#IM SO SORRY FOR SAYING I WOULD COME BACK AND LEAVING AGAIN

[weasleyreidstyles]

Wait lowk need a amortentia trope in serendipity like before they even interacted as much? Maybe if you could write that please 💕

an: i very much agree!!! im sorry if this is the worst piece of writing you've ever read....please give me grace as im very out of practice LOL....so this little scene is set pre-serendipity!! thanks for the request 🤭🤭💕

also i know that according to the lexicon and other sources, it takes like a week to make the potion but for the purpose of my own timeline, its a fast tracked process (like 2 hours max – to fit a typical double lesson structure) !!

love is for fools — mattheo riddle

"Powerful infatuations can be induced by the skilful potioneer, but never yet has anyone managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called love." — Hector Dagworth-Granger regarding love potions; The Tales of Beedle the Bard

The potions classroom was dark and smelled faintly of crushed herbs and mildew from the stone walls that were slick with age. It was a heavy juxtaposition to the air outside of the classroom. Professor Snape was stood in a shrouded corner of the room, heavy cloak draped around him like shadows as he waited for you all to enter in a calm and silent fashion.

You'd just come from a horrific double session of Defence where Professor Umbridge had, once again, undermined and belittled Harry infront of the entire class, leaving Riddle and his gaggle of friends snickering at the back of the room, with no consequences. To say you were fuming for your best friend would be an understatement. But after experiencing one of her detentions on multiple occasions Harry, and even Fred, had made you promise not to do, or say, anything that the terrorising professor would deem worthy enough to gift you one of her torture sessions.

But as the rest of October ensued, it was becoming harder and harder to keep your loose promise to both boys.

"Someone needs to bring her attitude down a peg or two." You mutter to Ron, who nods his head in grim agreement. "Why won't Dumbledore do anything?"

"Suppose he's not allowed to interfere with the Ministry." Ron replies and you roll your eyes in light annoyance.

"He's never been afraid to oppose them before. And its not like he's oblivious to what she's been doing during her detentions." You whisper, voice barely heard over the scrape of chairs as you and your peers take your seats. You sneak a glance at Harry's freshly bandaged hand and grimace. "It's absolutely barbaric and he can't keep ignoring it."

Ron hums in agreement as he slams his ink pot onto the table, prompting Snape to glare at him with barely hidden disgust.

His beady eyes scan over the room, slow and assessing. They linger on where you, Ron, Hermione and Harry are grouped together at one of the stations, alongside two Hufflepuffs and Padma Patil, who was whispering to her sister on the station next to her's. He then focuses on where Malfoy, Berkshire and Zabini conspire over a piece of parchment in the back, and of course, he says nothing about them, and their other friends, not paying attention.

"Today you will be brewing blindly. To test whether or not you should consider choosing Potions as a subject next year." His monotonous drawl fills the room like an echo.

You could physically feel the way Harry rolled his eyes as he glared, not so inconspicuously, at his least favourite Professor.

"Only few of you in this class will be competent enough to understand which potion you will be brewing when I say it must have a mother-of-pearl appearance." He continues, eyes still continuously scanning the classroom.

Wordlessly, and without him picking up his wand, the ingredients for the potion appear on the blackboard behind him:

One piece of Bdellium....Five Flutterby bush flowers....One sprig of Knotgrass...Three Lacewing flies....

You were brewing Amortentia. The most powerful, dangerous love potion in the world. A NEWT level potion that, if brewed wrong, could cause very serious side effects and even death. And for this reason, Dumbledore had banned the sale, production and usage of such a potion outside of school hours.

While you had faith in your friends, most of the class were abysmal at potion brewing. And Snape was notorious for getting people to try their own potions if he so felt like it.

This would be an interesting couple of hours.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The dungeons were sweltering by the time the first hour had passed.

You had sweat collecting at the bottom of your ponytail, and beside you, Hermione's once pristine curls had become frizzier as the hour progressed. Harry and Ron looked no better, either. In the cauldron between the two of you, your brew had begun to have a slight sheen, however it wasn't quite pearly enough to be a satisfactory brew of Amortentia.

"We just need to keep stirring it anti-clockwise now that we've added the lavender." Hermione says, her voice airy and tired, a side-effect to the heat that swirled around the room. You nodded wordlessly and continued with the ladel as she reaches for her bottled water from her bag underneath the bench. "I hate how there are no windows down here."

"Right! Seems very impractical when we're surrounded by dangerous fumes." You mumble, scrunching your nose up as you get a whiff of whatever your potion was beginning to smell like: firewood or old parchment; you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"What can you smell in the potion right now?" You ask Hermione, who leans close to the nose of the cauldron and breathes in a decent amount of the steam that had begun to settle on the surface of the potion.

"I'm not sure, but we've definitely done it right. Freshly mown grass and new parchment. I think." She responds, thoughtfully. "What about you."

"I can't quite put my finger on it. At first it smelt like smoke but now," you breathe in some of the more concentrated steam, "now I can definitely smell cinnamon or some kind of spiced herb and I think I can smell the soap Mrs Weasley has in the bathrooms back at The Burrow, too."

Hermione is smirking by the time you've recounted what you can smell.

"We've definitely brewed it right." She says, a giggle rising in her throat as you stare at her incredulously.

"Why are you laughing, Mione?" You ask, confusion lacing your rosy face.

"Cinnamon, spiced herbs and Mrs Weasley's soap." Hermione repeats what you said back to you slowly, as if trying to emphasise a point she had made in silence.

"Meadow don't be dim! You must know who the scents remind you of."

You stare at her dumbly for a moment, before going back to the potion, which had begun to give off the correct characteristics of an Amortentia potion, and smelling the steam that was rolling off of it in waves.

And then it hit you immediately. And Hermione's laugh echoed around your station, quietly so she didn't have Snape breathing down your necks, which gathered the attention of Harry and Ron, who stared at you both like you'd gone mad. And maybe you had.

Cinnamon and clove; Mrs Weasley's soap. You were smelling Fred Weasley.

Gods, Ron was going to throttle you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

With the revelation that you were apparently in love with your best friend's older brother, your potion, and a handful of other people's potions were completed, which also signified that the lesson was almost over.

Two hours of sweltering torture and you were ready to collapse into a pool of ice water, at this point.

Your friends clearly felt the same sentiment. Harry's hair was even messier than usual, sticking slightly to the nape of his neck and his glasses were constantly fogging up from the humidity. Ron had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie was loose around his collar, Snape's qualms about his incorrect use of his uniform long forgotten in the heat. And Hermione's hair had somehow gotten more frizzy in the last hour than ever before, although you had mumbled a spell you'd been perfecting wandlessly which tampered it down quite a bit, which your Gryffindor friend was grateful for.

Professor Snape looked as he always did once he took centre stage at the front of the dark classroom once more, dressed head to toe in black; his cloak draping down him like a blanket. One glance at the Slytherins showed that, they too were formidable against the blistering sweatbox that was the dungeons potions room.

Even Theo Nott, someone that you were now forced to put up with due to Prefect Patrols in the evenings, looked as prim and proper as he always did: not a crease to be seen in his shirt or robe, his tie not askew like so many others in the room. He looked as if the heat did not affect him at all, only the slightest tinge of rose on his cheeks gave it away. The rest of his group was in the same condition as him: not a hair out of place, looking as if they hadn't just brewed a complex potion for two straight hours. The only odd one our was Riddle, who was sat lazily in his seat, lounging as if he wasn't in a classroom. Tie half undone, shirt untucked but not ruffled, hair a mess but not in a scruffy, sweaty way. And yet, you had to admit that despite his devil-may-care attitude, he still managed to look effortlessly good. Although you'd never, ever admit that out loud.

Gods, they were all insufferable.

Before thoughts of hexing the smug look of aloofness from Riddle's face could be entained for even a moment, Snape's voice filled the room with a commanding cadence that sent the whispering between stations to an immediate halt.

"You have had two hours to brew your Amortentia." He says, gazing lazily towards each cauldron on the tables in front of him. "Some of you," he looks around at the few cauldrons, including your's, where the tell-tale steam rises and evaporates into the atmosphere, "have been successful and may even have the slightest chance of entering my classroom next year."

"Others, like Longbottom," he turns his glare onto the nervous Gryffindor who practically sinks into his seat. "Have failed so astronomically, that I may consider taking you off the course, prematurely, myself."

Neville and even a few other students cower at that and it sends Riddle and his posse into a fit of quiet snickering that forces you to send a glare over your shoulder at them. Ron does the same. They ignore you both and continue to laugh at other people's misfortune.

"But the Headmaster would, unfortunately, never allow that. So in that case, we won't be testing out those potions." Snape continues as if his Slytherin students were not currently being disruptive towards him.

'Fucking favouritism. Perhaps they should have a taste of Umbridge's punishments.' You think bitterly, and you swear Nott and Riddle's laughter grows a little louder, but you must just be too distracted by their loudness.

"Miss Meadow and Miss Granger," Snape says, snapping you from your thoughts. "Bring up your sample."

Once you have gotten a vile full of your potion, you wordlessly stand up and walk to the front of the class, Hermione hot on your heels. Snape swirls the glass under his nose for a second and breathes in the potion's aroma. He's silent for a moment before the ghost of smile flashes across his face. It's gone before either of you can blink.

"Tell me, Miss Meadow. What do you smell in your potion?" He asks, blatantly ignoring your friend beside you, who is bouncing on her feet with restless energy, eager to be told that you'd done it right. The whole room had begun to smell like your potion at this point. But you know that in higher concentrations, Amortentia tends to be stronger in scent. Not that you're complaining, though.

"Umm..." You pause and your eyes catch Ron's before you look away immediately. "Cinnamon and clove, fresh soap and–"

You pause as another smell becomes more clear to you when you smell the air again.

"–and something smokey. Like a fireplace or burning embers."

You sneak a glance at Ron, who is staring at you with widened eyes before he turns to Harry as if to wordlessly say, "can you believe what we're hearing right now?!?!"

Harry, of course, is clueless. But Hermione just smiles knowlingly.

"Very well." Snape responds to you before his eyes are finally snapping to the back of the room, where the Slytherins are all gathered.

"Mr Riddle," he says monotonously and the boy looks away from where he had been staring aimlessly around the classroom.

Riddle makes an exaggerated effort to get a whiff of his own potion, the scent of whatever it is that satisfies him clearly catching him off guard as his brows furrow in light confusion.

"I don't know." He says boredly. "Wildflowers and rain."

He doesn't elaborate and Snape doesn't pester him for an answer but when you take your seat, you feel the beginning of a headache form at the back of your skull.

You grimace and rub at the spot that hurts but think nothing of it. It's probably the discomfort of the heat finally getting to you now that you know you can leave and sit in the courtyard once the clock strikes midday.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The air in Professor Slughorn's classroom is vastly different to what you've been used to experiencing while Snape was your Potions teacher in the past. Despite the fact that it was still held in the dungeons, this classroom felt brighter somehow. More cosy and breathable in comparison to the dreary environment that caused you and your friends to dread ever having a lesson down in the depths of the castle.

Walking into the first potions lesson of the year was not dissimilar to what it had been like before, except this year the class was vastly smaller than it had been in previous years. Only a handful of your classmates had evidently passed the Potions OWL, as there were about twenty of you in total.

You and Hermione followed Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane through the door and you're met with a variety of smells that hit you all at once. It's impossible to tell one scent from another.

Theo and Pansy are already sat at a station near that back of the room and you immediately drag Hermione to the remaining two seats. She follows, albeit begrudgingly, and her face paints a picture of unease as Pasny smiles at her and then you in greeting.

"Must we sit here?" She mutters under her breathe, casting a look of dread and disgust towards the station next to you, where Riddle sits with Berkshire, as aloof as always.

"I'm sorry but I'm not sitting next to Romilda bloody Vane all year. I think I'd pitch myself from the Astronomy Tower." You reply quietly. "Besides Pansy and Theo aren't so bad."

"She's right, Granger. We are a dream." Theo butts into your conversation with a smirk that stretches across his whole face.

You and Pansy roll your eyes.

"You do have a point, Meadow. At least we won't see her oggling Harry." Hermione replies to you, ignoring Theo altogether.

He sees this and his mouth drops open dramatically.

"Tesoro! Your friend cannot ignore me!" He says with a whine that has all of his friends, including you, scoffing at his theatrics. But you don't say anything, only smirk as he becomes more gobsmacked at the fact that a girl could blatantly ignore his existence. But you can see how Hermione visibly relaxes beside you and you're instantly grateful that he was able to, unknowingly, put her at ease.

'You and your friends really don't like us do you?' His voice is grating in your mind and you grimace as a stabbing pain slices through your skull at the slightest intrusion.

'You've all been worldclass dicks to her, and the others, for years. I'm surprised she hasn't gotten up and moved tables.' You say, or you think you say, in response to him.

And by the way he raises an eyebrow at you and laughs under his breath, you don't know whether you have succeeded or not. And it bothers you to no end.

'You need more practice, Princess.' He says and for the rest of the lesson, you know that your head is going to hurt more from this slight interaction than it will if Ron and Harry were to get into another Quidditch debate.

Speaking of, the two boys stumbled into the classroom, later than usual, their uniforms askew and bags half hanging off their shoulders. Professor Slughorn however, hardly batted an eyelid as they took the teo remaining seats near the back of the room.

The Professor only smiled warmly at Harry, who sat down with huff, before he stood in front of his desk, ready to address the class.

"Now then," He says, clasping his hands together before he motions towards everyone. "Get your scales and potions kits out, everyone. And your copies of Advanced Potion-Making too-"

Harry's raised hand halts his instruction.

"Sir?" He asks, his face tinged red.

"Yes, Harry, m'boy?" Slughorn asks and from beside you, you can see Theo roll his eyes. You kick his shin with your foot.

'Tesoro what the fuck!'

You ignore him, and the stabbing pain in the back of your head, rubbing at it in mild annoyance.

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything – neither has Ron – we didn't realise we'd be able to do the NEWTs you see-"

"Yes! Professor McGonagall mentioned so. But not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all! You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today and I'm sure I can lend you some scales. There's a small stock of old books in the cupboard at the back of the room too. They'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts..."

You tune the conversation out, instead focusing intently on your abandoned quill that rests on the table. In your mind, you make a swirling notion which sends the quill into graceful spirals which occupies your bored state until the sound of a minute scuffle interrupts you.

Harry and Ron are grasping for a book. A book. You can't believe your eyes.

When Ron victoriously wanders back to his seat with the more pristine version of Advanced Potion-Making you smirk at Harry who holds a battered, crumpled version that has clearly seen better days.

Hermione stifles a laugh from beside you.

"Now then," Slughorn says, which gathers your attention once more. "I have prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Can anyone tell me what this one is?"

He begins going through each potion that had been sat at the main station at the front of the room, which explained why you were so overwhelmed by various smells when you first walked into the room. He showed and discussed Veritaserum, a truth potion that was colourless, odorless and banned to use, and Polyjuice Potion which you were, unfortunately, rather familiar with already.

"Now who can tell me what this one is?" Slughorn uncovers the lid and your hand shoot's into the air without a second thought as the smell overwhelms your senses.

"That's Amortentia, sir. The most powerful love potion in the world." You say once he motions for you to give your answer.

"Excellent. And I assume you knew this by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"Yes and the characteristic spirals." You say with enthusiasm. "It's also supposed to smell differently to each person according to what attracts them."

Slughorn nods to let you continue.

"For example I smell burning embers..." You pause and take a breath of the potion, which has a different scent profile than when you remember it last year. "Spiced amber and something else but I can't quite tell."

You sound as confused as you look but Slughorn, thankfully ignores it.

"Thank you for sharing, Miss-"

"Meadow, sir."

"Meadow? You wouldn't happen to be related to Joseph Meadow, would you?"

"Yes, he's my father." You reply and Slughorn smiles warmly in recognition.

"Ah you do resemble him very well now that I think about it. He was one of my star potioneers when he was a student here. Twenty points to Ravenclaw, m'dear."

You smile in response to that as Slughorn continues the lesson. But you're left reeling at the scent that the Amortentia omitted when you smelled it for the first time in just over a year.

Because the last time you checked, Fred Weasley did not smell like that.

Like burning embers and spiced amber and dark oud. And he most certainly didn't smell like the distinctive metallic of blood, either.

You glance at the station behind you and Riddle is staring at you. It's unnerving and unsettling and you don't like it.

You feel his stare as it prickles against your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The prickling sensation leaves you soon after it starts, as if he's finally taken his dark eyes off of you, taking the headache-y sensation with him.

You think nothing of it and ignore the Amortentia, to the best of your ability, for the remaining hour of the lesson.

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battle of britpop [18+] ➶ ➴

pairing: 90s!damon albarn x fem!reader x 90s!liam gallagher genre: smut !!, angst if you squint, hate sex if you squint word count: 9702 (so sorry) warnings: brutallllll edging and overstimulation. most of the fic. spit. lotsa spit. hair-pulling, degradation, choking, face-fucking, cockwarming, unprotected sex, oral—f + m receiving, cumplay maybe ?, crying !!!, begging, just ruinedcore, minors dnii !! summary: damon brings you. liam sees. they hate each other—but they hate the idea of anyone else touching you more. a/n: based of this ! req and literally every other thought i have had about liam and damon.... got extra crazy with this im sorry i dont know why it was like my brain shut off while writing and there was an extra 5k words on the page sorrysorryalert alert ! never written a threesome fic so bare with me !

the room stank of cigarettes, sweat, and ego. velvet couches, cheap wine in heavy glasses, polaroids yellowing at the corners. a warehouse turned scene-spot somewhere deep in camden—half full of people who thought they mattered, and a few who actually did.

you walked in with damon’s hand resting low on your back, rings cold where they pressed against skin, the sheer of your dress no barrier at all. he leaned in as you crossed the threshold, voice a brush of velvet over your ear. “they’ll be watching.”

“let them,” you breathed, already smiling.

and they did. especially him.

liam gallagher saw you the second you stepped inside. slouched on the couch like it owed him rent, legs spread, pint half-gone. that lazy smirk already playing at the corners of his mouth. his eyes dragged over you slow. syrupy. something flickering just beneath it—surprise, interest, then something darker. they met damon’s across the room. and held. just long enough—long enough for the air to shift.

you let damon guide you toward the record wall, tucked half out of sight. he poured something dark and gold into a heavy glass, kissed your cheek as he handed it over. his palm lingered against your hip like punctuation—like a claim.

but you felt the gaze again before you even looked. sharp as heat. sticky as sin.

liam, across the room. still watching. unsubtle, unblinking.

he nursed his drink with one hand, other arm slung along the back of the sofa. too relaxed to be casual. too loud for the silence between songs.

you looked away. and then looked back. he was still staring. you knew he would be.

he moved like he was born to ruin something. halfway through his second drink, slinking through the crowd without looking at it. like they’d part for him anyway.

and they did.

“bit posh for this place, ain’t she?” the voice came before the rest. low, northern, smug.

damon didn’t even blink. “don’t you have somewhere to be?”

liam gave a grin like he’d just found his favourite game. “thought i’d say hello. be rude not to.”

“you’ve said it. now fuck off.”

but his eyes didn’t leave you. they dipped—slow, deliberate—then rose again. “didn’t know blur were doin’ plus ones now,” he drawled. “what, she sing too?”

you smiled. sweet. wicked. “only when it’s fun.”

that earned you a twitch of his grin. like he’d just decided you were his next favourite problem.

damon’s hand tensed at your waist. the kind of grip that said mine, even without a word.

liam noticed. of course he did. and he looked pleased.

he leaned in, just slightly—just enough to fog the air between you with breath and bourbon. “just think it’s funny, that’s all,” he murmured. “all that posh-boy poetry, and you’ve still got a girl who looks like she wants someone real to show her a good time.”

your laugh came before you could swallow it. small. dangerous. damon turned slightly. said nothing. but you saw it in his posture—the shift, the pull.

liam caught your eye again. tilted his head. “if you get bored,” he said, voice thick with sugar and spit, “come find me. i’ll be ‘round.”

then he was gone. just smoke in the room.

—

you were left standing there, half-cradling your glass, caught between the burn of your drink and the slower, sweeter simmer of something else entirely.

heat bloomed low in your belly. you blamed the liquor at first. but you knew better.

damon let out a breath through his nose—tight, annoyed—then gently tugged your wrist, guiding you toward the back of the flat. somewhere quieter, dimmer. away from the records and the stares. away from him.

his hand stayed on the small of your back like a brand.

