#will probably write more about this at the end of this month on Patron

[wonderful101gecs]

And that's one major chunk of research done. My main takeaway:

All theater nerds of all nationalities and in all generations are Like That, and Anton Chekhov was a weird little freak who was desperately insecure and creatively anxious in a way I can't help but find endearing

[hoshigray]

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!” 

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family. 

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.” 

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?” 

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?” 

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.” 

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you  — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.  

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about. 

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner. 

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.” 

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years. 

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink. 

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo. 

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow. 

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone. 

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.” 

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.” 

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.” 

“Still traumatized from that one time?” 

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.” 

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great. 

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…” 

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty. 

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?” 

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,” The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!” 

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!” 

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.” 

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs. 

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street. 

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.  

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights. 

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way. 

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.” 

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come. 

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow. 

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.” 

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse. 

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body. 

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!” 

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body. 

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.” 

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?” 

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.” 

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side. 

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs. 

“Will do.”He whistles. 

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point. 

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.” 

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.” 

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.” 

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?” 

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you. 

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.” 

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired. 

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!

[deerspherestudios]

Short Break and To Dos!

Hello all! 🍄🍄👻 I'm glad to see people enjoying Day 3 so far! I was so nervous about showing another side to Mychael in the update I thought people wouldn't like him as much but plenty have reacted positively! ❤️

I'll add a TLDR; above the read more, but if you don't mind my ramblings and want more details about everything, I'll write everything below! Light spoilers ahead!

I'll be taking a short break from MO development until 28th October to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Regarding the feedback on Day 3, I'm glad people aren't as averse to the new side of Mychael, in that he isn't always soft and sweet. I want people to fall in love with a person after all, not a yandere caricature, and that means that person can get upset, angry and sometimes irrational when we don't know what's going on in their head even towards the subject of their affections. While some (understandably!) were shocked about his reaction to the mushrooms, it'll be clear as to why (hopefully!)

Some of you have given incredibly accurate theories, and I'll take that as something I've done well in building up the mystery!!! I'm excited to share more in the next update, but for now!

1. I'll be taking a short break from MO development to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

What I have planned for Day 4 of MO might be the biggest update so far, since one route will lead to a few official BAD ENDINGS as opposed to 'dead ends' like the current demo has. To those who really want to, you finally get to see Mychael at his worst. As usual, writing the script takes a few months with plenty of changes in between, and I don't wanna bulldoze ahead and rush the story when it's getting to the climax!

But before I jump into all of that I just wanna give myself a creative exercise and try exploring a different theme, style and setting with a fresh new character for the jam! Since I'm a sucker for the trope... yes, the new blorbo will also be a yandere, sorry, I'm predictable.💔 The jam ends on October 28th so development on MO will continue then!

The last time I wrote something remotely sci-fi was in high school, so this will be fun to try!

2. Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

What it says on the tin! If you've already played Day 3, rest assured there's no significant story changes. Just an updated credits list, three extra sprites for one route and a small fix in the code.

3. Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Plenty of people have sent such sweet and encouraging messages to my inbox on what they thought of the update and I cannot thank all of you enough for the support!! I can't wait to post them out to archive them on the blog and answer all your interesting theories and queries in my queue!

But for now I'm due for a short break from my socials and to catch up on my Patreon sketch requests haha. I also plan to release cut content from Day 3 for my Yearling and Deer patrons. Plus, I'll be working on some written prompts for extra lore so that's something to look forward to!

I'll be back soon! Take care, fireflies!! ❤️

[derinwrites]

How can I make money writing fiction?

I'm gonna be straight with you. There is no guarantee that you'll make enough as an independent writer to make it worth your time. You very well might -- I make a liveable wage as an independent writer -- but many don't. Most writers I know also have a job. And luck plays a big part in it.

If you're interested in going forward in spite of this, you have two main options for monetisation open to you, and you are going to have to pick one. I call them the sales model and the sponsorship model, and you are going to have to pick one.

The sales model involves writing stories and selling them to readers. You can put books up on Amazon or Smashwords, sell them direct from your own website, enlist the help of a traditional publisher to handle that for you and let them decide where to sell, whatever -- the point is that your money is made from the sale of books to readers. If you go with a traditional publisher, you're using this model (though they will give you some of the money ahead of time in the form of an advance). Most indie authors also use this model, publishing through draft2digital, Ingram Spark, direct through Amazon, whatever. I've never relied on the sales model and can't give you any advice on how to do this, but Tumblr is full of indie authors who probably can.

The sponsorship model involves soliciting small amounts of money from various readers over time. This is ideal for web serials, and it's what I use. I use Patreon, which is designed specifically for this purpose, but you can use other sites such as ko-fi. This model involves providing regular content for free, with bonuses for those who support you.

"Can't I do both? Sell books and have a Patreon?" You absolutely can! I know several indie authors with a Patreon. I sell my completed books as ebooks and will eventually sell them as paperbacks. But your time and attention is limited, and so is your audience's, and you're going to have to half-arse one of these in order to have enough arse to whole-arse the other. You're going to make a lo of decisions that benefit either the sponsorship model or the sales model, not both. So pick your primary income source early and commit.

I can only advise on writing web serials and using the sponsorship model, so I'll go ahead with that assumption. If you want to make a liveable wage doing this, not only will you need luck, you'll also need patience. This is not a fast way to build a career. at the end of my first year of doing this, I had one single patron, and they were a real-life friend of mine. When I reached an income of $100/month, I threw a little party for myself, I was so happy. It had taken such a long time and was so much work. I reached enough to cover rent/mortgage after I'd been doing this for more than four years. It's a long term sort of career.

Here are some general tips for succeeding in this industry, given by me, someone with no formal training in any of this who only vaguely knows what they're talking about:

Have a consistent update schedule and STICK TO IT

The #1 indicator for stable success in this industry (aside from luck, which we're discounting because you can't do much about that) is having a consistent update schedule. Your readers need to know when the next chapter is coming out, and it should be coming out regularly. Ideally, you should have no breaks or hiatuses -- if you're in a bus crash or something, that might be unavoidable, and your readers will understand if you tell them, but if you're stopping and starting a lot for trivial reasons, they WILL abandon you. You can't get away with that shit if you're not Andrew Hussie, and I'm pretty sure Andrew Hussie doesn't message me for career advice on Tumblr. If you find you need a lot of hiatuses to write fast enough then you're updating too often; change your schedule. A regular schedule is more important than a fast one (ideally it should be both, but if you have to pick between the two, pick regular).

2. Pay attention to your readership, listen to what they want from you

Your income is based on a pretty complicated support structure when you're using the sponsorship model. this model relies on people finding your story, liking your story, and continuing to find it valuable enough to keep paying you month after month. This means that your rewards for your sponsors should be things that they value and will continue to pay for ('knowing I'm supporting an artist whose work I enjoy' counts as a thing that they value, to my great surprise; there's a lot of people giving me money just for the sake of giving me money, so I can pay my mortgage and keep writing for them without needing a second job), but it also means supporting the entire network that attracts readers and keeps them having the best time they can with your story -- being part of a rewarding community. Because this is advice on making money, I'm going to roughly divide your readership into groups based on how they affect your bottom line:

sponsors. People giving you money directly. The importance of keeping this group happy should be obvious.

administration and community helpers -- discord moderators, IT people, guys who set up fan wikis, whoever's handling your mailing list if you have a mailing list. You can do this stuff yourself, or you can hire someone to do it, but if you're incredibly lucky and people enjoy being a part of your reader community, people will sometimes volunteer to do the work for free. If you are lucky enough to get such people, respect them. They are doing you a massive favour, and they're not doing it for you, but to maintain a place that they value, and you have to respect both of those things. My discord has just shy of 1,300 members and is moderated by volunteers. I'd peel my own face off if I had to moderate a community that large. If you've got people stepping up to do work for you, you need to respect them and you need to make sure that they continue to find that rewarding by doing what you can to make sure that the community they're maintaining is rewarding. Sometimes this means taking actions and sometimes this means staying the fuck out of the way. Depending on the circumstances.

fan artists. Once you have people drawing your characters, writing fanfic of your stories, whatever, treat these like fucking gold. Give them a space to do this, and more importantly, give them a space to do this without you in it. Fanworks are a symptom of engagement with your work, which is massively important. They are also a component of a healthy community, an avenue for readers to talk to each other and express themselves creatively to each other. Third, fanworks act as a bridge for new readers. When readers share their art on, say, Tumblr, it can intrigue new people and get them into the story. Your job in all of this is to give them the space to work, encourage them as required or invited (I reblog most TTOU fanart that I'm tagged in on Tumblr, for instance), and other than that, stay the fuck out of their way. These people are vital to the liveblood of your community, the continued engagement of your audience, and the interest of your sponsors. Some of the fan artists will be sponsors themselves; some won't be. Those who aren't sponsors are still massively valuable for their art.

speculators, conversers, theorists, livebloggers, and That Guy Who's Just Really Jazzed For The Next Chapter. Some people don't make art but just like to chat about your story. These people are a bedrock of the community that's supporting your sponsors and increasing your readership, and therefore are critical to your income stream. Give them a place to talk. Be nice to them when they talk to you. Sometimes, they'll ask you questions about the story, which you can choose to answer or not, however you feel is appropriate. They'll also want to chat about non-story-related stuff with each other, so make sure they have a place to do that, too.

that guy who never talks to you or comments on anything but linked your story to ten guys in his office who all read it now. Some of your supporters are completely invisible to you. You can't do anything for these people except continue to release the story and have a forum they can silently lurk on if they want to. But, y'know, they exist.

If you want to focus on income then these are, roughly, the groups of people that you will need to listen to and accommodate for. You can generally just make sure they have space to do their thing, and if they want anything else, they'll tell you (yes, guys, paperbacks will be coming eventually). Many people will fit into multiple groups -- I have some sponsors that are in every single one of these groups except the last. Some will only be in one group. A healthy income rests on a healthy community which rests on accommodating these needs.

3. If you can manage it, try to make your story good.

It's also helpful for your story to be good. Economically, this is far less important than you'd think -- there are some people out there writing utter garbage and making a living doing it. Garbage by what standards? By whatever your standards are. Just think of the absolute laziest, emptiest, hackiest waste-of-bandwidth story you can imagine -- some guy is half-arsing that exact story and making three times what you'll ever make on Patreon doing it. And honestly? Good for him. If he's making that much then his readers are enjoying it, and that's what matters. Still, one critical component of making money as a writer is writing something that people actually want to read. And you can't trick them with web serials, because they don't pay in advance -- if they're bored, they'll just stop. So you have to make it worth their time, money and attention, and the simplest way to do that is to write a good story.

This hardly seems mentioning, since you were presumably planning to do that anyway. It's basic respect for your audience to give them something worth their time. Besides, if we're not interested in improving our craft and striving for our best, what are we even writing for? I'm sure I don't need to tell you to try to write a good story. The reason I list this is in fact the opposite -- don't let "I'm not a good enough writer" paralyse you. The world is full of someday-writers who endlessly fuss over and revise a single story because it's not good enough, it's not perfect, they're not Terry Pratchett yet. Neither was Terry Pratchett when his first books were published. If you're waiting to be good enough, you won't start. I didn't think Curse Words was good enough when I started releasing it -- I still don't. I started putting it out because I knew it was the only way I'd get myself to actually finish something. I don't think it's all that great, but you know what? An awful lot of people read it and really enjoyed it. And if I hadn't released it, I'd have been doing those people a disservice.

Also, it taught me a lot, and based on what I learned, Time to Orbit: Unknown is much better. If I'd never released Curse Words, if I hadn't seen how people read it and reacted to it and seen what worked and what didn't, then Time to Orbit: Unknown wouldn't be very good. And it certainly wouldn't be making me a living wage, because it was the years writing Curse Words that started building the momentum I have today.

And Time to Orbit: Unknown as it is today has some serious problems. Problems that I'm learning from. And the next book will be a lot better.

So that's basically my advice for making money in this industry. Be patient, be lucky, be consistent. Value your community; it's your lifeline, even the parts of it that don't directly pay you. And try to make your story as good as you can, but make that an activity you do, not a barrier to prevent you from starting.

Good luck.

[soaps-mohawk]

I've got some very exciting news

Since the start of October is about a week away (I know how gross where did the year go?) and we all know that marks the start of the kinkiest month of the year, I've got some exciting news

I am doing Kinktober this year, as I think I've stated before previously. I'm not doing every day again this year since I had to make my own list and just didn't really feel inspired by some and just didn't have the energy to write others.

Then I got a brilliant idea.

This year's Kinktober will have a...bit of a theme...

Allow me to use a meme to explain

Yes, all of my kinktober fics will be centered around Kyle, our beloved Gaz, Mr. Severely Underappreciated And That's A Crime.

The fics are all kink-related. Some are just straight kinks, others may involve some uh...other things 😏

I'll be releasing a more in-depth post closer to October 1st that will also serve as the masterlist (and I will be linking it on my navigation post as its own link). I have an update schedule planned for Kinktober (and CRCB will still be ongoing during October but we will be having a conversation about that fic separately) and will be posting on my taglist blog for Kinktober fics as well since that blog is for everything that gets released on this blog. So if you would like to be notified of when Kinktober fics come out, give that blog a follow and turn on notifications. (I sound like a YouTuber)

Anyway, that's the plan. We're giving Kyle some much deserved attention and love for Kinktober. I will also have some other things going on over on my Patreon for paid-Patrons since I can't make NSFW stuff public, so if you're interested go and check that out.

But yes, so much content is coming in October for y'all and honestly I'm really excited. You'll get more detailed info in the Kinktober masterlist which will probably be dropping closer to the weekend or maybe even next Monday. We'll see. I'll also be posting some news about CRCB here soon as well, also probably closer to the end of the week.

Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely day and I'll be back regularly scheduled weekly posting (asks and comment reblogs) here probably in a couple hours from when this post originally posted. If you're seeing this later then...I've probably already started 💚

[cat3ch1sm]

I was wondering if you would do more writing for L. Would you write a NSFW with Dom!L including bondage?

⛪️~ hello, @incivilminds <33 here is your request!! I have done you so dirty dawg like this is actually so old… forgive me plsplspls💔💔💔💔 also GODDAMN this is long as shit what

also yeah, i haven’t been writing a lot for L lately, my bad y’all 😭 i will def be writing more death note soon

*＊✿❀ nsfw ahead! fem!reader,❀✿＊*

It probably hadn’t even been a week since you had been captured, although it felt like it had been months. Vaguely, you recalled your wrists being wrenched behind your back mercilessly and a blindfold being tied roughly around your eyes. While you struggled vehemently against the chafing handcuffs that had been so harshly slapped around your wrists, someone, a man, had told you that you were under suspicion of being involved with Kira. Next thing you knew, you were tied up in a small, empty room, still unable to see or move with your body bound to a terribly uncomfortable metal board-like thing.

For a long time, you were scared out of your mind. For hours on end, you’d been interrogated by a garbled voice coming from somewhere in the room, and you hadn’t been able to give anyone any information. You were hardly allowed any bathroom breaks, and you were only given the bare minimum of food and water to keep you alive. However, despite the small amount of time you’d been captive, the situation you were in felt more hopeless every second. You were sleep-deprived, mentally drained from all the questions every hour of every day, your body was aching like hell from the position you’d been in for what seemed like ages, and you were always thirsty or hungry. On a number of occasions you’d fainted, only realizing it when you were awoken by a stern voice from some audio device in the room.

When you heard the familiar click of the microphone in the room, you had just begun to drift off again- sleeping was really all you could to in this predicament, and you weren’t really getting much of that either- it was hard to do so when you were literally tied to a board at 90 degrees and being watched every single second. And you already knew whoever had you captive now was tired of you asking to go to the bathroom every two seconds.

“Y/N.”

The stoic but demanding tone of whoever was speaking was something you were used to by now- but realizing that you were probably about to be interrogated ruthlessly again by this mechanical voice was almost too much, especially alongside being deprived of most of your senses for so long like this. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond, instead barely lifting your head from its loll on your chest.

“Good. You’re up. Now, tell me what you know about Kira.”

This again. You could almost feel your sanity slipping through your fingers.

You replied with an inaudible murmur, not even really knowing what you were saying yourself.

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

This time, you didn’t respond, and dropped your head again, an overwhelming sleepiness suddenly coming over you. Today, you just weren’t up for it- you couldn’t care less what anyone did to you.

There was an unexpected silence for a few seconds- you’d expected the voice to resume its distorted badgering the second you failed to reply. But when the voice sounded again, its tone wasn’t as stony as it had been previously.

“You seem tired. How are you doing?”

Before you could stop it, a dull, bitter laugh burst from your throat. “How am I doing?” Your voice was raspy from lack of hydration and to speak by itself hurt your throat. “Don’t patronize me.”

More silence. For a second you’d thought maybe you’d made the voice mad, but what it said next surprised you. “Watari. Get the girl some water.”

Next thing you knew, there was shuffling beside you, and then a hard object at your lips. You could feel the cold air from it flowing on your skin, and then Watari tilted the cup towards your lips, signaling you to drink. However, you kept your lips tightly shut- you didn’t want to accept any formalities from whoever was behind this.

Watari tried again, but this time you moved your head out of the way quite violently, feeling your hair dip into the water before your head hit the side of the cup, knocking it from Watari’s hand and spilling the cold liquid all over your body. It brought you a little pleasure to know that you were being an inconvenience, and now there was a mess to clean up. Besides that, now you might be allowed clean clothes.

Silence from Watari. You wondered if you’d made him mad.

“Ryuzaki, the girl doesn’t seem to be cooperating.”

You were a little surprised by Watari’s voice. You’d thought he was a man on the younger side, but instead he sounded rather elderly. You shuddered to yourself.

“Yes, I can see that,” came the tiny little voice through the speakers. It sounded like his or her teeth were clenched.

Ryuzaki. So that was your captor’s name. Even if you did get punished for your difficult behavior, at least you’d come away with a little victory.

“Feel free to depart, Watari,” Ryuzaki spoke again, the crackle of the feedback echoing through the room. “I’m going to come down there myself.”

He was coming down? You weren’t sure if you were anxious or eager. Perhaps he’d finally finish you off.

“Ryuzaki, are you sure?” Watari questioned.

“She can’t see me,” Ryuzaki replied coolly. “It’ll be fine. By this point, she needs a change of clothes, anyway- the water in fact contained a light dose of a chemical that would make the girl’s mind a little weaker and relax some of her tension, perhaps draw the truth out of her- and I can’t have it spilled on her clothes like it is now.”

Chemical? Draw the truth out of you? Any regrets about rejecting the water drained from your mind the instant Ryuzaki said that. Another tiny victory.

“Go ahead, Watari. I’ll be down shortly.”

Watari complied, and soon you heard footsteps depart from you and eventually vanish.

It was a little while before you heard anyone else again, and you waited anxiously, back aching against the cold, stiff board. Was he going to kill you? Or were you just in for more interrogation? At this point, you’d much rather Ryuzaki just end your misery. Even one more question and you’d go mad.

Despite your rising anxiety, you couldn’t ignore the pull of sleep weighing down your eyelids and blurring your vision. It had been ages since you’d slept properly, and even the small intervals of sleep you managed to get were constantly disrupted by the crackly voice over the intercom waking you up to ask you the same set of questions. Because of this, while waiting for Ryuzaki, you actually began to drift off- but just as you were about to really fall asleep, you heard footsteps echoing throughout the room.

The sound snapped you back to alertness, making you jolt. The footsteps grew louder and louder, growing closer, and then they stopped right in front of you. You froze, body completely stiff- Ryuzaki had arrived. However, he didn’t speak, which only made you more nervous.

After a few agonizing minutes, you at last heard a voice, allowing you to relax a bit- but it wasn’t much. However, the voice did surprise you- it was a young man, much unlike the crackly sound you’d been hearing for the time that you’d been here. There was a raspy edge to it as well- you could say confidently that it certainly wasn’t an ugly voice. In fact, it was sort of comforting in a twisted manner- it would have been worse if it was an old man watching you this entire time.

“Mr. Matsuda, Aizawa,” Ryuzaki commanded, “turn off the cameras and the audio.”

What?

The two men Ryuzaki had addressed seemed to have a similar reaction as yours. “Huh? L- I mean, Ryuzaki, that’s nuts! This is an interrogation!” came a protesting voice rather loudly through the microphone, the feedback making you flinch. It sounded like a much younger man’s voice, younger than Ryuzaki.

There was a brief pause before another, more mature-sounding voice came through the speaker. “Yeah- Ryuzaki, we trust you, but is that something you really want to do?”

“I want to talk to our suspect alone.” Ryuzaki continued calmly, unfazed by either of the men’s protests. “Matsuda, please turn off the camera and the audio.”

This couldn’t be good at all. Now you were almost certain Ryuzaki was going to kill you. Why else would he want the audio and video off? He couldn’t possibly be letting you go.

Matsuda sighed. “Okay, Ryuzaki, if you say so.” There was a click, soon followed by a second one, and the feedback finally silenced.

You let out an involuntary whimper through your gag. Now you were really alone, and with the blindfold you only had your fate to ponder. Was this it?

You felt Ryuzaki move closer to you, and you bit down on your gag, anticipating his next move- but to your surprise, you felt slender fingers grasp your blindfold and undo it, the metal headpiece falling from your face.

Instantly, you were blinded by the light, and a series of shapes and light exploded in front of your eyes. Flinching, you automatically shut your eyes again, completely overwhelmed with sensory input given you’d been blindfolded for days on end with no break whatsoever. You didn’t even get to see your captor’s face. However, you still felt when he removed the dirty gag from your mouth, the foul taste of the rag damp with your saliva finally leaving.

You couldn’t help the giant gulp of air you took right after Ryuzaki removed the gag, having had a lot of your airway obstructed for almost a week. For quite a while, you just coughed and gasped, making up for lost breath while Ryuzaki simply stood a short distance in front of you and watched.

When your coughing spell finally ceased and you were able to see for the most part, you at last slowly lifted your head from its loll on your chest- coming face to face with your captor at last. And to say the least, you were rather caught off guard.

He was fairly tall, a height you would expect for a man about the age he looked, but that was about the only thing conventional about him. You’d thought it would be a more refined man, polished and cold and calculating, like the head of an organized crime group. However, you were instead met with a pale face with wide, sunken-in gray eyes, a pallor over his entire body and his black hair wildly arranged all over his head. Along with that, he had on a mere white T-shirt and baggy jeans- and no shoes!- rather than the more debonair attire you’d expected him to wear. Pretty much everything about the man was in contrast to what you had thought him to be, and you couldn’t suppress the shocked expression that came across your face.

Ryuzaki tilted his head at you upon seeing your expression. “Surprised?”

You said nothing, instead recoiling back against the metal board. No matter what he looked like, this was still your kidnapper who had held you hostage for five days.

“No need to look so nervous.” Ryuzaki shrugged nonchalantly. It was as if he’d done this a million times. “I’m not down here to harm you.”

“You aren’t?” It just popped out. You didn’t know you remembered how to speak words other than the same mantra of “Yes,” “No,” or “I don’t know” in reply to Ryuzaki’s endless interrogation questions.

“Your enunciation is surprisingly good for someone who’s had a gag in their mouth for the past several days,” Ryuzaki remarked casually, his eyes drifting from yours down to your lips. He placed his hands behind his back and slowly circled the metal board you were bound to, inspecting you closely. Revolted, you shrank against the metal as much as possible, trying to avoid his scrutinizing gaze.

Finally, Ryuzaki came back around in front of you. “Your tense body language would suggest that you’re rather wary of me.” He paused, inching closer to you still. “I’m not surprised.”

“No shit,” you managed, giving the detective the most beseeching glare you could.

Ryuzaki tilted his head at you. “Well, it’s nice to see you still have at least a bit of fight in you, hm?” Then, all of a sudden, he brought his face directly up to yours, his wide gray eyes burning into yours and startling you. You recoiled as much as possible, but found yourself unable to break away from his gaze. “Now, tell me- what? Do you know? About Kira.” His voice was just a low hiss, and you felt your heart pound in your chest and your breath speed up. Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you retorted, “I told you already- I don’t know anything.”

Ryuzaki pulled back after hearing those words, his expression going back to it’s normal stoic self. He didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Alright. Since you don’t seem to be cooperating, I suppose I’ll have to take on another tactic to get you to talk.” Ryuzaki turned away and vanished around a corner for a moment, and for a brief moment you felt scared that he was going to pull out something like a knife or a taser to torture information out of you. But when the detective reappeared, he had something you definitely weren’t expecting him to come out with.

“A vibrator?” you sputtered, unable to contain your disbelief. Ryuzaki didn’t seem rattled by your outburst at all, only fiddling with the device in his hand before looking back up to address you.

“I assume you were expecting me to emerge with some… torture device of some sort. But when it comes to these things, I find pleasure is a much more effective method of interrogation,” Ryuzaki explained, approaching you with the vibrator. “Since you won’t talk, I’ll just have to make you. Now, stay still for me so I can get these clothes out of the way.” Ryuzaki kneeled to the ground and picked up a knife, making you jump, but he addressed you again. “Don’t worry. I just need to take off your clothes without undoing your restraints.”

This helped your nerves a little bit, but not really. Still, you figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to fight him while he had the knife so close to your skin. Ryuzaki held you around the waist with one hand to keep your body still while he dragged the knife down the raggedy white garment you had on, slicing the cloth in half and allowing it to fall from your body effortlessly. You flinched when you felt the cold air hit your skin, but as your body was exposed, you noticed something odd.

“Ah. Judging by the look on your face, I assume you’ve noticed that you’re a little… messy between the legs.”

You looked up at Ryuzaki abruptly. You were indeed unusually wet, despite hardly being aroused- although even when you were you normally weren’t this wet. “What did you do?”

Ryuzaki’s tone was indifferent, as always. “I had a feeling that when I gave you the chemical in the drink that you spilled that you would resist. However, I was prepared. When you were asleep earlier today, I managed to give you the aphrodisiac anyway.” He paused for a second. “However… I think I may have given you slightly more than what was needed to stimulate your erogenous zones, so forgive me.” Ryuzaki bent back down so he was on his knees on the ground with his head level with your crotch. “I’ll ask you one more time, Y/N, before I touch you. What do you know about Kira?”

