthed at your clit again, sinking two of his fingers inside of your passage as the coil in your belly tightened further. Your body started to clench and he moved his other hand from your thigh to your lower belly, pressing down.

“Oh, fuck don’t stop,” you sobbed, fighting to keep your eyes open, lest he cease his movements as you got closer and closer.

Redoubling his efforts as he felt your tight cunt beginning to flutter, Rotxo and you met gazes in the mirror’s surface and he pushed you over the edge, your climax shattering you with a sob of his name shoving itself out of your throat. You slumped back against him, panting and shivering as the pleasure cascaded through your limbs like a warm flood. Oh yes… he was VERY good at that. “We’re not finished yet, paskalin…” your lover reminded you and slid your body onto your mattress next to his so he could untie his tented tewng, his hard cock slapping against his belly the second it was freed. Seeing your dazed look, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yep,” you nodded, cuddling up against his side and lazily running your hand up his shaft teasingly. “So good.”

He grinned.

Rotxo sat upright upon your bed, his hair brushing the ceiling even as he leaned back on one arm. Manhandling you again like you were nothing but a ragdoll to him, he pulled you to straddle his thighs, once again facing you towards the mirror. With a hiss, he pulled your quivering hole down upon his cock, the slick of your orgasm easing his passage as he sank further and further inside of you. You whined, watching your belly bulge ever so slightly. And the funny thing was – not funny, haha but funny ohhhhh – was that at aged nineteen, he still wasn’t quite done growing yet.

Your cunt fluttered around his cock welcomingly.

“Never gonna get tired of this, paskalin…” he grunted through gritted teeth. He met your gaze in the reflection of the mirror and smirked. “See how gorgeous you look, taking my cock so well?” He punctuated his statement by shifting you over him, sliding you back and forth over his length, your slick making his shaft glint in the light. You whined and laid back against him as he moved your body at his leisure.

You groaned feeling every ridge and every nub on the underside of his turquoise cock rubbing against your gummy walls exquisitely. “Oh, fuck, feel so good,” you hummed, writhing upon his lap to help grind him where you needed him most.

“And you look so good,” Rotxo countered, pointing at your reflection. “Look how sexy. Look at yourself, paskalin.” You forced your eyes to take in your image on the mirror’s surface and whimpered, feeling yourself getting wetter around his shaft because you looked utterly debauched and he hadn’t even really started yet. He sifted slightly, pulling you into a slightly different angle and you immediately began to whine as the head of him squished into that part of you that had you clawing at him as pleasure raked up your spine hotly. “I said look at yourself,” he repeated himself, his breath hot in your ear. “Makes me want to ruin you so you won’t look anywhere else.”

The Na’vi grabbed your hips and began to move you back and forth over himself, building up the tempo faster and faster as your cunt began to tighten around him. “Fuck, Eywa, don’t stop,” you begged, your legs beginning to tremble as the coil constricted in your belly.

“Do you see what I see?” Rotxo demanded. You nodded. “Words, paskalin.”

You nodded again, stuttering, “Y-yesss. Ohhh.” Sparks were beginning to skitter throughout your veins like tiny insects as your pleasure built on itself, your brain starting to turn to sand and the noises you were releasing from your throat were getting a little more desperate until he suddenly halted his movements. “Rotxo!?” you wailed in complaint. You tried to move over him yourself but his grip on your hips was unrelenting. Frustration at being so close made you nearly snarl, “Why?!”

“Do you see how sexy you are?” he demanded to know. You sighed and nodded. “Say it. Out loud.”

“Rotxo…” you whined.

“Say it or I leave you like this.”

His blue eyes had never been more serious in all of your memories of him. You swallowed and whispered, “I’m sexy.”

“Don’t tell me,” he countered. “Tell yourself.”

You met your gaze and tried again, voice breaking slightly, “I’m sexy.” He told you to tell yourself again. “I’m sexy,” your voice came out a little stronger. Again. “I’m sexy.” He finally started to move but only if you kept repeating those two words and staring at yourself while you did so. He even timed your reaffirmations to his thrusts until you were chanting it over and over again as fast as you could just to get him to go faster. “I’m sexy! I’m sexy! I’m sexy! I’m sexy! Oh, fuck don’t stop!”

He was hitting that spot that made you see stars and your eyes cross for real and it was only gonna take a couple more thrusts if he kept this up and–

You let out a shriek as your pleasure rocketed through your body, exploding out from your middle and causing your limbs to tremble as you broke apart into millions of tiny pieces on his lap. It was probably the most intense orgasm you had felt with Rotxo to date and your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the force of it barreling over you and sweeping you away like being boiled over by the tide and undertow.

You looked utterly ruined upon his lap, slumped against his tummy as you were. Your lover kissed the side of your head and muttered, “There’s my sexy girl.” And maybe… just maybe… you were starting to believe it.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 18 October 2023

Word Count: 1,739

AO3

@pandoraslxna, @eyweveng @teyamsatan @lovefrommeelise

[vodika-vibes]

Hi, darling~ I'm back again with request #6!