“he’s a fucking prick,” he muttered.

the hallway was narrow, lit by a single red bulb, walls covered in posters peeling at the edges. your spine hit cool plaster. damon boxed you in without meaning to—hands braced on either side of your head, breath hot and sharp.

lager. smoke. jealousy.

his eyes found yours, flint behind the blue. “you think i don’t know what he’s doing?” he said, voice low but edged. “think i don’t see the way he looks at you?”

you tilted your chin up, fighting a grin. “he wasn’t exactly subtle.”

damon’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t afford to.

he leaned in, nose brushing yours. “yeah, well,” he breathed, “neither am i.”

and then he kissed you. not careful. not delicate. a little frantic, a little bruising.

his mouth found yours like it had something to prove—like it needed to undo the memory of liam’s voice in your ear. his tongue swept deep, his teeth scraped. you whimpered into it before you could stop yourself.

one of his hands tangled in your hair, the other gripped your waist like it might anchor him. or claim you. or both.

your drink was long forgotten, half-spilled on the floor, your body arching toward his like instinct.

you let him have it—let yourself be kissed like a secret, a sin, a warning.

but before you could lose yourself in the heat of it, before you could fall headfirst into damon and the way he made you forget—

you felt it. a prickle. the burn of a stare, dragging slow and deliberate over your skin.

you broke the kiss first. eyes fluttering open, head turning just slightly.

through the haze of smoke and half-shadow, across the living room, nestled into a sunken armchair that looked ready to collapse—liam.

he hadn’t gone far.

legs spread. pint in one hand. a knowing smirk on his lips. and the other?

palming himself through his jeans.

your breath hitched.

damon didn’t notice. too caught in the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your collarbone now, fingers bunching the hem of your dress.

but liam noticed. of course he did.

his stare burned into you, lazy and electric. he didn’t stop.

his palm rolled slow over the thick bulge at his fly, movements purposeful—performative. like a man alone in a dark room. like he didn’t care who saw. like he wanted to be seen.

your mouth parted, breath shallow. he held your gaze.

and then—just once—he let his head fall back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut. not from boredom. from pleasure.

he moaned. not loud. not obscene. but enough. just loud enough for you to hear it above the thump of the bass and the muted pulse of damon’s mouth on your throat.

your knees went a little weak.

you looked back at damon quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed. but his hand had slipped to your thigh, his mouth warm and biting now.

liam was still touching himself when you looked again.

you bit your lip hard enough to sting.

his eyes snapped open at the motion. he was smirking again.

he mouthed something across the room. you couldn’t hear it. but you didn’t need to.

“mine.”

and then he squeezed his cock, slow and deliberate, before sliding his hand away—back to his pint like nothing had happened.

your thighs clenched of their own accord.

damon pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth again. “you alright?”

you nodded. swallowed. smiled—just a little too wide.

“fine.”

but your eyes strayed, just once more.

liam was gone again.

—

you lost damon’s mouth when someone passed too close—bumping him sideways, drink sloshing down his shirt. he cursed, stepping back to swipe a cloth off the table.

“fuckin’ pricks,” he muttered, blotting at the stain. “can’t even throw a proper party anymore.”

you leaned your head back against the wall, breathing shallow, thighs pressed too tight. trying not to think about the way liam looked at you. trying not to ache for it.

but of course—he came anyway.

liam didn’t wait.

he stood, pint forgotten, hips already shifting behind his fly like he’d been thinking about this all night. maybe longer. maybe since the second he saw damon’s hand on your waist.

he walked through the party like he owned the air—shoulders loose, mouth crooked, swagger spilling off him in waves. like it wasn’t damon’s girl he was after. like he didn’t care.

“you alright there?” his voice came syrup-slow, warm and thick and mean. “lookin’ a bit… bothered.”

damon turned before you could speak. already on edge. already bristling.

“fuck off, gallagher.”

but liam didn’t even blink at him. his eyes never left you.

“that what you want, love?” he asked, too close now. “someone else speakin’ for you? or someone who knows what you really need?”

his fingers ghosted your wrist. soft, teasing.

damon slapped his hand away like it burned. “don’t fucking touch her.”

liam’s grin went sharp. “didn’t know she was yours,” he said, like he meant it. “she didn’t say.”

and you— you didn’t say a word. your breath caught. your eyes fell. and you stayed right where you were.

damon turned toward you, gaze narrowing. he saw it. all of it. the blush high on your cheekbones. the way your knees pressed in, tight. the way you weren’t pulling away.

he spun you back toward him, hands rough at your hips, mouth against your throat—hot and claiming. “you’re mine,” he said, voice all grit and growl.

you barely nodded before he kissed you—fast, fierce, like he could burn liam out of your mouth if he kissed hard enough. teeth and tongue and something just shy of fury.

and liam watched.

you felt it—his eyes on you. the weight of them. the heat. and you felt the second he snapped.

because suddenly damon’s hands were gone— and liam was there instead.

pressing close. hotter. louder. rougher.

“get off her—” damon barked, stepping forward.

“make me.”

and then liam kissed you. filthy. deep. full of teeth. like he was starving for it. like he needed to taste you first.

his hands on your jaw, your waist, one dragging down to grab your ass and yank you closer—right against the hard press in his jeans. you whimpered into it. damon pulled your arm— but you didn’t move. not yet.

not when liam whispered against your lips: “let me have you. just once.”

you could’ve said no. you should’ve. but your body was already leaning in. you wanted it. wanted them both. wanted to be the fire they fought over.

you looked between them— damon flushed and fuming. liam cocky and aching.

and you said, voice barely above a breath: “both.”

—

up the stairs you went—dragged and guided, wrists caught in callused hands. liam’s grip was sloppier. greedy. all heat and whisky and the tremble of too much want. damon’s was iron. steady. like his fingers might leave prints, like if he held tight enough, he could still pretend you were only his.

you weren’t sure who reached for you first. 

didn’t matter.they were both pulling. both taking.

liam laughed under his breath—low and mean, like he’d already won. damon swore under his—over and over, a litany of fucks hissed like a fuse, like he was holding himself back with every one.

the hallway was dim, low-lit and long. music still throbbed from the floorboards below, like some distant pulse you were already falling out of rhythm with. and when the bedroom door shut behind you, it clicked like a lock, like a secret being sealed.

liam was the first to talk—of course he was.

“didn’t peg you for the type,” he said, circling like smoke, like a wolf with a taste for perfume. “lettin’ two blokes drag you upstairs. filthy little thing under all that sweetness, yeah?”

damon shoved him back by the shoulder, a snarl caught in his throat. “shut the fuck up.”

liam didn’t even stumble. just grinned. “jealous, mate? thought she was yours.”

your back hit the wall. you hadn’t even felt yourself moving. but there you were—pinned in place by heat and hunger and the way they looked at you.

two pairs of eyes, both burning. liam’s lit with mischief, amusement, some twisted thrill. damon’s darker. stormier. a glint of something that felt more like possession than play.

“take your clothes off,” damon said, voice low, already wrecked.

“yeah,” liam added, peeling off his jacket and tossing it aside. “let us see what the fuck we’ve been fighting over.”

your heart beat so loud you swore they could hear it. you didn’t move—not at first. just stood there, blinking slow, lungs too full of smoke and want.

until damon stepped forward, fingers finding the top button of your dress. he popped it open slow, deliberate—like he meant for you to feel every second of it. liam came in next, tugging the hem of the fabric higher, knuckles grazing your thighs.

“fuckin’ unreal,” he muttered, like he couldn’t help it. “like a fuckin’ dream.”

“she’s not yours yet,” damon snapped, voice tight.

“not yet,” liam echoed, cocky. hungry. “but she’s not sayin’ no either, is she?”

you weren’t. you couldn’t. you stood there trembling—eyes wide, skin flushed, breath shallow. you could feel the shift, the balance tipping. the second the tension broke and neither of them could pretend it wasn’t about claiming you anymore. this wasn’t about flirting. this wasn’t about fun. this was war, and you were the battleground.

—

damon kissed you first—of course he did. lips hot and possessive, hand at the back of your neck like he needed to anchor you, to remind you who’d brought you here. who saw you first. his mouth moved against yours with a practiced kind of urgency, like he’d done this a hundred times, but tonight was different. tonight, liam was watching.

and liam didn’t wait long to cut in.

“fuckin’ hell,” he growled, stepping in close. his hand curled tight around your waist, tugging you from the wall and straight into him—into the thick line of him through denim, already hard. already pulsing. he crowded your back, rutting up slow and filthy while damon swallowed your moan.

“feel that?” liam muttered into your neck, words smeared against your skin. “fuckin’ twitchin’ for you, and i haven’t even had a taste yet.”

you whimpered. damon’s kiss broke just enough for him to speak against your lips.

“you like this?” he asked, voice lower than sin, thumb dragging along the edge of your jaw. “like bein’ split between us?”

liam laughed under his breath, breath warm against your shoulder. “she’s soaked,” he said, like it was fact. like he could feel it through the heat of her skin. “fuckin’ drippin’ for it.”

“bed,” damon ordered, already breathless.

they moved you together—guiding, greedy. liam’s mouth at your neck, damon’s hands skating down your ribs, over the curve of your waist. you stumbled a little, half-blind with it, and damon caught you by the hips as he sat on the edge of the mattress, jeans still clinging to his thighs. he pulled you into his lap like he’d done it a thousand times.

liam didn’t bother waiting. he came up behind you and unhooked your bra with ease, tossing it aside. “this off too, yeah?” he breathed, already kissing down your spine. you nodded, barely able to speak.

his hands were rough—one on your shoulder, the other sliding low. he hooked a finger into the band of your underwear and pulled. he dragged them down slow, taking his time, eyes locked on the way the fabric stuck to your soaked thighs. you kicked them off and stood trembling in nothing, caught between their stares, stripped bare and burning.

“fuckin’ perfect,” liam groaned. “knew it.”

damon leaned forward, mouth trailing heat across your chest. “you love bein’ watched, don’t you, sweetheart?”

you nodded, dizzy, panting. liam’s teeth grazed your skin, kisses trailing lazy heat down your back.

damon’s hand dipped between your legs, fingers curling inside you without warning. you choked on a gasp and collapsed against his chest.

liam stared, jaw slack. “fuckin’ unreal.”

you were trembling now, suspended between their hands, their mouths. every breath tasted like fire.

“you gonna let us pass you around?” damon asked, voice thick. “gonna take what we give you?”

liam growled, low and possessive. “fuck that. i want her now.”

“wait your fuckin’ turn,” damon snapped, still pumping his fingers inside you—but you were already moving, already climbing off his lap, mindless and hungry and shaking.

you turned to liam. lips parted, thighs slick, legs unsteady.

liam caught you mid-step, one hand wrapping around your throat—loose, not choking, just claiming. his eyes burned down into yours, dark and bottomless.

“on your knees,” he rasped.

—

you dropped without question.

liam didn’t wait. didn’t ask. he fumbled with his fly, dragged his jeans down far enough, and pulled himself free—already thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. his hand moved slow over himself, just once, just enough to watch you watch him—eyes wide, lashes damp, lips parted.

“fuckin’ unreal,” he muttered. “on your knees like you were made for it.”

he brushed the head of his cock against your mouth, smearing precome like gloss across your lips. you opened up—obedient, eager—tongue out, ready.

he slid in slow. just the tip at first. enough to stretch your mouth, to watch your jaw go soft around him.

“jesus fuck,” he breathed. “this fuckin’ mouth—”

you hollowed your cheeks, sucked him in deeper. his hand curled tight in your hair, grounding. holding.

behind you, damon knelt on the floor, his fingers ghosting your spine. he was silent for a second—just watching, drinking it in like a slow drag of smoke. then, calm and low: “slower.”

liam huffed. “she likes it rough.”

you moaned around him, breath caught, throat tight.

“see?” liam laughed, voice already fraying.

his hips rolled—testing. shallow thrusts at first. careful. but not for long. each push went deeper, until your nose was pressed to his skin, your throat stretched full, tight, aching. you gagged. swallowed. gagged again. and stayed there.

“fuckin’ no gag reflex,” liam gasped. “little angel. takin’ it so sweet.”

damon’s hand slid up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. his other hand dipped between your thighs—bare now, slick and swollen. you whimpered. liam groaned.

“she’s fuckin’ melting,” he said, voice thick. “look at her knees. fuckin’ slick.”

he pulled out just far enough to slap his cock against your cheek—wet and sharp. once. twice. again. you gasped with each sting, spit stringing from your lips.

“open.”

you did. he fed it back to you, rougher this time—both hands on your head, fucking in. your mascara smudged. your eyes watered. your throat clenched tight.

“take it,” he snarled. “take what you fuckin’ begged for.”

you choked, coughed, moaned—each breath a broken little prayer. damon’s fingers rubbed lazy circles over your clit, teasing soft and mean.

“she’s fuckin’ soaked,” he murmured. “not even inside her yet and she’s already gone.”

liam grunted, hips stuttering. “gonna ruin this mouth,” he growled. “gonna use her ‘til she can’t speak.”

you sobbed around him, desperate. your lungs ached. your throat pulsed. you were trembling on your knees, caught between ache and awe.

“breathe,” damon said softly, tugging your shoulder.

liam pulled out with a wet pop. you gasped. spit trailed down your chin, your chest, shining under the low light. your throat burned. your eyes blurred.

but still, you leaned forward, stroking him with one hand, licking the tip, kissing it like you missed him.

“fuckin’ perfect,” liam whispered. “look at her. fuckin’ look.”

“on the bed,” damon said, darker now.

liam helped you up—hands on your waist, your tits, everywhere. you swayed, dizzy and glowing.

damon settled behind you on the mattress, palms sliding up your thighs, spreading you open slow. liam climbed on top, his cock resting heavy against your stomach.

“wanna fuck her throat again,” liam muttered. “make her cry on it.”

“you will,” damon said, slipping two fingers inside you, slow and steady. “but not yet. not ‘til i’ve had her too.”

—

liam didn’t wait. didn’t need to.

he just hooked a thumb beneath your chin, tilted your head up, and said, breathless, “mouth, now. c’mon, sweetheart.”

you opened without question.

he eased back in—slow this time, deliberate, savoring the slide. your throat was already sore, drool slick at the corners of your mouth, but he groaned like it was the first time all over again.

“good girl,” he panted. “fuckin’ filthy.”

behind you, damon had dropped to his knees between your thighs. his hands found your hips—firm, steady—as he spread you open like he owned the right. the air hit your cunt sharp and cool, and then you felt the warm weight of his cock sliding through your folds. slow. thick. deliberate.

already wet enough he didn’t need to tease.

“hold still,” he muttered.

you moaned around liam’s cock. a muffled, strangled sound.

damon hissed, low. “she’s dripping. this just from your cock in her mouth?”

liam laughed, voice rough. “’course it is. look at her. made for this. she loves it, don’t you, babe?”

you tried to nod, but he was too deep.

“that’s what i fuckin’ thought,” he growled, fisting your hair tighter.

then damon pushed in. slow, stretching, splitting you wide. you gasped, back arching, and liam held your head steady, hips twitching forward to bury himself deeper down your throat.

“jesus,” damon groaned, breath catching. “tight as fuck.”

“tight everywhere,” liam muttered, voice frayed. “mouth’s fuckin’ heaven.”

and then they started moving.

damon rolled his hips into you with deep, unhurried thrusts, filling you up again and again—while liam fucked your mouth with sharper, shorter snaps, his cock gliding slick through spit and heat. they moved like they’d done it before. like they’d planned this. like they knew exactly how to ruin you together.

you were just caught in the middle, helpless and aching, stretched wide between them—nothing but a body for them to fuck.

“look at this,” liam rasped. “fucked-out little toy. not even blinking.”

damon dragged a hand up your back, palm warm on your spine. “she’s perfect. takin’ it like she was made for us.”

you moaned, voice crushed and wet around liam’s cock. your throat fluttered each time he pushed in, your cunt clenched every time damon bottomed out. you couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe. didn’t want to.

liam slipped out with a wet gasp, slapped his cock against your cheek—once, twice, again—leaving you messy and open, drool slicking your chin, tongue still hanging out.

“open wider,” he ordered. “there. fuck, that’s it.”

he slid back in, deeper. you gagged and swallowed, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

behind you, damon grunted. “she’s clenching. fuck. think she’s gonna come.”

“don’t let her,” liam snapped. “she doesn’t get to come ‘til we do.”

“we won’t,” damon promised, pace quickening. “not ‘til she’s ruined.”

you whimpered, trembling, desperate to come, to breathe, to fall apart—but they weren’t done with you.

liam’s hips slapped against your mouth, cock bruising your throat, hands locked in your hair. damon fucked you harder, one hand spreading your ass to get deeper, his breath hot and ragged.

“you feel how soaked she is?” damon panted. “she loves this. bein’ used. bein’ filled.”

“she’ll get filled,” liam growled. “not yet, though. not ‘til she’s fuckin’ beggin’.”

your body burned. your cunt throbbed. your jaw ached. and still, you took it.

—

you barely had time to breathe before he shoved back in, deeper than before—sharp and punishing. you choked, tears spilling hot and silent down your cheeks, mascara smeared and forgotten. it burned, it throbbed, it stretched your jaw until it ached—but still you moaned. still you begged, muffled and desperate, the sound guttural and soaked in spit.

behind you, damon bent low over your back. his hand wrapped around your throat from behind—not squeezing, not yet. just resting there, heavy and warm, palm curved over the flutter of your pulse.

“you like bein’ fucked like this?” he muttered, voice a snarl in your ear. “two cocks stretchin’ you open, mouth full, cunt drippin’—this what you came for, sweetheart?”

you whimpered, tried to nod, but liam’s cock was too deep. your body answered for you—hips rolling, pussy clenching down around nothing, desperate to be filled again. you pushed back against damon’s abs, tried to drag more friction out of the air, and it made him groan—low and wrecked.

“she’s fuckin’ close,” damon gritted out, breath hot against your neck. “feel her shakin’. she’s gonna—fuck.”

“not yet,” liam said, voice sharp, hand tightening in your hair. “hold it, sweetheart. you don’t come ‘til we say.”

your whole body trembled—wrecked, strung out, ruined. they were good at this. too good. dragging you right to the edge only to leave you there, twitching. their cocks, their hands, their voices, all of it too much and not enough. you were gone—somewhere between need and obedience, dizzy with it.

“you hear that?” damon hissed, snapping his hips forward just to make you flinch. “don’t come. be a good girl. hold it for us.”

liam fucked faster, rougher. his cock slid down your throat with each thrust, slick and brutal, and your jaw hung wide just to take it. you couldn’t breathe—but you didn’t want to. you didn’t need to.

then—his hand gripped your chin, thumb pressing into your cheek, and he dragged himself out. spit clung to his cock, thick and glistening, and he slapped it against your face—once, twice, with a little groan each time.

“miss me?” he rasped.

you gasped for air, lips red, eyes glassy.

“open.”

you did. tongue out. obedient. filthy.

“there’s a good girl.”

he slid back in, deeper than before, and your knees buckled again.

behind you, damon’s hand clenched hard at your hip. “fuck—fuck, i’m gonna—”

liam’s eyes narrowed. “don’t.”

“she’s squeezin’—fuck, liam—”

“pull out,” he growled. “we’re switchin’.”

damon cursed like it pained him. slipped out slow, wet, panting. you whimpered, mouth still full, the loss of him sharp and aching—but then hands were all over you. rough and warm and frantic. gripping, flipping, dragging you onto your back.

your head hit the mattress. your thighs fell open. and liam was there—hair a mess, sweat dripping from his neck, shirt pushed up past his stomach as he shoved his cock into you in one long, brutal thrust.

you cried out. back arching, nails raking the sheets.

“that’s it,” he panted, already fucking you. “been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ night. watchin’ you bounce on his cock—made me fuckin’ ache.”

he set a rhythm without mercy. deep and fast, the sound of skin on skin filthy and constant. your body rocked with every thrust, breasts bouncing, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.

damon settled beside you, cock flushed and angry, still slick with you. he brushed a thumb along your cheek, kissed the corner of your mouth.

“you still hungry, darling?”

you blinked up at him—glass-eyed, fucked out—and opened your lips.

he guided himself in, slow and smooth. let you suck him messy, tongue greedy, lips swollen. “that’s it,” he breathed. “my sweet little whore. always so good with your mouth full.”

liam slammed into you harder, fingers bruising your hips. “she’s tighter now,” he gritted. “she likes havin’ both of us. made for it.”

you moaned around damon’s cock, voice warbled, and they just kept using you.