You bit your lip, legs squirming a bit, but didn’t reply. Ryuzaki waited for your reply, but when he saw that you weren’t going to offer him anything, he turned the vibrator in his hand on and brought it to your exposed clit, making you let out a whimper and try and close your legs.

“Ah, ah, ah- no use in struggling. Your legs are bound, remember?” Ryuzaki reminded you airily, circling the vibrator around your clit lightly. The pleasure making your knees weak made you almost glad that you were leaned against the metal board- his aphrodisiac had been very effective, apparently, because even though Ryuzaki was being quite gentle you were already wriggling and moaning.

“This vibrator does have higher settings, you know,” Ryuzaki informed you. “And I must want you, I can do this all day.” He had the ghost of a smile on his face when he said this, and you knew he wasn’t bluffing. As if to make a point, he hit a button on the vibrator, and you instantly felt when the vibrations increased, your breath hitching as your back arched. “There’s no point in denying that you know anything about Kira, so why don’t you just skip the hassle and tell me what you know?”

You found it difficult to respond with the sensation from the vibrator taking over your senses, but you still managed to say something. “He- isn’t from Japan. He lives in- ah!”

Ryuzaki pressed the vibrator harder against your sensitive clit, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Don’t bother lying. I conducted an experiment aged ago that verified that Kira is in fact Japanese. Try again. And it would be appreciated if you didn’t lie this time.”

Your breathing was heavy and your body flushed, your juices spilling out onto the tips of Ryuzaki’s fingers. God, you wished he hadn’t drugged you, because the pleasure was already almost overwhelming. “Fuck- fine, he is Japanese.”

His tone was hard. “Didn’t I just tell you that I know that already? Why don’t you share with me identifying details about his identity. Try his age, appearance, birthday, or the school he goes to. Are you not a high school senior? Have you noticed anybody that stands out in particular?”

You scoffed. “Why would Kira be in high school? What high school kid has time to commit mass murders like this?”

Wrong answer. Ryuzaki turned up the vibrator higher still and dragged it down your dripping slit until it was positioned at your hole. Slowly, he slid the top of the vibrator inside of you with a very wet sound and began pumping it agonizingly slowly, up and down.

You felt your legs immediately begin to tremble, feeling your own arousal slide down your thighs. With every thrust of the vibrator you let out a whimper, squirming like crazy but unable to escape as Ryuzaki placed one hand on your thigh to still you a bit. Your whole lower body throbbed with arousal and pleasure.

“Ah- please, Ryuzaki-“

“Please? Please, what?” Ryuzaki queried, seemingly not affected at all by how needy you clearly were. “Do you want to orgasm? Is that what it is, Y/N?”

You whimpered and nodded, still squirming and moaning with the vibrator moving inside you. Ryuzaki kept his pace slow and steady, making sure to drag it out as much as possible. You didn’t know how this could feel so amazing and yet awful at the same time, your peak just within reach but escaping every time you were close enough. And you knew that Ryuzaki knew this.

“I’ll let you come all you’d like if you just give me the information I want to know,” Ryuzaki told you plainly. “I’m listening.”

You didn’t want to give Ryuzaki the satisfaction, but god, did the vibrator feel absolutely amazing going in and out of your soaking hole like this- and the aphrodisiac just made you more needy.

“Oh… oh, fuck, mmm, okay- please, Ryuzaki, stop moving the-“

“Oh, is the pleasure too much for you? You are indeed very wet…” Ryuzaki finally paused his movements with the vibrator, and despite the ache you felt in your entrance for more, you were finally able to answer Ryuzaki properly for the most part.

You let out a shaky breath, legs shaking. “I don’t know his first name, but his last name is Yagami. We’re the top students in our class, and one day when we were studying together he told me he was Kira.”

Ryuzaki paused for a moment. “Hm. You don’t seem to be lying this time.” He peered up at your flushed, glistening face before looking back down at the vibrator moist with your juices. Muttering to himself, he said, “Hm, I was right- I did dose you with too much of the aphrodisiac…” Regardless, he slipped the vibrator back inside of you, making you let out a broken moan as he pumped it in and out. “Good girl. Now answer one more question for me.”

You were trembling again, your walls squeezing around the vibrator. Your thighs were wet and sticky now as you nodded, trying to stifle the lewd sounds leaving your lips.

“Alright. How does Kira kill?”

This question made your heart skip a beat- revealing the answer, depending on what Ryuzaki did with it, could be very incriminating and have major implications for mankind as a whole. You hesitated, and Ryuzaki noticed, stopping the movements of the vibrator yet again.

“Go on,” Ryuzaki prompted, waiting expectantly. The vibrator was just centimeters away from your throbbing sex, and you could hear the vibration from beneath you.

Shit. Were you really so desperate that you’d give away something like this?

Apparently so. You wanted to blame it on the aphrodisiac, but you knew you couldn’t do that this time.

“You… won’t believe me, but… there’s something called a Death Note. Whenever you write someone’s name in it, that person dies. I don’t really know all the details, but… that’s how he kills.”

Ryuzaki seemed actually startled by this information, but he didn’t question it, so he knew you weren’t lying. He quickly covered up his surprise with his usual mask of indifference, waiting a few moments before speaking again.

“Oh. Alright, then. I’ll have to retrieve more details later, but for now that will suffice. You seem to have given me all the information you have.”

You didn’t reply, but your back was arched, your pelvis close to L’s head.

Ryuzaki looked back up all of a sudden. “Oh. Right. I suppose it’s only fair of me to let you orgasm.”

You were relieved, as the ache in your pussy was becoming too much to bear. To your surprise, though, Ryuzaki turned the vibrator off and set it on the ground beside him. But before you could be confused about it, he leaned straight down to your sex, the tip of his nose resting just above it, and began to slide his warm tongue along your clit, stopping in between licks to plant sucking kisses along your dripping cunt.

Your legs weakened instantly, and you rode Ryuzaki’s tongue as best as you could strapped to the metal board. The heat and wetness from his mouth felt better than you could have ever imagined, and as you approached your climax, your moans faded into whimpers and broken whines of Ryuzaki’s name. He wrapped his lips around your swollen clit and sucked it slowly, gently, and slipped two slender fingers inside of your sopping hole as well, pumping them back and forth like he did the vibrator.

You came mere minutes later, legs quivering violently and breathing heavily. With a moan of Ryuzaki’s name, you finished in his mouth, spilling from the corners of his lips and running down his chin as he peered up at you through his unkempt black hair. He licked all of your cum off of your thighs, running his tongue up and down the length of your thighs and making you shiver at the feeling.

When Ryuzaki was done, he pulled away from your aching and overstimulated cunt before getting back to his feet with the vibrator in hand while you were still trying to catch your breath and still your trembling thighs.

Before you could react, the detective leaned in and kissed you gently on the lips, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You shuddered as you felt your own cum slide down your chin, and Ryuzaki pulled away. “I appreciate you giving me this information. Watari will be down to provide you with a new garment shortly. It may be a while longer before I allow you to leave, but this will be quite helpful.”

And with that, he was gone before you could even answer.

[breakyourrxles]

❥déjà vu (m)

↳ One year after the fulfillment of a particularly raunchy agreement with your best friends husband, the three of you once again find yourselves together over a bottle of pinot noir, an appetizer, and an unforeseen question laid out on the table:

If you could do it all again, would you?

kim doyoung x fem!reader — friends with benefits, gratuitous sexual content, porn with plot [21k wc] cws: open relationship, alcohol consumption, bdsm-heavy!! dominant doyoung, submissive reader, restraints, impact play, slapping, dom-drop+aftercare, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (m+f), gratuitous dirty talk/degradation/humiliation, cum play/facials/wet&messy, deep throating, safe word usage, ravishment play, infidelity play, spit play, doyoung has a big dick and fucks like a pornstar.

In the dimly lit ambiance of the swanky restaurant that you and your present company currently reside, and over the dull, pleasant hum of the chatter of the surround patrons, you suppose you can't help but reminisce, just a little bit.

One year.

Not on the dot, a few weeks give or take since the beginning of one such agreement, but nevertheless a time in your life that you've found yourself recalling perhaps a few more times than you'd care to admit. Admit to yourself, and especially to aforementioned present company.

You bring yourself back from the thought just in time to make eye contact with the man across the table from you — a knowing collection of features gracing his face, of course, he doesn't know the ins and outs of whatever it is that happens to take your attention in the moment, but rather, just that there had been something to stir you away from the present. The ringing laughter of your best friend just next to him finally coming into earshot to let you know that the two had been engaged in some other conversation that you must have tuned out slightly, you watch her snake an arm around his as his preoccupied one continues to top off your glass of red wine.

Thankfully, third-wheeling with the couple has become far more comfortable, though, you suppose you know what the reason for that may be.

Mina, with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail and a black sweater on — it must have been the evening for couple outfits, as Doyoung sports just about the same, minus the blonde hair, instead sporting his usual black with seemingly no interest in ever changing his look.

"I'm so annoyed I have to go on this business trip at all," Mina huffs, across the table and next to her husband. "But they did say that I would need to be gone like this occasionally when I took it, so hopefully it can be done and over with as quickly as possible, at least."

"How long was it, again?" You ask, fork gently pressed between your lips to clean it off.

She rolls her eyes as the response begins to leave her. "A month. I don't know what he's going to do without me."

Playful in nature, Mina cozies up with Doyoung next to her as she says it, to which he merely offers a roll of his own eyes before audibly inhaling to response. "Surely I can manage."

"He'll probably just work the whole time, anyways," You add. Your friend nods knowingly. "Aren't you writing a book?"

Lips to his glass, he begins speaking into at the tail end of his sip before placing it back onto the table to carry on with the thought. "It's finished. Loose ends here or there but mostly done. Back to the usual workload, now."

Humming, you carefully shovel another forkful of pasta into your mouth before your vision catches on Mina — a certain gleam in her eye that you know all too well by now to mean that the woman be up to no good, you slow in your motions as you maintain your eyes upon her in wait for what it is that she almost certainly be about to unload on either of you in the middle of this far-too-expensive restaurant.

"Actually," she starts with a jingle to her tone. Eyes now averted from either of you, she still maintains the wicked upturn of the corners of her lips as she hesitates only slightly before finishing the sentence with little more presented to either of you. "I kind of wanted to talk to you about something��"

"Who?"

The word drops from both you and Doyoung simultaneously, and as a result, pulls a resonating chuckle from the woman.

"Well, both of you."

Uh-oh.

Doyoung, once having had his head turned towards his wife, now slowly pulls his vision ahead again, but not without narrow, questioning eyes still remaining to his side as if suspecting her being up to no-good. For good reason, as well, because you maintain the same amount of surveillance on her in wait for what it is that she's about to bestow.

Like a villain sitting in her evil, hands twisting within themselves for all of the devilishness that be about to transpire as a result of her.

"I have an idea."

"Well, that much we can tell, you only get like this when you have one of your ideas," Doyoung can't help but quip back immediately. A man lovingly fed up with all of the nonsense that his wife bring to his life, while no doubt being a large part of the reason that he love her in the first place. "So, what is it, then?"

"No fun, as usual." She sighs before taking a hastened sip from her own glass of wine. Then, her attention turns almost exclusively towards you, as if equally fed up with the way that her husband be behaving in regards to her unknown genius. "Since I'm going to be gone so long, I was thinking — why don't you come stay at the house?"

A shocked, resounding ‘what!?’ coming from both you and the husband in question, once again.

Of course, Mina only laughs at the response from you two with a gentle shake of her head to top it off.

You don't entirely know what to make of the offer, and frankly, you're a little bit too afraid to ask. Instead, you're thankful for Doyoung's bluntness, and perhaps also his familiarity in navigating these particular waters with his wife — because you think you know what she's suggesting, but he most certainly will be the one to ask the question out loud.

"Are you suggesting another arrangement while you're gone?"

"Yeah, why not?" She chimes back as if it be the most normal thing in the world. That it be bizarre for anyone to so much as question it further. "It's a whole month, darling."

"Fairly certain I can keep myself busy enough to not die without having sex for a month."

In ways, this conversation not really involve you currently. Should it play out a specific way, suppose then your input be necessary, but for now: this is between the betrothed.

Mina finally turns in the booth to face him better, but Doyoung insists on maintaining his calculated stature in facing forward and staring out towards the nothingness of the restaurant. He's difficult to read in moments like this; unable to discern if he's upset by the proposition, the potential implications of it, or if he's interested and just unwilling to come of all too eager, and especially in front of you.

After all, the last time sure did end off with a bang, of sorts.

"Are you mad at me?" She asks cutely, as if knowing the answer already. A woman who knows her husbands buttons well, as he turns to give her his full, undivided attention almost the moment that the last syllable drops from her mouth.

"No! I'm not mad, it's just," he pauses, thinking through his word choice carefully as a result of present company, you're sure. "I thought we all agreed that it was a one time thing."

"Then say you're not interested and I'll drop it."

For a split second, Doyoung's eyes catch your own, but he pulls them back and away from you nearly just as swiftly.

You don't think you've ever seen him like this. So...flustered?

Swallowing so hard you watch the lump in his throat bob, Doyoung cocks his head to the side once as if stretching for the marathon of a conversation that his acquiescence to this may just result in. A marathon, indeed, because there would certainly be a whole load more negotiations to take place for a month of who-knows-what-really.

Hesitancy to admit that he's interested in the arrangement. Reluctance to admit it outright without seeming all too eager to re-engage. Tricky waters for the husband in question to navigate, certainly.

Eyes fluttering shut, he sighs. "I'm not against it, just...surprised."

And unfortunately, that means it's your turn now.

Both of their attention now turning to you just as the waiter comes and brings the bill to your table, you feel the heat of embarrassment rush to your face — as if this stranger be privy to the topics ongoing currently — you chuckle nervously as you take the paper in hand, only for Doyoung to just as swiftly tear it away from you before you have so much as a second to consider paying it yourself.

"Well?" Mina questions, chin resting inside of her palm as an elbow settles against the waxed wood of the table top.

For whatever reason, you choose not to acknowledge the man any further as you think through your answer. Assuming him far too busy calculating incredibly simple math especially for someone with a career in finance, all you are capable of is simply thinking him all too enamored in that to be paying any interest or mind to what your response to this question could be. So, with eyes glued to the table in front of you, you muster up all of the courage that you can, while simultaneously biting back the bubbling excitement that you're not too proud of having, before finally giving your best friend your full attention and giving the answer that you think be the one that everyone at the table be looking forward to hearing from you.

"Yeah. I'm down."

Three weeks later, you bring your belongings for your extended stay over to the house that you find already to be comfortable.

There's a certain air about it: a place that you've already spent countless days and nights at, but knowing the circumstances under which you're back inside of their humble abode offering a new set of eyes that you have long since abandoned since a year or so back. Kitchen countertops and upstairs walls that serve as reminders of all sorts of goings on between you and the man of the house — perhaps things you may find yourself revisiting as well as new, unexplored areas with him — there's an excitement within you that now takes the place of any uncertainty or reluctance the first time around.

Because you know Doyoung, and you trust him completely.

Dragging a large suitcase inside, as well as an over-the-shoulder bag and a laptop bag for work, you carefully set your belongings down on the white, marble flooring of the home as you listen for the nearing sounds of footsteps hurrying down the upstairs hallway and towards you. Mina tips over the railing with a bright, cheerful smile — somehow the happiest of the three of you about the way that things are going to carry out for the next thirty days.

"You're here! Doie! She's here!"

Of course, you don't hear from the man, and instead your friend rushes herself down the stairs and into your arms with a wide, tight hug.

"I'm also hungry, I hope there's food in this house," You playfully respond, but before Mina has the chance, Doyoung retorts plainly from the same railing that Mina had been lovingly doting on you only minutes before.

"Suppose I'm expected to keep you fed then, as well."

"Yes, dear," Mina dryly answers with a huff over her shoulder. "Feed and fuck her, that's the agreement."

It being so simply discussed out in the open perhaps something you may never grow completely comfortable with, and with eyes glancing upwards to gauge the mans response as a result of his wife’s words, Doyoung's eyes only roll before sauntering down the stairway just the same as the woman had.

"Are you going to make dinner tonight?" Mina questions as he arrives just behind her. Hands in pockets, he shrugs rather nonchalantly, as if it make no difference to him either way. "I could."

He meets eyes with you, a single eyebrow raising. "Should I?"

"Uh, yeah," you hesitate in response, arms still wrapped around his wife as the conversation carries on. "That'd be really nice."

"I'll go prep then while the two of you say your goodbyes."

And before exiting the scene, Doyoung leans forward and around to kiss Mina — her still very much attached from you, it results in a very full, somewhat-intimate moment that you're all too included in. Unsure if they simply not be aware of your proximity or just as much not care, you swallow and glance away until they're finished — Doyoung's eyes once again catching onto your own before he pulls away from the blonde woman and disappears inside of the kitchen just down the hall.

Shortly there after, Mina separates herself from you, as well. Bags already packed and set aside by the door, you ask her if she need any help in bringing her things out to while she protests, and simply tells you to go and enjoy your stay...

...as well as 'all of the things that the stay has to offer.'

You're not sure if you should feel guilty for the amount of anticipation you've been holding back ever since the initial conversation, but you can't help but wishing for the woman to hurry herself out of the residence, even just a little bit.

You love her, of course, and if her being there instead were an option you would happily choose that ahead of your own interests.

But it's not an option, and frankly, you want to fuck her husband again. No real need to beat around the bush about it, this time.

Two hours after the wife’s departure, the scent of dinner brewing emanates throughout the lower level of the residency that you're now expected to call 'home' for the next month. Surrounded by familiar, white walls and granite countertops, the tall man within be laid with the multitasking of dinner-making while you carry out the finishing touches of table setting. One hand carefully cupped around the tip of the last candle, you hold the lighter against the wick for the fire to catch, and pulling away, you glance over the handy work that you've done in the meantime as you wait for the food to finish cooking. With a heavy sigh coming from Doyoung, you glance over only to find him missing momentarily — popping up from his presumed kneeling position in front of the small, compact wine cooler with a bottle of white in hand.

"Are you going to get changed?"

His expression is somewhat deadpan, which you suppose is to be a bit expected of him, but the question definitely coming from out of left field given your lack of knowledge of even being expected to wear something other than what it is that you had arrived in.

Was this...a date?

Stammering slightly, you do some quick, on your feet thinking about anything that you may have easily accessible in one of your bags that not require a whole lot of putting together in the last minute. "Yeah, give me a second."

Nearly jogging out of the dining room, you hear the man loudly and in your direction. "Make it quick, dinner's in ten."

Pulling a loose, casual dress from your bag and quickly bringing yourself upstairs and into the guest bedroom that you're now to call your own, you can't help but divert your attention down the hall to the shared bedroom of the wedded couple, with one, main rule bestowed upon you by Mina days before your arrival. Her only request of the two of you and your adventures together while she be gone:

Never in their shared room.

No interest in breaking such a rule, instead, you think it charming as you disrobe quickly to change into something more fitting for the evening together. That even in all of the things the couple be willing to share in their marriage, some things still remain off limits, and only for them.

As you re-enter the kitchen area, you catch Doyoung as he pull his apron off from around his neck. Long, thin finger deftly working at the tie around his small waist in a way that reminds you of precisely the way that the mans body look: broad shoulders cinching so snugly at the middle — accentuated by the way fitted trousers and belt hug him and pull at the loose fabric of his button down shirt — he catches you looking well before you find enough awareness to bring your eyes away, and a flush of heat settles at just the tips of your ears as a result of being found out in such a way.

He says nothing, however, instead carrying on with the task of setting the discarded item onto the back of a chair and nodding towards the glass dinner table. "It's ready."

Walking steadily behind him, you realize that the close proximity of the both of you in such a way having long since reignited a sort of burning passion within you for the man — with eyes cascading over his shoulders and back as he bring himself forward, you feel the first, all too evident throb of arousal between your legs that you know, for a fact, you can't possibly place blame on anything else.

When the original agreement had come to a close, you accepted as much happily. A good, positive, growing experience for you in so many ways, but more than that, you were satisfied. Not just sexually, but with your relationships, your life, and your choices. Within the closure came a certain kind of acceptance of yourself in ways that you had never had the opportunity to find before, and now with the re-opening of it, what you really hope to find is more of that.

More acceptance, more trust.

In ways the nature of such agreement never truly able to be just about sex. You can't speak for him, but for you, so much more to be learned and experienced.

Reaching the clear end of the table, majority of the things residing atop it placed further down to accommodate the fact that only two people be sitting there this evening, Doyoung stops so abruptly in his tracks that you nearly collide straight into him — hands coming up to steady yourself and set space between the two of your bodies, it turns into a bit of a whirlwind, however, when you feel the familiar grip of fingers coming around one of your wrists and pulling you forward and in front of the man.

You don't get much more time between then and the few seconds following: expertly placed up and on top of the glass with your legs pried apart to make room for the man between them.

The first kiss comes equally hard and fast, as well.

Nipping into your bottom lip, you don't need much help navigating these particular waters as your hands already make quick work of his belt, followed shortly thereafter by the button and zipper of his black trousers — with such little time passed and a palm pressed against the front of his pants, you find only the beginnings of an erection forming, enough to have you groaning into his mouth with promise of what's to come all of the same, however.

A master of his craft, Doyoung having already pressed the majority of the length of your dress up your hips upon hoisting you onto the table, he dips a single finger down the front of your panties and between your folds, as if to test the waters already. From your position, it's easy to feel the ease in which he glides against you due to the slickness already presented to him — your reward thus far? An absolutely wicked groan of his own through teeth that bite down just a little bit harder into your lip.

"God, how long have you wanted this?" He says with a low tone, words delivered directly into your open mouth as you gasp for air at the feeling of him rubbing gentle circles into your clit just the way he knows you like it. "You're so wet already. You still think about it, huh?"

Less interested in playing games and more willing to be a far more active participant this time around — leaving behind the shyness and apprehension that came along with the completely uncharted waters of the first time — you tilt your head back just slightly and grin, taking in the feeling of him all over again.

"Yeah, I do," you answer with airy confidence. "Don't you?"

"Fuck yes I do."

Words coming through in nearly a growl, Doyoung drags his mouth down along your jaw to suck into the skin all of the way down your neck before settling into the juncture of your shoulder. Pointed sucks and nips into the skin there as if a man truly starved for your touch, you feel him pull you forward and tilt you back just slightly — adjusting the angle of your body so that the fingers teasing you can slip down further — middle finger gliding so easily inside of you, he gives you three pumps of it before adding a second to see how much you need to be prepped for him.

The answer is very little.

Barely any resistance brought to him as he fucks you open with his fingers, you lean back with one palm against the glass behind you to remain stable as the other fishes out his length from behind the confines of the fabric holding it. Long and beautiful, just like you remembered, you run the palm of your hand up the underside of his shaft before delicately wrapping fingers around him and offering him a few lazy strokes; for no other reason than to hear the way his breath hitches just beneath your ear as his mouth carries on its journey back up that way.

As the man carefully creates enough space between your bodies to hook fingers into the sides of your undergarment and pull it down your legs, as he quickly presses his own pants down his thighs just enough to not be a deterrent, you can't help but notice the palpable urgency that this instance carries: a man known for his intensity and ability to maintain stoicism even in the face of erotic desire, this time you find him nearly unrecognizable from any of the times before. No roles between you, no power dynamics at play.

Just two people and raw, sexual desire.

Forearms hooked up and under your legs for leverage, you reach down to him to angle and ease him inside of you with one, smooth drive of his hips — sinking into you with heavy, contented sighs dropping from the both of your mouths at the feeling of each other. Rocking into you shallowly two, three times, it's only then that Doyoung reach his hand up to grasp the side of your neck as if to hold you there, in place, and with all eyes on him, as well.

Pulling the leg still in his grasp up and tightly against the side of his body, he offers you a quick, hard, snap of his hips that finally has you feeling exactly how it is that you want him to make you feel.

Crying out, he settles his forehead against your own, looking you dead in the eyes as he offers another hard drive of his cock into you. The angle is just right for him to graze your g-spot with intense pressure, and already, you feel your thighs quaking around him at the sudden onset of it.

He starts slow, but is quick to find his pace against you, all the while holding you firm in his gasp for just the right amount of leverage that every forceful thrust into you be received with the utmost impact.

You had forgotten how easily he's able to have to falling apart under, and around him.

Electric intensity coursing through every nerve ending, toes curling as your moans quickly dissolve into pathetic whimpers, you feel the prickling of wetness threatening your tear ducts as you bite hard into your bottom lip in an attempt to bring yourself back, even just a little bit.

It's the first time, and relatively vanilla, at that. This man can not have you withering like this already, it's humiliating.

With his jaw tight and teeth gritted as he stairs down towards you, you whine out as the hand around your neck snakes up just ever so slightly and into the hair at the back of your head — fist clenching tight within the strands, and it's only then that Doyoung break his gaze with you and trail hot, dry lips down to the shell of your ear.

"Thought I forgot what you like?" He asks with a drop of venom to his tone. "Don't want to ruin you just yet, we still have dinner to eat."

There's that nasty mouth you had grown to love a year ago.

With impending orgasm on the horizon that no doubt that man inside of you can feel, he trades in shorter, quicker drives into you for fuller, longer ones — offering you the feeling of the entirety of his cock with every snap of his hips, and it's really then that you realize that Doyoung have your likes a little bit too under his thumb for your liking.

But only as far as ego goes. Physically, you already find yourself lamenting the day in which this must once again come to an end.

Walls clenching down around him, Doyoung hisses into your ear as you bite back the full, long moan of an orgasm that's soon to shake you, and dipping down only long enough to nip and suck into the skin below your ear, he brings his mouth back up to it right as you're on the verge of your release.

"How about you make me come, so that I can lick it out of you for dessert."

And that will certainly do the trick.

Yelling out so loudly that you're happy to know that the two of you home alone and on a plot of land large enough that neighbors not be a concern, your orgasm rips through you, so desperate to grip onto something that one hand come up to curl fingers into Doyoung's forearm as he hold you by the hair in place for him to fuck into. Bringing his head up to look at you, as if the unsure about the motion and having to check in on the goings on visually — happy with the scene as your eyes roll back into harshly knitted eyebrows, you hear him groan from the chest — full-bodied and throaty as he comes as well with only a handful more drives into you before burying his cock entirely to empty his load inside of you.