I was going to stop at 5, but then I felt bad for leaving out Kix. So, this one is for him, with an aquamarine, at twilight. Who better to give some healing love than our beloved medic? He's got that weighted blanket charm

Please and thank you 💚💚💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

First Choice

Summary: Kix is a man in love. He just needs to make her see it.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 622

Prompt: Aquamarine - Healing Love

Warnings: Reader's parents are bad. Not abusive, just bad.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted and I hope you like it!!

“Bad day, Bluebird?” Kix asks as he props his feet up on her desk, an easy grin on his face as he watches her start in surprise, and then glare at his boots.

She pushes his boots off her desk, “No shoes on the furniture, Kix. Honestly.”

He laughs and props his feet up again, “Come on, bluebird. That wasn’t an answer. What’s got you so down in the dumps?”

She glares at him, her pen tapping an annoyed rhythm out on her desk, before she sighs, “You know how I was supposed to meet up with my parents today?”

“Yeah. It was a whole big thing, you were so excited.” Kix scans her face, “Didn’t go well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” She pauses, “You see, they never showed up. Again.” She clenches her jaw, and then slowly relaxes, “They commed, after the fact. They decided to go visit my brother instead.”

Kix exhales slowly, “Oh, bluebird. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She focuses her attention back to her work, “I’ve never been anyone’s first choice…I don’t know why I thought they’d start now.”

Kix winces, and drops his feet to the floor, “Come on, cyare. That’s not true.”

“No. No it is.” She won’t look at him, “You know, they never even came to my college graduation. My sister had a piano recital, you see, and they had to be there-” Her voice cracks, and she presses her lips into a thin line. “I’d like to be alone.”

“Absolutely not.” Kix slides his chair closer, “Alone is the last thing you need right now.” Carefully, he plucks the pen from her unresisting hands, and he spins her chair so she’s facing him, “There you are.”

“Kix-” She has tears in her eyes and she looks even more upset than when he first came into the room.

“You’re my first choice.”

She blinks at him, and then she scowls, “I’m not. You don’t have to lie-”

“Hey,” He presses his hands against her cheeks, “You’re absolutely my first choice.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s first choice. Ever.” She counters, “Why should you be any different.”

“Because I love you.”

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. Three times.

“What?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes.” Kix says, “Have been since the day we met.”

“That…doesn’t make any sense.” She mumbles, “No one-”

“Yeah, well. My name’s Kix and I’m legally no one.”

She blinks at him, and then scowls, “That’s a terrible joke.”

“Not joking. About any of it.” Kix gently, very gently, slides her off her chair and onto his lap, “Let me show you. Let me prove to you how I feel.”

“How do you intend to do that?” The tears have faded from her eyes, and her voice is hushed.

Maker, he loves her so much.

“Like this.” Slowly, giving her time to back away if she needs to, he presses his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. And, when she doesn’t pull away, and in fact, curls her fingers into the thick material of his blacks, he deepens the kiss. 

When she kisses him back, Kix is pretty sure that his heart is going to explode in his chest. “So,” He murmurs, once he breaks the kiss, “Believe me yet?”

“...I’m starting to.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to kiss you until you definitely do.”

And, well, if his Bluebird’s parents got a picture of him kissing her, as well as a long message thanking them for breaking her heart, because he’s going to make sure that they’ll never have the power to do that again-

Well, that’s no one’s business but his, now is it?

[depressedhouseplant]

🔞 Just Fucking Write - Day 113 🔞

Prompt: Jumil Moonrock

Tags: Juyeon is drunk, Hyunjae is crossfaded, unprotected sex, rimming, use of the word “whore”, pet names

A/N: So y’all can thank @m-is-mickey & the video Jumil posted for this one. My head canon is Hyunjae is more of a stoner so being in a weed legal state was basically Christmas for him for 2+ weeks. Also there’s a strain of weed called Moonrock (thank you Google while I was trying to find the complete lyrics). My boys are lip syncing to a song about fucking when you’re stoned off your ass. I just work here. This is not set in the same universe as the Juric Valentine’s Day fic

“I love LA,” Hyunjae grinned as he flopped on the couch next to Juyeon.

“Correction, you love that you can get stoned and not risk going to jail,” Kevin said.

“Babe,” Jacob poked him in the ribs.

“Why are you so mean? Why is he so mean?” Hyunjae looked at Juyeon. He shrugged as he took a sip of wine and handed Hyunjae a glass.

“Chanhee’s not here so someone has to be the bitchy one,” Kevin replied from his spot in Jacob’s lap.

“Have some wine, have an edible, relax,” Juyeon suggested.

“Like Eric?” Kevin looked over at the youngest, passed out in one of the chairs.