—

liam was pounding into you now, sharp and fast, dragging filthy sounds from your throat even around damon’s cock. it was too much—too full, too wet, too fucking good.

“this cunt’s fuckin’ soaked,” liam growled. “like it missed me.”

“she’s tight as hell,” damon muttered, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. “how’s that throat, love?”

you couldn’t speak. not properly. just moaned, tears slipping sideways into your hair.

liam’s hand found your throat, gripping as he fucked harder.

“don’t you fuckin’ come yet,” he hissed. “not ‘til we say.”

you were right there. stomach tight, cunt squeezing him over and over. your thighs trembled.

and still they didn’t let you come.

damon pulled out again, slapped his cock against your lips—“beg,” he said.

you did. voice barely there.

“say it louder.”

“please,” you choked. “need it. please—”

liam was close too. his thrusts rougher now, sloppy, sweat dripping onto your chest. he gritted his teeth. “fuck—gonna ruin you.”

you begged for it. begged with your body, your hands, your mouth.

and still they held back.

still they made you wait.

your thighs were shaking.

sweat cooling where it gathered behind your knees, on your collarbone, where damon had bitten down hard enough to leave a mark. your body was wrecked—used and soaked and trembling—and still they wouldn’t let you come.

liam had pulled out just when your moans hit that desperate pitch. “nah,” he panted, grinning, breathless. “not yet.”

you sobbed, hips rolling helplessly against nothing, your clit aching. it felt like punishment—delicious, drawn-out punishment—and neither of them had any plans to stop.

“told you not to come,” damon murmured, brushing his knuckles over your throat, your chest, down to the soaked heat between your legs. “and you were about to, weren’t you, sweetheart?”

“n-no,” you lied, barely audible.

liam snorted, crouching at the foot of the bed. “don’t lie, love. we know this cunt like the back of our hands now. fuckin’ pulses when she’s close.”

“yeah?” damon said softly, tilting your chin so you’d look at him. “then maybe she needs to learn how to behave.”

you whimpered—open-mouthed, desperate.

liam slid two fingers inside, slow and cruel. they curled just right, just enough, and you arched again—thinking maybe, maybe this time they'd let you. maybe they'd—

but then he pulled out, smeared the slick across your inner thigh, kissed it.

"not yet."

“please,” you gasped.

damon just leaned in, lips ghosting your temple. “you’ll come when we say. not before.”

they worked you open again and again—hands and mouths and hips grinding into you, cock in your mouth, in your cunt, but never letting you fall. never tipping you over the edge.

liam fucked your mouth while damon stretched you out on three fingers, palm pressed to your stomach to feel how deep he was. then they’d switch—liam between your thighs again, slapping his cock against your cunt, dragging it through your folds until you cried.

and every time your breath hitched—that tiny tell—you were stopped. left empty. aching.

—

“don’t cry,” liam murmured, soft and sticky, brushing a tear down your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “you love this. bein’ our little toy. lettin’ us play with you.”

you nodded, dizzy with it—soaked and ruined, begging without words. you couldn’t lie. not like this. not when you were stretched and trembling, cunt clenching around nothing, mouth too slack to speak.

damon leaned back on his heels, eyes dark as coal, cock twitching where it lay heavy against his thigh. he dragged his gaze over your body like he was trying to memorize every shake and spill of you. “you’re filthy,” he said, but there was heat behind it. reverence. “fuck if you’re not perfect.”

liam didn’t wait. didn’t ask. he pulled you into his lap and sank you down onto his cock in one smooth drag, and you cried out—more from relief than pain, though it was both, both, always both.

“don’t move,” he growled into your mouth. “you sit there. just like that. don’t fuckin’ move unless we say.”

he was so deep it made your vision spark—cock nudging that place inside you that made you feel cracked open, barely human. you shook, hands braced on his chest, but you didn’t move. couldn’t. wouldn’t. you were pliant, obedient, wrecked.

they didn’t fuck you. not yet.

they didn’t let you come, didn’t let you do anything but feel it—liam pulsing inside you, damon’s eyes eating you whole. time dripped like syrup. seconds stretched like years. you floated somewhere between need and nothing.

when you begged again, voice paper-thin—“please, please let me, need it, please”—they shared a look. unspoken. cruel.

then damon leaned in, slow, like he was offering something sacred.

“alright,” he said, voice low and lilting. “you wanna come?”

you nodded. frantic. pleading. your thighs twitched around liam’s hips.

“you’re gonna earn it.”

liam laid you flat again. your back hit the mattress and your legs were lifted, bent, folded—ankles over shoulders. he held them there like handles, then slammed back inside you with one savage thrust. the force of it knocked the breath from your lungs.

“gonna make her come so hard she sees stars,” he panted.

“no,” damon corrected, palming himself slowly, eyes locked on the way your body bowed. “gonna make her cry for it first.”

and they did.

they edged you until your moans turned to sobs—until even the word please sounded broken. your voice cracked like glass, your hips writhing, cunt squeezing around liam’s cock like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the room.

liam’s pace grew mean—shallow thrusts, maddening, barely there. enough to tease, to make you twitch and grind and sob out another helpless whimper.

he studied you. watched every flicker of agony in your eyes like it thrilled him.

“how many times’ve we stopped you now?” he asked, almost dreamy. his thumb dragged across your cheek, smearing tears and spit. “three? four?”

“five,” damon said from the headboard, voice lazy. his hand was wrapped around his cock again, stroking slow. he looked at you like you were a painting. something expensive. something ruined. “poor little thing can’t think straight.”

your thighs trembled. your whole body did. tears spilled freely now, lip wobbling, your breath a stuttered mess.

“she’s close again,” liam muttered. his voice was hoarse. his hips stuttered, cock twitching inside you.

“ruin it,” damon said, cold. “make her wait.”

“no—please—” you gasped, voice gone raw. “i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll—”

liam pulled out.

slow. cruel. deliberate.

your cunt clenched around nothing, fluttering empty, a cry ripping out of you like it had claws. he slapped his cock against your thigh—wet, heavy, hot. you were slick everywhere, thighs shiny, sheets ruined. your body thrummed with denial.

you didn’t even know you were begging again until damon reached down and grabbed your chin—tilted your head up, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“you wanna come that bad, sweetheart?” he cooed. “gonna lose your mind if we don’t let you?”

you nodded, wild. frantic.

—

he smirked. “then crawl.”

you blinked, breath caught halfway between a sob and a moan.

“on all fours,” he clarified, voice low and slick with threat. “between us. show us how much you want it.”

you moved without thinking. knees aching, palms sinking into the rumpled sheets, body flushed all over with sweat and spit and need. everything between your thighs throbbed. everything inside you ached.

liam laughed behind you—dark and delighted. his hands were on you immediately, spreading you open, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your ass.

“fuckin’ mess,” he muttered, breath ghosting over your skin. “never seen a cunt this wet before. it’s obscene.”

in front of you, damon stroked himself lazy and slow, eyes half-lidded as he watched you crawl. “she’s got no idea who she wants more.”

“don’t matter,” liam said, leaning in, mouth brushing your lower back. “she’s gettin’ both.”

and you did.

they made you take turns.

damon in your mouth, thick and rough, hand knotted in your hair as he pulled you forward, feeding his cock past your lips with slow, possessive rolls of his hips.

liam fucking into you again from behind—harder this time, deeper. brutal thrusts that made you jolt forward, made your mouth choke on damon’s cock, made the sheets crease beneath your knees.

and every time you started to shake—every time that white-hot pulse built low in your belly—they stopped.

again.

and again.

and again.

“liam—please, i can’t—”

“you can,” he growled, snapping his hips forward. “and you will.”

damon slapped the side of your face with his cock—gentle, almost playful. “open up.”

you did.

you always did.

mouth slack, tongue out, spit slicking your chin. he slid back in and didn’t stop—fucked your throat slow and deep, his cock dragging against the sore walls of your mouth, fingers tight at the back of your skull.

“such a pretty little cocksleeve,” he murmured. “so eager to please. we could do this all night, couldn’t we?”

liam groaned behind you, pace quickening. “she’s squeezin’ me,” he panted, voice ragged. “fuck, she’s gonna—”

“not yet,” damon barked. “make her wait. make her feel it.”

you sobbed around damon’s cock. it hurt. it burned. you were soaked and shaking and full and empty and used. your whole body screamed for release, but they kept dragging you back—over and over. denial thick as blood in your veins.

liam reached around, two fingers circling your clit—sloppy and fast, just enough to make your hips buck.

“you come without permission,” he warned, voice tight, “we start over.”

and god, you were close.

so fucking close.

you trembled violently, your jaw slack as damon fucked your throat, as liam filled you like he wanted to ruin you from the inside out. your vision blurred. your hands slipped on the sheets. your breath caught.

you wanted to come so badly it felt like your skin might tear.

“she’s crying again,” liam said, gleeful, voice dark with triumph. “fuckin’—look at her. you ever seen anyone this desperate?”

damon pulled out with a wet pop, letting your head fall forward. you gasped, spit pooling down your chin, mouth open and useless.

your body sagged—aching, overstimulated, unraveling.

“please,” you whispered. barely a sound. “please, i need—”

“not yet,” liam snapped.

“just a bit longer,” damon added.

your thighs twitched. your stomach clenched. your cunt fluttered helplessly around liam’s cock, still buried inside you like it belonged there.

—

and then it hit you out of nowhere.

you had tried so hard to obey—to breathe, to take them, to hold yourself back—but then liam’s fingers brushed just right, and damon thrust deep into your throat, and suddenly it was happening. the orgasm ripped through you like a snapped wire.

“fuck—i—i’m—” you choked out a sob as your hips jolted forward, thighs trembling, cunt clenching tight around liam’s cock. your vision whited out. your whole body seized, back arched, moaning helplessly around damon’s cock. you hadn’t even meant to. it was just too much—the teasing, the pressure, the filth of it all, their voices and their hands and their need.

liam stilled behind you, breath going sharp. “she came,” he muttered, incredulous. “she fuckin’ came.”

you slumped forward, thighs twitching, cheek pressed to damon’s thigh. you were still shaking. still dazed.

damon eased himself out of your mouth—slow, wet—then grabbed your jaw and tilted your face up to look at him. “did we say you could?”

you blinked up at him, ruined. slack-jawed. drool and come slick on your chin.

“i—i’m sorry—i didn’t—”

“no, sweetheart,” damon cut in, voice low. “you did.”

liam chuckled darkly, fingers digging bruises into your hips. “fuckin’ greedy.”

“didn’t even ask,” damon said, still holding your face. “didn’t even ask.”

“gonna have to teach you a lesson now, aren’t we?”

“no, please—”

“oh, now you wanna beg?” liam snorted. “bit late for that.”

and then he pulled out. you whimpered at the loss, body still fluttering from the aftershocks. your knees gave out beneath you, and you collapsed back onto the mattress.

—

damon hauled you up by the arm, flipped you over like you weighed nothing, pinning your wrists above your head. your back hit the mattress, body boneless and blinking, already spent—but they weren’t done. not even close.

liam grabbed your knees, spread you open wide, stared down at the mess between your thighs like it was something holy. “look at that,” he muttered, voice gone soft and wrecked. “fuckin’ soaked.”

“she’s gonna be sorer than she’s ever been,” damon rasped, settling between your legs again. “but it’s what she wanted. didn’t you, sweetheart?”

you shook your head, tears in your lashes, the words barely there. “i—I can’t—”

“yes you can,” liam murmured, already shifting forward. “and you will.”

damon stroked himself once, lined up, and slammed back in. you screamed. arched. your wrists jerked in his grip, but it didn’t matter—your cunt was already pulsing, raw and slick, stretched wide for him again.

liam knelt beside your head for just a second—then shifted, bracing one knee over your shoulder and the other beside your ribs, cock heavy against your cheek. “open,” he ordered.

you did.

and he slid in, slow and mean, one hand tangled in your hair, the other braced on the headboard as he started to fuck your mouth again—this time with no softness at all.

now you were helpless. pinned. every hole filled, no room to move or breathe. damon pounded into your cunt like he meant to ruin it, hips snapping, his teeth clenched. and liam used your throat like it was his god-given right, fucking deep, holding you still by your hair as your lips stretched wide around him.

they didn’t stop. not when your legs started to shake. not when your throat burned raw. not even when your cunt fluttered, desperate and full.

“she’s fuckin’ addicted,” liam groaned, thrusting harder, deeper. “look at her—soaked again already. takin’ it like a cockdrunk little whore.”

damon’s jaw clenched. he grunted, sweat sliding down his spine, watching the way your body bowed up for him, how your hips still tried to meet every thrust like you couldn’t help it. “you hear that?” he panted. “she’s squelching. fuckin’ dripping all over me.”

you whimpered around liam’s cock, throat too full to speak, eyes burning with tears. spit smeared across your cheeks, frothing at the corners of your mouth. you gagged again, choked softly—and liam just moaned.

“aw, baby,” he crooned, voice gone almost sweet. “you cryin’? sobbin’ ‘cause you’re that fuckin’ full?”

he swiped your tears away with his thumb—then pressed it to your jaw, forcing you wider. “you love it. filthy little fuckin’ girl.”

damon’s hands gripped tighter at your hips. your arms went limp above your head. all you could do was take it. take it and take it—his brutal rhythm, the bruising grip, the hot breath on your skin.

liam pulled out for just a second—let you breathe—then slapped his cock across your cheek, once, twice, before sliding it back into your mouth.

“fuckin’ born for this,” he muttered. “your mouth was made to be used.”

damon groaned. his hips stuttered. “gonna fill her up—fuck, she’s milkin’ me—”

liam laughed, breathless. you moaned helplessly, tears streaking your cheeks, spit trailing down your chest. your whole body shook—your thighs locked up.

you were so close again it hurt.

“please,” you tried to say, voice broken around liam’s cock. it barely came out at all.

“you beggin’?” damon bit out.

“thinks she deserves it,” liam sneered, his hips still rolling, his cock rutting against your throat like he owned it.

then they both went still. just for a second.

damon leaned in, voice brushing your ear like a threat.

“not yet.”

—

they dragged you off the bed and dropped you to your knees like they were done pretending you weren’t a toy. one hand each, tangled in your hair—guiding, holding, owning. “look at you,” damon sneered, thumb swiping the spit from your lips, smearing it across your cheek like it was warpaint. “can’t keep your fuckin’ mouth off our cocks for five minutes.” “needy little slut,” liam muttered, already unzipping with one hand, cock hard again, heavy in the low light. “go on then. be useful.”

you blinked up at them, mouth already parted like you were starved. you didn’t even wait for permission—you just reached for both of them at once, stroking them side by side like it was all you knew. one hand wrapped around damon, the other for liam, your jaw already going slack as you leaned forward and took damon into your mouth, lips stretching wide.

liam let out a breathy laugh, not jealous—just amused. “always his cock first, huh? fuckin’ groupie.” “she’ll get to you,” damon said, voice low, hand brushing hair from your face like you were something delicate even as you gagged around him. “look at her. workin’ us both like a good little toy.”

you moaned around him, spit starting to slip down your chin, wrist twisting just right around liam’s cock like you’d memorised what made him twitch. they were both watching you like they were starving and you were the only thing left to eat.

and god, you were soaked. your hips shifted, almost on instinct, grinding against the rough carpet beneath you in search of even the smallest relief. it wasn’t enough—never enough—but the pressure was something, and your moan deepened, throat fluttering around damon.

you thought maybe they wouldn’t notice. they noticed.

liam jerked your head back hard enough to make your spine arch, spit trailing from your mouth to damon’s cock. “what the fuck d’you think you’re doin’, huh?” you blinked up at him, dazed. “just—needed—” “needed?” he snapped. “who the fuck said you get to need anything?”

damon’s voice cut sharp, a clean slice. “was that you humpin’ the fuckin’ carpet like a bitch in heat?” you froze.

they stood over you, hard and flushed and furious, and you were still on your knees, dripping and ruined, lips red and shiny with spit. “got two cocks in your hands, one in your mouth,” liam growled, “and you’re still greedy? fuckin’ unbelievable.”

you tried to say something, anything, but damon pressed his thumb hard against your lips, muffling the sound before it could leave. “nah,” he said. “no more of that. not ‘til we say.”

liam leaned in close, his voice rough and thick with heat. “you wanna come that bad?” he said, smiling against your cheek. “then beg. tell us why the fuck you deserve it.”

—

they didn’t even let you finish your plea.

you were on your back in seconds, dizzy from the manhandling, thighs spread wide and trembling, breath hitching in your chest like a sob. but liam didn’t fuck you—not yet. he just sank into you slow, so slow, thick and deep and hot—and still. didn’t move. just held you there, full to the brim, cunt twitching around him from the stretch and the ache and the sheer denial of it.

“shh,” he cooed, already breathless. “you want it so bad, don’t you? thought about this for fuckin’ hours. days.”

you nodded, desperate, nails clawing at his arms.

damon crouched beside you, palm stroking your jaw. “then be good. hold him. just hold him.”

you tried. god, you tried. but your hips twitched, bucking up just a little.

liam growled low in your ear. “what’d i fuckin’ say?” his hand flew to your throat, fingers curled around your pulse—not squeezing, just there. grounding. warning.

“stay still,” he said again. “take me. that’s all you get.”

your walls fluttered around him, slick and hungry, clenching on instinct.

damon chuckled darkly, brushing your damp hair from your cheeks. “she’s barely hangin’ on. look at her.”

your lips trembled. your cunt pulsed. you were so full and so empty at once, stuck in that unbearable in-between.

“please,” you whispered, voice shaking. “just—need to come.”

“you need to?” damon echoed, faux sympathy laced with heat. “oh, babe. this isn’t about what you need.”

liam leaned down, kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and biting.

“you’ll come,” he murmured. “when we say.”

“maybe.”

“maybe not.”

and still—they didn’t move.

you were stuck there, trembling and soaked, cockwarming liam while damon stroked lazy circles over your swollen clit. barely enough to keep you right there—on the cusp, on the edge, begging with your body even when your mouth went quiet. they could’ve done it for hours. you would’ve let them.

your whole body thrummed with tension—hips shaking, thighs aching, cunt clenching desperately around liam, who stayed deep inside. not moving. not giving. just holding you open, stretched and sloppy and so fucking full.

and worse—damon was still teasing. his fingers ghosted over your clit, maddening light. the barest brush, the slowest swirl. never enough.

“hold still,” liam gritted again, low and hot in your ear. his grip on your hips was bruising. anchoring. like he knew you’d try to squirm again. “told you—s’not for you to take.”

you whimpered, trembling underneath them, so full you felt like you might split open. your walls fluttered, pulsing with need.

“but—please—”

damon hummed, gaze locked on your wrecked face. “oh, she’s close again. feel that?”

his fingertips circled your clit slow, cruel. like he was winding you up just to let you unravel.

you writhed—instinct, really—just trying to rock your hips, to chase a fraction more friction, to meet liam’s cock where it rested. anything.

“don’t you dare,” liam growled. “you move again and we stop.”

“fuck, please,” you gasped, eyes shining. “can’t—can’t help it—”

damon leaned in, mouth by your jaw, fingers never letting up on your clit. “then don’t help it. suffer for it.”

and you did. suffer, that is—body strung tight like wire, breaths hitching in your throat. liam’s cock pulsed inside you with every shallow squeeze your cunt gave. and god, he felt it.

“you’re clenchin’ so fuckin’ hard,” he muttered, jaw tight. “like you’re tryin’ to milk me without movin’. cheeky little thing.”

damon snorted softly. “think she’s gonna cry.”

you weren’t sure if you already were.

“you want to come, sweetheart?” damon asked, almost sweetly, rubbing a slow circle just above where you needed him. “you want us to let you?”

you nodded frantically.

but they didn’t say yes.

they didn’t move.

liam shifted just enough to knock the head of his cock against that aching spot inside, and you sobbed, legs trembling violently now.

“fuck!” you cried. “please—i’ll do anything—”

“you’ll do nothing,” liam cut in, voice hoarse. “we’ll do. you’ll take.”

and then damon slid down between your legs, replaced fingers with tongue, licked at your clit while liam stayed lodged deep—cock twitching, balls snug up against your cunt like he was just waiting.

you arched. moaned. seized.

and then damon pulled back, mouth wet, breath hot.