The familiar twitch of him as he comes — mouth delicately hung ajar and looking down at the place where he disappears inside of you — a simple man who enjoy all of the carnal pleasures that sex offer him as much as any other. Prim, proper, put together on the outside but when given the chance, a man willing to say and do the the nastiest, filthiest things to and for a partner...for the both of your enjoyment.

The wetter, the messier — the better it is, for you and him, alike.

And as the two of you sit together for dinner only moments after, discussing the trials and tribulations of adult, workload life — with his cum dripping from your cunt and soaking into your panties, you know one thing is for sure, and that is that whatever is left of it inside of you by the time you two are finished here, he most certainly will be making good on his promise of dessert.

Waking up in the morning feels strange, even under the circumstances of a fake-dating agreement.

On one hand, it makes sense: preferring to sleep in the comfort of ones own bed, but as you lie awake, staring at the while ceiling above and listening to the hum of the dehumidifier that stand tucked away in the furthest corner of the room, you can't help but feel something. Some way about it.

However, it is early into the scenario — only day two, so perhaps it best to allow these feelings of uncertainty lie dormant for just a little while longer — given time to manifest into something if they ever are to, before bringing it to the attention of the man of the house.

Would it be a strange request? All things considered and through all of the other goings on, could something as quaint as the request to be slept next to be one unspoken hard limit for the husband in question?

A single, hard blink has you putting the thought out of your mind in exchange for rolling over to face the window as the delicate blanketing of morning rays wash over your frame. Snagging your phone from off of the nightstand, you check the time only to be be shocked by how early it is — only a bit past six — you come to realize that it explain the sound of rustling from downstairs that you originally thought to be nothing but the typical sounds of a house in the night.

For a moment, you contemplate attempting to go back to sleep, rolling onto your back once again and sprawling across as much of the expanse of the much-too-large furniture as you can possibly manage. Instead, it's the sound of the espresso machine ringing loudly through the residence that has you reconsidering your options.

Footsteps climbing the stairs, you can't help but listen in on the way that the man moves about when not in the company of you or others. Sounding as if he is, however, you hear him on the phone to someone or another — displeased at best, as well, given the strength to his voice despite being unable to make out the words. Shuffling around his office briefly only to disappear back down to the lower level, you decide then that you much too curious about Doyoung in a way that you hadn't quite expected: him as a person, him as an employee, him detached from sexuality almost entirely.

Feet into slippers and a light robe over your shoulders, you quietly tip-toe your way down to the kitchen where it seem that the majority of the early morning happenings be taking place — as you make your way closer, the distinct scent of coffee brewing and and continued sounds of an irritated man, none too thrilled about the conversation taking place, but it's only when you reach the nearest entryway and your presence demands his attention, that you feel as though you may have been walking into more than you had thought to be signing up for.

Black hair styled and slicked back with a gray suit adorning him — it would appear normal, given his occupation, if not for one, glaring, difference to the typical business attire.

No shirt worn underneath the jacket, instead, you find yourself faced with the expanse of smooth skin that you're already well acquainted with, sure.

But not like this?

Your being there appears to fluster him slightly as he turns his back towards you quickly and cusses under his breath despite still being on the phone. Informing the person on the other line that he'll call them back, you watch with a sort of innocent enjoyment as Doyoung pulls the jacket closed before turning to face you again.

"What are you doing awake?" He all but stutters out, a good attempt at maintaining his vocal balance through his embarrassment, you have to give it to him.

With a single eyebrow perked upwards, you offer him nothing more than a gentle grin at first, slipping through the doorway finally and pulling a mug down from one of the higher cupboards to pour yourself a cup of coffee. "I don't sleep so well in new places, it'll take a couple of days to get used to a new bed."

You can't be sure if ignoring the elephant in the room be what he desire right then and there, or if instead it only lending to more awkwardness — so, you make a judgment call then and there as you turn to seat yourself at the kitchen island and hopping into one of the tall stools that reside there.

"So—"

"Don't." He immediately interjects with screwed shut eyes and a palm up towards you.

A small giggle escapes your mouth at his insistence, but beyond that, you choose to let it lie as you quietly scroll through your phone. Doyoung, however, not as easily placated — shuffling around nervously in place, and if you didn't know any better, you might think him to be irritated at your lack of insistence further.

"It's not what it looks like."

Glancing up towards him, you blink once. "I assure you that I have no idea what it looks like."

It's the truth, because after all: what the fuck?

Rolling his eyes and accepting defeat, the man grabs his mug from behind him and seats himself across the way from you with phone in hand as if waiting for a call that he intend on answering the absolute second that it begins coming through.

"So, you know I wrote a book."

You nod.

"Publisher wants me to do some promotional photos for it, now I get word last minute that the photographer isn't coming and they're having a hard time finding someone who can make it all of the way out here in time."

"Is there a reason that they want you to be dressed like a Chippendales dancer for a book about business and finances?"

Groaning and tossing his head back so abruptly you think he might send the entirety of himself barreling backwards and out of his chair, when he comes back upwards, he looks approximately as pained about the whole ordeal as you might expect him to.

"Something about selling more books."

A questioning hum into the rim of your mug, you would be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy having a bit of the high ground over the man for once. Tables turned briefly as he sits across from you nearly nervously sweating the wax out of his perfectly styled hair — when the call begins to come through finally, Doyoung jumps up and out of his chair to answer it — hurried and excited at first, only to find himself sounding just as annoyed and despondent as you had heard him earlier on.

Guess it's not going well.

Turning to you once again as he ends the call and setting his phone onto the granite countertop with a heavy sigh, he tilts his head backwards with eyes closed as if in silent prayer for some sort of answer to this conundrum from some sort of higher power above.

Luckily for him, the answer only need fifteen more minutes to wake up and another cup of coffee, first.

"Did Mina ever tell you I got pretty into photography a few months back?"

"I'm sure she mentioned it."

Slow on the pick-up.

"I brought my stuff with me because you guys live in sort of a good area for landscape photography," you continue on, and thankfully by now the mans eyes start to pick up and raise towards you as you speak. "I don't really do people but it doesn't seem like you're in much of a position to be all that picky."

Quietly taking another sip from your cup, you sit by and wait for the reluctant acceptance: because he's a man out of other options, and you don't really have anything better to be doing this early in the morning, either.

"Fine." Doyoung sighs, tipping his own drink all of the way back to finish it off as if downing a shot of liquor to prepare him for the morning going forward. "Just make sure I look pretty, would you?"

"Of course, darling."

Snapping a few test shots, you pull your camera down from your eye and take a look through the display to check the turn out — given, it's a bit of a rough shoot with no lighting equipment and not much else to help you along your way, but you figure with what you're getting here currently that someone far more talented than yourself be capable of fixing anything decent you get in post.

Looking upwards again and towards your subject: laid out on the white flooring of an otherwise unfurnished room that the happy couple haven't had the time to get around to just yet, Doyoung keeps his attention turned well away from you as you cycle through the photos to determine any better way that you can make this work.

You think, perhaps, that he's still a bit bashful of the circumstances.

Leaning back against his elbows and forearms, you watch him glance towards the ceiling just briefly before finally looking at you.

"Well?"

It's a little bit funny how little he wishes to be doing this right now. Karma, perhaps, for years of subtle torment.

"They look good enough," you admit with a slight nod, sounding almost surprised at the fact. "I think we can get a few good shots pretty quick and have you back in your office writing boring reports, or whatever it is that you do, in no time."

"I'd much rather be doing that." He huffs, turning his attention away again. The movement gives you an excellent shot of the angle of his jaw, however — thus, you bring your camera back up to take a few more pictures before gracing him with a reply.

"I've never met a man so dismayed by being attractive."

"You think I'm attractive?"

You bring the camera down again, a slightly annoyed but playful cock of your head to the side that silently says 'really?', because frankly, it's a stupid question. This is a fact that Doyoung knows, as evidenced by the smirk that takes his lips as a result of your reaction to it.

"It's not the 'being attractive' that's bothersome," he continues on with the thought, offering you an honest response now. "Just don't really need or particularly enjoy this kind of attention on myself. It feels bizarre, especially as someone in my line of work."

It makes sense, and snapping a few more shots, you opt out of a verbal reply and only hum of acknowledgement, instead.

"I'll be happy to have it over with, and now I know, no more books."

Without pulling up from the camera, you carry on with your direction. "Look towards me."

Head turning slowly and eyes settling deeply into your own even through the lens, Doyoung settles into his new pose — a smoldering look to him that really would have you thinking that something like this be his chosen line of profession after all, but shaking it off, you press a few more clicks of the button and check in the view finder once again for how the photos are turning out thus far.

Doyoung's gaze, however, remaining firm on you as you do.

Jacket open again and chest fully on display, you make a good effort of attempting to ignore the flesh before you. Of course, it's far from the first time that you've seen him — and really, you've seen him in far less clothing and far more intimate scenarios, but something about this, you find, doing a little bit extra for your visceral attraction to the man.

Even worse, it's about seven in the morning. Who tries to fuck their best friends husband at seven in the morning?

You do? Maybe?

Mind wandering to the thought of whether or not it's something that is also on his mind, you figure it not too far from the realm of possibility: after all, the relationship between the both of you be almost strictly a sexual one, what else is there for either of you to be fantasizing about whilst in each others company like this?

"Is it good?"

The wording is a little strange, and that's because you know it to be a question with a hidden agenda behind it. A question he often asks you while buried deep within your body, as your eyes fall to his and your camera falls away from your face just a bit, you can quite easily see the sinister curl of one corner of his lips. Knowing, playful, a man with an agenda, indeed.

"Yeah," you answer cooly, not willing to allow him the satisfaction of knowing about your growing arousal. "They look good."

It's then that one of Doyoung's hands slowly glides up and to the front of his trousers — watching on as he expertly unbuttons and unzips them all the while maintaining perfect eye contact with you — there's a part of you deep down that is pleased with the non-verbal communication between the two of you and how far that it has come, even with so much time between the last time and now.

There's also a part of you that's willing to beg to have him in your mouth right now, but you'd rather not make that one so obvious just yet.

"Why don't you come get your reward then?"

Well, so much for the 'not making it that obvious' plan.

Slowly and gently setting the camera down on the only, lone dresser in the entire room, you just as carefully shrug off the robe you had been wearing — long, loose sleeves tending to be a bit of a detriment for these sorts of activities, best to be nimble and able to do whatever it is that you need to do.

The fact that you don't know what that is yet quite possibly the most enticing part of it.

Spending more time with the man in casual settings, you find it charming as well as that much more sexy to see the way he so easily slips into that dominant role. Not that long ago flustered and shy about you catching him in the kitchen in the same open suit coat that he adorn now.

Closing the distance between you and carefully settling down onto your knees between his legs, you watch as his hand slip down and beneath the fabric that still offer coverage from your sights — palming his growing erection just under, and worse than that — still maintaining that devilish eye contact with you like nothing capable of pulling his vision from yours.

"What do you want?" He asks with a sultry groan to him.

And still maintaining that initial desire to not completely give in to his whims, you instead decide on a bit of turnaround. Biting your lip, you look him straight in the eye to deliver your reply. "What do you want?"

It does give him a bit of pause perhaps — a single eyebrow perking up at the slight bit of defiance you dangle before him, but rather than deter him, he leans into it in full.

And you had not calculated the risk of being told precisely what it is that he wants from you accurately, either.

"I want you to spit on my cock, and then I want to watch you gag on it until I come."

It's a total knockout of a response, just like that. Throat running dry and heart thumping hard in your chest at the promise of exactly that, Doyoung's eyes remain on you as he offers you nothing more than a small shrug at your inability to properly digest the information.

"You asked," He adds with a much too sly smirk.

Hand shifting to be removed from his pants, Doyoung runs his thumb over the tip of his length to gather the bit of precum that's since gathered there, and upon its exit, he whispers a simple "come here" as he extends it towards you and presses the digit between your all too accommodating lips to suck him clean. Wet and wrapping around it, you run your tongue around him and offer a gentle suction before the man hooks into the corner of your mouth with a deeply wanting groan.

"Get what you want, then."

Taking his hand back from your face, you waste little more time before hooking your own fingers into the sides of his trousers and giving them a tug — hips lifting off of the flooring for just a moment to allow for the shift — you bring the fabric down just enough to be out of the way, watching as his cock springs free and the tip of it lie against his exposed abdomen. Perching over Doyoung's hips, you take him into one hand, a few languid strokes to feel just how hard he already is before dipping your head down and taking him into your mouth with the swirl of your tongue.

Breath hitching in his throat at the feeling of you, it's one of your favorite things about sucking him off — always just a little bit on the verge of falling apart beneath you entirely as you do so.

Pulling off of him for a moment, you glance back up the length of his body to make eye contact with him once again before allowing the lewd display of saliva to fall from your puckered lips and messily onto his shaft in hand. Then, it's back to business, taking him deeper and fuller into your mouth with light suction and long, slow bobs of your head around him.

"Yeah, just like that, baby," Doyoung whispers out, head falling back to take in the feeling just briefly before bringing his gaze back up to watch the way you work him — not wanting to miss a moment of the show. "Love my cock, don't you? Can't get enough?"

Moaning around him in affirmation, the words cause you to stroke him just that much faster — enjoying the way he sounds when you have him like this.

"Think you can take it all this time?" He asks, voice slightly broken already. "Bet you practiced while we were apart, didn't you? Sucking other cock just in hopes that you can take mine that much better if you were to get the chance."

Throbbing between your legs far from dull at this point with a man never relenting in the dirty talk, you once again groan around him as you also feel yourself falling apart despite being wholly untouched thus far. You can't see him, but you feel the shift of his weight to free one of his arms for movement, followed by the familiar feeling of his fingers collecting loose strands of hair as he intertwine them into the collection of it at the back of your head.

Leverage.

There's truth to his words, though. Not so much about sucking off ever Tom, Dick and Harry in town just to practice for the inevitable resurrection of your sexual relationship with Doyoung specifically, but you had seen other men since then, and you had sucked some of their dicks.

You're a little proud of the progress made, sure.

Bringing yourself up enough that only the tip of him remain between your lips, you take a deep breath in preparation for what's to come — the gentle, careful press of his hand down against the back of your head to force more of his cock into your mouth...slowly, inch-by-inch and with no rush to have you take the entirety of him in one go, when he reaches the back of your throat you focus on steadying and relaxing yourself for him. Hissing through his teeth at the feeling of burying himself so deeply within your mouth and throat, as he ventures further, you feel the welling of tears in your eyes at the light discomfort of it.

It's not bad, and far from enough to not want to keep going — rather, the excitement of having so much of him far outweighing those things, anyway.

Slipping into your throat delicately, Doyoung instead opts for short, shallow thrusts into you for the rest of the way, and once he feels your nose against his pubic bone, he can't help the breathy moan that escapes from his lips.

It's heavenly, hearing him so desperate beneath you.

Pulling you back up and off of him slowly, the two of you look at one another — you with teary, wet eyes and swollen, red lips — you think that the darkness in his eyes deepens just that much more at the sight of you destroyed on his cock before him.

"Think you can take it again?"

"Yeah."

"Such a good girl. Go ahead then, swallow me down."

Repeating the previous motions, before your nose settles against his skin, Doyoung instead opts for slow drives of himself into your mouth — gently throat fucking you with dizzying, incoherent sounds melting from his lips as you take just about all of him inside of you like this. It takes very little time before you hear and feel the familiar notions of him reaching his peak, a few harder, deeper drives of his cock up and into your mouth through his attempt to maintain his composure that have you gagging around him ever so slightly, and just as promised.

"Fuck, you take it so well now," he all but whines, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows knitted tightly together as he shallowly bucks his hips up into your mouth to chase his release. "Wanted to earn my cum, didn't you?"

You can't grace him with an answer, and he knows it well enough — the dirty talking is for you, really, knowing the way that every word pools between your legs — an unrelenting throb there now and unknowing if you'll be offered the same release that the man under you be about to experience.

In a way, you almost don't even care if you cum.

Suddenly, Doyoung pulls your head up and off of him completely to instead replace it with his hand — quickly stroking himself to completion only to empty his load on the expanse of exposed skin along his abs and sternum with a hot, heavy, whiny vocalization.

Catching your breath for only a second, in one, fluid motion you dip your head down to lick the white-translucent fluid off of his body as his chest heaves just above where you work.

Turning your head to grant you the ability to look up at him, the two of you make eye contact once again as your tongue dips out to collect his cum. Head falling back, he lets out an exasperated moan at the sheer sight of your desire for him.

"Ride my face," he suddenly demands, hands reaching down for your arms and already pulling you up and towards him. "Now. Come on my face."

A dizzying request from him and not one you had factored into the potential possibilities, you don't bother inquiring further as you struggle to your feet and discard your garments as quickly as possible before wobbling over to him and kneeling above his face with creeping uncertainty.

Doyoung wastes no time, however, digging fingers into the flesh of your behind and pulling your soaking cunt flush against his mouth — digging his tongue firmly into your clit and offering you the much needed relief you had been hoping for. Whimpering in his grasp, he goes at you hard and fast straight from the get go in a way that has you reeling with the threat of an orgasm that you knew wouldn't be all that far off from the horizon, anyway.

"Doyoung, fuck—"

Moaning against you, the vibration tickling your sensitive nub just that much more as he quickly circles over it with far more than just expertise, you find yourself thankful for the close proximity of the wall just behind him as you fall forward slightly and find leverage against it. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—"

You sound somewhat surprised by the fact, large in part because you are. Not that you anywhere near able to follow the flow of time, rather, you know that it certainly hasn't been long since having made your way up here, and already Doyoung is having you tumbling over into orgasm.

In the last moments before you cum; grinding down hard against the mans mouth as he groan up into you and fingers digging into you flesh to hold you in place — you look down ever so briefly to find his eyes — narrow, lustful, and with a job to fulfill right before you come with an embarrassingly high pitched shriek, thighs quaking around his head as you bite the tail end of your yell back and indulge in the feeling of him sucking any coherent thought that you could ever possibly have in that moment straight out of you through your pussy.

And as you wind down from the exhaustion of your early morning escapades, you shakily crawl off of him, clumsily falling to the floor next to him and heaving in the afterglow of ecstasy. The two of you enjoy the silence for just a moment before Doyoung turns his head lazily to allow his eyes to fall upon your weary form.

"Breakfast?"

Huffing out an exhausted laugh, you can't help but smile at the nonchalance of it all as you grant him a nod. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Cool," he says, bringing himself up and to his feet to shrug off the suit jacket entirely and leaving it bunched up on the floor next to you. "You suck my dick like that again and I'll cook you a six course meal every day until Mina gets home."

"Good to know."

With your nose buried in your laptop and comfortably sat in the lavish living room with no company other than yourself, you tab away at your keyboard to answer work emails and respond to other such employment related inquiries. Approximately a week into your stay at the current residence, you find yourself quite easily settled in by now: the two of you working on your own for the majority of the day, occasionally meeting in the kitchen or the hallway as either you or Doyoung come to and from your standard whereabouts, and, if given the free time at a whim — a quickie where ever either of you wish to have the other.

The entire circumstances fundamentally erotic — your entire being there at all deeply erotic in a sense — but with a week down and more rounds under your belt than days spent there already, you can't help but find that the simplicity of domesticity already setting in, in a way.

When Mina had suggested a sort of 'fake-dating' scenario, you hadn't anticipated it being so on the nose.

Because it truly does feel as though you and Doyoung are dating: engaged in a relationship beyond just the sexual, despite being intensely sexually charged and the entire surroundings of it being build off of that. You eat together, you chat together, you shower together occasionally — for all intents and purposes, you are, as Mina had suggested, dating; in some way, shape, or form.

It's not boring, but a sense of excitement and luster has already worn off in a way that you can't help but acknowledge. Of course, you still desire the man viscerally just as you always had the very moment you began your physical relationship with him...but the fact of the matter is just that: it's different now.

Upon sending out your last email at just before four in the afternoon, you shut your laptop in tune to the sound of Doyoung treading down the upstairs hallway and making his way down the stairs. Glancing up towards him, the two of you make eye contact, giving him pause for just a second before he continues his way down to the floor level of the home.

"What do you say about ordering in tonight, I don't feel like cooking again."

Dramatically throwing yourself back along the length of the couch, you swing your arm up and across your face like a damsel in distress at the mere thought of not being personally catered to. "What ever will I do? What's the point of even being here?"

He rolls his eyes at your overacting. "I'm going to order a pizza. I'll order two so that there are leftovers for tomorrow, then I can really punish you if I have to."

"Kinky," you quip back playfully as you bring yourself back up to a sitting position on the black leather. "Then what?"

Bringing his hands to settle on his hips, Doyoung simply stares at you with his head cocked to the side.

"If you think I'm going to be your tough, hard dominant boy-toy your whole stay then sorry to disappoint, but I'm only one man, I need some rest too, you know."

Of course, the banter is part of the fun of it. Something that the two of you have always engaged in, but as of late with the comfort of living together established, a new level of it unlocked. Easier and more fluid. Where once upon a time there be perhaps more truthful venom behind comments or words, instead now rest an adoring familiarity between the new faux-couple.

"Endlessly disappointing, aren't you?" You sigh in response, unable to fully hide your grin.

"So I've been told," he's quick to admit. "But if you're good tonight then there is something you might be pleased to discuss over dinner."

An intriguing promise of what's to come, and entirely unknowing of what it is that he be referring to, you find your curiosity to most definitely be piqued. Eyebrow quirking upward at the sly comment, you're mindful of the mischievous glimmer in his eye that you know to only present itself when the man have something very particular, and particularly raunchy, at that, in mind.

As the both of you settle into the smaller living room area just next to the dining room — fireplace lightly crackling in the not too far off distance and a cheap bottle of white wine opened and set on the tiny coffee table, as the television in front of you sounds off to fill the room with sitcom chatter and laughter, you glance over to the man just next to you: sitting with legs crossed in front of him and his plate balanced onto his lap as he bite into a slice of cheap, cheese pizza. It's a sight that you come to realize in the moment that you're unfamiliar with, all things considered: a particularly raw and true level of domesticity where Doyoung exist as just some guy, in the best way possible. You realize in this moment as well, that it's times like this that are likely cause for Mina's falling in love with him. A good man, after all — and more than that, seemingly perfectly well-rounded in all ways, as well.

Even so, as the flicker of illumination dances across sharp, pretty features — round, framed glasses perched upon his nose and rather unkempt hair in the front from a hand running through it numerous times that day — the conversation mentioned earlier weighs the heaviest on your mind with promise of, well, you don't quite know yet; but you sure would like to find out.

"So," you chime, semi-awkwardly on purpose and for effect. It's enough to garner his attention already, a man not all that wrapped up in the show carrying on before him to begin with. "About that talk."

"Right," he quickly responds with a single nod, setting the food down onto the plate in front of him and bending forward to set it onto the table between the both of you. "About that. I was curious how much of this...arrangement you were looking to explore in our time together."

The inquiry brings pause, finding the wording of it slightly difficult to navigate, because what does he mean by that?

You suppose your hesitancy is telling, however — Doyoung chuckling lightly under his breath before rephrasing the question more clearly.

"I mean...the first time we started sleeping together you were interested in exploring a rather dominant and submissive power play scenario. I'm wondering if you're wanting to explore that further."

'Further,' you think, being the operative word, and yes, yes you do.

Reaching forward for your glass of wine, you take a sip before answering him confidently. "Yeah, I've thought about it. I had done some exploring this past year but—"

Hesitating to think through your words carefully, Doyoung interjects with the thought you had been leaning towards anyway, and in a way, it proves your point just that much more.

"—Haven't established that level of trust with anyone?"

"Yeah, that."

He nods, finally spinning himself in place on the couch to fully face towards you. In a way he appears particularly earnest, as if even now still vying for that level of trust necessary to engage in the even harder, darker sides of BDSM as implied.

"Then," he says a bit more seriously than you would have ever really expected. "Tell me what you want."

You suppose that as far as situations that require a more serious touch, this be at the top of his list.

It's not something that you've spent all that much time thinking about, however. No list of 'things to try' on hand or a bullet pointed note on your laptop of all of the ways in which you wish for him to have you. Rather, they be fleeting, passing moments that you find yourself fantasizing about in private, discarded just as quickly as they find themselves making way into your mind.

But you do know that they still lie embedded in there somewhere, you just have to dig them back up.

As well as relay them to him in plain, simple words. It's not only an admittance of desire, but one of confession: 'this is all of the ways I've wanted you even since then.'

You swallow down the bubbling humiliation though, knowing that if not capable of bestowing upon him precisely what it is that you want of him that he be in no position to grant it to you.

He needs to know everything, because he has to have a plan.

"Restraints," you begin, inhaling deeply after the word leaves your mouth. "Orgasm control, impact play...basically all of the same but turned up a notch."

Doyoung nods, reaching towards his own glass of wine and sipping from the rim. Then, after thinking through your words, he offers another nod of understanding.

"Okay, then here are my rules: first, the same safe wording system will remain in place, we both know it and are familiar with using it so I think that's best. Second, no renegotiation mid-scene, it makes it difficult for me to be able to have an understanding of where you are and also gives me cause to have less trust in your word—"

Pausing again and with his head tilted down towards his lap, he glances up through his eyelashes at you for explicit eye contact in that moment.

"—And if I'm going to hit you, I need to be able to trust your word of when it's just enough, or too much."

"Yeah, of course."

"Cool," he finally sighs, dropping the tough and serious exterior to once again fall back into the Just A Guy role he had previously been enjoying. Doyoung slumps to the side and against the back of the couch with a contented grin as he finishes up his thought. "Tomorrow evening, then? Doesn't have to be then—"

"No!" You nearly shout, already thrilled with the thought of all that's soon to come to you. "No, tomorrow is good, perfect."

Standing to his feet, the man reaches down to take both of your plates into hand with intention of heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to head to bed then. Long day, tomorrow will be longer now — try to get some good rest tonight."

Needing no verbal response, you sit back comfortably against the large cushions of the couch as he begin to head towards his exit — it's then, that a sudden thought comes to mind in an instant, and before your window for negotiation truly closes, you have to put it out there, now or never.

"Oh! Doie? One more thing about the scene tomorrow?"

He hums in acknowledgment of your words, merely glancing back and over his shoulder at you in wait for what it is that you wish to add.

"When you hit me...leave your wedding band on."

Snorting through his nose with a chuckle, the man playfully shakes his head at the thought and the implications behind it — just as quick on the uptake of one of the joys of kink exploration within the confines of this arrangement.