“I’d say he’s very relaxed,” Hyunjae grinned. He leaned over and nuzzled Juyeon’s jaw.

“Get a room,” Kevin told them.

“When I finish my drink,” Juyeon replied, putting his hand on Hyunjae’s bare thigh.

“Or we can move,” Jacob suggested. He’d also partaken of the edibles Hyunjae bought earlier that day when the staff wasn’t paying attention.

“Or that,” Kevin got up and pulled Jacob up. “No bodily fluids on the couch.”

“I thought you were leaving,” Hyunjae said. Kevin gave them the finger as they walked down the hall to their room. They giggled to each other.

“What do you want to do when you finish that bottle?” Hyunjae asked.

“I think I want to fuck you dry,” Juyeon replied, kissing him.

“Is that so?” Hyunjae said, climbing into Juyeon’s lap.

“Mmhmm. You can’t suggest that song and not expect me to get horny,” Juyeon put his glass down and slid his hands under Hyunjae’s shorts.

“You’re also a horny drunk,” Hyunjae pointed out.

“That too,” Juyeon agreed. He stopped when his hand grazed Hyunjae’s half hard cock. “No underwear?”

“I never wear underwear with these shorts,” Hyunjae replied, tilting his hips so his cock was almost in Juyeon’s hand.

“You’re such a whore,” Juyeon breathed then pulled Hyunjae down to kiss him again. Hyunjae giggled against the other man’s lips.

“I know,” he replied.

“Fuck it, I’m fucking you right now,” Juyeon stood up, put Hyunjae over his shoulder and walked them down the hall to Juyeon’s room. He tossed Hyunjae on the bed and climbed on top of him. He pawed at Hyunjae’s shorts, unsuccessfully getting them to move.

“Hold on,” Hyunjae laughed, pulling his shorts off.

“Wanna taste you first,” Juyeon said as he pushed one of Hyunjae’s knees up and plunged his tongue into Hyunjae’s hole.

“Oh fuck,” Hyunjae grunted as Juyeon lapped and sucked at his entrance. He knotted his fingers in Juyeon’s hair but Juyeon didn’t even seem to notice.

“If you keep that up I’m gonna come,” Hyunjae whimpered. Juyeon stopped and rested his chin on Hyunjae’s thigh.

“We can’t have that now can we?” he said, opting to lightly stroke Hyunjae’s cock. Hyunjae whined louder at the touch. “Should I fuck you now?”

“Please,” Hyunjae whined.

“Of course,” Juyeon stood up and stripped, fetching the lube he’d bought when the staff wasn’t looking and was already down to half, as Hyunjae pulled off his hoodie. “Do I need to open you up or are you still loose from this morning?”

“I’m good,” Hyunjae replied.

“Perfect,” Juyeon grinned. “Have I fucked you sober yet?”

“Which one of us?” Hyunjae asked as he seated himself on Juyeon’s cock. He was too stoned to mind the pain that came along with taking Juyeon’s massive dick.

“You? Me? Both?” Juyeon shrugged. The trip to LA hadn’t only been an opportunity for Hyunjae to stay stoned almost constantly, but also finally act on every fantasy he’d had about his bandmate for the past few years. Hyunjae would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Maverick era.

“Point taken,” Hyunjae said.

“Come on baby, ride me like I know you can,” Juyeon grabbed Hyunjae’s ass and helped him slide up and down his dick.

“You’re so fucking hot and I love your cock,” Hyunjae breathed against Juyeon’s ear.

“That’s exactly what I want to hear,” Juyeon squeezed Hyunjae’s ass.

“Tell me how you feel about me,” Hyunjae breathed.

“I love how you feel around my cock, tight and hot. Want you on me all the time,” Juyeon mouthed at Hyunjae’s neck, careful not to leave marks. Hyunjae wished he could mark him up, but that would have to be sometime in the distant future.

“Getting close,” Hyunjae panted. In spite of it being February, his whole body was covered in a layer of sweat. Juyeon smiled up at him.

“Then come for me, baby,” he said. He thrust his hips up, grazing Hyunjae’s prostate. Hyunjae came, covering their stomachs. When he finished, Juyeon lied him on his back and began fucking into him. He came a few moments later, filling Hyunjae with his release.

“You can kiss me once you’ve brushed your teeth,” Hyunjae announced.

“Fine, fine,” Juyeon chuckled as he pulled out and went to the bathroom. He handed Hyunjae a towel to clean himself up. Hyunjae was starting to doze off when he felt the bed move.

“Teeth brushed and mouth washed,” Juyeon told him.

“Good,” Hyunjae rolled his head over to look at him. Juyeon kissed him, letting his hand rove over Hyunjae’s still naked body.

“Love you,” Juyeon whispered.

“Love you too,” Hyunjae replied, pleasantly surprised by Juyeon’s admission.

“Good,” Juyeon smiled against Hyunjae’s lips.