“not yet,” he said.

you were falling apart and no one was catching you.

they hauled you into damon’s lap like you weighed nothing, his back pressed to the headboard, cock already hard and leaking against his stomach. he palmed your hips, thumbs digging in, your cunt still twitching from liam’s tongue.

you whimpered when you felt him line up—thick and hot, head slipping through your folds. your thighs trembled as you straddled him, hands braced on his chest.

“go on then,” liam murmured from the end of the bed, voice lower now—gutted. “show me how you ride him.”

you were too wrecked to answer, only nodding as you sank down slow. damon groaned, head falling back, grip bruising your hips.

“fuckin’ hell,” he hissed. “still so tight, even after all that.”

you rocked your hips, slow at first. it was thick, so thick, and your muscles ached from restraint. from being used. you cried out when he ground up into you, cock dragging that spot that made you see stars.

liam sat just out of reach, legs spread, fist wrapped tight around his cock. he watched you like a starved man—eyes dark, hungry, drinking in the bounce of your tits and the way your mouth fell open.

“look at you,” he breathed, voice broken. “takin’ him so good. so fuckin’ good.”

you met his gaze, even as your thighs trembled from the effort.

“want you to touch me,” you pleaded, eyes glassy.

“you’ve got him,” liam murmured, thumb teasing over his leaking tip. “earn me.”

you moaned at that—keening as damon snapped his hips up rougher now, making you ride harder, faster.

“she’s fuckin’ perfect,” damon growled, hand slipping between you to rub your clit. “look at her, liam. fuckin’ made for it.”

liam groaned, fisting himself faster. “tell her. tell her what she is.”

“cock drunk little slut,” damon snarled, voice ragged. “just a fucktoy. stuffed full, used, begging for more.”

you cried out, clenching around him.

liam stroked himself harder, breathing shaky.

“bet she’ll come just from that,” he muttered. “from ridin’ you while i watch.”

your body jolted with each thrust—damon dragging you down onto him, your cunt wet and sloppy, clit swollen. liam spat in his palm, spread it over his cock with a hiss, eyes locked on the way damon disappeared into you again and again.

“fuck,” he muttered. “can’t wait to split her open next round.”

damon gritted his teeth, thrusts snapping up cruel. “you hear that? you’re not even done yet.”

you nodded, tears streaking your cheeks, moaning like it was the only word you remembered.

“thank you,” you gasped. “thank you—thank you—”

liam moaned. “you love it. love bein’ passed around.”

“so filthy,” damon panted. “but she’s ours.”

you sobbed, cunt clenching around him—right there on the edge again.

damon’s grip turned bruising, his chest sticky with sweat as he slammed into you from beneath. your cries sharpened with every thrust, hands scrambling across his shoulders for something to hold.

“gonna fill you up,” he gritted, teeth clenched. “fuckin’ ruin you for anyone else.”

you nodded, desperate. babbling something half-coherent, gasping with every drag of his cock inside you.

liam stayed at the foot of the bed, fist tight around himself, breath ragged and uneven.

“go on,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “fill her up, albarn. let her leak for me.”

you whined—half a sob, half a moan—as damon shoved in deep, hips jerking, cock twitching. his head tipped back against the wall as he spilled inside you, thick and hot and endless.

you shuddered around him, already clenching from the heat of it, cunt fluttering like your body didn’t know what to do with it all.

damon exhaled slow, dragging you down into his lap, pressing his lips to your temple as his hand stroked down your back.

“fuck,” he breathed. “that’s it. took it so well.”

but liam was already moving. already climbing back onto the bed, already dragging you off damon’s lap with hands greedy and impatient.

“my fuckin’ turn,” he muttered, pulling you to all fours.

you gasped, the shift making damon’s cum spill from you in a slow, messy drip.

liam saw it—let out a low, wrecked groan, one hand spreading your ass to watch it leak. “jesus. look at that. fuckin’ full of him.”

you started to say something, but his cock pressed to your entrance—already hard again, already dripping—and the words turned to noise.

“he warmed you up for me,” liam panted, pushing in slow. “that’s sweet of him, innit?”

you moaned, high and cracked, back arching.

“still so fuckin’ tight,” he gritted, bottoming out with a snap of his hips. “like your cunt’s fuckin’ starving.”

he started fucking you immediately—deep and messy, the slick from damon making everything louder, wetter. the slap of skin and the filth of it echoed through the room like thunder.

you sobbed into the sheets, clawing for purchase, body melting under the weight of it all.

“mine now,” liam growled, hand fisting in your hair. “gonna fuck you till you forget his name.”

“c’mon, love,” damon murmured, voice low and coaxing. “give us one more. you’ve got it in you.”

liam groaned behind you, cock twitching inside your soaked cunt. “she’s close. can feel it.”

and you were. soaked and stuffed full, stretched and trembling, your voice unraveling into nothing but choked gasps and ruined little cries. your body felt like a wire pulled too tight, every nerve frayed and raw.

liam thrust harder, meaner, his nails biting into your hips. damon’s fingers never stopped—circling your clit with sharp, deliberate sweetness.

“let go,” liam breathed, voice torn and hoarse. “come for us, baby. now.”

and you did.

like a spark to dry leaves—sudden, scorching, a full-body detonation. your wail broke ragged in the room, your cunt clenching down hard around liam’s cock as he groaned, loud and guttural, hips stuttering against you.

“fuck—fuckin’—take it, take all of it—”

he came deep, hard, burying himself to the hilt, grinding against you as he spilled inside. his whole body shuddered, slumped heavy over your back, breath catching.

—

and then damon was pulling you close again, tugging you back into the pillows, arms wrapping around your shaking body.

you were limp, breathless, boneless. flushed and wrecked and fucked-out beyond words, your lashes fluttering where your cheek rested against his chest.

“that’s it,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “you did so good. took all of it.”

liam stayed behind you, panting, cock still slick inside you as he pulled out with a wet drag. he watched the way your thighs trembled, watched cum spill down onto the sheets. he swiped his thumb through it absently, slow and possessive.

“look at the fuckin’ state of her,” he muttered, not quite teasing. “ruined.”

“we should send her back down like this,” damon said lazily, thumb brushing your jaw. “see how long she lasts out there.”

liam’s gaze sharpened. “fuck off.”

damon chuckled, but there was heat behind it. “what? let ‘em see what she’s good for.”

liam sat up, slow, and dragged the sheets up over your bare skin. tucked them in like a shield. “she’s not goin’ anywhere.”

you didn’t speak. couldn’t, really. you just blinked up at the ceiling, floating on the edge of sleep, every nerve still pulsing.

they were quiet for a beat. the room thick with something taut and silent.

then—damon shifted, pressed a kiss to your temple.

liam wiped between your thighs with a warm cloth he didn’t ask for.

they didn’t talk to each other. just to you. soft little murmurs.

“you’re alright, love.”

“you did so fuckin’ well.”

“my good girl.”

“ours.”

their touches overlapped—careful, clumsy. damon combing his fingers through your sweat-damp hair, liam tracing circles into your thigh like he didn’t realize he was doing it. both of them acting like the other didn’t exist, except for the way they kept trying to outdo one another. gentler. quieter. closer.

you fell asleep tucked between them—liam’s arm slung heavy around your waist, damon’s breath warm against your shoulder.

[tohruies]

ha! 💌 ! except that i’m doing uno reverse and sending one to you! (and especially since you’ve already written it once for me and i even printed it out!!!)

dear coco, so i know how you always want to bring even the tiniest smile to people’s faces! you are the sunshine that peeks from behind the clouds during the cloudy days ⛅️ but i’m smacking you affectionately because oftentimes in your selfship dynamics you mention that your dear beloveds soothe your heart after you give it away to everyone around on an open palm — and you should listen to that inner voice! ✨ treat yourself first, be a little selfish, make sure to feel comfortable before you comfort others ❤️‍🩹 let me tell you again — i am shaking you and telling you this because a happy and healthy coco guarantees even more happy people around her! 🥺 i love your prose, love your poetry that you sneak so elegantly in between sentences and paragraphs — it’s been a while since i’ve read anything from you and i understand that there are things that you must focus on first, but no matter the passing time, yours will always be one of the styles that inspired me the most in my writing journey on here! 🥹 your presence here has been influencing my life in the most positive way ever since becoming mooties with you! you always put so much thought into remembering everyone’s personalities, lives, preferences and stories! 🌸 but i wanted to make sure that you know how it also feels to be on the receiving side of love (though i know i’m not the only one adoring you so much and certainly there are so many others who would stand right beside you if you only needed a shoulder to lean on) 🩷

༼ﾉ ´༎ຶ ﹏ ༎ຶ༽ ﾉ *: ·ﾟ💌 when manu wears the biggest ever size of meanie pants ever... /silly

(i will acknowledge & respond to your own 💌 to me in the tags, if that's okay!! 🥺 oh my goodness 🥺🥺)

3 days later and i think i have finally collected myself enough to respond to this WAH... I AM SO SORRY TO KEEP YOU WAITING MANU! 🥺 i am uno reversing your uno reverse >:3 hehe, i remember that i wrote you one of these last year, in april!!!! it's always been a difficult month for me, so it made me really happy + meant the whole world to be able to write something for you and have you receive it with all the love in your heart 🥺 so much so that you even printed it out (i cried tears of joy last year when you told me that AODKJFAJ i am so sorry 🙈). i hope you don't mind that i give last year's message a sibling LOL, with what i am about to say to you now!!!! (⁄ ⁄>⁄ω⁄<⁄ ⁄) 

dearest manu mousie, manu the great, my manumimii!

where do i even begin with youuuu ;w; /pos!!!!! maybe i can start with how much i love (and also fear /lh, because you are truly so... omniscient lol!) how perceptive you are... the way you make people feel seen (exhibit a, the contents of this ask asdfghjkl) and look so deep into their hearts... i think you are incredibly excellent at analysing people and charaters /POS and i feel like this is very evident in your fics and character studies!!!!! it is due in large part to your introspection which is another thing i love about you :D and why i think i find a great deal of comfort in you 🥺 because i am always especially drawn to these kinds of people!! people who you don't need to wear a mask around because they will be able to see through you anyway... it's very soothing in a sense to know that you are like this 🥺💗 and it only inspires me to be more perceptive too!! i hope i can be as caring and kind as manu is some day, heheh (๑•̀ᴗ•́๑)  💗

which brings me to my next point—i love all the ways in which you are quietly kind and looking out for your friends—again, as evidenced by this ask, wah... BUT ALSO!!! in how you do other things for them! 🥺 little blurbs in their mailbox (i revisit that xiangli one you wrote me not so long ago) or even drawings!!! perhaps i don't ship with haitham anymore, but the doodle you gifted me last year has always been a widget on my phone :3 and it will continue to be!!! that was the very first time anyone had ever drawn me something just out of the goodness of their heart, let alone gifted me anything of the sort!!!! 🥺🥺 so it is something i hold really really close. it makes me smile SO BIG!! and kick my feet all excitedly to see you do that for your other friends here too HEHE—when i look at femi's pfp... vana's pinned... i am reminded of just how big and bursting with love that your heart is 🥺💗

i love how much you have grown on here over the past year. ⭐️ in terms of your writing—which has been such a pleasure to witness over time how you've grown into a style that is so distinctly manu!! 🥺🥺 because like! 🥺 i remember so distinctly a certain post you made last year about wanting to improve your writing and your vocabulary and finding your 'own writing voice' 🥺 look at you now!!! with your lush descriptions and rich prose and dynamic characterisation, IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!!!! AND PROUD!!! and i hope you too, are proud of yourself friend 🥹💖 even aside from your writing, i'm so glad that you have grown more comfortable here in sharing more personal posts about yourself hehe AND OF COURSE YOUR SELFSHIPS!!!!!!!!!! :3 i am also very glad about how you have lots and lots of friends on here now!!! that all love and cherish and uplift and reassure you in the way you deserve to be 🥺

i'm just really happy you are here with us, babie. i hope you won't take it the wrong way when i say this, but i really do believe that you are so much stronger, kinder, and easy to love than you think yourself to be! 🥺🥺 i hope that you can continue to work on being less hard on yourself, and i hope that all your friends here can help with that in any way you'll let us!! i hope you will continue to share more of your heart with us here and let us cradle it and soothe it when you need it. i hope your studies will treat you as kindly as they can, and that you will succeed in them :3 i hope you know that all you need to do is try your best!! you have a beautiful brain and a tender, loving heart—so i am sure in due time that all the good karma will be returned to you 🥺💗 making you a steaming cup of pink chai with a dollop of condensed milk in it, and gently rubbing your hands in mine to warm them up 🥰 we love you so much manu, not just for all that you do for us, but for just simply existing as you are, and letting us bask in the warm light you radiate 💖💖💖

[milfbrainrot]

i feel like i type so much more than is reasonable when i do talk to people but i also don't get to socialize a ton so i just have soooo many words in me and if i'm like, tired or short on time, it is so much harder to restrain to the already-pushing-it point i can sometimes manage ;-;

[immortalsins]

never goibg to the club again for real this time

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

[catmask]

meowdy! looks like our move to a new apartment is not going to be so peaceful after all - our old apartment is currently leaking sewage water and we have to evacuate four people and two cats! donations are appreciated, but im opening an emergency sale + commissions too! (more under the cut)

KO-FI SHOP SALE + EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

DISCOUNT CODE IS 'LEAK' IN ALL CAPS

so for this section, i'm going to break down everything thats happening + when things will come off hiatus! i'm hoping that everything will be set up in the new place by JUNE 1st, so that is the hard deadline i'm setting to start all functions up again as usual.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

two years ago, my fiance and i were offered emergency housing when we (very suddenly and tragically) became the parents to his orphaned little sister. both of us are only 26 and had to move 8 hours from where we had been living at the time, so the housing we had was the best 2 people with few connections and no established jobs could find within a single weeks notice.

since then, we have been saving up and working to finally have a proper place to live. and we did so! at the beginning of this month we found an apartment where all of us can move to. we have a friend staying with us who is helping with the move as well.

i really wanted this move to be seamless - basically, you wouldn't have had to know it was happening. we were going to pay double rent for two months while i would stream and work from the old place, and begin sleeping at the new one. its expensive, but i didn't want my real life to trouble anyone here.

unfortunately this is no longer possible. the old building we were staying at had a pipe begin to leak, then eventually flood our entire apartment. this has been a reoccurring problem the landlord hasn't seemed to find a solution for, and it's led to a biohazard where we were planning on slowly moving from - leading to an immediate and emergency evacuation for the safety of everyone in our family.

SO... STREAMING?

will be back online as soon as possible! we moved out our tech as soon as we could due to fear of water damage, and it seems like everything is A-OK. we just need to rebuild my desk and sound proof the new room, so this will probaaabbly be back online within a week? im just going to take the week off to make sure everything is set up and there are no bugs. (digital. digital bugs.)

LAIKA'S COMET?

for the sake of not losing my buffer crazystyle, i'm pausing laika's until JUNE 1st. but i'm going to post one more page right now to leave you guys on a cliffhanger because i think it's funny. (the ko-fi will still update as regular as i finish pages! tbh, in between moving i am going to be drawing.... a LOT... it's like my only self soothing activity i have access to right now </3)

SHOP STUFF?

you basically won't notice a difference. orders go out every 2 weeks anyway, and literally the day before this happened we completely caught up to date. that + all of the goods we had were already moved over because (similar to the tech) we were worried about water damage, so nothing will be yucky... (i dont know if i can say the same about our furniture or clothes ; _ ; )

FINAL NOTES

while we did manage to get out with emergency bags and a weeks worth of outfits + things to sleep on + cook with, we have no real means of knowing the extent of damage until we bring things out of the apartment and clean them here. thankfully *most* things appear undamaged, its largely the flooring and the smell that are unliveable... walking through puddles of sewage water and having to wear a mask to breathe is not really liveable conditions.

however, considering this move is sped up way faster than planned, and i wont be able to work during it - any sales or donations are hugely appreciated. ; w ;

i'm sorry to ask for help like this, and its only if you are comfortable to do so!!! i can work hard, so i don't mind doing a little extra art to make money, this is just if you feel okay to help out and would like to.

if you read this far, thank you so much - hopefully next time i will return with good news - and maybe a new apartment tour...?

[starstruckbich]

getting caught listening in ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

summary: vi knows you've been listening in on her.

tags: 18+ mdni men dni dom!vi, sub! reader, listening in, teasing, fingering, vi eating reader out, reader riding vi's face, soft!vi.

note: as usual, life is absolutely kicking my ass like WHAT THE FUCK uhm anyways im back to writing. im praying for this week to go by fast so i can get a break oh LAWD.

You feel gross. But also extremely good.

At first it was annoying, hearing every scream, every moan through thin paper walls at your shared dorm with Vi. Every time she brought a girl over, you would lose hours of sleep, again and again and again.

It's either the girl Vi is fucking moaning at the top of her lugs or Vi herself whining like a bitch. It left you so angry, but you never confronted her, because who actually has the balls to go to your dorm mate and say "hey would you quit having sex so fucking loud?".

You would rather just put on some headphones and call it a day.

Until that damn week came. That week before your period when you just want to fuck everyone and everything. It's specifically worse for you, for some reason.

So when you go to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and the sounds start once again, your body can't even get annoyed. Especially because this time, Vi didn't close the door all the way, leaving a creak open.

"a-ah! oh! oh fuck~!" looks like Vi was getting fucked that time.

So every single time, from that day. You lean agaisnt her door, touching yourself, listening to her filthy moans. Except one time, you actually moan a tad bit too loud. You don't think anyone noticed, since they didn´t stop.

But Vi knows. And god you can't even imagine how thrilled she is. She does EVERYTHING extra loud, moaning, whining, crying, grunting, begging, cumming. Everything.

But a problem comes up. Her usual hookup girlie hasn't had time for her, ignoring her texts and calls. So she is practically posessed, obviously more pent up. She resorts to just touching herself that night, moaning loudly. But it's just not enough. She needs someone, and right now, the nearest person to her is you.

You were so focused on making yourself feel good, layed down on your stomach and playing with your pretty clit, that you didn't even hear the heavy steps coming towards your bedroom door.

Suddenly your door slams open, causing your eyes to widen and your hand to move away from that sweet spot. oh no. you're totally going to get fucking humiliated, torn to shreds and get called a pervert. your life is over.

"Vi-" Your voice is shaky and ridiculously breathy. it's almost a cry, your mind trying to come up with some sort of excuse.

But before you can, Vi is already pouncing on the bed, turning you over, tongue entertwining with yours in a matter of seconds, muscular, tattooed arms locking your body in a cage as you cry into her mouth, almost as if saying "what the fuck is going on".

One of her hands trails down to your panties, fingers going underneath them and slipping in your pussy so easily that it makes you want to die of embarassment.

You pull away from her mouth, yelling. "fuck!! oh- ah! w-wait, i dont-"

Your heartbeat has skyrocketed in a matter of seconds, feeling Vi's thick fingers heat that sweet, sweet spot you love so much when you listen to her getting fucked. Except this time it's her fingers.

"Vi what is going on?" it's such a cute cry you let out, making her moan in your ear.

"oh just didn't to make you- hah... upset that my hookup didn't show up." she laughs. oh. so she has known huh.

you can't help but feel guilty, despite OBVIOUSLY knowing now that Vi clearly isn't bothered. "im sorry, im really sorry..." you cry out, spreading your legs further for her.

"trust me, don't be." she laughs, huffing into your ear. "yeah thats right just... spread your legs... yeah..." she groans, the pace of her fingers making you squirm and moan so loud that you get why the other girls weren't quiet at all.

your pussy clenches around her fingers, wet noises coming out, your body arching closer to her.

"you're so cute...so pretty, touching yourself because of me. do you like what you hear, hm?" Vi whispers into your ear, earning a frantic nod from you.

She kisses your temple "is it better hearing it up close? feeling it?" Teasing tone. Of course, just the right atittude to make your eyes roll back.

"fuck, please! just a little bit faster! oh-!" great, you're already begging, body twitching in a matter of minutes.

But Vi isn't done with you.

How many minutes has it been. Maybe a half an hour already. Vi's tongue lappig up at your cunt, tongue sliding in and out over and over again. god she gives great head, it makes you want to cum into her mouth right then and there.

you let out those " hm hm hm" sounds, biting your bottom lip so hard, head falling back, a blissed expression on your face.