No one is cheating on anyone, doesn't mean we can't pretend, though.

"Kinky minx," He responds coyly, dumping the dishes into the sink and disappearing into the darkness of the otherwise unlit household.

"Shall we?"

Doyoung's voice is calm and pleasant when he asks the question. There's a hint of knowing within it, a playful nuance in regards to what's to come from here on out that already has anticipation pooling between your legs in a relatively unexpected way. You were excited for tonight, of course, but a physical response as a result of him merely alluding to it not exactly something you had foreseen in your future.

You recall Mina telling you how good of a dom he is a year ago.

The evenings festivities call for a one drink maximum: a rule implemented by the man himself to ensure that the parties involved be well aware of themselves and within the grips of their own feelings and boundaries enough to ensure safe play. One drink offering plenty to take the buzz of nervousness edge off, after all.

Dinner is light. Enough to keep the both of you fed and fulfilled without weighing either of you down, especially when you can't be sure when or if you're to be gagged — and beyond that, on what, you'd rather not take the risk of throwing up all over him — at least, minimize it as much as possible.

None of this is all that new to you, though. You've played before, partaken in kink and gone to parties before. Engaged in such things with people who are not Doyoung in between then and now — but as you quietly follow him downstairs and into the basement below, you find yourself so much calmer with him that with any of your previous play partners before.

It's not a matter of poor vetting and even poorer partner choices: you've had fun, it's been safe, and everyone has left satisfied. However, there just be something special about your play partner now — a level of trust and understanding between the two of you that takes an edge of uncertainty from the back of your mind and discards it entirely.

You don't have to worry about him, not even a little bit. As a result, you don't have to worry about you, either.

"I can't believe you two have a dungeon, how cliche," You sarcastically quip as your foot lands onto the floor at the end of the stairs. 

Doyoung glances at you briefly from over his shoulder and shoots you a roll of his eyes. "It's not a dungeon, we just wanted to keep the upstairs bedrooms available for guests. We had no other plans for the basement, so—"

"—So, you turned it into a dungeon," You finish for him.

Walking over to a small, unceremonious table, Doyoung pulls out a tube of hand lotion from one of the old, brown drawers and squeezes a small dab of it into palm. "If calling it that gets you off, then by all means."

As the man settle in and begin preparing for the activities, you take it upon yourself to glance around and take in the sights. Truly, it's nothing like the fancy, mommy-porn movies: no huge rigs or handcuffs hanging from the ceiling. Rather, it's sort of just a regular room — obviously re-done since moving in to serve this purpose specifically, you take notice of the king sized bed off at the furthest end of the rather small underneath of the home — satin, royal blue sheets and a single pair of restraints hanging from one of the golden bedposts there.

"Have you ever played submissive?"

It's a question that's rattled around your brain for a while now, suppose now is as good a time as ever to sate the curiosity. Doyoung comes up from behind you so quietly that it nearly startles you with another pair of wrist binds in his grips, and as you glance back and the two of you make eye contact, he reaches out for your hand — slowly fastening one of them to your wrist before answering the question.

"If you must know, yes," He says, tightening the restraint against your skin just firm enough for a good hold, and without causing pain. "One of those...'you gotta try it once' sort of situations."

"How did that go?" You ask further as he spins you in place to face him, fastening the other half of the tan leather to you. Doyoung offers you a sly grin first, slowly stepping you backwards on your heels and towards the bed, before gently tipping you and causing you to fall flat on your back to the mattress below.

"Didn't take."

While restraints, you find, aren't typically your thing, it's a situation in which you feel comfortable with him. You question momentarily if there be any other person in the world that you would be willing to be in this current scenario with: bound and laid out against the sheets of someone's basement bed, and the answer is a quite easy and resounding 'no.'

"Recite back the safe word system," He demands, tone dropping in a way that you know this be the beginnings of the scene at hand. You watch him as he rolls up the sleeve of his white, button down shirt — more or less still dressed up from the work day just before — sort of the archetype of the CEO dominant man that while typically you don't find yourself creaming yourself for...this time, it's sort of working for you.

"Green is good to keep going, yellow to slow down and lighten up, red is full stop to the scene. If unable to speak: two taps to someone's body is effectively a yellow sign, and three is a red sign."

"Good girl," he chimes, squatting down to the edge of the bed between your legs and hooking fingers into the sweatpants you're wearing. "Scene renegotiation?"

"Only to lessen, never to strengthen."

Pulling the fabric down your legs, panties and all, you feel the rush of cool air against your flesh in a particularly stark way — your body temperature seemingly already flaring up at just the mere discussion of the rules from here on out, you find this to also be an unexpected turn out of tonight's engagements.

"Sit up," He then requests; a near impossible task for you alone given your bind. He knows this, naturally, and reaches for the center of your restraints to pull you upwards and seated just as he desires.

Cold fingers just grazing the flesh of your torso as he grabs at the hem of your shirt and brings it up over your head, it's electric — felt through what you think could be every nerve of your body with barely any physical touch at all.

A worrying trend for your resolve tonight.

With you fully disrobed, Doyoung pushes you to lie back again, dipping down into his previous position and hooking his arms under your legs to pull your bottom to the edge of the bed. It's exciting already: the anticipation of what's to come and what he will do with you — relinquishing all power and ability to be an engaging participant in your activities in a way not yet engaged in since your time arriving in the home.

It's then that he dips a single finger between your folds — the touch is delicate, barely offering you any sort of stimulation at all, and as a result, you're already keening and attempting to melt yourself into his touch. This, of course, gives him great pleasure at the sight of you already so needy and wanting for him — evidenced on his face as he looks up at you from between your legs and gives your clit the lightest feathering of a swirl with the tip of the digit present there.

"In a rush?" He asks teasingly, still circling the collection of nerves between your thighs.

A dizzying offering of almost nothing to your body despite knowing how you crave his touch.

"What do you want?" Doyoung questions as if speaking to no one in particular, finger dipping down towards your opening and shallowing pressing inward as if intending to penetrate you. "I take it you want me to fuck you open with my hand?"

With a small whimper dropping from your mouth, he hums inquisitively. "Feel my tongue on you? Taste you like you have the last cunt on earth?"

"Yes," You finally whine in reply, but the response from you garners nothing from the man in question.

Instead, and in a rather surprising turn of events, Doyoung gives you just that: carefully slipping a single finger into you, slowly fucking into you with ease as a result of the ample arousal already having pooled there. It's shallow, slow, and far from enough to get you anywhere you're wanting so desperately to go, but better than nothing — a moment later, you feel the heated waves of breath across your labia as he brings his mouth mere centimeters from your mound.

Nearly instinctually you attempt to grind yourself down and against his hand and face, but it results in little given your lack of mobility. A light chuckle offered from him as a result of your wanting, you feel him press his lips lightly against your lower ones, but only to speak.

"You think I'm going to let you come?" He questions, offering one, long, stripe of his tongue through your slit finally and giving you the warm, wet, contact that you've been silently begging for. "You still want it even though you know I won't, that's how desperate you are for me, isn't it?"

Whining out a breathy affirmation of the fact, he serves you another press of his tongue against you for what you can only figure is 'good behavior.'

"I can always make you come so quick like this, can't I? Like your pussy was made for me—" He carries on the thought, pausing long enough to drag his tongue over you languidly and pulling from you the most desperate whines each and every time. "Body made for me, isn't it? Your mouth, your throat, your cunt, your ass...all mine for the taking, aren't they?"

The moan that tears from your throat at the words is nothing sort of humiliating.

"Answer."

"Yes, they are," You force yourself to reply through a breathy, broken voice.

"I know, you're so good for me. What a perfect little toy for me to come inside and toss aside until next time, aren't you?"

You don't have a chance to respond before his mouth is attached to you, tongue digging firmly into your clit and the sound of him sucking into you resonating through the otherwise empty basement. Eyes screwing shut, you only have a second of self-awareness to realize that he really might be able to make you come in record time at this rate. Curling his fingers up into you and running his tongue across you in just the way that he knows gets you there, you whine out loudly — back coming up and off the bed as he seemingly tries to get you there already.

"Fuck, fuck—" you breathe out as your body finds itself on the precipice of orgasm, but as a man all too good at what he does; expert hands and mouth bringing you just to the brink before pulling back from you entirely and watching your body tremble at the feeling of the loss. "—Doyoung please, please please."

"And what have you done to earn it, hm?" He asks, leaning forward and over your body to take your bound hands into his grasp and sit you upright at the edge of the bed before him. Still shaking lightly from the feeling of a ruined orgasm, hair strewn about your face and eyes glazed over from the need — Doyoung looks down at you with a gentle cock of his head as if charmed by the sight of you already so fucked out with so little having taken place yet.

Hands reaching down for his belt and subsequently releasing his erection from the confines of his black trousers, you're forced to watch him lightly palm himself just in front of your face.

How familiar a sight it is.

"You know how to earn it, don't you baby?"

You nod, although it's not enough for the man before you. "Answer."

"Yes, I can earn it."

"Good girl," he says, angling the tip of his length down and to your lips, only lightly dragging across before gently tapping you with it as a signal to open your mouth for him. "Though, suppose this is a bit of a reward in and of itself, isn't it? You love my cock, isn't that right?"

With only the tip of him presented between your lips, you're able to still speak around him. A simple "I do, please let me earn it" falling from you before you're able to even register the words and the meaning behind them.

It never gets old the way this man can have you falling apart with ease.

Hand dipping to the back of your head, Doyoung pulls you forward and sheathes as much of himself inside of the warmth of your mouth as he comfortably can at first — just like the last time, there's no aim for discomfort or pushing any particular limits this time — rather, he understands yours and your abilities well enough by now to know precisely the best way to go about having you, and equally as much, allowing you to have him.

Lips firmly wrapped around him, with each pulling back of your head, you look up at him to meet eyes — narrow, dark ones staring down at you to watch the way his cock disappears inside of your body.

"Fuck, that's it baby," he whispers out as he begins to gently drive himself into your face. "Such a pretty face, just made for me to fuck."

But for as much as Doyoung knows you and your body, the same can be said for you and his — you know this sort of engagement to be his weakness, and for all of the chiding he does at your inability to hold out on him, the very same can be said for him in these situations.

Bringing his hand forward and from the back of your head, he instead grasps your jaw, prying it open forcefully so. "Open, swallow it down. Take it all."

Giving you little time to adjust, you feel him press his hips forward and as a result, begin the drive of his cock down into your throat. Gagging around him, he pulls off quickly. "Color?"

"Green."

And with that, he serves you another, direct press of his length down into your throat. Easier this time, but the sound of your heaved breaths and gurgling around him as your nose meets his flesh going straight to that place deep within him that you can tell makes him want to come at a moments notice. As a result, he pulls back and from your mouth entirely — giving you a moment to catch your breath before grabbing at your chin once again and forcing your mouth open for him.

"My little cockslut has gotten so good at that. You sound so pretty when you're gagging around my dick."

Leaning forward, he allows a small dropping of saliva to fall from his mouth and into yours before once again pressing his length between your lips and shallowly fucking your mouth with a few, quick, thrusts.

"You want my come?" He asks firmly, stepping away only enough for the tip of him to rest against your mouth.

"Yes."

And then it comes: one light, open-palmed snap of his wrist against the side of your jaw.

"I don't believe you, make me believe it."

"Yes! Yes, please come in my mouth, please let me taste you, Doie."

Tightly gripping your jaw again, he holds you in place to rub the mess of saliva and precum thoroughly around your face — so wet that it's nearly dripping from you — Doyoung smiles down at you at the sound of the pet name leaving your mouth.

Because that's when he knows you're really fucked up for him.

Another, slightly harder tap of the inside of his fingers to your jaw — it doesn't hurt and it's far from jarring in any way, but the implications of it within the scene driving you absolutely wild in the moment, you're happy you asked for this in particular.

The glimmer of his wedding ring still present on his hand, all the while.

"So nice of my wife to offer me such a compliant play-thing to use as I wish while she's gone," he says, finally dropping his pants to the floor entirely and beginning the unbuttoning of his shirt as if to soon discard it entirely. "Suppose now I get to decide which hole I want to take, don't I?"

You nod, and as a result, Doyoung lands the hardest connection of his hand to your face that he's given you thus far. This time, enough to actually cause your head to move a bit, as well as the slightest sting to the skin.

"How many times do I have to instruct you to answer? Are you already so fuck-dumb that you can't remember one, single rule?"

"No! I know it, I'm sorry!" You quickly amend with a shake of your head. "You can have anything you want from me."

"I know," he plainly responds, as if already grown tired of the discussion at hand. Simultaneously, Doyoung pushes you to the side and back against the bed, only this time pulling you up by the hips and displaying you bent over and lewdly spread open for him at the edge of the bed. "I'll take what I want, that is your purpose here, after all, isn't it?"

"It is," You quickly answer this time as to avoid punishment.

Feeling the tip of his cock pressed against your opening, you hear the man chuckle from behind you at the sight before him. "Your messy little cunt is practically dripping. Begging to be filled with me. Pathetic."

The words garner a whimper, and pathetic is correct as you feel him drag the length of his cock up and down your folds in a simulation of fucking you. Slow, concentrated drives against you, but not into you, that have you keening and attempting to push back and onto him in a way that is far beyond humiliating — a new low for you, even given your previous encounters. You don't think you've ever needed to feel him this badly, and worse than that, you know that he knows it, too.

You're thankful when he readjusts his position, feeling the tip of him pressed at your opening again followed by the smooth, easy glide of his full length into you. A dizzying feeling of being so full of him after what feels like an eternity of being denied him in so many ways, Doyoung sinks into you from behind and sits flush against your ass for only a moment before leaning forward and harshly gripping his fingers into your hair.

Followed with a hard, rough, snaps of his hips into you that has you nearly toppling forward at the momentum of it.

"You thought I was going to fuck you for you?" He breaths out, venom lacing his tone as he delivers another, harsh, thrust into you. "You're nothing but a hole for me to fuck, and come in."

Pressing your face into the mattress, the man then focus entirely on his own pleasure: chasing his release as he fucks you hard, quick, and selfishly. No concern for the proximity of your orgasm as a result of him.

The irony being, of course, that after so much lead up to this moment, you're just about there, anyway.

Stopping briefly and much to your display, Doyoung comes around to the side of you to release you of your restraints, but as he settles in behind you and sinks into you all over again, you feel him lean forward to retrieve both of your wrists and twisting them behind you — new, better leverage for him to use your body with like this.

"God, your cunt feels fucking heavenly," he groans through rough drives into you and over the sound of your pathetic, fucked-out babbling just below. "Useless bitch not good for anything but taking my cock, guess you're good for something, after all."

"Fuck, Doie—" you whine out at the culmination of words and the feeling of him relentlessly pounding you.

"Yeah? Is the little whore gonna come anyway? Even when I just try to use your body to dump my load in, it still gets you off, that's how much you love it, huh?"

He's right. This one might keep you up at night in the future.

"Yes—" you whimper breathlessly, dangling on the edge of your now inevitable release. "Yes, yes, yes, please I'm gonna come—"

"Fine," he hums, similarly close to his own peak. "Come then, want to feel you milk me when I fuck my load into your messy little pussy."

And so you do. Your orgasm ripping through your body hard and quick — shrieking loudly against the mattress as Doyoung continues to pound you through it — shaking and clawing at nothing attainable as it tears through every inch of your body. You're barely aware enough to hear him groan out from behind you as his own takes him: cock deeply buried into your walls as he unloads inside of you — cock so hard and deep that you feel the pulse and twitch with every rope of cum that he delivers to your insides.

Slowly, carefully pulling from you, listening for the way his breaths are heavy and worn from the scene having just played out to perfection, as you fall to your side to lie flat against the bed to catch your own you feel the gentle, careful dip of the mattress from just beside you as he settles in just the same.

Silence blanketing between the two of you, you inhale to speak — only to be cut off by words of his own in an entirely unsurprising and frankly, shocking way.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

The snap question comes out before you have a second to even really mull over what it is that he could be apologizing for, because frankly, everything went on without a hitch. It was everything you had wanted and maybe even more, and now he's apologizing for it?

Arm slinging up and over his face as if to hide himself from you in a way, Doyoung sighs. "You know I don't mean that stuff right? About this being the only reason you're here? I feel kinda..."

"You're dropping right now," you interject suddenly, reaching over to take his hand into your to offer him some seemingly much needed soft, physical comfort. "What do you say we head up to that big tub you guys have in the upstairs bathroom and take a nice, cozy bath?"

With a delicate squeeze of your hand, you take it as an accepting of terms — not even bothering to dress before escaping the basement and wobbling yourselves up to the next scene on the agenda: aftercare.

"When did you know you wanted to marry Mina?"

Sat up against one end of the tub with Doyoung's back to you, you run soapy fingers through messy, black strands — nails gently grazing the flesh beneath in such a soothing way that you all but feel the man melting into you presence, he hums at the question before sighing to answer it.

"Quite early in our dating, actually," The man replies confidently, head tilting back so that you can lather him up better. "Maybe three, four months in I felt like she was going to be the woman I spent the rest of my life with. Of course, we were kids so we dated for a long time before taking the step, but I knew."

A charming side of him that you typically find yourself unfamiliar with — listening to him muse about the love of his life, your best friend, and the ease in which he does so even in the most intimate company of yourself.

"Cute," you whisper from just behind him, wetting your hands again before setting them back within his tresses. "Who knew you were such a soft romantic?"

"Hey! I have many sides to myself!"

Happy with your cleansing, you take the shower nozzle into hand and instruct him to dip his head back towards you even more to gently rinse the suds from him, and once rid of them entirely, you delicately press his head back upwards to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

Planting a kiss to an exposed shoulder blade, your lips linger there as if to speak directly into his skin. "Have you ever dropped like that before?"

Doyoung chuckles at the question, as if slightly humiliated by the answer as he nods his head in affirmation of it. "Yeah, Mina could tell you plenty a story about coddling me after a particularly rough dom drop."

But rather than shameful, you find it adding a new level of humanity to the man that only allows for you to appreciate him and the role that he take on just that much more.

"You did well," you offer him in solace with a squeeze of your arms that encompass him. "It was amazing. I couldn't imagine playing like that with — well, anyone who isn't you, I suppose."

Reaching to find your hand, he takes it into his and presses the back of it to his lips for a small peck.

"Good, I'm glad. I had fun, too."

After drying off and heading back down to the kitchen for a late night, before bed snack, as the both of you head into your separate directions for sleep, it crosses your mind to ask him to spend it with you.

You find in the next two weeks that the majority of the time is spent much like the first: working from the home and occasionally meeting with your live-in partner for silly activities when the time should meet and the interest strike: the occasional blowjob in the kitchen, or being eaten out against the upstairs railing of the hallway — and if time really permits, bent over the back of the couch where you typically work from. Suppose it can be chalked up to the excitement of a sort of honeymoon phase shared between the two of you, after all, this just be yet another arrangement with an end date, and if the effort is to show, then you both have every intention of getting your proverbial moneys worth.

In the midst of a particularly slow work week for you, and a much heftier one for Doyoung, you find him out and about much less — earlier so offering you the handling of his credit card to order food to the house as you see fit on account of him having little to no free time to do any of his usual cooking — you accept it with a bit of a dropped heart. Sure, there's joy in having free reign of a rather full bank account not belonging to yourself, but more than that; the enjoyment of spending time with him now cut incredibly short and on a whim.

Your relationship together has shifted. It's not necessarily just sex (although that still be a large portion of it), but rather, the two of you melding together in a way that you figure neither of you had really seen coming. Enjoying the company of each other in non-sexual settings — in fact, you come to realize that dinner be one of your favorite times of the day as you wind down from working hours and instead just chat about normal, everyday things. Goings on in the world, work, maybe even some gossip about friends — a bizarre realization, and so far into your time spent here now: you and Doyoung are friends.

Sure, friends that viscerally enjoy the body of the other, but still just friends aside from that.

Waking late one night on account of what in particular — you can't be so sure — you grab your phone from next to you to read the time: a quarter past three in the morning. Having grown accustomed to the bed in which you currently lie, you settle your head back into the pillow to once again meander off to dream land; that is, before you hear the familiar clattering of keyboard typing from down the hall.

It's not that you can't sleep through it, you most definitely can — the sound not carrying far or loud enough to disturb you all that much — rather, it's the thought that Doyoung be up still, this late at night, and to work, at that.

Kim Doyoung is many things. Workaholic high on the list, certainly.

Slipping your robe on over your shoulders like so many times before, you once again carry yourself down the hall quietly — as if meant not to awaken anyone despite being the only two people in the home — as you reach the doorway where his study reside, you listen in for the sound of the keyboard again before entering and disturbing him in full.

But instead, you're met with silence.

You know what you've heard, though, and turning into the door, you suppose you can't be all that surprised by the sight that greets you: a man slumped back in his chair, head tilted back and against the headrest, utterly unconscious as the bright, blue light of the monitor before him illuminates his handsome features.

At the very least you're happy to find him comfortably dressed for late night engagements like this — gray sweatpants and a matching gray pullover sweater with the name of the widely regarded college that he had attended years back — you take it upon yourself to step towards him and with a gentle hand pressed to his shoulder, you slowly shake him back to his senses.

"Doyoung," you whisper, an attempt to pull him back into a conscious state with as little startling as possible. "Doie, wake up."

Thankful for the ease in which he comes to, picking himself back up to sit straight and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, Doyoung blinks hard towards the screen before glancing up and towards you. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you," You quip back, hands into your hips like a disappointed mother figure. "Let's get you to bed, Mister."

"Mom—" he drawls, playing along with the scene, but saving his work and shutting the machine down all of the same as he stands to his feet. "I don't wanna."

You sling an arm around his waist as his finds your shoulders — realistically the man have no problem walking, of course — but you find the scene charming all of the same. As you turn to your left in an attempt to take him to his bedroom, he fights the movement, instead pushing towards the right and down the hall towards your own bedroom.

"Lemmie put you back to bed, first," Doyoung insists, still motioning that way with his body weight against you. "It's the least I can do for you saving me from the grips of Excel spreadsheets."

A bit of a charmer.

Relenting, the two of you make your way down the darkened path and back into your bedroom. He lags behind you next to your bed, nimble fingers reaching into the neckline of your robe to help remove it from your body as you once again lie yourself in bed and cozy up within the sheets — still warm from your presence just earlier in the night.

Doyoung kneels down next to you, arms crossed against the edge and chin pressed into them as he gazes up at you.

"You're the most boring man I know," you start with a breathy chuckle. "Staying up late to do spreadsheets."

"Yes, I know," He willingly admits with a pleasant cock of his head. "Do you want me carnally?"

Reaching over your own body to playfully slap his arm, you opt out of answering the asinine question. Largely due to your awareness of it being rhetorical, but also in part to the both of you knowing that yeah, obviously you do. Embarrassing.

"Get some sleep." He finally says with finality to his tone, standing to his feet with intent to leave.

You figure, now is as good a time as any.

"Actually—" you start, the word coming out a bit more meekly than you had hoped when thinking it through in your head. You suppose it's the possibility of rejection that has to reeling with this sort of lack of confidence that is relatively unfamiliar to you. Still, you push forward with the inquiry; a disservice to yourself not to. "Would you sleep with me? Like, spend the night with me?"

The question gives him pause, and as a result, has you second guessing yourself, too.

"You don't have to, I mean, I don't know if you're not allowed or just don't want to, it's just—"

"—I'm allowed to sleep with you," he interjects suddenly to cut off your anxious word-vomiting, a small smile pulling at his lips as he continues the thought. "The only rule is we can't do anything in the shared bedroom, but yeah, I can spend the night with you."

"Oh," you whisper, perhaps the largest part of you not having anticipated this response after all. "Okay."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, kind of." You answer with a tiny nod.

Instead of engaging in the conversation about it any further, Doyoung takes it as an opportunity to accept your terms and disrobe for the evening: you watch him intently, taking in all of the ways that his body move as he pull the shirt up and over his head to toss it aside — toned chest that you've seen so many times before now only visible through the slivers of illumination granted by the moon through your blinds — it feels intimate in a different way this time: like normal lovers. People not involved in an 'arrangement,' people who are simply dating and might even have sex with each other because often times, that's what people who are dating and attracted to each other do. Falling asleep in one another's arms in the afterglow of it, or maybe just falling asleep in one another's arms as the grand finale of the evening together.

His pants go next, and before you have much of a chance to think further on it, you feel the man slip into your bed and under your covers as you scoot across the mattress to the other side to accommodate for his figure.

"I picked out this mattress," he proudly chimes. "Good, right?"

"No wonder I sleep so well here, thing probably costs an arm and a leg."

"Yeah, it kind of did." Doyoung chuckles, turning to his side to face you.

Silence blanketing the room, with such little light shone in you find it difficult to keep track of where he is, or what he's doing whilst beneath the sheets with you. A gentle rustling of the fabric, you can't tell what he's doing until fingertips feather across the skin of your face to brush stray strands of hair from you.

He must have better night vision than you, and with even more of a shift of his body, you're met with the feeling of warm, minty breath on your face as he dips further into you for a kiss.

You meet him eagerly, maybe even too much so with teeth lightly sinking into his bottom lip and eliciting an ever so slight groan from him at the feeling. He's happy to meet your advances, however, mirroring the motion before parting lips and pressing his tongue into yours.

Barely creating space between you, he instead opts to speak directly into your waiting mouth. "This why you asked me here? Doesn't seem like you're trying to sleep."

You had been originally, but plans do change.

Rather than offering him a verbal reply, you slip a hand down and between your bodies to wrap fingers around his length — already attentive to the stimulation in part — and pumping him gently, you revel in the way his sighs into your mouth; choked and broken groans caught in a dry throat at the feeling of you palming him so deliciously like this.

You're thankful for your night vision finally coming to you, and allowing you to take in the sight of half-lidded, wanting eyes staring back at you.

"It's late," Doyoung whispers first, a lazy reasoning as to why you shouldn't be wanting to partake in such lewd activities currently. But rather than engaging in the banter with him, you bypass it entirely with the one thing that you know will make the man putty in your hands.

Firm, long strokes of his cock in your hand, you once again bite into his lip with a breathy moan against him. "Doie—" you all but whimper into his mouth. "—please."

You get little time between the moment the word drops from your lips and when you find yourself pressed back against the mattress with him hovering over you. A grin of victory splashing across your features as you feel him tug your panties down your legs and toss them aside without much of a care, just as quickly coming back up to bring his mouth to your own with a bit more hungry intent behind it than before.

Reaching down between both of your bodies to position himself to enter you, Doyoung drags fervent, hot kisses down your jaw and to your ear that bring the temperature of your body up just that much more. A once dull throb between your legs now impossible to ignore and full of want as he rub his cock up and down your slit to spread your wetness around before attempting to penetrate you.

"You drive me crazy."

As his hips press forward and his cock begin to sink into you — with a lack of foreplay you find a particularly pleasurable burn that come along with the resistance he's met with upon entering a body not quite made to be ready to take him. Jaw hung ajar at the feeling of him prying you open slowly with shallow, timely thrusts, you exhale heavily against his face as he once again meets you eye to eye.

Seated flush between your legs, he pauses for a moment to kiss you deeply — rocking into you with little withdrawal in a way that has his pubic bone continually bumping against your clit — you whine into his mouth as he drinks it down between dips of his tongue into you.

Cock nearly fully buried inside of you at all times like this, you feel impossibly full of him as he grinds against the apex of your thighs. One hand brought down and gripping firming into your waist as if to hold you perfectly in place to take him, he feels suffocating in a whole new way that you find you've never quite experienced before: in the absence of immense dirty talk and power play — sex with Doyoung be just as intense and enveloping, all the same. A man all too in tune to the needs of your body and mind.

"Feel good?" He finally whispers against your face. You think him to be well aware of the answer already, though.

"Feel so good, so good," you whimper in an airy, stifled tone. "You feel so big."

"And you take it all perfectly."

The words send your brain buzzing, the coiling of release beginning in your abdomen as a result of the relentless pace he has set against your clit — thinking of how far, how deep his cock is buried within you a dizzying thought as he continues to rock against you with just the right rhythm that can have you sent over the edge in no time.

"I want to feel you come around me, baby. Can you do that?" Doyoung asks in a whisper against your cheek as he trails pecks of his lips across your hot skin.

Teeth pulling at your bottom lip as you try to bite back the sounds that threaten to rip from your throat as your orgasm looms on the precipice.

Nails digging into the flesh of your waist as he attempts to drag you down harder against him for more friction, it's just enough while his lips and teeth simultaneously suck into the skin of your neck to decorate you with pretty marks to send you barreling over the edge. Doyoung feels it more than anything as a hedonistic groan drops unexpectedly from his mouth at the feeling of your walls gripping down on his cock still buried well within you as you come.

A chanting whisper against the heated skin of your neck, "Fuck, that's it, just like that."

Riding you out properly through your orgasm, it's only then that the man release his grip on you: opting now for long, fluid drives of his cock into you to bring him to his own end. It doesn't take long after the feeling of you all but milking him for everything that he's worth only moments before — once again burying deep inside of you with the twitch of his length to release warm, wet, ropes of cum deep inside of your now dripping heat.

Head coming back up from your neck to gaze into your fucked-out eyes, his vision dances over your features for just a moment — taking in the sight of you before once again greeting you with a deep, adoring kiss.

Wincing from the stimulation of having just come as he drags his softening cock from you, Doyoung flops to the side of you with a heavy exhale — a hand mischievously finding itself between your legs once again to play with the mixture of cum and other such wetness left behind in the aftermath of your unplanned rendezvous.

"So," he sighs out as the tip of his middle finger drags up and against your all too sensitive clit. "Those spreadsheets, huh?"

How cruel the world is — the most exquisite cock being attached to the most insufferable man you could ever know.

As the last day at the residence finally comes around, you spend the days just prior expecting it to be bittersweet, in ways. Naturally, you're thankful for Mina's return as well as yourself reentering a life of normalcy compared to the rollercoaster of a getaway as you've spent the last few weeks — rather, you're none bitter and all sweet for all of those aforementioned reasons.

Of course, your relationship with Doyoung has reasonably shifted. A man that once only served as a mark of unappreciated and relatively unwelcomed contention, now having morphed into one of your most trusted and perhaps even in ways, adored, people in your life.

You contribute it mostly to the little things. The ins and outs of living an everyday life alongside the man — allowing to view him in a new way, and maybe even the way that Mina does — that casts him in a brand new light. Hardworking, thoughtful, and above all else: trustworthy.

Putting your care and well-being: emotionally, mentally, physically — in his hands, and not only coming out on the other end just as well as you had gone into it, but in ways, even better.

But don't tell him that, it'll go to his head.

On the last evening and after that aforementioned six course meal that you had never actually expected to come to fruition, as you find yourself comfortably seated on the loveseat in front of the television and just next to the warmth of a crackling fireplace, you gaze over the back of the cushioning: watching the man with rolled up long sleeves as he pop a last bottle of some expensive wine he got from who-knows-where as a sort of parting gift only shared between the two of you.

Two glasses in hand, Doyoung hands you one and you share a light tapping of rims before taking your first sips as he sits down next to you.

"Excited to get back home?"

Mulling over the question momentarily, you hum into the edge of the glass before taking another, small sip and setting it onto the table just in front of you.

"Yeah, I feel like I've been on vacation too long being here, it feels weird."

Chuckling, he matches your action before leaning his head against the couch to look at you. "You've been working this entire time, hardly a vacation."

"That's true."

"Imagine my surprise finding out that you do have a job that isn't simply being friends with my wife!"

Tossing your head back as if in utter disbelief that he really be bringing this joke back, you whine out your response to him. "Are you really going to do this again?"

"Have to keep things interesting still," he starts with a sly grin, reaching for your arm and lightly taking it into his hand by the wrist. "If I'm too nice to you, you won't want me viscerally anymore."

The physical touch serving as a motion to have to closer to him, you follow his lead — pushing yourself across the furniture and pressed up against him with your side. Playing mad, you choose to ignore the way his fingers feel against your skin, but harder than that: ignoring his breath against your ear as his face dips down and closer to yours.

More than aware of his ability to feel your skin raising beneath his touch, you instead make an attempt to bring attention away from it.

What's the harm in a little hard to get fun on the last night, anyway?

That is, if you can hold out long enough to make it such.

"Am I supposed to still want you after this is all over?" You ask firmly, as if none too affected by the proximity of his body to your own. "Like knowing that your wife’s best friend desires you sexually or something?"

"Sure," he admits without missing a beat. "Doesn't everyone like feeling desired?"

You opt out of responding, but your lack of one does not offer the reprieve you had hoped as he continue on with the thought.

"The taboo nature of the husband and the wife’s best friend—" he whispers into you, hand on your wrist now long since abandoning its position and moving across to your thigh.

Yes, you had worn a skirt on purpose knowing the plans for the evening. Plans to only play hard to get, after all. Not actually make it all that difficult to acquire.

"—Plus, you already admitted you still thought about it long after the first arrangement ended. Am I supposed to believe you just needed a month to get it out of your system and thus you've now grown tired of me?"

"I could go off it just fine," You continue the ruse, tone pointed and unaffected as his fingertips feather up and under the hem of the garment laid across your legs.

As the tip of his middle finger edges just up against the front of your panties, you delicately attempt to squeeze your thighs shut, only for the man to take notice and disallow it immediately.

"Spread your legs."

Of course, you do as you're told. Not yet relinquished from the grip that he has on you.

The problem lie in how electric his touch is — knowing just the right way of engaging with you physically, pressing all of the correct proverbial buttons that time and time again has to coming undone for him as quickly or as slowly as he would like, depending on the circumstances — with his hand curling into your underwear and a single digit pressing against your slit, you can just about feel the way his lips turn upward at your compliance for him even now. Until the very end.

"Is that so?" Doyoung finally says in acknowledgment of your obvious lie. Eyes thin and intent on you as you try your best to not make your want for him so damn obvious. "Well, you're going to have to, after all. I can't help but wonder, though—"

Pausing the thought as he gently penetrates you with a single finger and you subsequently melting in his grasp at the feeling of it — you know you've lost, but suppose even in that there is victory.

"—Who's going to make you come the way I do? Who's going to have you a whimpering, begging mess for them the way that I do? Who will you be able to relinquish all power and control to the way you do with me?"

You know that he's using it as dirty talk in the present moment, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been asking yourself the very same questions these last few evenings spent at the marital home.

Who is going to replace Doyoung in your life?

"We'll have to find you someone nice to play with," he begins again, pulling from inside of you and turning his attention to your clit with the very same finger, instead. "Well, not too nice."

'We.'

The idea that Doyoung will be by your side, aiding you in finding and vetting any future play partners because not only is his safety important to him, but your enjoyment, as well. The idea that although it brings him great pleasure to be that sole person in your life capable of bringing you to that level of sexuality, that he knows your arrangement unsustainable long term, and him not wanting you to miss out on it just because of his unavailability.

Guess you really do have to hand it to your bestie, she really landed a keeper.

As the first, small, whimper drops from your lips, the familiar feeling of Doyoung smiling against you returns again as he meets it with praise, as always. "There she is," he says, as if having been working to summon the version of you that lie dormant and waiting to fall apart for him as he see fit.

"Come here," he whispers against your ear, low and up to no good, you're sure. "Why don't you come sit on it?"

So much for playing hard to get, the promise of being full to the brim with him one last time all too enticing to play games with, Doyoung pulls his hand away quickly to shove his pants down his legs and out of the way as you bring yourself to a knelt position atop the cushions. Turning to face him, it's a sight that you think may never get old, and that you'll likely have carried with you forever should you be able to maintain it: Doyoung's slanted lean against the back of the couch in wait for you to straddle him — long, beautiful cock in hand as he lazily strokes himself in preparation to penetrate you, and eyes gazing straight up and into your own — always granting you his full and undivided attention.

Wobbling slightly as you position yourself over his thighs and gently bear down against him, the man angling his length just right for you to impale yourself upon him, as you begin your descent and enjoy the barely-there string of his stretch, Doyoung brings his other hand up to your face to pull you down and close to his own — lips just lightly meeting — as he speaks in hushed, hidden, words.

"Sit on it before my wife gets home, yeah?"

It's something that the two of you had ballparked playing with the entire time: the infidelity that not be taking place, but rather, the illusion of it. Roleplaying.

Vaguely dabbled in at the end of your first arrangement, you suppose it only fitting to close off this one, as well.

Sinking down on him slowly, you whine into his mouth at the words. Kissing you delicately at first — more teeth and tongue added to the mix with every inch of him you bury inside of your heat — as you comfortably settle down and into his lap in full, the both of you let out an exhale that neither had been aware of your holding as your eyes meet once again before resuming any movement.

"Good?"

You nod.

Lips grazing down your chin and jaw as he sucks gently into the skin just below, Doyoung barely presses his hips upwards and against you, only enough to pull a threatened hiss from your mouth at the feeling of him almost too deep inside of you.

"Gonna have to be quiet," he whispers into your skin at the reaction of feeling him. "We don't want the missus to hear, now do we?"

"God, you feel so big right now," you say, unable to help breaking character in the moment at how impossibly full you feel. The commentary pulls a breathy laugh from the man beneath you and a small shake of his head in reaction.

"I'm trying to do something new and you just want to default back to that old shit, huh?" He jokingly chastises, hands snaking around to grasp onto your hips as a silent beckoning to begin moving. "Yeah, I get it, it's big, can we move on!"

With the both of you laughing now, the mood feels a tad bit lost — perhaps the initial one, but not the whole mood entirely. Instead, it feels perfect an ending for such a long, sexually-charged, exploratory month — full of growth and understanding and...maybe even some love there, yeah.

Maybe it's not impossible that there be space in your heart for love for him, given everything. Not romantic, or platonic, or familial — but somewhere in between. All of them and none of them simultaneously.

"Fine, geez, never met a man so upset about hearing how big his dick is," You respond with playful annoyance, finally grinding your hips down and against him to garner just that right amount of friction from inside of you that has you both groaning out in tandem at the feeling.

Bringing one hand up from your lower body and making quick work of your blouse, Doyoung palming the mound of flesh that sit eye level with him as you ride him steadily — leaning forward, he wastes no time circling one of the sensitive buds with his warm, wet tongue before fully clasping around it with his mouth and continuing the motion as you fuck him from what might typically be considered for the majority of your engagements: switched positions.

Groaning into your flesh as you find the perfect rhythm for yourself — fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip as he desperately attempts to fuck up into you and match your movements, as he pulls his mouth away from you and you both make eye contact, you realize that perhaps for once you're not the one at the mercy of the other this time, and rather, it's him.

Whining out with eyes clenched shut and dropping his back down against the sofa again, it's a simple "fuck" that escapes him, and nothing else.

But you're pretty sure you know what that means, and for once, you're not even close.

"Already?" You ask, somewhat curious, but somewhat with intent to be a little bit annoying, as well. It works just as expected, eyes flashing open and at you with the most despondent expression you could have imagined.

"Don't be like that, God."

With his jaw clenched so tight you can nearly hear the sound of his teeth gritting, you bear your weight down onto him harder — taking his cock as deeply as you can before switching to full, lengthy, bounces of your hips atop him. The switch immediately has the man beneath you moaning, and with a little bit too much proverbial pep to your step, you lean down to close to distance between your mouth and his ear just as quickly as the thought comes to you.

It's not a whisper, you don't bother making it such: really, who is going to hear?

"Gonna have to be quiet, don't want the missus to hear, do we?"

"Hear what?"

The sound of a third voice feeling a bit like how time feels the seconds before a car crash happens — the sounds of tires screeching before the crunching and clanging of mangled metal — you can't even help the shriek that resounds from you as your eyes immediately pull up at glance over at the entrance to the kitchen from the doorway hall.

Throwing yourself off of Doyoung in a fit of humiliation of also due in part to feeling as though you've been caught fucking your best friends husband (for good reason, you suppose), the man only flings his arm up and over the back end to grant himself enough leverage to turn himself to look at the sight you've only just laid eyes on.

"Saved by the bell, welcome home, honey."

"You guys are so fucking weird!"

The screech coming from you, obviously. Pulling your clothing back into place hurriedly as Doyoung does the same in a much more lackadaisical fashion, you hiss towards him as if still trying to avoid allowing the missus to hear the both of your goings on. "Did you know she was coming home tonight!?"

"No," he chuckles. "But thank God she did, huh? Things were getting a little out of hand!"

With a light tap of your ass, Doyoung stands to his feet to go greet Mina — bags still in hand as she stand with a wide, adoring grin splashed across her face.

"Have fun while I was away, darling?" She asks knowing all too well the answer. Of course, Doyoung happy to play along. "She's incorrigible, my love. Not a moment spent free from her evil clutches."

"I'm sure," Mina replies, kissing him lovingly as he walks past her and into the kitchen, all the while feigning his dismay.

"Are you going to come say 'hi'?"

"Ideally if I wait here long enough I will simply melt into the couch cushion and cease to exist."

Mina rolls her eyes at the dramatics displayed by you. "You do know I already knew you were here fucking my husband all month, right? Like, it was my idea and everything?"

Sighing, you flop around on the sofa like a child throwing an uncontrollable fit. "I know! But it still feels so weird that you...saw it! Why do I feel weird and you don't?"

"Because standardized monogamy and societal assumptions and traditional versus non-traditional relationship models; I don't think you actually want me to explain to you why but — it's fine. I caught an earlier flight in, I kinda knew there was a chance I might catch you guys. I had texted him but you know how he is with his phone."

Silence. Mina sighs.

"Can you say something? Please don't melt into that loveseat it was almost ten thousand dollars."

That being the thing that has you jumping up and off of the furniture in shock and horror, you finally look up at your best friend from across the room — taking in the sight of her gentle and loving smile and in that moment, you accept this snapshot in time for everything that it is, just the same as all of the previous ones this month.

A reminder to take people at their word. To believe what they tell you if there is love between you. To have the bravery and respect to trust someone when even in the shroud of doubt — they tell you that it's okay.

And so, you run your palms over your blouse and skirt in a rushed attempt to clean yourself up ever so slightly, and with one footstep towards the woman that you've held dearest to you for so many years, you swallow down all of the nasty feelings that no one but you and the heavy weight of unrelated parties expectations cast upon you: because after all — that has nothing to do with the three of you, right here, and right now.

"Welcome home, Mina."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is part 2. part one [here].

[jazeswhbhaven]

👻👻Happy Spooky Month Ya'll👻👻

Have yourself a Asmo~

So as with any update of mine for the month, let's get it poppin' with some quick housekeeping rules since I've gained some new faces since the last update!

👻Don't come up in my space with the bullshit, meaning racism/colorism, homophobia, etc.

👻If you have a non-sharing yumeship do yourself a favor and don't follow me as I equally talk about and simp for pretty much the majority of the characters for this game

👻I talk and write cxc content, I always tag it so ya'll can mute it so just fair warning

👻Venting is welcome in my inbox, but no venting about other users in my inbox and using me as a mediator. That's ya'lls beef not mine.

👻Absolutely no minors.

👻Requests are s l o w. Like I still have stuff from weeks/months ago I haven't answered so please be patient with me ;w;

What's going on this month for my blog?

Uh tbh I was supposed to have a WHB OCversary event for myself and well that hasn't been going to well because of outside factors. If ya'll see it before Halloween that would be my ideal goal.

Also I was going to do a Halloween thingie like how I did for my other blog last year but I don't think I will end up getting to it...I might just update with the kings/nobles I didn't include!

Other than that keep an eye out for the following reacts:

👻Asmodeus Selfie 👻Gabriel X-mas Miracle And this is totally dependent on when my friends share the stories with me or if I get them myself. I was supposed to have a react for Levi and Mammon's bath story but I'll probably dish that out for next month instead.

Oh but another thing!

So after some thought, if I get myself together and figure out a sound schedule...and after doing more research I will possibly be opening a Patreon for ficlets/blurbs for other fandoms including this one based on a poll vote. Most of it will be never posted on tumblr so it will be exclusive to my patrons only! The tiers won't be too expensive tho. But this is still a up in the air thought and I'll let ya'll know if it's ever going forward. I'd like to think I'd get support but alas, gotta be realistic sometimes lol

Hey so, Asmodeus....eh? *wink*

yes. Asmodeus has the fandom up in a tizzy and I think that's a given. For LU(Love Unholyc) fans this has been a long time coming seeing him like this, and for folks like me who kinda know OF him or don't know him at all then yeah fucking side swept my ass.

Let me gather my strength to write some stuff about him...I want to I really do...and we shall see if I can get my brain going. There's so much potential with him too. Other than him being fine as fuck.

Anywayssssssss thank you all for following me and my crazy, engaging, and being the lovely folks ya'll are. Let's continue to simp and vibe for the bois~

your lovely admin~ ♡( •ॢ◡-ॢ)✧˖° ♡ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ

[sxfterhearts]

cafe crush

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ jiung x reader (+ side co-worker!theo) ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: just fluff!!

♡ word count: 2,371 words

♡ summary: 88. “I'll see you later.”

♡ author’s note: i have not written in literal YEARS. but this is a quick one that i whipped up due to a) my ongoing obsession with p1harmony, b) that cursed gif of jiung in the purple hoodie asdfghjhkld, c) my own experience (aka this is heavily based on my cafe crush HAHA) and d) a sudden itch to write?! i'm so rusty, so expect nothing. enjoy!!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

//

“Just ask for his number!”

“Oh my goodness, stop it!” You hissed at your co-worker, Theo, elbowing him in the ribs. “You’re being so obvious.”

“Oh, shut it.” He retorted, trying to defend himself. Mere seconds ago, Theo was teasing you and laughing boisterously, attracting the attention of some other café patrons. “Not nearly as obvious as when you ogle at him as if he’s your prince charming or something.”

“Not true!”

“So true!”

“Who’s next?” The barista called out from behind the counter. You nudged Theo forwards in response, hoping to linger at the end of the line for a bit longer to catch a glimpse of your prince charming.

Well, okay, you were being dramatic.

He’s not technically your prince charming. He’s not your anyone, really. But he is the super-hot-waiter-who-works-at-the-café-you-frequent-with-your-colleagues-everyday (you figured prince charming was a shorter and more convenient name).

It all started out as an innocent crush – someone who piqued your interest, really. You noticed a month or two ago that there was a new face at your regular café. He was probably around your age, perhaps slightly older, with strikingly silver hair. The first time you laid eyes on him, you nearly choked on your iced latte. He had the kindest eyes that turned into little crescents and a bright smile on his perfect face as he spoke calmly to the café’s never-ending patrons and urged them to write their names down on the waiting list. You even saw him put out a bowl of water for a cute corgi like a true angel, all while taking pictures of it using his phone.

The café you frequented nearly every single workday (and sometimes, even on non-workdays) was super popular. On most days, there was a long line of people waiting for a table at the entrance, and a small group of customers huddled around the takeaway station. You weren’t surprised. After all, the café was in a popular suburb, and they brewed coffee using well-sourced beans they freshly roasted in-house. The coffee always hit the spot for you, whether it was an early Monday morning, or a midday pick-me-up.

Throughout the weeks, though, you found yourself making the short ten-minute trip to the café more often than usual. You used to go to other cafes in the area. Granted, this suburb was filled with many high-quality coffee houses. However, you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t go to the café just to catch a glimpse of your favourite barista.

Slowly, you started to find solace in your little café trips. What used to be an obligation to get a shot of your daily caffeine, transformed into a little bit of me-time when you had the luxury of making the trip on your own. It gave you an opportunity to walk around the neighbourhood, or even walk the office dog when she was in (which got lots of attention from the locals along the way). You couldn’t explain it, but the anticipation of looking for something (or rather, someone) and finding them exactly where you expect them to be, brought you a sense of pure satisfaction.

Seeing him there, standing at the entrance greeting customers, or balancing three plates of brunch on his long arms, or even taking orders with a big smile, brought you a sense of calm and familiarity.

Your mind flashed back to one particular Friday, where the weather was ominous outside the office, and you were periodically nodding off at your desk. Something about the gloomy weather made you want to go home, crawl under your covers and take a nap. Just as you were re-reading the same sentence for the nth time, you decided to make a trip to the café. After briefly checking the time (you were lucky – it was only 1:30pm), you headed out with your umbrella in hands.

The moment you stepped outside, you momentarily regretted your decision. The skies had just opened up, and rain started to fall. You hesitated but decided that there was still four hours left of the workday, and there was no way you could get through it without a proper hit of caffeine from your favourite café. So, you braved the wind and the cold and made the trip down, clutching your tiny umbrella tightly in your fists the entire time. When you arrived there however, the rain reduced to a tiny drizzle, and the wind appeared to calm down as well. Just as you rounded the corner, you caught a glimpse of the familiar purple hoodie. With your heart thumping in your chest and a bright smiled plastered on your face, you took a quick glance towards the owner of said hoodie (who was busying himself with introducing the signature brunch menu to a table of first-time customers) and headed towards the takeaway counter.

“How can I help you today?” The barista at the counter broke you out of your trance as you reached the start of the queue.

“Hello! Can I get a cold brew please?”

“Of course! Our cold brew is self-serve. Do you know how to work the taps?”

The cold brew and batch brews were served in coffee taps in this café. It was a favourite amongst your colleagues in the office. When it was sunny, everyone flocked to the café to get a cup of their cold brew.

“Yes, I do.” You chirped in reply and proceeded to pay and thank the barista, wishing them a good day.

As you made your way to the coffee taps, you caught a glimpse of your favourite waiter in the corner of your eye, filling up a bottle of water on the sparkling water taps behind you. You held your breath as you scooped a bit of ice into your takeaway cup and placed it under the tap. He was only five steps away from you, and you struggled immensely to keep your gaze fixed on the coffee instead of him.

While it was certainly fun to self-serve your own coffee, the lids always proved to be a challenge for you and everyone else. Theo himself spilled one too many cups of coffee at this exact spot, just because he couldn’t get the lid on the right way.

When the coffee finished pouring, you grabbed the cup with clammy hands and took a lid off the pile. “Here goes,” you breathed, feeling the eyes of not only the waiter but also the other baristas on you as you attempted to put the lid on.

Your tongue stuck out in concentration, fingers pressing around the rim of the cup. Your breath hitched when you felt the cup bend slightly under your touch. This was probably not going to end well.

“Do you need some help?” A voice spoke from in front of you.

You paused, heart nearly beating right out of your chest from the nervousness. This was the first time you’ve ever had any sort of interaction with the waiter, and for some reason, his velvety voice made your knees a bit weak. It was smooth and deep, like a cup of perfectly blended and roasted coffee.

“Ah…” You laughed, slightly embarrassed. Looking up, you flashed an unsteady smile. You were close enough for once to read off his nametag – Jiung. So that was his name. “I’ve got it, Jiung.” You said, determined.

You looked down before a shy smile appeared on his face at the sound of his name rolling off your lips. You took a breath, and tried again, this time with a slightly different approach. You got half of the lid to catch on the cup, finally, and just a little bit more until you got it secured, and you were so close, just a little bit –

“Ah!” You gasped in shock. Turns out, you pressed a little too hard and the cup folded in on itself, spilling half of the drink on the countertop.

“I saw this coming; you should’ve let me help.” Jiung teased in a light-hearted manner, hands already armed with a cloth to clean up the mess you made. He handed you a paper towel. “Here, did you get any on your clothes? Clean up and I’ll get you another one.”

“Ah, no.” You did a quick check and thanked the heavens that your grey sweater was safe from the coffee damage. “I’m sorry…” You said sheepishly, cheeks turning pink. “I swear I did it properly last time.”

“What’s taking so long? Ah, Y/N, you did it again.” Theo peered over your shoulder and shook his head in disapproval.

“Again?” Jiung questioned, trying to bite back a smile.

“Shut up, Theo!” You whipped your head around and shot daggers at him with your eyes. “It’s fine, I’ll meet you back at the office.” You squinted and stared at him, trying to communicate with him non-verbally to leave you alone with your café crush.

Thankfully, Theo was smart enough to get the message. “Alright, I’ll tell Keeho you’ll be late to the meeting because of your little accident.”

“Go!” You hissed, threatening to throw your used paper towel at him. His arms shot up in surrender as he backed away and walked back to the office.

“Your coffee.” Jiung said, presenting you with a perfectly covered cup of cold brew. “Next time, don’t be afraid to ask for help. You’d be amazed just how many people have done that.”

“But you guys make it look so easy, I thought I could do it too.” You pouted, accepting the drink and slightly brushing over his fingers as you did so. Your body tingled at the short-lived moment of skin-to-skin contact.