"hmm... hmf... who does this pussy belong to, mmh...?" vi says, voice breathy and ugh every time she speaks your body feels like it's about to fall apart.

"yours vi, it's yours..." you say, rocking your hips. you pray that girl never answers her texts again. you'd rather have her tongue on you instead.

"good girl, fuck, you taste so sweet..." she spreads your legs further if thats even possible, kissing at your needy bundle of nerds as your hips chase her tongue. "you could have just asked me for this, you know..."

you wish you could answer, but your mouth just elts out repeated whines, moans or whatever you're screaming. next time you want her to fucking rail you, and you would let her if it wasn't so late. there is one thing you have the courage to ask though.

"can i ride your face- mh-please?" and how can she say no when you ask so nicely?

Now you're sat on her face, hips rolling agaisnt her mouth, letting out sweet sounds, not so animalistic anymore, not because you're not turned on, but because she handles you so good that you're getting tired. you feel heat pooling up even more below your belly, seeing Vi just eat the fuck out of you. literally.

her hands grip your hips, eyes opening ocasionally to look at you eye to eye and kiss your pussy sweetly. you let out one final, strangled moan, hips twitching, white liquid dripping into her tongue as your head lolls to the side.

she sucks your sweet nectar up, seeing you hold onto the bed frame, smiling at how cute you look when you're tired.

she caresses your ass, kissing your clit a few times before making you hop off her face and lay down on top of her.

"satisfied, pretty girl?"

"yes...."

[lomlsatoru]

FAMILIAR — JINU ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

summary: you look exactly like the girl he fell in love with 300 years ago.

a/n: im officially obsessed with KDH & jinu’s perfect face and eyes <33 this is just a small blurb, 700 words, more works coming soon if this goes well!

check out my other works <3

★☆.

“Rumi? Is that you?”

Said girl turned around so fast you could hear her neck crack as she yells your name in shock. “Wha- what are you doing here?” her feet fidgeting, eyes moving everywhere, almost like she’s looking for something. 

Being Bobby's assistant was not an easy task to say the least, so the chilling cold air nipping at your skin was very much needed. 

You furrowed your eyebrows at her off behaviour, “I’m getting some air.” hands engulfed in the pockets of your hoodie, “What about you?” 

She stutters, sending you an awkward smile, “Nothing! I mean- not nothing I’m just- “ 

“Thought you would come alone.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock when you see one member of Saja Boys walking towards you two. A tall figure taking slow and long strides, his frame not entirely clear to your vision because of the night sky. 

“Is that Jinu?” you whisper, standing beside Rumi. 

The purple haired girl stood frozen, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing but nothing coherent coming out. “Um, yeah- we were just- “ 

Jinu stopped in front of you both, his calm demeanor suddenly shifted the moment his eyes landed on you. 

You.

He must be dreaming. 

His eyes went wide, fingers twitching at his sides as he swallowed hard. Countless of memories replayed in his mind, all of them plagued with you. Your pretty face, soft smile and sweet voice. All directed to him.

What kind of sick play does Gwi-Ma have in store for him now?

You furrow your eyebrows at his panicked gaze to you. 

Jinu blinks awkwardly, hand scratching the back of his neck, suddenly feeling shy under your gaze, “Hi.” he softly said.

Rumi stares at him weirdly, he hasn’t known him for long, but this is far from how he usually acts. Where did the ego go?

You smiled politely, not really sure how to react to the way he is acting, “Hello, Jinu,”

He bodily shuddered at how you said his name. It was familiar. His stomach flips at your soft voice. “You know my name.”

You chuckled. His hair stood up. “Of course, half of Korea knows who you are by now.” crossing your arms in defense, “What business do you have with Rumi?”

Rumi softly touches the top of your arm, “Don’t worry about me.”

You turn to give her a pointed look before smirking, “Do you guys meet up often?” gesturing to the pair.

“No!”

“Absolutely not!”

You raised your hands in surrender at their little outburst, “I'm joking.” you chuckled, “I won’t tell, promise.” winking at Rumi, making her roll her eyes. 

“Sorry, I didn't get your name.” Jinu asked, wanting your attention back on him again.

You were shocked that he even wanted to know who you were, “Y/N. Huntrix’s assistant.” looking up to meet his eyes, unconsciously backing your head away when you notice how fondly he was looking at you. 

“Pretty.” he absentmindedly said, before replicating your actions when he realised how creepy he sounded, “I mean- pretty name!” 

You chuckled at his awkward behaviour that was weirdly charming to you. 

The interaction weirded Rumi out, eyes shifting between you both. Jinu to you, you to Jinu, Jinu to you-

Oh, shit.

Before any more flirting can happen from the demon she jumped in, “You should probably go back. I heard Bobby wanted to have a little meeting to talk about the tour, hiatus and such.” she rambles.

You nodded, not buying her excuse but accepted either way, “Alright, then. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

She nodded. But before you leave you lean into Jinu’s personal space, “Anything happens to her, and I will make your life hell. Do you understand me?”

The corner of his lips turned up at your threat, feeling awestruck instead of scared, “Yes, ma’am.”

You leave the two, walking towards the apartment. Feeling a pair of eyes burning on the backside of your head but not daring to turn around.

Rumi gasped when you were out of range, “You like her!” 

Jinu shrugged, “Shut up. She just reminds me of someone.” he mumbles, still staring at your retreating figure.

Someone he used to love.  

lmk what you think! reblog for a kiss 😋🫶

[talaok]

How it was

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Abby's attempt at Joel's life, he's in the hospital, and while you try to navigate through the difficult feelings having almost lost him bring up, his mind seems to be on a much different, inappropriate, thing.

Warnings: talk of Joel almost dying, mentions of blood. Smut| oral sex (m receiving), attempt at fingering (lol), talk of f receiving oral, and Joel's dirty mouth.

a/n: i haven't watched the new episode yet bc im tired of crying but what i can tell you for sure is that did not happen, my baby is fine and ellie has never been happier.

"Well good mornin' to me"

You were bent over the armchair tidying what had transformed into your bed for the past ten days when you heard him.

His raspy morning voice had you turning around with a smile.

You let go of the blanket in your hand as you walked closer to his bed.

The rising sun was filtering through the windows of the hospital, illuminating his upper body with a golden light.

His face was still bruised and swollen and they hadn't yet taken his stitches out.

A bittersweet feeling filled your heart every time you looked at him, every time he winced as he sat up, every time you watched him struggle to walk for more than ten steps... it hurt, and yet it filled you with joy.

He was alive- he'd come so very close, the closest he'd ever come to the end of it all, and he had survived- he was still here, with you.

"Good morning" you beamed, taking his hand in yours as you sat on his bed "How're you feeling?"

He smirked, but you felt him squeeze your hand tenderly "Would feel a lot better if you turned around and showed me that view again"

You could only roll your eyes, chuckling softly.

"Really baby, you feeling any pain? You need something?"

His lips formed a soft small smile as he brought your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it.

"'M great babygirl, dontcha worry"

You very much doubted he was great, but you nodded nonetheless.

He never wanted you to worry, which was silly, because there was nothing else you did these days besides worrying.

"Now c'mon, give me some sugar"

"Joel" you protested immediately "I don't wanna hurt you, let's at least wait to see what the nurse says about the stitches"

You talked as if your protests had ever been anything but futile, as if the moment he gave you those sweet puppy eyes and his honeyed voice called your name you weren't already leaning closer.

"I don't care if it kills me darlin', just give me a kiss"

You stopped dead in your tracks, your mouth an inch from his, your breathing one with his.

"don't joke about that"

You knew it was just a stupid joke. But nothing was really a joke anymore, not since you witnessed him being carried into Jackson unconscious, his bloody face beaten to a pulp, his body so close to being lifeless... you knew that image would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"'m sorry, doll" he apologized, his eyes looking into yours with all the care and love inside him "'m here" he promised, squeezing your hand.

You closed your eyes for a moment, holding back the tears threatening to spill.

"Don't scare me like that ever again"

Your tone was serious, matter of factly, because it all was true. You knew, with terrifying certainty, that if anything like that were to ever happen again, you wouldn't survive it.

"I won't" he murmured, your hand in his the only thing grounding you "I promise you, darlin'"

There were so many more things to say, so many things you had to talk about, so many feelings, fears, and hopes bubbling inside you, and yet all you could do at that very moment was press your lips to his, kissing the man you'd feared losing forever, just to lose yourself in him.

The kiss was sweet, soft, tender even.

You didn't wanna hurt him, his lips were still cut and his cheeks were still bruised.

But despite it all, the feeling of kissing him was exactly the same. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was the way he made everything else disappear, every hurt, scare, and sadness dissipated into thin air when his lips were on yours- when his stubble grazed your face, his hands held you, his scent hugged you tight...

It always became just you and him.

And then Joel groaned in pleasure, and in what you knew from experience to be frustration.

Your mouths were still connected, just as your hands, only his tongue was now sloppily tasting you deeper, as his other hand, his injured, tired hand, found your thigh, slowly traveling up and up until two of his fingers infiltrated between your thighs, rubbing your cunt through your jeans.

You couldn't help but huff a laugh.

There he was, bedridden and barely alive, and he was still trying to get in your pants... quite literally.

"Joel" you chuckled.

He didn't answer, instead, he only compelled his head to lean forward to deepen your kiss as his hands started fighting with the button holding your jeans together.

The angle was uncomfortable and he was very clearly struggling, but you just sighed into his mouth, silencing your amusement.

It took about a full minute for him to unbutton your pants, but once he finally did, he slid two of his fingers beneath the fabric as quickly as he could, which wasn't a lot given the position.

You obeyed his silent command to spread your legs, but even as his fingers reached your clothed slit, he couldn't do much more than try to caress your pussy.

"Baby" you murmured with a smile as he desperately tried to pleasure you "do you really think now's the time?"

"yeah," he breathed without missing a beat.

Just then his fingers drew higher and came in contact with your clit, making you stifle a soft moan.

But the jeans were too damn tight, and he really had no space to work with.

"take 'em off"

You couldn't help but grin.

He had not changed. Not one bit.

"Joel I can't exactly take my pants off in here right now"

He groaned, his big brown eyes pleading you.

"why not?"

You laughed as you took his wrist in your hand and started leading his fingers off of you, to which he protested with a frustrated noise deep in his chest.

"Because baby... not only is the door open" you said, glancing at it " but anyone could come in at any moment"

He groaned, his hand on your thigh now.

"That never stopped us before"

He earned himself a pointed glare with that one.

You weren't gonna be caught pantsless as your barely alive husband fingered you. No way in hell.

"Then put a sock on the handle or somethin'"

An amused snort left you at that.

"This is hospital baby, not a frathouse"

Those deep brown, expressive eyes of his were completely shadowed with lust- the man was desperate.

Ten days of no sex and he was already looking like a deprived, starved man... not to mention the fact that he had begun to touch you inappropriately on day two.

He almost died, and instead of wishing to watch the sun rise again or listen to birds chirp in the morning, all the man seemed to think of was pussy... yours specifically.

"please sugar"

Goddamn, those damned puppy eyes.

Those two words were all you needed before you got up and started towards the door.

You heard him groan behind you.

"You're gonna leave your man layin' here blueballed?"

You laughed softly as you closed the door, hoping to god that the nurses would get the hint and not come in.

You didn't answer, you just walked back to him, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement once you took the blanket off of him.

How the man still looked hot in a hospital gown was something that needed to be studied.

His left leg, where he'd been shot, was bandaged completely, while the naked right one showed off his hairy thighs, which made warmth spread low in your belly... yeah maybe you'd missed sex too.

Silently, your hand went to the skin that was covered by the very hem of his gown, slowly trailing up and up and up until you cupped his hardening manhood through his boxers.

"fuck" he breathed, struggling to prop himself further up on the bed to get a better view.

You raised your eyebrow, shooting him a look- the last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself.

"You've got to listen to hear if anyone's coming and warn me if that's the case, ok?"

He nodded mindlessly, his sole focus on your hand stroking his dick.

"yeah- sure" he murmured, urgency and need straining his voice.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Nonetheless, you hiked his gown up and pulled his underwear down- his cock was hard as a rock and you hadn't even done anything more than put your hand on it.

You bent over, looking to the side at him as you slowly, oh so slowly, started kissing his tip.

He twitched in your hand as your tongue darted out to kitty lick him, precum leaking from him just in time for you to taste it.

You were looking at him with those godforsaken sexy eyes you'd get as you finally wrapped your mouth around him, and Joel... Joel was in another universe already.

He groaned, shifting his hips up with a painful grunt as you hummed around him, starting to bob your head as you fit more and more of him inside your mouth.

"Fuck me-" he couldn't help but moan "fuck that feels good darlin'"

He strained his neck as his head fell back against the cushions, his eyes shutting close as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

He was fisting the blanket so hard his knuckles were white as chalk, and his breathing was so erratic that he was half sure the doctors would run in at any moment because the monitor would pick up him having a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ" he groaned.

Your mouth felt better than anything on this earth at the moment. You were sucking him so tight and god but you had him so deep inside you.

"Just like that" he breathed, watching your eyes water as you forced almost all of him down your throat.

It had been four years and you still couldn't get all of him in- at this point you'd given up trying- He was just too damn big.

"so good for me sweetheart" he grunted, observing his cock go in and out of you "Such a good girl-fuck"

Your hand had found his balls, massaging them tenderly- which meant Joel was pretty much done for.

"Goddamnit-- I'm gonna- I-"

He erupted, filling your mouth with his spent before he could even finish the sentence- and you were more than happy to swallow it all up.

He was breathing heavily, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you smiled up at him, before tucking him back in his boxers and putting the blanket back on top of him.

All sounds from outside suddenly filled the room again, reminding you of where you were... and what you'd just done.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, smiling as you reached his side again.

"beats me" you teased, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.

He groaned from deep in his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"We still need to take care 'f ya darlin'"

"no, we don't" you immediately shook your head.

A side of his lips twisted into a smirk as he got an idea.

You didn't wanna take off your pants, and it's not like he could much to change position given his state, so that meant only one thing...

"Sit on my face"

And yes that idea made you hornier than you already fucking were, but unlike your husband, you still had some sense of decency left in you.

"I'm scared to hurt you when I kiss you and you think I'm gonna sit on your face?"

He looked at you for a moment, trying to figure out if there was any way he could convince you- unfortunately, the results came back negative.

"A man can dream" he sighed as he guided you down for another kiss.

"Let me get a taste at least"

Your lips parted in stunner- he really was desperate today.

"Jesus baby" you huffed, your mouth betraying you with a smile "H-how am I even supposed to do that, you really shouldn't force your hands to struggle too much, it could be bad for-"

His eyes sparked with mischief as he murmured "There ain't nothing wrong with yours though, ain't that right sugar?"

Heat crept up your face as you understood, but seeing the unadulterated need in his iris, the strain in his voice as he whispered 'Just a taste'... in seconds your own hand was in your panties.

"This is dirty..." you murmured, eyeing the door as your fingers delved between your folds, gathering up your slick.

"we've done worse" he breathed, his eyes only on what was happening beneath your jeans.

The worst part was that you actually had.

You swallowed thickly as you pulled your hand out of your pants, guiding your glistening fingers to Joel's mouth.

He wasted no time opening his lips, sucking greedily on your digits, a groan rumbling from deep in his throat at the taste.

You bit your lip, watching the scene unfold as you pressed your thighs together to relieve some of the burning pressure.

He would have probably gone on for god knows how long if you hadn't pulled your fingers out of his mouth.

His cock was hard again and he was goddamn tired of being in this hospital bed.

He wanted to go back to his old life. To his house, his wife, his daughter.

He wanted to get back to waking you up in the morning with his tongue between your thighs- not... this.

So he brought your head down, guiding you for yet another kiss that overflowed with all the hopes and dreams he had about it all going back to how it was.

"fuck me-" he groaned in between desperate kisses "I miss our life- I miss... shit babygirl, I your pussy"

You laughed softly into his mouth before leaning away, a devious spark in your eyes.

"Tell you what...I'll wear a skirt tomorrow" you murmured, ghosting his lips "and I think the weather might be a bit too hot for panties"

The groan he let out at that caused a nurse to worriedly rush in.

[pencil-n-pen]

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ . °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[tbaluver]

Hi ree 🤭

Can I request y/n flinching during an argument when the boys make a sudden movement. Give it a happy ending pls.

I'm craving some angst with fluff on the side.

Has to be served by u tho 😭🌹

Flinching During An Argument- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: slight angst with some fluff/ comfort ! a/n: HIHI TEE !! ily (∩˃o˂∩)♡ i hope this was okay and i hope i served and if not im soso sorry and this doesn't exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

It was your first argument with Xavier and you’d never seen this side of him. His usually warm, soft eyes narrow into a piercing glare, losing their usual kindness and sleepiness to it. You had always believed that you and Xavier would never argue, yet here you were, caught in a heated argument. Frustration had clouded both your minds, leaving both to forget what the initial problem even was. The emotional exhaustion was palpable and you both were weary from the conflict.

In an attempt to reconcile, Xavier reached out to pull you closer and offer an apology. His sudden gesture was unexpected and made you flinch. The movement was too abrupt, causing you a momentary surge of anxiety. You recoiled back slightly, your body tense.

His eyes widened in shock at your reaction. Instantly, he withdrew his arm, staring down at his hands as if they had betrayed him. Hurt and confusion on his face were palpable, as if he committed an offense. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, “I’m so sorry if I scared you. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

The frustration that had marked his earlier expression melted away and was replaced by the tender, sincere face you knew and loved. As your mind began to process the sudden shift and the context of his actions, you realized that his outstretched arm had been an attempt to offer comfort.

“I’m sorry you thought I’d hurt you,” Xavier says, his voice weighted with sincerity. “I promise I will never do that. I don’t know what I did to make you feel this way, but I’m committed to doing whatever it takes to be a better boyfriend.”

Seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes, you stepped forward closer to him, your heart aching for him. Gently, you cupped his cheek in your hand, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. “You’re not a bad boyfriend,” You reassured him, your voice soft and soothing. Xavier nuzzled into your hand, a small grateful small forming on his lips. "I know you would be the last person in this world to hurt me. It was just out of instinct, I’m sorry.”

The tension between you began to dissolve, bridging the gap that had formed during the argument. "Then let’s promise to never argue ever again,” He says, locking your eyes with yours. “I didn’t like it one bit.”

You nod with a soft smile as he reaches out to take your hand in his, holding it close. “We’ll find a better way to handle things. I love you too much to let anything come between us.” You both drew closer, wrapping each other in an embrace. He presses his lips gently on your forehead to remind you.

Zayne:

Zayne loves you very much. He may not always express it in words, but his actions always speak volumes and the way he takes care of you shows how deeply he cares. Most of your arguments tend to revolve around your wellbeing and the way you don't take care of yourself properly. When you're stubborn and brush off his concerns, it frustrates him further.

Tonight it seems like the frustration built up and Zayne who usually speaks with a gentle tone towards you, finds himself slightly raising his voice for the first time. It was out of a mix of desperation and concern for you. He raises his hand to fix the collar of his button up shirt. He tugs at the collar and tries to smooth it out, adjusting it. However, the sudden movement is mistaken by you in the heat of the moment. Seeing Zayne’s hand come up, your heart skips a beat and a rush of panic comes through you. At the moment, the gesture felt threatening as if he was trying to strike you. But deep down you know Zayne would never hurt you but rather the fear of the unknown makes you flinch. You take a step back, your eyes wide and your body tense.

Zayne notices your reaction and his face falls. The realization of his innocent gesture was misinterpreted and hits him like a wave. His throat tightens and he struggles to find the right words as he tries to reassure you. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” His hand lowers and he swallows hard. His eyes were a mix of regret and exhaustion. The tension in his gaze is palpable, clear even without words. “I’m sorry,” He says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I was just fixing my collar. I would never hurt you. Please, don’t think that. Forgive me my love.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for you to see the truth in his expression.

You can see the pain in his eyes, his usually composed demeanor has cracked under the weight of your misinterpretation. The fear in your chest slowly begins to disappear as you recognize his genuine remorse and the depth of his feelings.

As you speak, your body relaxes. "I'm sorry. I don't really know why I did that" You admit, letting out a sigh. You blink a few times, trying to prevent the tears that threaten to spill.

Zayne watches you with a soft, concerned look. He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you. "May I?-"

You nod, and he closes the distance between you, enveloping you in his arms. He pulls you in a little tighter, his hands resting soothingly on your back.