Jiung laughed at that. “You’re forgetting that we do hundreds of these a day. Let the experts handle it, okay?”

“Jiung, lunch!” One of the chefs yelled out from the kitchen.

“In a sec!” He yelled back. Turning back to you, he said, “I’m gonna go on my lunch break soon. Anything else I can help with?”

You gnawed at your bottom lip for a few seconds and played with your fingers which were interlaced around your cup coffee. Jiung couldn’t help but to watch and stare at your lips as you did so, hypnotised. “Actually, there is…”

“Oh, were you waiting on takeaway food? If you’re in a hurry I can check with the back if you – ”

“No, actually,” you interjected softly. “I was wondering if… I could get your number?” You asked, uncertain. “Only if you’re single, of course.” You took a sip of your coffee to calm yourself down. Clearly it didn’t work because you started to ramble. “But who am I kidding, you obviously have a girlfriend. Anyways, I’m late for a meeting so I should just go…”

Just as you were about to turn around and walk away and hide at your office desk, Jiung waved his hands out to stop you. “Wait!” He said belatedly, after opening and closing his mouth for a minute too long. “I- I- I don’t.” The two of you locked eyes, remaining silent for a few seconds to let his words sink in. “Hold on, you just- I just- I -” He shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Sorry, just give me a sec okay? I’m on my lunch break, I’ll walk you back.”

You couldn’t do anything but nod at his words as he turned around and raced back to the kitchen to grab his lunch. The minutes felt like hours as you waited for him, sipping on your coffee, and allowing the cherry and chocolatey notes to invade your tastebuds. You felt a bit numb after your confession that wasn’t really a confession, yet your heartbeat refused to stop thudding against your ears in anticipation. You really couldn’t tell how this would end.

“Hey, sorry I took so long.” Jiung said, breathless, as he came around the other side of the counter, dressed in a black cap to match his black hoodie. Now that he was standing in front of you, you realised just how tall he was. “Do you work around here, Y/N?”

You shivered at the way his voice wrapped around the syllables of your name. You could only look up at him and nod and point in the general direction of your office.

“I thought so, I see you here all the time.” Jiung continued, slowing his footsteps to walk at the same pace as you as you lead the way.

“You noticed me?”

“Of course, how could I not?” He replied, hands coming up to rub the back of his neck as an embarrassed grin paints itself on his features. “I’m always waiting around to catch a glimpse… of you…” His voice got softer and softer and trailed off towards the end of the sentence.

“You do?” Your eyes turned as wide as saucers.

“Yeah, seeing you is the best part of my shift.” He says, as plain as day, as if he was stating a well-known fact, or reading out the weather forecast, or answering a math question.

“Seeing you is the best part of my day.” You countered.

“Are you sure it’s not just the caffeine?” He teased, bumping your shoulders as you walked with matching steps.

“That too,” You admitted, lips pulling into a small smile. “But seeing your smile in the middle of a boring workday makes things a lot more bearable.”

“That’s…” Jiung trailed off again. “So cute.” He burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter in combined fascination and disbelief, and you thought that nothing, not even the sounds of angels singing at the gates of heaven could be better than this. “Oh, here.” He stopped and pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. He reached out for your hand, and dropped it into your palms.

“What’s this?”

“My number, silly. What are you doing tonight? If you’re free, let’s grab dinner?”

You couldn’t hide the pure excitement and joy seeping out of your body. It took everything in your power to not jump up and down on the spot. “Yeah,” you breathed out, still unable to believe that shooting your shot actually worked for once. “Yeah, I’ll see you later at 6.”

[littlejuicebox]

Midnight Chimes 2 / Three years

Background: I plan for this to be a series based off the premise/epilogue from my piece "Midnight Chimes." I’ve changed the character from GN to F because… well, I’m F and I have an easier time writing from that angle. Additionally, I gave Tav a different name... I wanted to give her an identity of her own, I suppose. As a disclaimer, she is a Great Old One Warlock, and I am learning about this class as I go, so it may not exactly follow lore.

Summary: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 1,292

-----

He’s got a blade to your neck.

A blade. To your neck.

The bastard doesn’t recognize you at all, does he?

“And you! Keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.” The pale elf warns your companion, Gale, an amiable wizard you’d pulled out of a strange portal not more than a half hour ago.

“Couldn’t agree more. But if you use that knife, I will incinerate you.” Gale responds, surprisingly calm for the situation at hand. Perhaps there’s more to the wizard than meets the eye; if you weren’t stuck with your jugular millimeters from a sharp dagger, you would’ve laughed.

Astarion is distracted by your companion, countering his warning with some asinine threat of his own.

Yes, you unfortunately know the elf's name. He’d frequented your parents’ tavern for years when you worked there as a server in your twenties, and then you two had a pleasant conversation in that same tavern – what was it, three? – three years back. He’d meandered in after being banned for years, while you were on Midwinter holiday visiting your family.

You’d thought it had been a meet-cute, but the rake never did write to your apothecary shop address, in the end. He’d had you fooled, for a moment, but your initial impressions had been correct. It was probably nothing to him. You ultimately figured Astarion had been a rake through and through, and you hadn’t been an easy lay, so he’d dismissed you and decimated your pride in the process.

Bastard.

You supposed the chance encounter had meant more to you than it had him, though you wouldn’t dare to admit you waited for a letter for far too long. Months of checking the post with a glimmer of hope in your lonely heart… how pitiful, honestly.

You feel your patron laugh in amusement… if the celestial being can laugh, or perhaps that’s just the way they translate it to you. They must think this run-in is entertaining… for all you know, they orchestrated it. Hadn’t they been the reason you felt pushed to leave your apothecary shop in the hands of your assistant and travel to Baldur’s Gate, intending to visit your parents on a whim? 

You’d never done an impromptu trip to Baldur's Gate in the all the years you’d been gone. But then you bought that blasted ring with the strange cosmic stone at the antique shop, slipped it on your pinky, and suddenly your mind was not your own. Deep in the recesses of your psyche, something else lurked. Something ancient and unfathomable… you didn’t even know if the thing had a name. And every once in a while, it would compel you to perform an action with nearly obsessive thoughts and visions.

Nothing would stop the psychic barrage apart from acting in the being's interest, not even removing the ring because... well, you couldn't. It was stuck on your pinky. And you weren’t about to maim yourself by chopping off your own finger.

Then, almost unbelievably, you had been kidnapped, infected with a parasite and placed in the path of the insufferable rake, yet again. And now this arrogant elf has a blade pressed to your “darling” neck.

The beautiful bastard even has the gall to wear a knock off of the cologne sample that had been attached to your business card all those years ago. Bergamot, rosemary… and is that brandy?

You had to admit it was a close duplication, but not quite as good as yours. You laugh at the ludicrousness of it all, and the elf’s attention jerks back to you. You must be crazy to be laughing in the face of such a threat… but perhaps you are crazy, after all.

“Don’t recognize me, Astarion? Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

Astarion’s eyes narrow at you. You can see him trying to place your face, scanning it for something familiar, even though the dagger is still pressed flush against your jugular.

“You may not remember me, but I remember you,” You start, and the celestial being in your mind chuckles again, flashing a memory from three years back, when you’d said the exact same thing to this elf in your parents’ tavern. Gods, were you cursed to remember him for all eternity while the rake forgot you after every run in?

“My name is Demi. Demitria?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The cold sharpness of the dagger against your neck is starting to make you nervous.

“We met at my parents’ tavern in Baldur's Gate? The Drunken Dragon?”

Astarion is still staring at you suspiciously, tightly gripping the dagger as he searches his memories for any sign of you. You can tell he doesn’t believe you. Gods damn this elf! He didn’t remember you one bit and you’d thought of him more than you’d ever admit to anyone.

Suddenly a sharp sensation ripples through your mind, connecting you to the pale elf’s. At first you think this is a strange trick from your patron, but then you realize it’s something caused by the parasite. You feel its sickening wriggles behind your skull.

It’s the same memory flashing through two perspectives; the night you two met. You see Astarion enter and feel your wary judgment of him, he sees you in a corner booth and you pick up on something predatory about his nature – damn rake – as he sits next to you. You are annoyed by him; he is entertained and intrigued by you.

The conversation ensues and both of you are thoroughly enjoying yourselves, until the bell tower chimes and then – fear, gut-wrenching, all-consuming fear in Astarion’s mind. You two say your goodbyes and then he’s bursting out the door, down the alley, running, panicking, searching for something, someone–

“Agh what the hells!” The silver-haired rake shouts, dropping his dagger and clutching his head in his hands. 

You take the opportunity to roll away and stand up on your own two feet. You get a sense that your patron is protecting you from some of the parasite’s abilities, since you aren’t wriggling in pain on the ground like Astarion… it seems they don’t like another alien entity vying for control of your mind. Gale is swiftly by your side, hands filling with colorful waves of magical energy; you snatch the dagger from the earth. 

When the vision is over, Astarion is blinking up at you. He glosses over your face one more time and then you see it… recognition. The man quickly scrambles to his feet, now unarmed, and splays his hands wide in a signal of truce.

“My sincerest apologies, Demetria. I’m not good with faces; I meet a lot of people, darling, and well, many of you humans look quite similar. I trust we can put this entire misunderstanding behind us?” The silver-haired elf murmurs, flashing you his signature, alluring smile. It must work on nearly everyone.

The gall. The absolute fucking gall.

You want to say no, to laugh in his face; part of you considers stabbing him, just for kicks. But then there is your patron, once again, compelling you to say yes. You have the inexplicable feeling that if you don’t, something terrible will happen to your parents. Why does the entity always make you feel like something will happen to them if you don’t follow these ridiculous urges? What would happen if you didn’t? Are you willing to risk it?

Your jaw locks up as you try to fight back the words, you look to Gale hoping the wizard will say no on your behalf.

“I will leave the matter of this decision to you, Demetria. You were the one with the blade to your neck.” The human man responds with a kindly, relaxed air. How unbothered can one person be, in the face of a parasite and a stab-happy rogue?

Damn the geniality of this wizard. 

“Fine,” You manage to choke out, and you feel the cosmic entity’s hold on your psyche relax. You spin the blade in your hand and return it to its owner, pressing the hilt into his outstretched palm. “But anymore of your bullshit, Astarion, and both Gale and I will blast you into the hells.” 

Astarion grins, all vulpine and pomp, before wrapping his hand around the dagger. He gives the weapon a few spins between his fingers before sheathing the blade on his thigh, “Cross my heart, I’ll behave myself. Seems we have a mutual interest of returning to Baldur’s Gate, and we will need all the allies we can get, after all.” 

“Yes… seems that way.” You agree reluctantly, before sighing and turning to continue your journey along the beach. You and Gale had been scrounging up supplies before you two were rudely interrupted by the rake. 

Fate is a cruel, cruel mistress. And you’re beginning to believe your patron might be even crueler. 

[clangenrising]

its probably been asked but out of curioisity, how long do you think youll continue risingclan’s story? like, will it still be going in like 5 years?

I plan to go as long as I have the time and energy. I've played about 75 moons so far and I'd love to cover all of that story if possible. Who knows if after that I'll try and wrap things up but I suspect I'll still have more story to tell. Just like Warriors Books, RisingClan will probably go on as long as I can keep coming up with Ideas and you people keep reading haha

Especially if my Patreon takes off and I can make this my full time job or at least a viable part time one, I'd love to write about RisingClan for eternity. Or who knows, if I ever end RisingClan's story, maybe we'll start an entirely new one based on a new game of ClanGen.

You can find my Patreon linked in the pinned post, just 5 bucks a month gets you previews of the pieces and a unique illustration for every season that you can use as a background, print off and hang in your room, or whatever else you feel like doing with it. I am so grateful to my patrons for making it a little easier for me to find time to work on this amazing story.

[master-sass-blast]

Let's Call it a Draw Between Us -Chapter One: Defeat.

Author's Note (uploading multiple works tonight, so I'm slapping this on all the fics I'm posting):

Uh... hi.

It's been a very long time. Longer than I'd hoped for, but suffice to say, this year hasn't gone according to plan.

In sum, I had a mental breakdown in Spring, got diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome in July, my husband totaled his car in September, I was sick for the whole month of October, my husband found a new (used) car... and then hit a deer at the end of November, and the insurance company ruled that it was totaled because the repair costs would be worth more than the value of the car.

Yeah.

There's been other shit, too, but part of what I've learned with the new diagnosis is that my body does not regulate or cope with stress well -which I sort of already knew, but it's to a vaster extent than I'd known. Essentially, this past year has just taken me out at the knees, and it will probably take my body a while to regulate and function well again.

I still want to write and post fics, but I now have a lot of anxiety around not being able to write and post fics (along with other things that my befuckened body interferes with), which is just... a lot. And frustrating.

I'm not throwing in the towel. But I also can't promise any sort of posting schedule moving forward. Right now, my body and brain are just too unpredictable, and I have to make sure I'm taking care of my basic needs (like eat and hygiene and sleeping, it's literally that difficult to deal with) so that I'm physically okay.

Thank you all for being so patient. I hope to see you more regularly in the coming New Year, but if not, know that I'm okay and still kicking, but that my body's just kicking back for the time being.

Much love and best of wishes to you all for the New Year!

Summary: Sevika pines. She drinks. Then she competes in some arm wrestling and makes some very sapphic eye contact.

She loses, loses again, and then she wins.

Or maybe she wins all three times. It depends on your point of view.

(Basically just a very self-indulgent fic that spawned from an idea about Sevika and a big, buff Reader that I'll probably never get around to writing in full, so I wrote this as a way of honoring that idea.)

Pairing(s): Sevika/Reader.

Rating: M for some sensual themes and making out.

Word Count: 10.1k. Whoops.

You drive her to drink.

Speaking of… Sevika leans against the bar and snaps her fingers at Thieram. “Whisky, neat. Half a glass.” She narrows her eyes when he raises his eyebrows at her, then scoffs and goes back to staring across the room once he jumps to. Idiot.

She hadn’t expected much out of you after she first met you. Properly met you, that is. Technically, her first introduction to you had been in an underground fighting ring stocked by Stillwater’s hardier, more opportunistic patrons. You’d made quick work of the other prisoners, but Silco had wanted a proper evaluation before deciding whether or not to scoop you up, so in she’d gone. She’d socked you in the jaw, you’d suplexed her through a shitty wooden table. Good times.

She hasn’t had any complaints about you. You’re quiet, compliant. You don’t get drunk on the job, and you don’t start fights with the rest of the crew.

But that seems to be about it. You don’t really hang out with anyone else. You’ll talk to her every now and then, but otherwise you keep to yourself. You don’t play cards with the others, shoot pool, or share drinks. No swapping of stories, or exchanging inside jokes. From what she can tell, you keep to yourself like a hermit in an invisible cave.

Like a shadow, she reflects as you hang back in your usual spot (towards the back of the bar, tucked into darkness, where no one bothers you). If you’re not watching it, you forget it’s there.

She’d thought that was it. She’s seen plenty of people leave Stillwater and fall into violence, or inebriation, or withdrawn sullenness. She figured you were a tragic statistic –yet another to add to Zaun’s tally.

And then…

Her upper lips curls when Jinx comes bounding down the stairs. She tracks the blue-haired sprite across the bar, over to where you’re sitting, then scoffs when you greet Jinx with a small smile before glaring down at her glass.

It’s like watching a flower unfurl after weeks of frost. You smile and open up towards the sun of Jinx’s exuberance like you’ve been doing it your whole life, like there’s nothing more natural to you than beaming at Silco’s brat. And, sure, Jinx is a kid and she’s kind of cute, for a demented gremlin. But she’s still Jinx.

Sevika scowls down into her whiskey. Fucking psycho kid.

You’d called it kismet when she’d asked why you tolerate Silco’s batty brat. You’d lost your baby sister when you’d gone into prison, Jinx had lost Vi after the factory explosion, and then, years later, the universe had brought you two together and balanced everything back out, or fucking whatever.

She supposes it’s a decent arrangement. Jinx isn’t nearly as vicious and off kilter with you around, and you get all soft, and mushy, and happy, and pretty–

Sevika motions to Thieram to top her glass up again. Fuck me.

You’re protective of Jinx, too. Not that the brat can’t handle herself (Sevika has her new arm to prove that). But, she can still remember the night Finn’s gang had crowded into the Last Drop. They’d been obnoxious, and overbearing, and more than a little sloshed. Jacen, one of Finn’s “good buddies,” had slapped Jinx across the ass as a joke.

He’d done it in front of Silco. He was a dead man regardless.

Before anyone –even Jinx–could react, though, you’d lurched out of your chair, grabbed the sledgehammer you keep with you in lieu of a knife or a gun, and taken two long strides across the bar. “Jacen!”

Sevika’s core clenches at the memory. She lets out a harsh breath, then gulps down half her drink.

The crimson, glittering spray of blood through the air had been beautiful. Like gems cascading through the air. Jacen’s face had caved in on one side from where you drove the head of the hammer all but through it. He’d dropped to the floor in a heap, unmoving.

“Anyone else want to have a go?”

She’d gotten herself off to the thought of it that very night. The fury in your eyes, the decisive, powerful movements of your body, the splatter of blood. She’d climaxed harder than she had in a long time.

The whiskey burns her throat –expected and grounding.

She takes it without coughing or gasping. She’s been an expert for decades. Her jaw works as she finishes swallowing, and then she turns her head so she can watch you again.

You’re listening and nodding while Jinx rambles. There’s a certain attentiveness to your expression. Maybe it’s the angle of your eyebrows, or the soft, lax look of your jaw, or the brightness in your eyes. Whatever it is, it’s a total abandonment from both the harsh, dominating fury she’s seen from you, and the skittish, withdrawn apathy.

Something soft and needy aches beneath her ribs as she watches you with Jinx. Sevika grits her teeth and exhales with practiced languor. I’ve gone fucking soft.

Sevika doesn’t consider herself possessive. She visits the brothel far too regularly, and has more than a handful of casual “situationships” with different ladies around Zaun to be possessive. She’s not monogamous, at least. She doesn’t think of other people as property. The children of Zaun don’t have the luxury of such affluent detachment.

But she wants you. It’s like this thing that sits beneath her ribs and crawls around inside her. It’s restless, and writhing, and it gnaws on her bones like a feral dog in the dark corner of an alley. It keeps her up at night with racing thoughts, vivid hopes, and half-formed “what ifs.”

It also keeps her up at night because, more often than not, she winds up masturbating to the thought of you –like some starstruck, gods-damned teenager.

She’s not used to wanting –not for companionship, at least. She wants her freedom, wants her equality, wants Zaun to stand strong against those fucking Piltie pigs… but that’s about Zaun. There’s a certain degree of detachment there. It’s not about Sevika personally, the woman who is renowned at the Gardens, beats everyone’s ass in cards, and can drink any citizen of Zaun under the table. The woman who got blown up and survived, lost an arm and came back stronger, and practically rules the Undercity with a steel spine and a –literal–iron fist.

She doesn’t want for company. Any attention she wants, she can easily get. She doesn’t stay up half the night yearning for anyone, much less a… lover? Companion? Affection?

Sevika knocks back the rest of her drink, but the burning in her throat pales in comparison to the ache in her chest. Janna, kill me. Put me out of my fucking misery.

She wants you. She wants to get her hands on you, get you underneath her (or on top of her, she’s not picky), and crack you open. She wants to drink you down, watch all that rage and goodness and steeliness and softness pour out. She wants to find its source and let it all wash over her. She wants it –needs it–for herself.

She wants it to be hers, even in part. She wants to bask in everything you keep held back by your silent, stoic mask.

There’s a headache forming behind her left eye. Probably from clenching her teeth; ever since the scars on her face crystalized, the muscles on the left side of her jaw have been more sensitive to strain.

She’s not used to this –this, this insipid, endless pining. It’s been going on for months now, and she’s just about ready to put a fork in her eye just to make it fucking end.

She barks at Thieram to get her another glass. Drink until you feel nothing. Zaun’s oldest remedy. She leans heavily against the bartop, then groans beneath her breath. Might as well buy the whole bottle. Against good sense, she resumes watching you. Warmth spreads through her chest when you grin at Jinx, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“Y’know, somehow, I don’t think she’s going to figure out you like her just from you staring at her like a creep through a window.”

Sevika tenses, then glares at Ran as they sit down on the barstool next to hers. She picks up her refilled glass with her left hand and lifts it to her lips. “Fuck off. Nobody asked you.”

Ran stays where they are –a credit to their courage, at least. They smirk, then glance across the bar, to where you’re sitting, before returning their knowing, smug gaze to Sevika. “It’d be easier if you talked to her.”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m just trying to save you the eyestrain.” They grin, thin and sharp, when Sevika flips them off, then lean against the wooden countertop. “Seriously, though. Why not ask her out?”

Sevika scowls and focuses on her whiskey glass, which is suddenly very interesting. “S’not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Sevika nearly kicks them off the stool and onto the floor (just for starters), but when she catches a look at Ran’s face and realizes they’re not teasing, she sighs and scrubs her face with her right hand. “I… I don’t know what she’d say.”

“Since when is that a problem for you?” Ran asks, face twisting with equal parts mirth and disbelief. When Sevika rolls her eyes, they shove her shoulder lightly. “It’s not like you ever have to work for it.” They pause, then smirk devilishly. “Maybe it’s weakened your game. Is that it?”

Sevika glares at them, then kicks Ran in the shin when they start snickering. “I’m gonna smother you in your sleep. And for your information, you giggling bastard, that’s not the problem.” When Ran swallows their smile and motions for her to continue (while rubbing at their shin), she huffs. “I –I don’t know if she likes women.”

Ran’s visible eyebrow arches. “You’ve seen her.”

“...Duh.”

“She likes women.” When Sevika grimaces, Ran narrows their eyes. “You think otherwise?”

“I don’t think she likes anybody,” Sevika admits; doing so is somehow both a relief and condemning all in one. “You’ve seen her around people. She’s not exactly interested.”

“Not everyone likes a girl in their lap the way you do.”

“That’s not the point,” Sevika snarls under her breath as she rolls her eyes.

“Then what is?”

It’s not easy to articulate. Sure, it’s an unspoken, universally acknowledged truth in Zaun, but that doesn’t mean anyone ever says it.

People go into Stillwater, and they come out –if they come out at all–different. Broken. You spent most of your life in that shithole –spent most of your teenage years there–at the anti-mercy of the wardens and other prisoners. It only stands to reason that any part of you inclined towards a relationship –or sex, or human contact–got snuffed out by the need to survive.

She feels bad for you, sometimes. Only when it’s too quiet, and she doesn’t have anything to do, and she’s not drunk and-or high enough to keep her thoughts from wandering to the dark, traitorously soft corners of her mind. She can almost see the child you started as –fiery, but so soft and good and kind–and it all got stomped out by the assholes ruling above them.

Sevika forces herself to loosen her death grip on the glass. Breaking it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but she hates picking shards out of the grooves of her mechanical fingers. “You haven’t seen her around Silver. She touched her shoulder–” she nods at you subtly “–without warning. I thought she was gonna break Silver’s fingers.”

“That’s Silver,” Ran says with a derisive curl of their upper lip. “She wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘boundaries’ if it rammed itself up her ass.”

They’re not wrong; the young woman’s brazen attitude is one of the things Sevika likes about Silver –albeit in small doses.

“She doesn’t talk to anyone,” Sevika murmurs, pathetic by her own standards. She’s worn down enough, though, to speak plainly. “She doesn’t go to any of the brothels, or take anyone home –and, yes, I’ve asked. She hates being touched, or being near anyone.” She presses her lips together to keep a pitiful smile back –she’d never forgive herself–then downs more whiskey. The burn of the liquor grounds her, brings her back to normalcy. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

Ran nods minutely, mulling the evidence over. They watch you for a minute, hawkish in their scrutiny. “She sits with Jinx.”

“Jinx,” Sevika grits out (both because it’s Jinx, and because of the implication of Ran’s observation), “is a kid.”

“She is,” they agree, unfazed. “But, clearly, she’s not entirely opposed to all human contact.”

Like I don’t fucking know that. Sevika clenches her teeth together to keep from snapping. She’s observed the same damn thing, and it’s what keeps that whining, consuming, itching ember of hope burning in her chest.

Ran watches Sevika for a moment, then continues when she doesn’t say anything. “She sits with you.”

“That’s different,” Sevika says on reflex.

“I don’t think it is,” they press. “She never sits with anyone else. It’s either on her own, with Jinx, if she’s here, or with you.”

“I–”

“It’s not like she’s in it for playing cards,” Ran continues, staring Sevika down when she tries to argue. “And she doesn’t drink much, either.” They prop one elbow against the bartop. “Frankly, if you’re not here, then she isn’t. She only bothers hanging around if you’re here.”

“That’s–”

“She talks to you a lot, too,” Ran drawls, tone both teasing and reflective. “The rest of us are lucky to get a word or two from her, but she’ll talk the whole night with you.”

“I’m–”

“She lets you touch her, too. I’ve even seen her touch your shoulder in return.”

“If you interrupt me again–”

“Quit moping,” Ran says, voice flat and final. “Ask her out, or get over it.”

There’s a lot she could say to that. First of all, no one accuses her of moping. But she tucks it away for later; she doesn’t want to start kicking Ran’s ass in front of everyone, because that means the trigger point for said ass kicking will inevitably become common knowledge. Her feelings are nobody’s business but hers. Second of all, no one but Silco tells her what to do, and that’s only for work. She is the only damn master of her personal life, thank you very fucking much. Third, she knows for a fact that Ran spent nearly two years pining for one of Silco’s assassins, so they’ve got zero room to talk shit.

Sevika downs the rest of her drink, then motions for a third refill. “She’s not interested.”

Ran stares at her for a moment. Then, they scoff and shake their head. “You’re an idiot.”

Sevika glares harshly at them–

The door to Silco’s office creaks open, then thumps shut, followed by the man himself quietly descending the staircase to the bar floor. “Jinx.” He finishes buttoning his trench coat shut. “Pack up your things. We’re going home.”

“What?” Jinx’s face screws into the picture of teenage consternation. The baby fat on her cheeks makes her look younger still. “But–”

“It’s alright.” You quickly and neatly arrange her blueprints and drawings into a single stack, then hand them to the blue-haired youngster. “We can talk later, okay?”