"It's alright you do not have to know." He sighs, pressing a kiss at the top of your head as he rubs soothing circles on your back. "I promise you, I would never do such a thing. Please let me make it right my love."

Rafayel:

Usually your arguments were nothing more than just playful banter, something that was brushed off with laughter. But today, something was different about this argument. The conversation escalated into a heated argument, with both of you frustrated. The words you threw at each other were sharper, the silence afterward heavier.

Rafayel’s hands lifted to ruffle his hair out of frustration but it seemed to heighten the tension. You backed away, closing your eyes and turning your head, trying to shield yourself from a possible hit or a burn.

Seeing your reaction, Rafayel’s expression immediately softened. His hand dropped to his sides, and felt the sting of regret and concern pierce through his frustrations. He realized the impact of his actions so he steps forward with a sense of urgency, his heart pounding with a mix of worry and desperation. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you to reassure his need for you.

You nestled into his chest but your body remained tense from the argument’s intensity. “Cutie…You know I would never hurt you, right?” His voice was a mix of hurt and worry, trembling slightly as if his worst nightmare came true—losing you again. The thought of having you scared of him, after losing you once before, made him desperate to keep you in his embrace to prevent you from ever leaving him ever again.

He gently pulls away, his hands cupping your face with tenderness. His fingers stroked your cheeks softly and his gaze filled with a mixture of relief as he saw you relax against him. “You don't need to be scared,” He murmured, “I’m here to protect you. I promise I'll make it up to you.” The sincerity in his eyes and the gentle caress of his hands were a silent vow to ensure you felt safe and loved.

Later on that day he apologized in Glubglubnese, Popoposh, and Blublublun to start off by making it up to you.

Sylus:

You and Sylus had your fair share of arguments and you both always managed to talk things through and reach a compromise. This time, however, this disagreement delta relentless back-and forth that seemed to stretch on forever.

His scowl and the tone in his voice was unsettling. The room fell into an uneasy silence until Sylus brought a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. At that moment, you made a mistake. To his hand raised, you flinched, fearing it was to use his evol on you or something worse. 

Instinctively, you crouched down and shielded yourself with your arms, overwhelmed by a wave of shame and fear. You knew deep down that he would never hurt you, but your  reflexes were too strong to ignore. With your face hidden, you missed the hurt and regret that clouded Sylus’s eyes. He took a deep breath, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you.

“Sweetie….” He says, his tone filled with sorrow. “Please, look at me.”

When you finally dared to meet his gaze, the intimidation was gone. He crouched down to your level, his expression soft and tender. He reached out, gently cupping your face and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. He sighed in relief knowing you didn’t flinch this time when he approached you.

“I would never hurt you,” He extends his hand, helping you up to your feet. As you stood, he pulled you into a heartfelt embrace. “How could I ever do that to someone I love so deeply? I would never forgive myself.” You rested your head against his chest and the familiar scent of him enveloped you, soothing your nerves. Sylus’s hands moved gently through your hair and traced comforting circles on your back that offered a silent apology and reassurance. In that moment, the argument was forgotten and replaced of a sense of tenderness.

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: Neither you or Joel had realized the fallout of facing each other after trying for a baby—something that never would have happened if Tommy could have given you one himself. And when the first time doesn't stick, you're back at Joel's door, asking for another favor.

|| smut MNDI 18+, pinv, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, no outbreak, not cheating but still def not kosher!!! don't do this!!!, breeding kink, rule breaking, baby making, talk of infertility, joel is absolutely filthy when he's turned on what can I say || notes: Tommy, hunny, if you're reading this, im sorry. im sure you're great in bed. im sorry this got so long!!! I was hella sick the past couple days and mightve wrote this with a fever sooo

You hadn’t meant for it to change anything.

In the days after the first time you… tried with Joel, you hadn’t really spoken to him. He’d left in a hurry, barely looking at you as he pulled his clothes back on, and you’d been too drunk on the aftershocks of what was possibly the best orgasm of your life to really think about what came next. Not until the hours stretched into days, and the reality of what you’d done started to settle in.

Now, standing by the pool in the thick, hazy heat of late summer, you realized just how weird it was going to be when you saw him again.

It was Frankie’s birthday, the last big cookout of the season—an annual thing the Morales family threw without fail, and especially this year with Maria now expecting their first baby. The beer was always cold, there was always too much food, and the night always ended with everyone gathered around the fire pit, full and tipsy and laughing. You’d been coming to these parties for years, always bringing appetizers, just as the Miller brothers always brought the beer. It was tradition. Comfortable.

Except this time, nothing felt comfortable at all.

You were in your string bikini, your loose, sheer cover-up thrown over the lounge chair you inhabited, still slick from the last dip in the pool. The air smelled like sunscreen and charcoal smoke, the buzz of cicadas tangled with the sound of splashing and distant laughter. You had just grabbed your drink from the poolside table when movement caught your eye.

Joel.

He was stepping into the backyard, a case of Miller Lite hooked in one hand, his other hand pushing through his hair. He looked good—annoyingly good—worn jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sunglasses tucked into the collar. He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched. Not because of him—of course not—but because the moment stretched just a little too long.

And then Tommy turned, sitting next to you with an easy, unaware grin, and Joel’s eyes flicked to his brother like he’d just been caught red-handed. He gave an awkward nod—more of a grunt than a greeting—before turning on his heel and heading straight for the house.

You flushed.

Right. This was going to be weird.

Tommy laughed, like he hadn’t noticed the way you went red beside him. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting to his feet. “Guess I better go say a proper hello before he drinks all the beer himself.”

And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you sitting there, drink in hand, watching the back door swing shut behind Joel.

The sun was starting to dip lower, stretching long golden streaks over the yard, and you were starting to feel it—the kind of lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion that came from too much heat, too much pool water, maybe one drink too many. The party was still going strong, laughter rising over the music, but you were more than happy to hover near the patio with a few of the other wives in the shade.

You hadn’t seen much of Joel.

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse—his broad shoulders making their way through the small crowd, the sound of his laughter, the sun catching in his hair—but he never seemed to linger anywhere long. It was like he was playing some kind of unspoken game, orbiting close enough that you were aware of him but never so close that you had to speak.

Which was fine.

It was fine.

You were definitely not hyper-aware of him. Not tracking his presence without meaning to. Not letting the memory of the filthy things he said to you crawl into your head every time you glimpsed those big, soulful eyes.

You exhaled, shaking the thought loose just as Maria called your name. She stood at the grill next to her husband who was flipping burgers, her hands full of side dishes that had to be put out for dinner.

"Can you grab the potato salad from the fridge?" she asked, nodding toward the house. "I meant to bring it out, but my hands are too full!"

"Yeah, of course," you said, already stepping toward the back door.

The second you slipped inside, the air-conditioning cooled the heat still clinging to your skin, the quiet settling heavy after the constant hum of the party outside. It felt nice. Like taking a breath you hadn’t realized you needed.

The house was mostly empty, everyone still out in the yard, and for a brief moment, you let yourself just enjoy the quiet. Then you stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

He was standing near the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other loose around a beer as he looked out the kitchen window into the yard. His shoulders tensed when he heard you, but he didn’t turn, just flicked his gaze toward the fridge like that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel.

You ignored the way your pulse kicked up, forcing yourself to be normal. Chill. 

“Hey,” you said, casual, like this was fine. Just another Saturday afternoon.

Joel nodded once, barely glancing at you. “Hey.”

Oookay.

You moved toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. “Just need to grab something for Maria,” you said, reaching for the container of potato salad.

Joel exhaled, shifting to the side so you had more room, but he still didn’t look at you. His grip flexed around his beer, his jaw tight like he was concentrating very hard on ignoring you.

Fine.

Grabbing the container, you shut the fridge and turned to leave, but you found yourself hesitating.

You sighed, shifting your grip on the bowl before turning back around. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “Like what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “The awkward. The avoiding.” You paused, tilting your head. “You can’t even look at me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before his eyes flicked to yours—quick, hesitant. “I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

You huffed out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah. For the first time all day.”

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, his fingers tapping once against the beer bottle. “Ain’t avoidin’ you.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

Joel sighed through his nose, glancing at the floor before dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he admitted, “maybe a little.”

You crossed your arms, letting that hang in the air for a second.

Joel took a long breath like he was trying to collect his thoughts. Then he finally—finally—looked at you, really looked at you, with something almost hesitant in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, low but firm. “You’re right.”

Your arms loosened slightly, tension easing just a fraction. “I do that a lot.”

Joel huffed a little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down—quick, instinctive, before he caught himself and looked away. But not fast enough. You saw it.

The humidity outside had been enough to keep you from throwing your cover-up back on after the pool, but now, standing here in the cool dim light of the kitchen, it felt like a mistake. The shift in temperature sent a shiver across your skin, every inch of you laid bare in nothing but damp, clinging fabric. You knew this bikini was thin but damn your nipples for hardening in the sudden cool air. Water still beaded along your collarbone, trailing in slow, lazy rivulets down your stomach, disappearing beneath the tiny scraps of your bikini.

And it seemed like Joel was very aware of these things as well.

You weren’t sure if he swallowed, but you thought you saw his jaw go tight. Then, just as fast, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach. Was he thinking about that night, too?

Not supposed to. That was Rule #2.

Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it outside the four walls of your bedroom.

Joel cleared his throat. “You feelin’ alright and all?”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”

His fingers tightened around his beer bottle. “Any signs yet?”

Oh.

You shifted your weight, trying to collect yourself. “No. Won’t know for a few more days. Won’t show up on a test yet.”

Joel nodded, looking thoughtful, like that was news to him. His gaze flicked downward again—this time, toward your stomach.

“Did Tommy not tell you that part?” you asked, amused despite yourself.

His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.”

You smirked. “You mean you didn’t ask.”

Joel scoffed, almost like a chuckle, shaking his head. “Wasn’t exactly a conversation I was rushin’ to have with my brother. Haven’t… had to think about this stuff in 15 years.”

That made you laugh—a soft, breathy thing—and just like that, something tilted in the air between you.

The tension didn’t go away. It just… changed.

Joel was still standing where he was, but now it felt like he was closer, and he was even smiling a little bit.

Maybe you were the one who had stepped closer.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the space had shrunk, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The air between you was buzzing, and you could feel his presence—solid, warm, steady across from you.

Joel’s fingers flexed once against the counter. His gaze flicked down again—quick, but not quick enough.

This time, when his eyes met yours, he didn’t immediately look away.

And neither did you.

The kitchen was quiet.

Not just in the absence of sound, but in the way the air felt thick, in the way neither of you spoke, in the way neither of you moved.

But you weren’t imagining it.

Joel’s eyes were still on you, his body still angled slightly toward yours, and you were very aware of the space between you.

Your skin prickled, still damp from the pool, and you wondered again if he was thinking about that night. If the way his fingers flexed against the counter meant he remembered how they’d felt on your skin. If the way he swallowed meant he was trying real hard not to think about the words you exchanged, low, filthy, depraved–

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment like a stone thrown into still water.

“Y’all hidin’ in here?” Tommy’s voice was easy, oblivious as he crossed the threshold, already making a beeline for the fridge.

“What?” you squeaked, “No, why’d we be hiding?”

Oh god. Your stomach flipped as heat prickled up your spine. Why the hell had you said it like that?

Tommy, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“It’s hot as hell out there. Think I saw Frank fannin’ himself with a paper plate like some old lady in church.”

Joel straightened immediately, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just snapped to attention. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the beer bottle. “Damn near a hundred degrees, I’d say. Just… takin’ a minute.”

Tommy barely looked up, cracking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer for himself, glancing toward you. “That for Maria?”

You nodded, heart still kicking a little harder than it should. “Yeah.”

“Good. She was about five seconds from sending out a search party for it.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose—maybe a huff of a laugh, maybe just a breath—but he made sure to avert his eyes from you now.

You just nodded once, shifting the container in your arms before turning on your heel and walking out the way you came.

Joel

A week had passed, the tightness of unspoken things curling around him until the evening settled low one night and Joel finally started to relax.

The TV’s blue light flickered against the golden glow siphoning through the blinds, the last rays of daylight painting the floorboards in long, slanted streaks. The house was quiet aside from the hum of the sitcom playing, its canned laughter punctuated by the real thing—Sarah, curled up beside him on the arm of the couch, feet tucked up against his thigh as she giggled at another dumb joke.

But Joel was distracted.

He’d been distracted for days, really. 

It wasn’t just the wrongness of it—though there was plenty of that, enough to make his gut twist every time he let himself linger too long on it. 

It was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling it.

The way you’d tightened up around him, shuddering, gasping, falling apart with his name on your lips. The way you’d let him take you, let him fill you, let him say things he had no right to say.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Wouldn’t let himself remember the way you felt, the way you sounded, wrecked and breathless beneath him. Wouldn’t let himself think about how easy it had been to lose himself in it, to let every filthy thought spill from his mouth like he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

But you.

You had let him. Had taken everything he gave you, had needed it.

And worse than any of it—the thing that really messed him up—was knowing that Tommy, his own brother, couldn’t make you finish the way he had.

That knowledge had settled deep in his bones, twisting something dark and selfish in his gut. That he was the one who had made you come apart like that. That only he had. And God help him, but the idea stroked his ego like a cat purring into your hand. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.

And maybe that was why, when the knock came, it took him a second to register it.

Joel blinked, dragging himself out of his own damn head. He turned to Sarah, their eyes meeting in confusion. “You expectin’ anyone?” he asked. Sarah shook her head, brow furrowing. Joel exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch with a few protesting cracks in his knees before heading for the door, rubbing at the tension settled in his jaw before pulling it open.

For a second, he had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.

You stood on his porch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, stuffed into the front pocket, your hair mussed from the evening breeze. The light had dipped enough that everything was softer now, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t hide the red rimming your eyes, the way your shoulders curled in just slightly.

Joel’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sarah appeared beside him.

He watched as your expression shifted instantly, the smile pulling at your lips effortless, natural. A mask, maybe—but a convincing one.

“Auntie!” Sarah beamed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you. And just like that, your smile became real. He saw the way your eyes softened as you hugged her back, tucking your chin briefly over the top of her head.

Sarah pulled away just enough to grin up at you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Your gaze flicked between her and Joel before settling back on Sarah. “Was wonderin’ if I could steal your dad for a sec,” you said easily, voice light, “that okay?”

“Please,” Sarah teased, shooting Joel a smirk. “Any chance to take him off my hands is always appreciated.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as Sarah turned back toward the couch, giggling to herself. But when he looked back at you, the brightness from a moment ago had already dimmed. The smile had slipped—not completely, but enough. Your lips were still quirked at the edges, but your eyes… your eyes looked tired.

Joel exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“So,” you sighed, shifting slightly on your feet. “Can we talk?”

There was something in your voice, something heavy, something that sat thick in the air between you. And Joel knew. He knew what this had to be about, but that didn’t stop his mind from racing, didn’t stop the sudden, gnawing pull in his gut as a dozen worst-case scenarios started clawing their way forward.

Were you here to tell him it was all a mistake? That he should’ve never come near you like that, never agreed to something so ridiculous? Were you going to say you couldn’t look at him the same, that you didn’t want to, that whatever had happened between you was too far over some invisible line?

Or worse—were you here to cut him out entirely? To tell him he was done, that he’d never step foot in your house again, never see the baby he had tried to put in you?

The thought settled cold in his stomach, but he didn’t let it show. He just jerked his head toward the hall, leading you through the quiet house and out to the back door.

The porch creaked beneath your weight as you moved, wordless, settling onto the old swing. Joel followed, standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the railing. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

Your eyes were fixed on the pool in the yard—the above-ground one he’d put in for Sarah and her friends this summer, the water still rippling from whatever movement had last disturbed it. The tubes and pool rafts floated aimlessly, bobbing in the quiet evening breeze.

But you weren’t really looking at them. Joel could tell your stare was a thousand miles away.

Just say it, he thought. Just tell me you think it was all a mistake, so I can stop going crazy in my head.

“It didn’t work,” you finally said, voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and for a moment, all he could do was look.

You were beautiful in the dying light—soft gold settling over your features, catching in the moisture gathering in your eyes. Your chin wobbled, lips parting slightly as you sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control.

His chest ached.

Joel had never been good at this. Never been the type for soft reassurances or knowing what to say when someone was hurting. But he couldn’t just stand there, not when you looked like this. So he moved, stiff and uncertain, stepping toward the swing before lowering himself onto it beside you.

The wood groaned slightly beneath his weight and for a second he hesitated, fingers twitching against his thigh. Then, after a beat, he lifted a hand and rested it on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sound you let out was small, choked, a breath away from a sob. Your hands flew up to your face as your shoulders curled inward, your body trembling against the weight of it.

And then—before he could react—you turned into him. Pressed your face against his chest, curled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel stiffened.

For a long, still moment, he didn’t move, his body locked up tight. His breath was shallow, caught somewhere in his throat, but the sound of you—soft, muffled cries against his shirt, the uneven tremble of your breath—made his chest pull even tighter.

Carefully, slowly, he let his arm settle around you.

He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer, but he could do this. He could be solid. He could be warm. He could let his fingers trace slow, steady strokes over your arm, grounding you, letting you take what you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

You sniffled, your body shifting as you pulled back slightly. It was like you suddenly realized how close you were, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but clearer now.

“It’s—” you exhaled shakily, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “It’s okay. Not your fault, of course.”

Your shoulder still pressed lightly against his, and Joel’s arm, solid and steady around you, didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort you or to keep himself grounded, but his thumb was still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your arm, like if he stopped, something might shift in a way he wasn’t ready for.

The quiet between you stretched, thick and full, the weight of everything that had transpired the past few weeks hanging in the warm evening air. The swing creaked softly beneath you, the distant chirp of crickets threading through the silence, but neither of you spoke.

Joel wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if you even wanted him to fix it. So he just sat there, his fingers still moving, his eyes still studying you—your profile washed in golden light, the way your lashes were still damp, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

And then—

“Would you…” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

Joel felt like his lungs stopped working, his heart kicking up before he even knew why. You were still staring down at your lap, fingers twisting together, your teeth catching at your lip as you sucked in a breath like you weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to.

You tried again. “Would you be okay with…”

You trailed off, shaking your head. Still not looking at him.

But Joel knew. Knew before you even said it, before the words could form, before you could force yourself to meet his gaze.

“You want to try again?” he asked quietly. 

That got you to look at him.

And when your eyes met his, something shifted. Because Joel suddenly realized just how close you were.

Close enough that he could make out every ridge and curve of your soft lips, every delicate flicker of color in your irises, every tiny freckle that summer had kissed onto your skin. He hadn’t noticed it before—not really. Not in the dark of your room, not when he’d been too caught up in the moment to see you the way he did now.

Yes, you were nice-looking—Tommy always had good taste in women. But Joel had never let himself notice something like that. Not before. Not until now, until you were watching him with that hesitant, quiet hope, until something deep and unfamiliar curled in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He could feel you shifting beside him, like you were fighting some sort of urge, like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He got it. He felt it too. That strange, electric wrongness, the awareness that neither of you was saying what you were actually thinking. His fingers twitched where they laid, but he didn’t move them.

“Would you be okay with that?” you asked softly. “I’ll talk to Tommy, see what he thinks, of course. He’s out tonight, but I just—I couldn’t stand being alone. After taking the test this morning, it just felt so empty in the house. It’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. We can figure out something else, maybe a donor or some sort of IVF or surrogacy—”

You were rambling now, your words tumbling out too fast, your hands twisting in your lap, your eyes darting away from his like you didn’t really expect him to say yes.

Joel didn’t know what the hell to do with the mess of feelings twisting inside him as he watched you stumble over your words. It wasn’t like you to hesitate, to second-guess yourself—but now, you were looking anywhere but at him, your fingers fidgeting, your breath uneven. He should’ve let you work through it. Should’ve waited. But before he could think better of it, his hand moved, fingers brushing beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched as he lifted your face toward him, guiding your eyes back to his in a slow, careful motion that had nothing to do with the things he wasn’t supposed to think about.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. And damn him, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered to your lips as they parted when he said, “We can try again.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest as he held your hips, fingers squeezing gently.

His smile was soft, easy—full of the kind of warmth Joel had no business standing in the middle of. There was so much love in your eyes, so much familiarity between you, and Joel felt like he was intruding.