Envy curls in Sevika’s gut when Jinx hugs you and you reciprocate with one arm. She turns away and hides her scowl behind her glass. Fucking brat.

Silco addresses the rest of his crew, “I trust that you’re all competent enough to avoid burning the place to the ground?” He arches his good eyebrow, then smirks when a mix of serious answers and half-drunk jokes rise up from the crowd. “Good enough.” He turns to face Sevika and tosses her a key. “You decide when the bar closes.”

She catches the key with her right hand, then flips Petrichor off with her left when they start grumbling under their breath about Sevika being in charge. She raises her glass to Silco in lieu of a spoken fair well, then knocks the rest of it back when he leaves out the rear with Jinx in tow. “Fucking finally. Theo! Put something good on for a change.”

“Are you having another?”

Sevika looks down as Silver –one of Silco’s personal spies–materializes at her side. She eyes the younger woman –her tight dress, high ponytail, and alluring make up–then looks away. Not with you. “Probably not. Best to take it easy.”

“Since when?” Ran mutters under their breath.

Sevika subtly kicks their stool, then looks down when Silver situates herself between her legs.

“You sure?” Silver pouts –which does stir something in Sevika, given Silver’s plush lips and deep-colored lipstick, but it’s not the something that she wants tonight. Silver bats her eyelashes a little, then smiles coyly. “Could be fun.”

Sevika bites back a scowl; she doesn’t want to put Silver off permanently –not yet, anyway. She wracks her brain for some sort of believable excuse that even Silver would accept–

As fortune would have it, one falls into her lap.

“–pretty sure I hit three-fifty yesterday–”

A collective chorus of groans alerts Sevika to the newest problem –chiefly, that Arik is bragging about his “gym gains.” Again.

Nevermind that she could break him over her knee like a fucking twig.

“It’s taken a lot of dedication and hard work.” Arik stretches and flexes, preening while everyone else rolls their eyes. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m probably the strongest member in the crew.”

Sevika arches one eyebrow in judgment; it’s ludicrous, considering that he’s ignoring her, the bouncers, Leon and Boris, and Lock, Silco’s mountainous, tattooed henchman that works security at the Shimmer plants. Why do we even put up with you?

Theo barks out a laugh. “Fat fucking chance, dickwad. No way in hell you’re the strongest person here. Pretty sure Miss Silver could knock you on your ass.”

“I’d take that bet,” Silver chimes in, twirling a lock of her straight, powder purple hair around her finger.

Arik pouts, looking like a spoiled teenager. “Oh, yeah? Who’s strongest, then? You?”

“No.” Theo shakes his head. “I don’t have delusions of grandeur like you. Nah, it’s probably…” He looks around the bar, eyeing the bouncers, then Sevika, before twisting in his seat so he can see the back of the bar. “Actually, it’s probably Mouse, here.”

It takes you a moment to register the nickname foisted upon you by the rest of the crew. You lift your head, blink a few times, then straighten up. “What?”

“Cuntface here–” Theo jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Arik, who sputters and wheezes like a dying engine “–thinks he’s the strongest person in the crew. I wagered that title would probably go to you.”

“Oh.” You look around at everyone, then nod. “Okay.”

Arik huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s –there’s no way to prove that! Size isn’t everything!”

Sevika bites back a smirk as every single woman in the bar glances at each other and rolls their eyes.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Theo sneers at Arik. “Look at her, and look at you. It’s not going to be much of a competition.”

“You can’t prove that!” Arik insists, expression petulant.

Theo swivels in his seat to face you again. “Can you knock him out to shut him the fuck up?”

“No one’s doing that,” Sevika pipes up when everyone starts chattering and laughing excitedly. When people start grousing, she levels the room with a hard, final glare. “We’re not paying to get blood out of the floorboards. Again. If you all want to be idiots and knock the shit out of each other, you do it on your own time and floors, where I don’t have to clean up after your fucking mess.”

There’s a lull, and for a moment it seems like that’ll be it–

Silver perks up. “What about arm wrestling?”

“Hey,” Ran drawls, eyes lighting up. “That could work.”

“Anything to get this moron to shut the fuck up,” Theo grumbles.

Arik pouts, but says nothing.

When she realizes everyone is looking for her –presumably for permission, not that anyone’s ever bothered asking before–Sevika waves one hand dismissively. “Knock yourselves out.”

You watch as a table is cleared and Theo all but shoves Arik into a chair. When everyone looks expectantly at you, you shoot a wide-eyed, somewhat panicked glance her way.

Sevika offers you a half smile, then shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your choice.’

You shrug back, then sigh before standing. You stride over to the awaiting table and sit opposite a very grumpy, red-faced Arik.

Sevika shifts on her stool so she has a better view. Heat unfurls in her core as you prop one elbow against the table. She watches the way the thick muscles in your arm and forearm ripple with each movement. Damn.

Arik shifts in his seat. His eyelid twitches as he eyes your arm and hand. “I– I don’t know–”

“Take her fucking hand,” Theo growls.

Arik swallows hard, then props his elbow on the table and takes hold of your hand.

“On go,” Ran declares –they’ve left the bar and now stand beside the table. “Three… two… one… go!”

It’s not even a competition. If anything, it’s almost pathetic.

Arik tenses his arm –then squeaks when you push his hand down so fast he nearly falls out of his chair. The back of his hand hits the wooden surface of the table with a dull thonk. He lets out an angry snarl, yanks his hand away, then lurches to his feet and storms off with such force that his chair topples to the floor.

Everyone else cheers and claps as the front door of The Last Drop slams shut behind Arik.

“Fucking finally,” Theo mutters before running one hand through his curly hair. He looks at you and smiles appreciatively. “Thanks for shutting him up. Want a drink?”

You lean back and away. “I –I’m good, thanks.”

“That wasn’t even a challenge, though!” Silver pipes up, pouting.

“We already knew it wouldn’t be,” Theo fires back drily.

“But,” Ran interjects with a wry edge to their voice, “if we’re really trying to figure out who’s strongest…” 

Sevika presses her lips into a thin line when they turn and look directly at her. Don’t you fucking dare.

“Do you think you could beat Sev?”

Traitor.

You look at her, then lean back in your seat and grin. “Oh, yeah. Easy.”

Sevika feels her brows rise up, and she grins back despite being annoyed with Ran literal seconds ago. “Really? That’s the stance you want to take?”

“I mean…” You shrug and smirk. “It’s the truth.” You raise one eyebrow as buzzed laughter and inebriated runs through the gang. “What, you're too scared to test it?”

Them’s fighting words. Sevika cocks her head to the side, smirks right back, then shoves off her barstool and stalks over to the table.

Your eyes light up as she sits down across from you. You lean forward, prop one elbow on the tabletop, and grin. “It’s nothing personal, Sev.”

The crooked angle of your grin makes her heart flutter in a delightful, squirmy manner. She swallows hard, forces down the childish feelings of elation, and props one elbow on the table without dropping your gaze. She smirks, and revels in the way your eyes dance in the bar lighting. “Nothing personal, sweetheart,” she fires back, making sure her voice comes out lower and huskier.

Your grin broadens. You clasp her hand and squeeze tight while Theo counts down…

“Three, two, one–”

Oh shit.

It’s like shoving against a wall. Granted, Sevika’s shoved, kicked, and punched a number of walls in her day. She’s left her mark –even broken a few–on nearly all of them. She likes to think that she’s a reasonably strong, generally indestructible motherfucker.

You watch her for a few moments, expression placid –save for the smug, wicked, coy, sexy smirk on your lips. You let her try for a little longer, then inhale sharply and blink rapidly. “Wait, did we start already?”

“Fuck you,” Sevika grits out without any real malice.

You grin, showing a brilliant, alluring flash of teeth –and then you push.

“Shit.” Sevika strains against your arm.

To her credit, she feels your own arm waver slightly; to your credit, you brace your muscles, and it’s like pushing against a wall again.

She grits her teeth and tries to up the ante again. She curses when it doesn’t work, then grunts when you push her arm down another fraction of an inch.

“You okay, baby?” You grin when everyone else laughs (it’s a mix of delight and shock). “It’s okay if you need to tap.”

She grins back. Right now, she doesn’t care if she loses. Frankly, if you keep flirting with her like this, she’s the real winner in this scenario. “Keep it up, baby. We’ll see who taps.”

It’s a lost cause. You take your sweet time, push her hand down smooth and slow, and talk a lot of smack all the while.

She’s got less than an inch between the table top and the back of her right hand, now. You’re not even actively pushing, more just keeping her pinned at that point. She grunts, then laughs when your arm doesn’t budge. “Come on, you cunt. Just fucking finish it!”

You laugh in return and wink. “You’re getting tired in your old age, Sev.”

She grins. “Say that again and we’ll take this out back, bitch.”

You wink –then shove the back of her hand down against the table.

The crowd clustered around the table breaks into cheers.

Sevika can’t find it in herself to give a shit. Yeah, she lost, people are teasing her for it, whatever. She’ll kick their asses later, if she feels like it. Right now, you’re laughing, and smiling at her, and she technically got to hold your hand. That’s all she really cares about.

“What about the other one?”

Sevika blinks a few times, then frowns, confused. She looks up at Theo. “Huh?”

“Her other arm.” He’s talking to you, but he turns and gestures to her mech arm. “What about that one?”

“Uh…” Trepidation flashes across your face as you eye her prosthetic. You cringe and lean back in your chair. “I doubt it.”

It’s fair; her mech arm is reinforced, has motors that work the joints the way her muscles used to, and it’s heavy as shit. She’s crushed bones with her mechanical hand, just by clenching her hand into a fist.

But, still. In for a penny, stupid ways of flirting –all that shit.

She props her metal elbow on the table, resulting in a muted thud.

The table quakes beneath the weight of her arm.

She grins in a way that she hopes is taunting and enticing. She holds up her left hand and waggles her fingers. “You scared, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flash. You run your tongue along the inside of your lower lip. You brace your forearms against the table as you eye her metal hand. You hesitate, pressing your lips together, then say, “Just don’t crush my hand.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head. She’s not out for revenge.

Your shoulders relax. You cock your head from side to side, stretching your neck, then put your left elbow on the table and clasp her mechanical hand. “Bring it on. Sweetheart.”

It’s a more even match; she’d certainly hope so, given the fucking mechanical arm.

There’s a vein popping out on the side of your neck. Your face is pinched, expression one of intense focus and strain. The muscles in your arm and forearm stand out in full, glorious relief, defined and rippling as you fight against the force of her arm.

Her arm isn’t shaking this time, at least; such are the merits of steel reinforcement bars. But she’s not moving your hand, either. Sevika growls. The motors in her arm whir as she pushes harder.

You grunt and shove back. You bare your teeth. Your gaze is locked on where your two hands are joined. Your hands trembles from the sheer force of your exertion–

And then her hand lowers an inch.

Everyone else gasps. Exclamations and expletives roll through the bar.

“Fifty gold pieces says Mouse does it,” Theo says. 

“Bullshit,” Ran fires back. “She’ll get tired, first.”

Kharim pulls out a pad of paper and a pencil. “That’s fifty on Mouse, so far. Do I hear one hundred?”

“I’ll put twenty on Sev,” Silver says with a sweet smile.

“Really?” Sevika grunts as she pushes harder against your hand. “Only twenty?”

You let out a breathless, strained laugh –then push her hand down further.

“Who’s got another fifty on Mouse?” Kharim asks.

Too late, she realizes her prosthetic arm is actually working against her, in this situation. She has to work against the weight of the mech arm –which you can use to your advantage, naturally. The built in mechanical safeties are hosing her, too. Her arm is designed such that, at certain angles or certain levels of exertion, the gears and motors will give to whatever she’s working against. It prevents damage to the internal mechanisms and bending the internal support structures. It’s invaluable for the longevity of her prosthetic, but it also means she can’t mindlessly strain against your hand like she could with her right arm. Her only hope is that her left arm can outmatch yours in raw strength.

Normally, she’d go all in on that bet. Normally –unless her opponent was doped to the gills on Shimmer–there wouldn’t even be enough force in the picture for the failsafes to override the locking mechanisms.

You growl, teeth bared in a glorious snarl, and shove her metal hand lower.

She can’t even find it in herself to be mad. One, she’s not some mealy-mouthed bitch who needs to be the strongest person in the room at all times; she, unlike some people (Arik), is confident in herself and her abilities. Two, it’s frankly impressive. It’s an unrepentant display of raw strength, and she’s not above respecting it. Three…

It’s hot.

She’s torn between focusing on resisting you and watching the muscles in your arm flex. Her mild buzz isn’t helping, either. In hindsight, should’ve stopped with the second glass. It’s taking far too much focus not to just gawk, to grin and simper like an idiot, and she likes to think she still has her pride –which is also why she’s not just giving up. After all, she has her pride. Sevika growls when you force her hand lower, then doubles down and pushes back. Maybe not for much longer, with how this is going. Fuck.

You grit your teeth. There’s sweat glistening along your hairline (which might be her only other saving grace, since her mech arm can’t get tired). You snarl, then grip her hand tighter.

Sevika swears when her arm suddenly jerks downward. She nearly topples out of her chair, saved only by managing to plant her feet beneath the table. She catches herself, blinks–

It’s over.

You shove her metal knuckles against the table with a thud –hard enough that the wood dents inward where her steel knuckle guard hits the surface.

The crowd goes nuts, loses their minds, whatever. If she’s being honest, she’s really not paying attention to it. A distant fragment of her brain registers the squaring of bets, exchanging of coin, but–

You’re still holding her hand.

A larger, deeply buried part of her is furious that she doesn’t have better sensory input on her left hand. She can detect pressure and temperature, rudimentary shit, but she can’t feel the calluses on your palm, or the precise texture of your skin. She can’t really gauge how thick your hand is in hers.

You’re still panting, somewhat dazed as you stare down at your joined hands. Slowly, your eyes trace up the line of her mech arm, up to her face, where you take in her stunned expression. You swallow, quick, then grin.

You’re breathing hard. Your skin glistens faintly with warmth. Your hair looks tousled, slightly sweat trapped. And your grin practically glows.

It’s the closest she’s ever been to seeing what you look like after sex. Sevika can feel her mind filing every single detail of how you look away for future masturbatory reference. She grins back, slow and a bit dazzled. “Shit.”

You let out a soft, quiet laugh. You drop her gaze for a moment, but when you look back up your eyes shine unabated joy.

You’re not looking away. You’re not pulling away. You’re not letting go of her hand.

Do it, a voice that sounds irritatingly like Ran’s whispers in her mind. Do it, you fucking coward. Sevika licks her lips, then leans forward, hoping that she comes across as conspiratorial and collected. “I–”

“Aw, don’t feel too bad, Sev.”

The sudden intrusion feels more like an assault. Fake, sweet perfume cloys at her nose. There’s arms around her neck, and unwanted weight in her lap.

Silver’s face looms into view. She peers down through her lashes, lips posed in a perfect, alluring pout. “It’s not–”

Whatever else Silver says goes in one ear and out the other. She’s looking over the smaller woman’s shoulder, instead.

You pull your hand back across the table. Your smile slips away, and your shoulders bunch up ever so slightly. Back to the usual mask of the careful, quiet mouse.

Godsdammit. Sevika shoves Silver out of her lap and stands with a snarl. “Fuck off.” She stomps away and up the stairs, to where Silco’s office and a few private rooms are. “Everyone, out! Tonight’s done!” She ignores the groans and jeers following her, storms into Silco’s office, and slams the door shut behind her so hard that it rattles in its setting.

Silco’s office is mercifully dark. Quiet.

Sevika collapses onto the quilted velvet couch tucked into the corner of the office. She drops her head into her hands and scrubs at her face. Janna’s left fucking tit, that was a disaster. She sits up, only to slump against the couch like a dejected teenager. This is never going to work out.

If she was anyone else, she might cry –out of sheer frustration, if nothing else. Since she’s not anyone else, she helps herself to a cigar from Silco’s stash.

She only gets as far as rummaging through his desk for the cutter. (Jinx must have absconded with it. Again.) Something in her hindbrain makes her go still; an old, well-tested instinct that says ‘something isn’t right.’

Sevika freezes. Her eyes scan the darkness for any signs of intruders, or one of Jinx’s traps. She strains her ears; aside from the faint, scuttling noises of stray pests, it’s silent.

Too silent.

There should be more talk coming from downstairs; she hadn’t really expected everyone to listen to her when she ordered them all to clear out. There should be music playing, people arguing, clacks from the balls on the pool table. At the very least, there should be complaining and the noises of a final clear down.

She’d half-expected Silver to follow her upstairs. Or maybe Ran, at least. But there’s no sounds of someone climbing upstairs, or Silver’s high-pitched voices, or even creaking floorboards in the hall outside.

Sevika pulls out a knife she keeps tucked in a sheath hidden behind the waistband of her pants. She creeps forward, deadly silent, until she reaches the door of Silco’s office. She gingerly places her right hand on the doorknob, until it’s completely encapsulated by her grip, then slowly turns the handle. Once the latch is fully retracted, she tucks herself behind the door and inches it open. She waits for a beat, then another, then peers around the corner.

The bar is empty.

Now that the door’s open, she can hear the sounds of someone rummaging around the main bar floor. There’s no conversation, though; it’s too quiet to be the usual crew, for another matter.

Sevika stalks down the hall. She quietly, efficiently clears each room before she passes it, until she reaches the end of the outer wall, where the balcony begins. She tucks herself into the shadows, then peers around the corner.

You’re down on the bar floor, putting the remaining chairs up on the tables.

Sevika watches you for a moment, somewhat dumbfounded. Where the fuck is everyone else? She blinks, until her brain finally processes that The Last Drop has not been broken into by assassins or other hooligans, then steps around the corner and into the full light of the bar. She taps the railing of the balcony with her metal hand to alert you to her presence. When you look up, she gestures around aimlessly. “Where’d they go?”

You look around, then back up at her and shrug with one shoulder. “You said to get out.”

“Doesn’t mean they’d actually listen.”

Your gaze cuts away from hers. You duck your head, then go back to putting up the chairs. “Might’ve pushed ‘em. Enforced the order.” You give a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you wanted ‘em gone.”

Sevika grunts and nods. Fair enough. At least, now, she doesn’t have to deal with Silver lingering around. For lack of knowing what else to do, she watches you as you continue tidying things up for the night. “We don’t pay you to do that.”

You shrug; your back’s to her, now, as you work your way around a circular table. “Doesn’t really matter. Thieram deserves a night off, every now and then.”

There’s not much point in loitering on the balcony and staring at you like a mooning idiot. She strides across the length of the balcony, tromps down the stairs, then crosses the distance to the table you’re working in three strong steps. She grabs one of the remaining chairs, flips it upside down with ease, then hooks the seat of the chair on the table top.

You go still for a moment. You watch her, gaze following her every movement, until you relax again and resume working. “‘M sorry ‘bout earlier.”

She nearly trips over the chair she’s picking up. Sevika stalls, blinks, then sets the chair back on the floor and levels you with an incredulous, confused stare. “What?”

“For kicking your ass.” The corner of your mouth briefly ticks up in a self-satisfied smirk, but it washes away to true contrition. “Wasn’t trying to humiliate you ‘n front of everyone.”

“I–” She pinches the bridge of her nose. Can’t imagine where that narrative came from. “I’m not. You didn’t.” She hangs the chair from the table, then scoffs, indignant. “Fuck’s sake, I’m not Arik.”

You smirk, but stay still as you watch her for a few moments. “You were mad about something.”

“I was mad at Silver,” Sevika grouses, careful to avoid making eye contact. And her lousy sense of timing.

You let her get the last few chairs, opting instead to grab a tray and collect stray glasses and empty beer bottles. “You two okay?”

She snorts. “We’re not involved enough to be ‘okay’ or otherwise. We’ve fucked before. End of story.”

“...Did she do something to you?”

The tight, lethal quietness in your voice gets her attention. She straightens up, meets your gaze, and shakes her head. “No. She just gets on my nerves now and then, s’all.”

You grunt, understanding, then add a couple more glasses to your tray before carrying the lot over to the bar.

Sevika grabs a couple stray, half-empty bottles of whiskey, tequila, and vodka, then follows partially in your wake. She stops at the bar counter, watching as you round the end so you can dispose of the beer bottles and set the used glasses in the sink. She sets the half-consumed bottles on the counter, then leans against the neon light-edged lip while she watches you. “Gotta say, it was pretty impressive.” She smirks when you half-turn, brows lightly drawn together, then waggles her metal fingers. “Figured I’d have you licked.”

You snort, then shake your head. “Might’ve.” You set the last of the glasses in the sink, then drop the beer bottles in the recycling can. “Probably would’ve if we’d gone longer. You’d have me beat on stamina.”

She can’t stop her automatic, teasing, too sultry for its own good reply. “Oh, I doubt that.”

You do a quick double take.You stare at her over your shoulders, eyes the size of dinner plates. Then, your lips press together before quirking upwards in a shy smile. You laugh softly. “Yeah, well, your mechanics would’ve won, in the end.” You toss the last of the bottles into the recycling can, then turn and step to the bar. “Figured it was just best to–” you draw your fingers across your neck in a quick slash and click your tongue “–cut things quick, override the locking mechanisms.”

“Smart,” Sevika purrs.

You lick your lips, then grin. You eye her for a moment, shifting from foot to foot –then, you grab the remaining bottles and crouch so you can stow them beneath the bar counter. “Course, helps that you’re shit at arm wrestling, too.”

“Excuse me?” she laughs, caught off guard and bemused. “Run that by me again?”

“You’re shit at arm wrestling.” You chuckle as you stand. “Your form’s terrible. Makes you easy to beat, even if I wasn’t stronger than you.”

She grins wide, exhilarated. Fighting words. “Oh, is that how it is?”

You plant your palms against the bartop. “‘S how it seems to me.” You smirk –which grows into a smile as she looks you over–then prop your right arm against the counter. “I could show you a couple tricks. Improve your odds a bit.”

She takes the bait like the happiest, dumbest fish that ever lived and sets her right elbow atop the counter. “Teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

“Right off the bat–” You reach forward and adjust the angle of her arm. “‘S really not about raw power. I mean, it helps, but angles are a lot more important.” Your hands slide along the length of her arm, adjusting things until you’re satisfied with how she’s positioned. You nod to yourself, then move to her wrist. You hold her right hand with both of yours. “Gotta think about how you’re holding your hand, too. Too many people wind up pushing with their forearms. Means that they got their hands at the wrong angle, most of the time. You want to be pushing with your upper arm and shoulder.”

“Whatever you say, coach,” she drawls, layering on the sarcasm to –hopefully–hide how breathless she is.

You snort, then lower your left hand and grip her right hand with yours –assume the position. “Alright. Try now.”

She does –not with as much vigor as she used in the initial match, but she still puts decent effort into it. Her eyebrows spike high when she feels less strain than earlier. “Shit.”

You flash her a lopsided grin. “See? Knowing what you’re doing helps.”

“Bite me.”

You fake a grimace. “Not until you shower first. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“You implying something?”

“I’ve seen how many people you can beat up in a week, Sev.”

She chuckles, then shrugs in concession. “Fair enough.” She grips your hand tighter and smirks wickedly before shoving against your hand, hard. “Hope you’re ready to join the list–”

You grunt –then brace against her onslaught and force her hand the other way.

“Shit!” Sevika strains against your hand, but it’s veritably useless as you slowly push her hand downward (at least you have to work harder for it, this time). “Son of a bitch –motherfucker!”

“Still stronger than you,” you fire back as you finally pin the back of her hand against the bartop. You smile, impish and sweet. “But that was a good try.” You grin when she glowers at you, then toss your head back and laugh when she flips you off with her left hand.

She can’t think of a retort; the wrestling tugged your shirt off kilter, and your laugh exposed something new –fresh, smooth ink along the side of your neck, previously hidden by your collar. She stares, tracing the way the tendrils of the flowers curve around your neck and down your clavicle before disappearing under your shirt. “That’s new.”

You look down at her, blinking rapidly, then crane your neck to look down when she gestures loosely at your chest. “Oh. Yeah.” You shrug with the opposite shoulder. “Wanted to do something for myself. Cover up some of the shit I got inside.” You hesitate, then swallow hard and ask. “Do –do you wanna see the rest of it?”

“Sure.” The meaning of your offer doesn’t really hit until you let go of her hand so you can start unbuttoning your top. Sevika locks her knees to keep from toppling over as all the blood rushes Southward from her head. Janna, help me.

Mercifully, you only undo the top three buttons on your shirt. Unmercifully, that gives you enough leeway to push the right side of your shirt down over your shoulder, revealing more of your chest and your neck.

Oh, and the tattoo.

It’s pretty. It’s a good piece, too, done by someone who knew what they were doing. The design is a dense cluster of flowers that fans up the side of your neck and down over your collarbone.

“That’s real pretty,” Sevika ekes out, voice gone to gravel. She reaches up to touch it, but catches herself before her hand leaves the bar. Don’t startle her. “Do you mind?”

It takes you a moment, but you look down when she gestures with her flesh hand. “Oh.” You let out a soft, trembling breath. Your throat flexes as you swallow. “Yeah ���go for it.”

Everything that follows feels like a dream. The world seems to take on a warm, golden hue that overpowers the glaring neon lights and the dark shadow of night outside. It feels like she’s moving through molasses, achingly slow as she lifts her hand towards your neck.

Your skin is unbelievably soft beneath her fingertips. The lines of ink stretch slightly as she traces down your neck and over your shoulder.

“This okay?” Sevika murmurs.

“Yeah.”

Something about your heavy, trembling exhale makes her look up.

You’re staring down at her with wide, dark eyes. Your lips are parted, and you’re practically panting despite standing still.

But you’re not pulling away. You’re not shaking. If anything, you’re practically melting beneath her hand. And your gaze is locked on her face –practically zeroed in on her mouth…

Oh.

She owes Ran a drink. Or another kick in the shin. Maybe both.

This, however, is at least more familiar territory –so long as she plays her cards right.

Various options flit through her mind, but they all desiccate before they reach her tongue. She quickly finds herself locking up instead as she tries to figure out what the fuck to say. Shitshitshitshitshit–

(She’s never been more grateful that you kicked everyone out. Ran would never let her live this down.)

“Ask her out, or get over it.”

Sevika swallows hard. Go big or go home. Not like the world’s gonna end if she says ‘no.’ She clears her throat. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re really fucking attractive?”

“I–” Your eyes go wide as you sputter. Your gaze flicks between her eyes and her mouth. “Not –no. Not really.”

“Shame,” Sevika drawls. She traces her thumb down the stem of one of the flowers inked into your neck, then looks back up at you. “You’d think they’d have eyes. I’ve noticed since the first time we met.”

You snort, equanimity somewhat restored. “What, in an illegal prison fight club soaked in the blood of others?”

She smirks and winks at you. “You made it work.”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you smile. You duck your head bashfully, then brace your forearms against the countertop –which puts you closer to her height. “I hope you won’t be offended if I say that I didn’t notice you ‘like that’ from the start.”

Her gut drops. “Oh?”

You shake your head, gaze still glued on the countertop. “I was, uh, a little concerned with surviving –making sure you didn’t knock my teeth out with your metal fist, that sort of thing.” You let out a little laugh, then look at her. “But I noticed later.”

Warmth blooms in her chest and abdomen. She grins, soft and slow. “Really?” Her grin grows when you smile shyly and nod. “Well, shit. Lucky me.” She strokes her thumb along your tattoo again; satisfaction curls in her stomach when you shiver.

“I–” You lick your lips and look at her eyes, then her lips, then back up, then back down again, then back up again. “I don’t…” Your gaze locks onto her lips when she smirks; your pupils blow wide, and you let out a ragged, heavy breath. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Heady elation blooms in her chest and quickly spreads through her body. “That,” she murmurs as she slides her fingers beneath your chin and leans in, “sounds great to me.”

Your lips are soft against hers. Hesitant. You freeze, scarcely even breathing.

But you’re not pulling away –or panicking–so she decides to stay the course. She presses her lips a bit more firmly against yours, then smirks when you let out a quiet moan and angle your head towards hers. There we go. After a few moments, she breaks the kiss and pulls back incrementally to assess your interest level.

You’re trembling. There’s a faint glow of sweat on your forehead. Your breaths come ragged and fast, chest rising and falling heavily. Your eyelids are half-lidded, pupils blown so wide that your eyes nearly look black.

Before she can do anything, you lean in and kiss her again; this time, it’s her turn to moan against your mouth.

It’s clumsy. It’s easy to tell that you don’t have much –if any–experience in this department. But your unabashed eagerness more than makes up for lacking finesse.

Sevika gently grasps your jaw with her right hand, guiding you through the series of kisses that follow. She carefully angles your head as she pleases, and pulls back intermittently to both catch her breath and see what you’ll do. When you keep following her lead, she decides to nip at your lower lip –just to see if it’ll draw you out of your shell more.

You let out a throaty growl when her teeth graze your lower lip –and then you pull away.

A mix of disappointment and fear flash through her stomach –but it all drains away when you vault over the counter and land next to her. She smirks as you crowd into her space, but frown when genuine trepidation settles over your face. “What?”

Your brows pinch together. “I–” You clear your throat when your voice cracks. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Oh. That’s all. She smiles, lax and confident, then places her hands on your broad shoulders. “Touch me, sweetheart.”

“Where?”

She slides her hands down your chiseled arms, then takes your hands and places them on her hips. “Anywhere.”

You’re too still at first –nerves driven by inexperience. But you loosen up when she nips at your lower lip again. You draw in a guttural breath, then squeeze her hips tighter when she curls her fingers into your waist. You press closer to her when she slides her tongue against yours. When she slides her right hand up the back of your neck and tugs at the soft hair at your nape, you growl, then slide your hands around her ass and squeeze.

Finally. Sevika moans softly and arches against you. She wraps her right arm around the back of your neck, so she can keep you close, and rests her left hand on your hip. She plunders your mouth with her tongue, then moans again when you grope her ass more firmly. She hooks one metal finger through one of the belt loops on your pants and tugs you closer –then gasps when you shove against the bar.

You crowd against her, kissing her fiercely, eagerly. Your hands cup her ass and lift, forcing her onto the balls of her feet so you have better access to her.

Surprise flits up her spine. She’s not used to being in this position; most women come to her to be manhandled, not the other way around. But she can see the appeal of it; there’s a certain giddiness in the gut that accompanies it, like the hang time from jumping across rooftops.

The kiss devolves into something artless and hungry. The two of you meet each other in the middle, pressed against each other like teenagers in a closet.

She’s starting to get into that state where she feels like she’s melting into you, and vice versa. The bar, the faint drone of passersby always present in the Lanes, the buzz of the neon lights that wrap around the bartop, the arm wrestling match less than an hour ago –all of it’s gone, blurred into background coloration like splotches on one of those fancy, impression-type paintings, for which Pilties drop the equivalent of a Trencher’s life earnings (and then some). There’s that familiar, ravenous ache in her cunt. She ought to ask you back to her place; The Last Drop hardly seems poignant enough for your first time. But the notion of stopping your eager exploration of her body is downright offensive –especially when your open mouth catches her jaw and sends arousal curling through her gut.

You pause when she tips her head back. A few ragged pants fan across the sensitized, blood-hot skin of her neck. You swallow, then clear your throat. “I –is this–”

“Yes.” She curls her right hand around the back of your neck, then gently presses your forward until you lean the rest of the way in and press your lips against her throat. Her eyelids flutter as you trail soft, closed mouth kisses over the hollow of her throat. She moans softly, and her fingers curl into your short hair. Fuck. She waits for a bit, letting you explore, but pipes up again when she feels you growing more hesitant –nerves winning out over exploration. “Use your tongue.” She shudders when you lick beneath her jaw. “Attagirl.”

The praise does something for you. You moan into her skin, then repeat the motion again. You swirl your tongue against her throat, mimicking the way the two of you had kissed seconds before.

“That’s it,” Sevika encourages you, eyes rolling back in her head. She rolls her hips against you, then groans when you press closer, neatly pinning her against the bar. “Good girl.”

You whine, loud and broken, then lift. You half lay her out on the bar, then support the rest of her by locking your arms just beneath her ass. You bend over her and bury your face in her neck, devouring her like a starved stray.

Sevika locks her ankles behind your back. She clutches at the back of your shirt with her right hand, and braces herself against the bartop with her left arm. She’s in the perfect position to grind against you, so that’s just what she does.

A small, idle fragment of her mind notes just how great this is. Yes, she enjoys having her way with women –and she’ll get to you soon enough–but there’s something to be said for receiving. It’s a new spin on “being eaten alive,” and she’s never been happier to be dinner.

She slides her fingers into your hair when your mouth trails lower, towards her clavicle. “Good girl.” She gasps, then tightens her grip on your hair when you drag your teeth over her collarbone. “That’s it –good girl, good girl–”

You moan and grind your hips against hers–

Something crashes in the alleyway outside. There’s a loud slam, followed by the crystalline crack of shattering glasses. An enraged, muffled shout ensues, followed by more heavy thudding.

You both freeze.

She recovers first. A few minutes of hearing proves it’s just a couple of angry drunks going at it –she can hear slurred, if muffled, arguing and grunting that accompanies being punched. Idiots. She turns back to you–

You’re completely stiff. Your eyes are wide, gaze flicking around the bar. You’ve gone from holding her to gripping the edge of the bar top.

Sevika winces faintly when she hears your knuckles crack. She opens her mouth to reassure you–

Another thud makes you flinch –and then you press down against her.

Sevika grunts. She tries to sit up, only for you to push her back down. She stops struggling when you use your arm to cover the top of her head. What the–

There’s something so deeply protective about the gesture that it makes her brain short circuit. You’re literally covering her with your body, as though the ceiling’s about to collapse on top of the both of you.

It’s sweet. It’s also bewildering because nothing bad is fucking happening. It’s just drunks in the alley; they’ll probably pass out long before they could ever beat each other to death.

Sevika gingerly splays her fingers against your back, between your shoulder blades. She murmurs your name, but gets no response –not even a glance of recognition. Her stomach drops when another round of shouting makes you flinch. She feels your chest push against hers as your breathing speeds up –and okay, that’s enough, time to divert things. She says your name, louder this time, then carefully cups the side of your face with her right hand. “Hey, baby. It’s okay. Just look at me, alright?”

You jolt when her thumb sweeps across your cheek. You do look down at her, though, and let out a shaky breath when you meet her gaze.

She revels, just for a moment, in how quickly you melt again under her attention. You’re still tense –you haven’t let up your death grip on the bar top–but your shoulders loosen up and your breathing slows a bit. You swallow hard, then lean every so slightly into her touch.

Focus. She can already feel herself getting sucked back into dreamy, brainless bliss. Focus, focus, focus. She blinks hard, then clears her throat. “Hey. Let’s get out of here, yeah? My place is quieter.” She pushes up on her left arm so the counter isn’t digging into her back. “More comfortable.”

“Oh.” Your eyes go wide. “Uh–”

Sevika swallows a grimace. Shit. Maybe Ran was right; she’s rusty, too eager, and now she’s pushing too fast. “It’s okay if you don’t–”

“No, no,” you cut her off. “We can –I just–” You set her down, then lick your lips as you rock from foot to foot. “My bed’s probably bigger.” You shrug and shove your hands in your pants pockets. “That’s all.”

Only several years of playing cards keeps her from sagging in relief. She nods, trying to process as panic flashes and ebbs, then takes a moment to study you. She notes the tightness in your shoulders, the way you’ve got your head ducked, and presses her lips together faintly. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Your eyes flash, and you step closer to her. “It’s not,” you growl, “an issue of want.” You swallow, then let out a self-deprecating laugh –which, fortunately, prompts you to relax a little. “I just won’t know what I’m doing, s’all.”

“I can work with that.” Sevika closes the distance between the two of you, gripping your hips when you bend down and kiss her again. She savors the feeling of your lips for a moment, then pulls away and grins up at you. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

[hugmeimtouchdeprived]

Ghost! Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader - Chapter 2

Chapter 2!!! I'm busy with school and assignments and looking for a summer job and starting my final thesis, but I write when I have time and energy to do so😊

Let's ignore the fact that I posted this a few hours ago, but deleted it because I came up with something that I really wanted to change so I'm posting it again now

Content warning: Talk of possible stalking and breaking in (not really what's happening, but it's mentioned?), mention of blood.

Original drabble | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

“Come on, what else could it be?”

“I’m not being haunted, Donna,” you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose between two fingers. You glance around the small café, fairly empty of other patrons at this time of the day. The two of you sit next to the large windows, watching as people walk and drive by. It’s a weekday, middle of the day, so most people are likely still at school or work.

Donna is an old family friend. Used to be your neighbour when you were a kid and would often babysit you if your parents couldn’t find another babysitter. The two of you grew close until she got married and moved to the states briefly, before returning with her wife. It’s rare the two of you get time to see each other, but it’s always nice when you do.

You swear she hasn’t changed a bit since you were a kid. She’s in her early 50s, you’d guess, and still just as full of energy as she was all those years ago. Her wife is a bit of a mystery to you, but you know she travels a lot for work.

And that Donna loves her more than anything.

“What else could it be?” Donna repeats for the hundredth time. “You’re being followed by something; we both know it,” she insists. Donna has always been fairly enthusiastic, or at least interested in, the afterlife and ghosts and whatnot. You, not so much. Sure, it is intriguing, what happens after death and all the different views on the subject, if ghosts and spirits exist. Intriguing, but not very believable in your mind.

“You know, there was that terrorist attack in that tunnel a few months ago. A lot of people died there, I heard there was a soldier that passed, too,” she continues, her tone more serious now.

Donna always seems to know things. Sure, the attack, its casualties, have been public knowledge, at least some part of it. But Donna always seems to have more information than even the news do. You always joke she must have someone on the inside of all these things. “Something like that,” she’d respond.

You told her about everything as a joke, to try and ease your own nerves. She ended up taking it way more seriously than you would have anticipated. Maybe you should have predicted that, in hindsight, but at least she doesn’t seem to think you’ve lost your mind.

And sure, you promised yourself you wouldn’t talk about it to anyone, that you’d just go on with your merry life and ignore it, assume it’s a figment of your imagination. But you trust Donna, you wouldn’t be surprised if she knows you better than your parents do. Probably better than you do, if you’re being honest. And things really are getting out of hand with your ghostly friend. Roommate, squatter, stalker, whatever. You’re not sure what to call him, but it’s all too real to really keep ignoring it.

He’s in your goddamn home, your sanctuary, your safe space. Where you haven’t yet allowed even some of your friends to visit, you’re not sure if your coworkers even really know where you live. And this- this thing has invaded it, made himself right at home. Begging, yelling at him to leave you alone, to leave your home at once. The train station and the bookstore were manageable, at least. This? No. No way. This is your home, your apartment. It’s yours! You live alone and you quite like that, thank you very much.

You swear you see the shadow shake and shift, as if trying to hold in his laughter. He does seem to give you more space after that, though; instead of standing right next to or behind you, he stands in doorways, corners of rooms. That’s something, you guess.

And that’s the other thing. He’s so human, you often mistake him for an actual person standing in the corner of your room. It’s like having an extra clingy roommate, following you around the apartment. At least you can shower and change your clothes in peace. (That’s what you think. He’s not snooping or being creepy, of course not! He’s just lonely, needs the comfort of being with someone.)

It’s almost freaky how used to it you’ve gotten. It has been, what, a few months? You know by now that he, whoever he is, isn’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

The shadow in the corner of your eye no longer freaks you out nearly as much. You still don’t know who he is, or was, why he’s here and with you of all people, but you accept it. Not that you’d have a choice in the matter, anyway.

You watch movies with him. You see him next to you on your couch, almost feel his weight on the cushions, as if sitting next to a real, living person. Somehow, you can just tell when you’ve picked something he likes. The air around you feels different, more relaxed. He looks like he’s leaning forward in his seat, sitting on the edge of the couch when the movie gets exciting or interesting. You hear him laugh, not even the airy sound it was before, but an almost proper one.

He audibly groans if you pick something he doesn’t like. Might even throw a pillow on the floor or keeps turning the tv off. You’ll either scold him and keep attempting to turn it back on until he gets bored and gives up, or you’ll give up first and put on something he might like more. Problem is, you’re both stubborn beings, and might “argue” over the movie for a long time.

During horror movies you find yourself leaning towards him, looking for that feeling of safety he provides. It always takes you a moment to realize you can’t curl into his side, with his arm around you, like you would if he was physically there.

As more time goes by, you see more of him. He becomes more refined, quite literally. Going from a shadow in the corner of your eye, disappearing the moment you try to look at it, to what you’re sure is a human man. You can’t exactly see the details of his features, his face, but there are some things that are certain.

He's tall. Taller than you, at least. Muscular, too, by the looks of it, and wearing some sort of gear. Military, maybe? Donna did mention hearing of some soldier who died in those tunnels some months ago. Or maybe you’re being haunted by some terrorist who has taken a liking to you. You sincerely hope it’s the first one, though.

And then there’s the very obvious gunshot wound to his temple, oozing blood down the side of his face and neck. It drips down his chin and vanishes before hitting the floor. It’s more visible in darkness, or in the light of the moon and stars. You do your best to ignore it, there’ll be time to ask about it later. Surely not a subject he’d be very open to discuss or reminisce over.

At some point, it starts to feel nice to have some company over, even if it means you get little to no privacy. His presence makes you feel safer, in a way. You’re not sure if he could do much if someone was to break into your apartment or harass you at work or while running errands, or if he even would do anything to help you, but it still feels almost like having a guard dog. A dog that no one else can even see, unless he wants to be seen.

That’s what you think, at least. You see him because he wants you to. There’s not much concrete evidence of how ghosts really work, so you’re mostly going on what you’ve read about the subject and different cultures, and your own gut instinct.

You know your ghost can talk, too. A little bit, at least, not quite full sentences. You’ve heard what you swear was a laugh, a groan, mumbled words. He’s getting stronger, and you’re certain he will answer your questions, eventually. You’ll be patient.

One evening, you ask for his name while getting ready for bed in the bathroom. You see his hulking figure behind you in the mirror, dark shadow almost looking like he’s leaning against the wall. Not that you were expecting any response, but it’s still disappointing to not get one. The bar of soap at your sink gets tossed to the floor. “It was just a question, you know. No need to start throwing stuff around if you don’t want to answer,” you mumble as you pick it up. It’s back on the floor as soon as you turn your back to toss your clothes in the laundry basket.

You wake up feeling cold that night. Glancing at the clock, it’s barely past midnight. You close your eyes, wanting to go back to sleep; having an early morning tomorrow, you want to at least try to get a proper night of sleep.

Something’s wrong, though. It takes you a while to realize what exactly that is. It’s cold, unusually so even under your thick duvet. A weight behind you in bed as you lie on her side. An arm around your waist, weighing you down. Someone’s cold, hard chest pressed against your back.

This is a dream. A fucking nightmare. It must be.

Feeling the weight shift behind you, a cold breath of air at the back of your neck, wakes you up rather quickly. The panic settles in slow, creeping up as you process the situation, eyes wide open.

You squeeze your eyes shut, considering your options. You could tear that arm off you and make a run for it. Scream as you go, get the attention of your neighbours; the middle-aged lady whose name you haven’t bothered to learn, who is always so quick to blame you for any and every sound she hears. Or you could just go back to sleep, ignore your problems until the morning, or until the person behind you decides to do something. Just- just ignore it until then.

Or you could turn around and see who it is.

What if they’re not even asleep? Watching, waiting for you to react?

You try to rationalize it, you always do. Always have a plan, always prepared for anything.

Not this, though.

How the hell could anyone ever be prepared for waking up to something like this?

You try to move, to slide out of bed, moving so slow the person behind you wouldn’t notice if they’re truly asleep. Their grip only tightens around your waist, stilling your movement. You hold your breath.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!

What’s a person supposed to do here, in a situation like this? You’ve heard enough horror stories – stories from real life, real people, not mere fiction – about how these things usually end. A woman living alone, someone forcing entry to their home after weeks, or even months of stalking them, getting to know their schedule, their workplace, their life. Every option, every possible action you could take has its risks, and your mind in running a million miles per hour.

You decide to turn, the pure fear getting to you. Fear of simply not knowing who this person is, why or how they’re here, in your home. In your bed.

You turn, moving slowly and carefully again, to face whoever is in the bed with you. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear and anxiety or what or who you’ll see terrifying you to your very core.

There’s nothing there. In the dark room, you only see the moonlight peeking through the blinds, not doing much to light your room.

There’s nothing there.

Your eyes close and you take a deep breath, telling yourself it was some fucked up dream that just felt too real. You have been stressed out lately, more so than usual, so it's not that out of the question that it would start affecting you in different ways.

You promptly choose to ignore the still cold to the touch indentation on the mattress beside you.

You don’t even notice the now familiar eyes watching you from the corner of your bedroom.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!🌷

Also, I've been very busy and stressed recently, mostly with uni and assignments and starting my final thesis. I've found writing this to be sort of relaxing, like a way to get my mind off of things when it gets too much and my brain turns to mush. :)

[doyouknowhowtowaltz]

Hello, fellow pilgrim!! Two weeks ago I watched Over the Garden Wall for the first time, then went into the depths of the Internet for the content and accidentally flew straight into beastnoch! I swallowed a lot and am still digesting it; can u tell me where this came from? I am amazed and horrified at the same time!

Glad to welcome you into this lovely ship, though I would like to point out I am by no means the best source for the history of the ship since I've only been writing it for about 6 years, and the actual patron saints are right next door here on tumblr, but here's a breif history:

In december of 2014, @incurablenecromantic and @silkward are talking about potential ships in OTGW and Miss Inky jokingly suggests the Beast and Enoch, to which Mr. Silkward draws this. The endlessly creative @lacrimalis also makes a drawing, and in fact, has their own short-term history of the ship up to febuary 2015 that you can find here. Many of the tumblr links in this particular post are dead due to tumblr's horrible link system, though I could track down the images for you another day, as I think, even with very little context I can identify all but one of them just by the timeline. Shortly after Miss Inky writes Patient is the Night, and proceeds to cultivate this richly interesting ship over the next four years, and I could certainly talk about the early years of Beastnoch at great length, and the tropes, themes, and headcanons that were established during that time that have often worked their way into all subsequent works, and while I have a lot to say and I would love the excuse to talk about it some other time, the fact of the matter is that I was not there.

I found Beastnoch in late 2017, about two months after watching OTGW, and one month after the latest update to Grim Grinning Ghosts Come Out to Socialize. It was the last post to Ao3 for quite some time, and, not having a tumblr myself at the time, I didn't know that Beastnoch still had a community here on tumblr. I wrote my first Beastnoch fic roughly a year after under the assumption the ship's fans had passed on to greener fandoms. And the rest is rather easily traceable history.

If you're asking more in a broad sense "where did the idea to pair these two characters come from" Miss Inky would probably be the person to ask, though I could certainly speculate, the Beast and Enoch (and to a barely lesser extent the Queen of the Clouds) are these strangely explained psychopomps in their world, the Beast is closely assosiated with winter and Enoch with autumn, there's an interesting contrast and similarity in the fact that they both offer for Wirt (and greg) to stay with them, but in starkly different capacities, they've both got lovely singing voices, and there is the peculiar detail of the fact that the Beast's lantern is shown to be with Enoch at the end of OTGW.

Many a ship has been built on less and still been perfectly capable of floating on water, there's even another notable example in the otgw fandom itself, though admittedly, one can argue a precedent already existed for pinescone.

[trashworldblog]

What is hmbomberguy (I can’t spell) ur reblogs are making me so curious but I cannot handle getting into more content/ content drama rn.

hi! yes. so hbomberguy is one of those 2hr long video- twice a year or less youtubers. who make content exploring a topic (like plagerism on youtube, vaccines and autism, etc).

his new video talks about video essay type youtubers who steal all their writing from documentries, books, articles, etc. and makes thousands of dollars off of other peoples work.

james sommerton is the main focus of the video, but he also shows how iiluminaughtii stole from documentries (and even listed the piriting site she watched it from as a source? lol) and internet historian stole an entire article, format, visuals, and all, and got 10 million views for it (and stole so much his video got taken down) and theres this other video game guy that got hired at ign and the got fired from ign for piriting and is a homophobic right wing guy?? (details are fuzzy, this is a 4 hour video i watched once, forgive me).

um. but, the james sommerton stuff just gets crazier and crazier the way this guy just makes a ton of money by lying to his community. he ends up accidently stealing work from one of his patreon members (he stole on purpose, i assume he didnt know who he was stealing from was a patron). he asked and got thousands of dollars to mame a fake (?) film studio that has made no films, and only says theyre in preproduction for a new film every 10 months. he also, yknow, steals from queer voices, basically harming his own community for profit. and when he's called out for stealing, he either shouts homophobia or shifts the blame to his co writer, who probably knows nothing about the plagerism.

anyways. its a bit of a drama thing. but honestly its a lot about how and why we should care about the art and media we consume online, and just how many people who look like they have their life together and are making lots and lots of content, seemingly on their own or close, actually are just stealing from talented people. it heals a bit of that imposter syndrome for people that do make genuine content online, and shows the consumers what making too much too quick actually means for the content they enjoy. the get the equivalent of meat grinded facts mixed with misinformation, subtly changed quotes, and 0 sources, or a laundry list of unorganized and unlabled sources if they want to learn more.

also i like this tweet. summarizes it well for me.

um. but thats my thoughts on it. i liked it because it reminds me that people who are churning out content one-man-show style aren't making the greatest stuff. i struggle with feeling like my work takes too long. but this was a great reminder that im actually making something good (i hope!), or at least, something that is truely coming from me. so its gonna take time to do it. but it'll be worth it because it'll be coming from me. (and also good. hopefully)

also the money hbomberguy is making off this video is going to the people james stole from. so thats really nice.

[otherworldlydragon]

"See you around Buck" is So Much to process. I'm still processing what it could all mean but I need to say my thoughts anyway (warning: Buddie leaning/not the most Tommy friendly) I just...

• To get something most probably won't care about out of the way, even "see you around" made me scream personally- while I don't (didn't?) like Bucktommy they reminded me of a ship I did love, Sanvers from Supergirl, when they broke up for a nonsense reason- Maggie Sawyer's last words to Alex Danvers and something that I think was kinda a thing for them were "See you around, Danvers" (I remember someone was doing Sanvers Bucktommy Buck Alex parallels but sorry can't remember who someone feel free to tag them)

• Buck??? They never address why Tommy calls him Evan- as some pointed out why would he even know his government name to begin with- except suddenly for the first and maybe only time he's finally Buck?? Especially as that's a main grievance of many who don't ship Bucktommy, that was a pretty weird move to me. Did Tommy think that was a cute romantic thing to do or something and then think finally using Buck was distancing himself? Except he used Evan from the beginning of I'm not mistaken and more importantly everyone (else?) close to Buck calls him Buck bc that's what he prefers. That's who he is. I definitely need to think more bc I can't figure out what it all means

• Going off my last point, I was just So shocked by the break up. I wanted it to happen but certainly didn't expect the when and how of it all. When Buck was saying how comfortable and happy he feels about Tommy I was confused and when he asked Tommy to move in I was in the middle of resetting my expectations and telling myself they'll be done by the end of the season despite being confused what Oliver's wording ("in episode 5" in that article could then mean when Tommy just broke up with him

Maybe ig Buck came across as too overeager when he asked him to move in but he knew Buck was newly out and still chose to date for 6 months so... which regarding that I'm not surprised it's been six months as far as moving with the timeline and when they got together but still kind of surprised in that it felt weird we barely knew about their relationship but ig that was maybe the point.

I am on the fence on whether they'll get back together as far as what Oliver said about "will they, won't they"- while it'd be nice if that was in reference to Buddie, it could now refer to Bucktommy. Then again Oliver was talking about a partner for Buck as if Tommy really is just Buck's first boyfriend but not his last.

I'm mostly just confused unless maybe they get back together and break up later, though it'd still be confusing to me given the writing this episode about how happy and comfortable Buck was feeling in the relationship- which I do want him to be of course I just didn't think Tommy was giving that to him.

Between the confusing Evans of it all, how Buddie people have argued his being dismissive in a way of Buck and unenthusiastic about who he is and his patronizing attitude at times- it seemed off that he could be the right person for Buck but in the end none of that ended up being the orange flags they were and Tommy simply broke up with him bc to continue would break his heart. Which, again confusing to me bc he had decided to date for 6 months but also the sweetest thing in a way Tommy has said to him.