But that didn’t make much sense, did it? You’d both invited him here. You’d both agreed to this. And yet, here he was, sitting on the damn couch, trying not to watch the way you looked at your husband—like you’d rather he stayed, like you weren’t about to let his older brother take his place in your bed for the night.

“Listen, hun,” Tommy said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know how Frank’s been feelin’, all the pressure of havin’ a baby soon. Maria’s gonna pop any day now, and the least the fellas could do was plan a night away.”

You pouted up at him, fingers playing absently in the longer strands of hair at his nape.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking on the wall. The hum of the fridge. The feeling of his own damn skin crawling.

“Joel here’ll take good care of ya,” Tommy said, and Joel’s body locked up.

His head jerked up, his whole body locking up like he’d been physically struck.

When he met Tommy’s gaze, there wasn’t even a flicker of mischief there. No teasing, no knowing smirk. Like he hadn’t just said the worst goddamn innuendo Joel had ever heard in his life.

Christ.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel muttered under his breath, but his brother didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he just ignored him.

Either way, Joel didn’t look. Didn’t watch the way Tommy leaned down, kissed you slow and lingering. Didn’t watch the way you melted into it, or the way his little brother looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Not with what the night had in store for the two of you.

When the door shut behind Tommy a few minutes later, you turned, your eyes flicking to Joel—hesitant, uncertain—before darting away just as fast.

There was no getting over how weird this was.

“Can I… get you something to drink?” you asked from across the room, your voice just a little too casual, like you were trying to make this feel normal.

Joel nodded. Something to take the edge off was exactly what he needed.

With Sarah at a friend’s for the night, there was no rush, no curfew, no reason to be anywhere but here. He could take his time. He should take his time, not rush into it like last time. He still felt bad about how long it had taken him to get it up. But what the hell did anyone expect?

This was weird.

His younger brother asking him to put a baby in his wife.

His sweet, pretty, sexy wife.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Joel cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his jaw as you turned to grab the bottle from the cabinet. His eyes flicked down—just for a second—catching the curve of your waist, the slope of your back as you reached for two glasses.

He needed to get his shit together.

“Whiskey, really?” he asked, surprised.

“I thought it would be for the best. Ya know. Calm the nerves.”

“You’re nervous?” He didn't mean for it to come out so rough, so low and gravely, but something in the way you were standing there, hand wrapped around the wide glass as you looked between him and the drink.

You handed him his glass, fingers brushing, and you pulled away as soon as his hand wrapped around it, grabbing yours and walking into the living room, “Aren’t you?”

Joel brought the glass to his lips, giving himself a second before responding as he sat down across from you. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the look you gave him over the rim of your own glass.

"Wouldn’t call it nervous," he muttered, setting his drink down on the table.

You hummed, taking another sip. "No?"

"Nah." He shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath him. "Just... y’know. Wrappin’ my head around it."

You studied him for a long beat, fingers curled loosely around your glass. "So you’re sayin’ it’s not weird for you at all?"

Joel let out a little chuckle, rubbing his palm over his thigh. "Didn’t say that."

Your lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Maybe more like you were just relieved that he was talking to you again. Something in Joel shifted at the realization. He should’ve been better at this—at talking, at making this easier. At not making things so damn weird.

"Guess I just figured the second time would be easier," you admitted, voice softer now, quieter.

"Easier how?" Joel asked, his hands twitching on his thighs before he grabbed his glass again, taking another sip just to do something.

You hesitated. "Jus’ didn’t expect it to feel so…" Your eyes, previously glued to the contents of your drink, flickered up to meet his. Joel felt his stomach flip, his pulse tick up. Your gaze was steady, unsure but searching, and he could feel it— the weight of it settling somewhere deep in his chest, in the thick, charged air between you.

“Tense.” you finished, and Joel swallowed down his last sip of whiskey, the burn sinking all the way to his gut, welcome this time—anything to settle the fire licking up his spine. 

It took a moment before Joel realized the both of you were staring at each other, gazes locked and burning across the room.

The silence stretched, thick and unmoving, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. He should look away, should say something to break whatever spell this was, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His fingers flexed around his empty glass, his breath slow and measured like he was trying real hard not to give himself away.

Then, you blinked, inhaled, and wet your lips before forcing out a quiet, “Should we… get to it, then?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over your face, searching. “That what you wanna do?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, lower, like the whiskey had settled there and refused to budge.

You let out a breathy laugh—nervous, unsure. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just set his empty glass down on the table, slow and deliberate, the soft clink against the wood the only sound between you. Then, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice low, “we got all night, don’t we?”

You nodded, slow, absent, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. Your bare legs shifted slightly, restless, and Joel could see the way your body carried the same tightly wound energy thrumming under his own skin.

And for the first time, he wondered if it wasn’t just him who felt different. If you’d been thinking about that night all along too. If this thing, this quiet, simmering thing between you, had started to crack open something neither of you were ready to face.

Joel swallowed, flexing his fingers against his knees before dragging one hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, but when your eyes lifted to his, there was something there—something nervous, maybe, but certain.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m sure.”

Joel nodded once, slow, measured. “Alright.”

But neither of you moved.

Not yet.

And that might’ve been the worst part, the way the space between you suddenly felt charged, humming, like a live wire sparking at both ends, neither one of you quite willing to touch it first.

Joel finally sat back, spreading his legs slightly, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How you wanna do this?”

The words sent something sharp curling low in his stomach, but he kept his expression even. Neutral. Like this wasn’t the strangest damn conversation he’d ever had in his life.

Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t expected him to ask that, and something flickered in your gaze.

“I…” You hesitated, shifting again. “I don’t know.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like,”

He meant it as a practical question. But the second the words left his mouth, something about them felt different. Felt thick.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, lips parting again—but no words came.

Joel’s fingers flexed where they rested, and then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“C’mere.” His voice was low, rough, unwavering. His other hand patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Your eyes went wide.

Joel’s gaze stayed steady, dark and unreadable, waiting, watching. And when you didn’t move, when you stayed frozen in place, teeth worrying your lip like you weren’t sure if you should—

He tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t be all shy now,” he murmured. “You helped me last time. I’ll help you this time.” A pause, thick with meaning. “Come on, now.”

Your fingers twitched, and then slowly, hesitantly, you moved towards him.

You set down the empty whiskey glass with a soft clink, and Joel caught the slight tremble in your hands as you made your way over to him. You sat beside him, close but not too close, your body angled toward his, but still not touching. He could feel the heat of you, though, could sense the way you hovered in that charged space, your breath just a little uneven.

Your eyes flickered to his, uncertain, waiting.

Joel let the moment stretch before speaking, voice low, rough with the remnants of whiskey and something heavier. “Now,” he drawled, slow and deliberate, as his hand rested on the back of the couch as he turned towards you, “what’s got you all worked up, hm? Why you nervous tonight? Weren’t nervous last time.”

You blinked at him, “Yes, I was.”

Joel shot you a look, brows furrowing slightly.

You were?

Hell, he was the one who’d been in damn ribbons last time, all wound up so tight he couldn’t even get hard at first. But you…you’d been steady, patient, pulling him out of his own head with soft hands and softer words, guiding him through it like you’d done this a thousand times before.

But now, looking at you, at the way your fingers twisted absently in your lap, at the way you were still hesitating, hovering, he realized maybe he’d had it all wrong.

Maybe you’d just been better at hiding it.

Something in him shifted at that thought, something warm and unexpected. And then—just like that—the corner of your mouth quirked up, barely there, but enough.

Enough to break the tension just a little.

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, watching the way your lips twitched with that barely-there smile, the way you shifted in your seat, still wound up tight. You might’ve been trying to play it off, but he could see it now. The way your body was holding something back, how much you were overthinking, just like he had last time.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and edged with something darker.

“How do you usually get off?”

He watched the way your body reacted to the question, your thighs pressing together just slightly, the way your fingers tensed against the couch cushion, like you needed something to hold onto.

“Joel—”

“C’mon, now,” he murmured, tilting his head, gaze flickering down your body before finding your eyes again. “You asked me the same question last time. Let me help you relax, sweetheart.”

Your breath came a little faster now, chest rising and falling, and for a second, Joel thought you might overthink your way out of this. Might shake your head, pull away, break the moment before it could go any further.

“I, um…” Your teeth caught your bottom lip harder now as your eyes flicked away, like you were thinking, trying to find the right words. “Tommy—he usually… he’ll go down on me.”

Joel hummed, urging you on. “Mhm.”

“And usually I’ll get off then—”

“Usually?” Joel interjected without thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you.

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes it takes a while,” you admitted. “So I tell him to give up and—”

“Give up?!” Now Joel was incredulous. His head jerked slightly as he wiped a hand down his face, like he could scrub away the mental image of his little brother trying and failing to make his own damn wife finish on his tongue.

"Jesus Christ."

You gave a small, amused shake of your head. “Not everyone is as talented as you, Joel Miller.”

The words left your mouth so easily, a throwaway comment, but the second you said it, your face went red, realizing what you’d just admitted. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, but Joel wasn’t remotely amused.

Because he’d seen the way you shrugged when you said give up. Like it was normal. Like you didn’t expect anything else.

No. He wasn’t having any of that.

His expression hardened, jaw ticking.

“Lay back.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting as you released your lip from between your teeth. “What?”

“Lay back, dammit. Pants off.”

“Joel, we’re—”

“You keep breakin’ Rule Number Three, doll, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t give a damn about ‘em.” His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost breathless, and Joel’s stomach tightened at the sound of it.

Joel was already moving, shifting forward, his body his broad frame eclipsing yours, forcing you to either back up or let him take what he wanted. You braced yourself against the couch, your hands gripping at the cushions as he hovered over you, broad and unrelenting.

“You don’t have to–”

“I said lay back, baby,” he murmured, voice low and firm, edged with something dark and determined. His fingers brushed against your thigh, coaxing, teasing, his eyes locked onto yours. “Lemme show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling too quickly, lips parting like you wanted to say something—maybe protest, maybe challenge him—but instead, you obeyed.

You let him guide you down, sinking back against the cushions, legs still bent, thighs pressed tight together.

Joel hummed at the sight of you beneath him, at the way you looked up at him now—uncertain, but wanting. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers twitched like you didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, dragging his palm up the length of your thigh, heat radiating from his touch even through the fabric of your shorts.

He should take his time, should tease you like he’d been dreaming about in the weeks between last time and now—the way he’d pictured you squirming, begging for him. But then he remembered what you’d said.

How sometimes it took too long.

How you’d just tell Tommy to give up.

Like it was your fault. Like you were too much work.

Bullshit.

Joel’s jaw ticked, something dark and dangerous curling in his gut. His fingers flexed against your skin before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down before you could say anything else.

You sucked in a breath, hips lifting instinctively, letting him pull them past your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands settled firm on your legs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your inner thighs as he spread them wider.

And fuck, you were already so wet, your panties clinging to you, a darkened patch right where he wanted to put his mouth.

His smirk was slow, satisfied.

"What’s this all about, hm?" he purred, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric, rubbing just enough to make you jolt. "Wanna tell me what’s got you all dripping for me already?"

Your breath hitched, a little mewl escaping you as you tried pushing your thighs together, squeezing tight, making the soft, puffy outline of your lips press perfectly against the thin fabric.

Joel swore he started salivating.

His hands ran up your legs as he sank onto the floor, knees pressing firm against the couch cushions, palms settling against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He wanted you spread open for him, wanted all of you.

"Tell me, baby," he urged, voice thick, coaxing.

Your throat bobbed, lips parting, your breath a little shaky. "I was…" You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the couch cushion, "I was just remembering."

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, heavy-lidded and dazed, thick with want. "Rememberin’ what?"

You met his gaze, lashes low, voice barely above a breath. "How good you made me feel last time. I’d never… felt that before. Not like that, at least."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joel let out a low groan, his cock stiffening behind his zipper, aching in a way that made his breath come slow and deep through his nose. You had to feel it, the hard press of denim against your ass, the way his body reacted to your words, to the way you looked at him like you were already cock-drunk before he even touched you properly.

"You felt so good, Joel," you murmured, your voice thick, dreamy, like you were already sinking into it. "Made me feel so good."

His fingers curled against your thighs, pressing in just a little harder.

"Gonna make you feel real good again, baby," he muttered, voice rough as his fingers hooked into your panties. He pulled them down slow, savoring the sight of them peeling away from your slick folds, strings of arousal clinging to the fabric.

"Open these pretty legs for me," he murmured, gripping your thighs, easing them apart as he settled lower, gaze locked on the glistening heat between them.

You let him hold you open, bare to him, and all Joel could think about was getting his mouth on you, making you come undone the way you were supposed to.

The way he knew he could.

Joel’s breath was heavy, measured, but inside, he was burning.

He slid his palms up your thighs, pressing them wider, his thumbs tracing firm, slow strokes along the sensitive skin. His hands felt big where they gripped you, broad and rough, like they could hold you there forever, keep you open for him until he was satisfied.

And right now, he was hungry.

His gaze stayed locked between your legs, taking in the way you glistened in the low light, slick and dripping for him, already so ready. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his cock pulsing behind the tight confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, almost to himself, dragging his thumbs over your inner thighs, watching the way your muscles twitched beneath his touch. "You got no clue how pretty you are down here, do you?"

You whimpered, a small, needy sound, and Joel felt it straight in his gut.

He leaned in, inhaling against your core, lips just barely brushing against you—not quite a kiss, not quite a touch, just enough to tease, to let you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds.

You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.

He smirked, the ghost of it pressing against your skin.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs, grounding you, keeping you spread open for him. "Ain’t gotta rush. Gonna take my time with you."

And then, finally he let his tongue drag through your folds, broad and slow, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit.

You shuddered.

Your fingers scrambled at the couch cushion, a broken moan spilling from your lips, thighs trembling beneath his hands.

"That’s it," Joel muttered against you, voice thick, satisfied. He dragged his tongue over you again, slower this time, savoring the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

He loved this—loved watching you come undone beneath him, loved the way your body melted, how you gave in so easily when someone actually took their damn time with you.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your back arch off the couch, another moan breaking free.

"Joel—oh my God—"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.

You were practically dripping onto the couch, coating his lips, his chin, and Joel loved it. Lapped it up like he was dying for it, groaning against you, letting himself drown in you.

He flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, before dragging it down, prodding your entrance. His hands slid up, fingers pressing against the dips of your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dipped inside you.

You choked on a breath, your thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel grinned.

"Yeah?" he rasped, pulling back just slightly, his lips slick and shining with you. "That feel good, sweetheart?"

You barely managed to nod before his mouth was back on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your hands fisted in his hair, and he groaned against you. He loved how messy you were, how you squirmed just as he’d imagined, how you kept whispering his fucking name, breathless and desperate like you just couldnt help yourself.

He knew there was a reason that was a rule.

Because it sounded too fucking pretty coming from your mouth, tangled up in all those sweet little sounds you were making, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

"Ain’t learned your lesson yet, huh?" he muttered against you, voice thick with sin, pressing a kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue over it again, slow and deliberate, feeling the way you jerked. "Keep breakin’ that rule, sweetheart, and I’m never gonna stop."

A little choked noise escaped you, hands pulling harder in his hair, but you weren’t pushing him away—you were pulling him in.

And fuck, did that make him ache.

"Bet you don’t come this quick for him, do you?" he rasped, letting his tongue dip down, teasing at your entrance before pressing inside, groaning as he felt you pulse around him. "How long’s it take you on my brother’s tongue, huh? You gotta work for it? Tell him it’s okay to give up?"

You whimpered, a full-body shudder rolling through you, your hips rolling up, chasing more, and fuck, that answer was all he needed.

Joel grinned against you.

"Not with me, baby. Nuh-uh. You come when I tell you to, and you ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get what I want."

His fingers dug into your thighs as he devoured you, tongue working you over, sucking slow, firm pulls on your clit until your whole body seized beneath him.

"Joel—"

Your thighs clamped around his head, hands flying to your mouth like you could stop it, like you knew you weren’t supposed to say it.

Joel groaned, filthy and deep, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down against his mouth, forcing you to take it.

"That's it, baby," he growled against you, tongue curling, licking deep. "Say it again. Come on my tongue saying my name, just like that."

You shattered, a strangled, broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed against his tongue, whole body trembling, thighs shaking around his head.

And Joel fucking loved it.

But he wasn't done. Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body twitching from the aftershocks, when he kept going.

"Too much—" your voice was a high, breathless plea, hips shifting like you were trying to get away, but Joel chuckled, gripping you tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Nah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked folds. "Tommy might let you tap out, but I ain’t him. You’re gonna take everything I give you."

And then he was back on you, devouring you, tongue pushing into you, working you open, tasting you like he was fucking starved for it.

You gasped, legs trembling, but Joel just held you still, broad hands locked tight around your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pinned you down.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in these moments. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like this before. He couldn’t remember another time a woman made him feel this insatiable, this hungry. He kept telling himself one more—just one more, to wring you out and leave you spent beneath him. But you were still so soft, still so wet, and he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled back just enough to watch the way you twitched beneath him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling fast. Your thighs gave a little shake where he held them apart, and fuck—you looked downright beautiful.

You were panting, wrecked, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, legs trembling where he held them apart.

And Joel was grinning against you.

Because you hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And until you did, he was gonna pull another from you.

And another.

And another.

By the time you came the fifth time, you were boneless.

Joel leaned back slightly, watching the way you just lay there, sprawled out against the couch like your body had melted into it, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Your legs were still twitching, little aftershocks making you jolt every now and then, and he could feel the warmth of you still slick and messy against his mouth, his chin, his fingers.

He wasn’t sure if you were even conscious after that last one.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tightening at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, looking like you hadn’t even processed what the hell had just happened to you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, pleased, then dragged himself up over your body, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. You barely stirred, eyes fluttering, a sleepy little hum slipping from your lips as his hand slid into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

You made a noise, something breathy and spent, your eyes opening just barely.

“Hm?”

Joel smirked. "You need a break?"

There was a beat, like you were trying to process what that even meant—then a sleepy little giggle bubbled up in your throat, your hands finding his hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Maybe like, five minutes," you murmured, smiling up at him, wrecked but glowing.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pulling you against him. You let out a surprised squeak as he stood up, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“What the—?”

Joel shot you a lazy grin, shifting you higher against his chest. "My brother would kill me if I told him I knocked you up on a couch like a teenage boy."

That finally seemed to wake you up.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes going a little wide as reality set in.

"Oh, god…" you murmured, voice a little hoarse, your hands gripping at his shoulders. "I can't believe we just… I just did that…"

And fuck, something in Joel sank at the sound of your voice.

Because he knew that tone. Knew it well—that creeping guilt, that second-guessing, the way someone’s mind started running ahead of them, thinking about what it all meant instead of how it felt.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t even know what came over him. He should’ve stopped earlier, should’ve slowed down, should’ve given you more space to breathe before he just took and took and took.

But Jesus, the way you responded to him, the way you gave it all back, the way you opened for him like you’d been waiting for someone to finally take care of you—

It did something to him. Still, he had to be sure.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, more even, as he shifted his grip on you, keeping you steady in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. "Ain't nobody gotta know. Stays between us."

You blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling a little too quickly, fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

“But Tommy—”

Joel shook his head, cutting you off gently. "Tommy don't need to know a damn thing ‘cept that we tried."

You swallowed, lips pressing together like you were still processing, like you wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how.

Joel exhaled, shifting his weight slightly, giving you something solid to hold onto.

"You still want this, don’t you?" he asked, quiet, steady.

You hesitated—but then, slowly, you nodded.

"Yeah."

Joel nodded back, just once.

"Then that's all that matters."

His hand smoothed over your back, solid and warm, grounding you. "We just keep doin' what we agreed on. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you nodded again.

And Joel didn’t let himself think about why that felt like a lie as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom.

Eventually, he laid you down on the bed, and you settled back against the pillows, your chest still rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. You reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it somewhere, your bra following it to the floor.

Joel took his time. He shucked off his jeans, then his shirt, watching the way heat crept up your neck, the flush deepening across your skin as you took him in. 

He told himself he just wanted to see your reaction—wanted to watch the way you took him in, wide-eyed and wanting—but the truth was, last time, he’d been so caught up in his own head, trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck he was doing, he barely let himself process it.

He wanted to commit this to memory.

In case it was the last time.

His hand wrapped around his cock, the poor thing aching, flushed dark at the tip, leaking, desperate for relief. He hissed through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he stroked himself, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second before he climbed onto the bed.

But before he could settle over you, you moved. You laid down flat on your belly, head toward the foot of the bed, your chest pressed flush to the mattress, your ass tilted up just slightly.

And right in front of you—the dresser mirror.

Joel’s body locked up as his eyes flicked up, finding his own reflection staring back at him. But then—your eyes met his through the glass, a little shy, a little hesitant.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His cock twitched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the base like he needed to ground himself, keep himself from losing control too fucking fast.

And then you smiled—small, soft, still lost in that post-orgasm haze, warm and pliant and looking like you’d do anything he told you to.

Joel climbed onto the bed, moving behind you, his weight shifting over your back as his broad hands settled on your hips, gripping firm.

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, watching the way you looked at him, watching yourself.

He smirked.

“You dirty girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he ground his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

A breathy whimper slipped from your lips, your body arching, pressing your ass back into him, and he swore under his breath as his bulbous, leaking tip caught against your entrance.

The heat of you, still soaking, still so tight, made his breath catch as he  lowered himself, chest pressing into your back, caging you in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his cock teased against you, notching at your entrance, pushing just barely.

"You wanna watch me fuck you?" he rasped, his voice low, dark, dripping with sin.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel rolled his hips forward, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open, slow, teasing, unbearable.

Your eyes snapped open, a choked gasp spilling from your lips as your gaze locked onto his in the mirror.

That wrecked, ruined expression, that wide-eyed shock as you took him inch by inch, deeper and deeper…

He knew was never gonna forget this.

Joel growled against your ear, his breath hot, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he bottomed out, stretching you open until there was nowhere left for you to go.

"Wanna watch your husband’s own brother knock you up, baby?" he purred.

Your jaw dropped, eyes going glassy, mouth parted in a silent cry as he felt you squeeze around him, your tight little pussy gripping him like you’d never let him go.

Joel had never felt anything this good.

He pulled back, just barely, before sinking home again, slow and deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every drag of his cock as he stretched you open all over again.

You whimpered, nails scraping against the sheets, already wrecked, but not nearly done.

He watched in the mirror as your lips parted, as your lashes fluttered, as your brows furrowed at the overwhelming sensation of it—of him, filling you to the brim, thick and unrelenting.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, grinding into you, pressing his full weight over you, hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm. "Take it just like that. Nice ‘n easy, let me feel you, huh?"

Your mouth fell open, a breathy little moan spilling out as he fucked you slow, letting you feel every inch, dragging it out, stretching it thicker, deeper.

Then he pulled back, bracing a big, rough hand on your hip before thrusting forward, harder this time, deeper, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips as your eyes flew open— and as he looked up and saw your face, he could’ve finished right then and there, your eyes flashing open wide and your wrecked voice crying out for him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hip as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass, the slick wet sounds of you taking him filling the room, mixing with the soft, broken noises slipping from your mouth as he fucked you hard, deep, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do this.

Joel’s body pinned you down, his weight heavy and solid as he laid over you. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move—just him, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, exactly where you needed to be.

The heat of him burned into your back, his chest slick against your skin, his breaths hot and uneven at your ear as he worked himself slow and deep, grinding his hips down into you, forcing your body to take everything he gave you.

You couldn’t move.

You could barely breathe.

Every push forward drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets, holding on as his pace built, each thrust sinking him deeper, stretching you open with long, deliberate strokes.

Joel groaned against the nape of your neck, his mouth grazing your skin as his hips rocked into you, dragging you forward with every heavy roll of his body. His weight bore down, pressing you into the bed, keeping you flush beneath him, letting him sink in to the very hilt, until you could feel every thick inch of him, filling you, claiming you.

He could feel everything—the way your body clenched around him, the way your walls fluttered, pulling him in deeper, tight and wet, keeping him locked inside you.

And in the mirror, he could see how flushed, how spent and wrecked you were, your soft lips in a perfect ‘o’ as he kept pushing himself to the hilt, your velvet walls constricting his cock with every thrust. He relished in the feeling, how deep he was inside you, how good you felt wrapped around him, how you had no choice but to take it.

Your moan was soft, needy, muffled by the sheets, your back arching, trying to press into him, trying to take him even deeper.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?" Joel murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your walls squeezed him tighter, your body locking up, every muscle trembling beneath him. One of his hands slid under you, finding your clit easily and starting to rub slow circles using two thick fingers, "Gonna give me another, baby? Gonna let me feel you?"

His hand slid up, his fingers brushing over your throat, tilting your face to the mirror.

"Look at yourself." he said as his hand wrapped around your face, thumb pushing into your cheek and fingers digging into your jaw as he brought your gaze up to meet his.

Your eyes met his, glassy and fogged, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he ground into you, holding you still, keeping you stretched full and helpless beneath him.

"You see that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening at your jaw, keeping you there, keeping you watching, “See how perfect you look takin’ my cock?”

Joel thrust deeper, grinding his hips against your ass, rocking into you, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you, keeping you full.

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time, wasn’t it?" he rasped, thrusting deep, holding you full, his fingers grinding slow and taunting against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"Go on," he growled, fingers and thumb gripping your jaw, sliding one up to press firmly at your lips before pushing past them, hooking into your mouth. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, a muffled coo spilling around his thick finger.

“All yours, Joel,” you whimpered, voice broken, wrecked, helpless.

Your words turned into a sob, your thighs shaking, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching down tight around him, your walls milking his cock, dragging him even deeper.

Joel groaned, his head tilting into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, trying to pull him in, hold him there, keep him inside you.

You heaved in breaths, trembling beneath him, as he released his tight hold on your face, your head met the bed, too wrecked to hold yourself up.

Joel followed you down, face pressed into your shoulder, holding you still as he thrust once more, deep and final, his body locking up as he filled you, spilling inside you, holding you down, making sure you took all of it.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his body covering yours completely.

Joel didn’t move right away.

His breath was ragged, hot against your sweat-damp skin, his weight still pressing heavy over you, pinning you down, keeping you filled, stuffed, claimed.

His arms caged around you, his chest pressing into your back, the lingering aftershocks of release making both of you twitch, shuddering in the same unsteady rhythm.

But as the haze of it ebbed, something else crept in.

His own words, thrown into the thick air like a brand, still hanging there.

My brother can pretend all he wants.

This pussy’s mine now.

Was mine the second you came on my cock.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes pressing shut, realization sinking into him like a heavy weight.

Jesus Christ.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He’d felt it—deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the way you clung to him, the way you let him take and take and take like you needed it just as badly. But saying it? Letting those thoughts slip out, low and raw and real—

That was something else entirely.

His grip loosened, fingers flexing where they’d held you too tight, his body finally easing up, lifting off you, just a little. Enough to give you air.

His mouth hovered at your shoulder, his breath still uneven, before he forced himself to speak.

"I’m sorry," he breathed, voice rough, thick with something he didn’t want to name. "I… I shouldn’t have—"

“Joel?” Your voice was weak, soft, barely above a breath.

And when he looked up at you, your eyes were open just a little, sleep-heavy, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he asked, voice gentler now.

You sighed, shifting just enough to settle deeper beneath him, your body still pliant as you rested your head on your arms, "Don’t ruin it."

Joel stilled.

You breathed slow, eyes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at you.

"It’s okay. I won’t say anything if you don’t."

Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time since the haze had lifted, he let himself breathe.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes tracing over your face—soft, spent, utterly at peace beneath him.

"Okay." he murmured finally, voice low, rough, unreadable.

And with that, he let it be.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698

[visdollie]

☆ having fun without me?

sum: vi isnt happy when she sees you posing on your insta story with another girl at a party

cw: wlw, angry sex, overstim, fem!reader, dom!vi, clit rubbing (r!receiving), dirty talk, slapping, name calling (slut), not proofread

fucked.

fucked is what you were when you realized the time. after countless hours of heartfelt conversations and a plethora of shots, you had gotten so distracted at the party that you forgot to get home to vi on time.

10:00 pm was the time vi told you before your friend picked you up. it was fucking 2:31 am. you already knew how impatient she could be.

"aw, leaving so soon?" a girl you met at said party whined at you with a tilt to her head as she watched you rush to gather your belongings and text your friend a quick "meet me outside" in an obvious hurry. the same girl you decided to snap a cute 'harmless' selfie with and post to your story.

you dashed out the door, leaving her a quick "so sorry we'll meet again soon!" before rushing to the parking lot, searching for your friends car with a look of fear on your face.

"im fucked, im so fucked!" you yapped her ears off, just watching her roll her eyes and drive you home.

---

shivers went down your spine as you steadily unlocked and opened your shared front door, avoiding making any noise in hopes that vi was just asleep, and would just penalize you in the morning.

you were practically on your tippy toes, but the creaky door did you no justice as it slipped out your grip and slammed closed.

"fuck." you whispered.

it was terrifyingly dark in your home. not a single peep or sound besides the loud ass air conditioner. you thought you were fine for the night, but no.. not until your girlfriend snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you back roughly as a yelp slipped from your lips.

"ah! vi.. you scared me." you giggled anxiously. vi could sense that you both knew the obvious issue which placed tension between the situation as she planted kisses across your collarbone.

"missed me?" she muttered on your warm, sticky skin in a malicious tone. you nodded your head, too nervous to say anything that could possibly anger her more.

she crept closer to your ear. "was having fun without me, yeah? takin pics with random girls, lettin them grab all on your ass? bet you had a great fucking time.. slut." she bit down on your neck, not hard enough to leave a scar, but harsh enough to taste the metallic flavor of your blood. you whimpered, loud.

"m sorry.. was jus having fun, n i didnt realize the tim-"

you yelped as she grabbed your wrist and dragged you down the so familiar hallway to your bedroom, muttering a rough "shut it. you saw this coming, baby."

the grip she had on your wrists tightened, her nails digging into your soft skin that made it obvious to you she was getting angrier by the second. was she angry because you got home late? or because of your oh so touchy friend? you assumed it was both.

all thoughts were snapped out of your head as she threw you on the silky, crepe pink sheets and immediately started attacking your neck with bites and bruises.

"mmh.." you whined pathetically, letting her take your brain over and dumb it down. her hand slid down your body, putting it up your skirt to rub at your clit at a rugged pace to make you more wet, as if you already werent.

your poor body struggled in determination to move away from her touch but her grip on your hips with her free hand kept you still. she lifted up from your collarbone, admiring the mess she made. "keep still, slut. shouldve been home on time, but was too busy out fuckin girls, yeah?" her pace on your clit grew faster.

"f-ffuhck.. was.. wasnt fuckin no one, vi! was jus havin fun.. d.. dont even know the girls name.. m sorry.." you babbled on and on hoping for some relief on your poor clit as she went faster each word you spoke. she had no plans of showing mercy, no way. she was way too pissed for that.

"yeah, right. she shouldnt have been touchin you like that, baby." a loud, harsh slap met your thigh, pulling a choked out moan from the back of your throat. "p-please!"

she felt you growing wetter through your panties, deciding to pause her steady motions to rip them off. she grinned at how wet you were. your pussy was glistening, practically reflecting off the ceiling light. you stuffed your face in your pillow in embarassment.

"so fuckin wet, its like you were waiting on this. prolly were, slut." she belittled you, listening to your whines of disagreement. her fingers rubbed up and down your cunt, lubricating them so she'd be able to fuck you senseless. sloppy noises of you pussy making her drip through her own underwear.

you keened at the feeling. "p-please.. fill me up vi! hurry.." vi let out a grunt of annoyance at your impatience. a rough SLAP at your pussy. yeah, that'll shut you up.

tears welled up in your eyes as you pressed your lips closed, a long whimper leaving them. "always so fucking noisy." your girlfriend quietly muttered before shoving two of her fingers deep in your cunt. "just wanna be stuffed full with my fingers, dont you baby?"

throwing your head back at the feeling, you nodded hastily. brain going dumb as she worked her digits in and out of you, thumb going at your clit. "tell me baby, did you do anything with that girl, hmm? why were you with her?" she spoke to you softly, as if she wasnt pissed a few seconds ago.

"w..was just a friend vi, promise! she.. haah.. means nothin to mme.. pleasepleaseplease.."

she snickered at your babbling, fucking you quicker as a reward of your honesty. you knew vi wasnt really worried about you leaving her. you adored her and she adored you on an unfathomable level, she just worried about your safety. (and had a big fear of other bitches growing crushes on you.)

"gon.. gonna cum.." you whined, legs trembling from how sore they were growing. vi felt you clenching around her rough fingers, thumb rubbing at your clit to loosen you up.

"cmon, baby. cum for me. let go all over my fingers.." her words made you sob out even more. you clawed at the sheets, cumming all over them with a long, drawn out wail.

she kept fucking her fingers into you, adding a third one. you started kicking your legs in overstimulation, whining for her to let up but she was relentless.

"tell me, baby. tell me who you belong to."

you doubted you could even speak properly due to the aggressive fingerfucking, but you made an attempt, tears dripping onto the sheets at this point. pathetic.

yet you tried anyway. "y..you vi.. belong to.. you.."

she faught back a laugh, removing her fingers from your cunt and planting a kiss to your forehead. you laid back onto the bed, immediately squeezing your thighs closed.

"you did so well, cupcake. but you arent going out for a while."

you frowned, rolling your eyes at her. secretly though, you didnt mind. if it means being able to spend more time with your girlfriend, you dont mind.

@ visdollie 2024

[fairestwriting]

Reader sleeping on the couch after an argument w/Dorm leaders? How they would react w/happy endings?

this got super long so i decided to change up the post layout so longer stuff would look nicer. But im also posting from a new device so if this goes up and theres any formatting fumbles then uhm. you didnt see anything

𐙚 Riddle Rosehearts

Despite how hotheaded and stubborn he is, it’s actually really rare for you two to really argue. He values your opinions on everything, and he’d hate for you to feel like he doesn’t hear you or care about your feelings. The last thing he wants is to make you feel like doesn’t care.

That, however, is something he’s still learning. It’s not very easy to let go of the habits he developed growing up— Especially if he thinks what he’s doing is best for you. He doesn’t know how to convince people, so he ends up coming off forceful and inconsiderate. It might even happen without him noticing he messed up, if you’re not extra straightforward about it.

So he knew you weren’t happy with him, but really didn’t think it was that bad, seeing you asleep on the couch is the last thing he was expecting. Even more if it’s the first time it happens, it makes him freeze go into panic mode.

You’re woken up to a really shaken looking Riddle, asking you what you’re doing on the couch at this time in very genuine confusion. He might not even have considered it was because of the argument, too focused on trying to figure out what’s up with you. And it’s hard to stay upset at him when he so readily listens to whatever you have to say, apologizing profusely and making a promise to not do it again that he’ll always keep. His intention from the start was to do what’s best for you, after all�� So if he turns out to be wrong, the first thing he wants to do is to correct it.

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Arguing with Leona is… definitely a situation. It might have you wondering if it even counts as an argument at all. Sometimes he just doesn’t seem to even react to what you have to say, sometimes he straight up states he can’t be bothered to argue. He’s not as stubborn towards people he really likes, but he’s still very proud.

He can actually tell that he messed up very quickly, pretty much in the middle of whatever interaction went wrong, but can’t bring himself to actually back down and admit it. He doesn’t even bother trying to convince himself that he’s right or anything, he’s just that allergic to saying the word “sorry”.

When he walks past you, his first thought is that he should just “let you sulk”. It’s probably not the first time it happens to him in a relationship— And the same routine plays out every time. He wants to walk away, but he can’t. He eventually does, then he comes back and stares for minutes. Regret starts to really sink in then.

You have a blanket draped over you the day after, and Leona just so happens to be around to ask, much more tentatively than usual, if you’re coming with him to get breakfast. It’s his version of an apology, kind of. He’ll actually say it out loud if the subject of the argument was more serious, but that’s rare. He’s not very good at this and the both of you are aware of that, but he still cares, and he’ll get there eventually. Maybe.

𐙚 Azul Ashengrotto

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, he might actually have the lowest argument rate out of all dorm leaders? He owes a lot of it to just being good with words, he pretty much always manages to bring up his disagreements in a really non-confrontational way, they’ll barely even register as disagreements at all. If he can’t find a way to seamlessly compromise, he often just keeps his thoughts to himself.

...Mostly because he gets too anxious at the possibility of you rejecting him. Even if it’s something small, it’ll stay inside his head and refuse to leave, getting dwelled on when life starts to get particularly stressful. If you two argue, the likelihood is that he actually started it, because some other minor issue came up and the pile he was mentally stacking ended up falling apart.

Things can get really messy in the moment. Everything sounds offensive to him when he’s freaking out, while at the same time he’s painfully aware that he’s being overly emotional and causing problems that didn’t exist before. He stops his rant suddenly when self control manages to return to him, but at that point things were already said, and you’re walking separate ways after he awkwardly suggests you two just take a moment to cool off.

He might not even see you on the couch, being too ashamed to leave his office, but Jade will let him know either way. Azul won’t disrupt your sleep, and he’ll even try to give you enough time in the morning to get through your usual routine, but as soon as it’s possible he’s looking for you to privately apologize. He takes care to clear up any misunderstandings before voicing any of his worries, even though it’s visible how nervous he is. It comforts him just to see you looking at him with fondness again, seriously relieved that he won’t be losing you over the situation.

𐙚 Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is another one who doesn’t really argue, but that’s not to say he doesn’t voice his disagreements, because he does, and he does it very often. It happens as soon as the thought pops up in his mind, spoken all lightheartedly. Regardless of what the subject being talked about is.

…Which can very easily become a problem. He does take all your boundaries very seriously, but you need to be very straightforward about them. So if it happens that you two get into a topic he doesn’t know is touchy for you, he might say something that comes off insensitive. And yes, he will ask you as soon as he sees the change in your expression, but the lack of tact doesn’t mix well with you already being upset, and you end up just walking away.

Only then he stops talking, freezing up completely. He can tell, that you probably want some space now, and he’ll honor that— but the whole thing doesn’t leave his mind for hours. He has no clue of when he should go look for you to try to talk and apologize, no clue of how he should even word it all when he doesn’t know what he did wrong. His heart shatters when he sees you sleeping on the couch.

He probably asked Jamil for advice, then heard that he should really give you your space, but he just can’t take it. You get shaken awake and he’s tearing up while he apologizes, saying he really didn’t mean to make you upset, that he’ll do his best to be more careful if you tell him just what went wrong, but also that you don’t need to talk right now if you don’t want— He’s a little clumsy, and very emotional, but you know he means well, and that he loves you very much, which he’ll be sure remind you of over and over again.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

It’s no secret that he can really nag people, but Vil really doesn’t like to actually argue— He’ll say it every time a disagreement or misunderstanding starts to get tense. Partially a self-reminder, he’s aware that he doesn’t have nearly as much patience as he would like to. It can take a decent amount of effort to keep himself in check.

You two do successfully compromise very often, but sometimes even his suggestions can come off very harsh. It’s no secret to anyone who knows him. His peacemaking attempts are still pretty blunt, and his opinions are never held back. It can easily get upsetting, going as far as feeling like he’s judging you even though he’s not.

Vil actually takes a moment to tell that he might have said the wrong thing. He’s not so proud he’ll refuse to admit his own mistakes, but he’s just… used to upsetting people. You can outright leave mid conversation and it still won’t be his gut reaction, he always believes whatever he’s saying and only wants the best for you. It can take a good few moments until he realizes you’re not just “sulking” the way his underclassmen at the dorm do when he scolds them. Finding you asleep on the couch can honestly shock him.

He won’t wake you up right away— It’s still important for you to get your rest, and he wants to really think about what happened before he says anything— but there’s no way he’ll let you spend the night there. His voice is really soft when he calls your name, waiting for you to gather yourself before he tells you he’s sorry. Gently reassuring you in whatever you need while he explains himself, he’ll make sure everything is okay before he touches you at all, wrapping you up into a hug when everything is finally settled.

𐙚 Idia Shroud

He’s freaking out, full stop. He didn’t even think he’d ever get far enough with someone to be in this position. Since when does he even have the audacity to argue with a partner he never even believed he’d get? Whatever he did, he wholeheartedly believes he screwed up big time.

...And even though it’s his anxiety talking first, he might actually be right. He’s usually really passive, doesn’t even voice disagreements beyond maybe just whining about not wanting to go somewhere with a lot of people. And even then, he might be willing to try, just for you — So what went wrong? Probably a messy misunderstanding, where he said a lot of things he doesn’t mean…

He’s honestly just expecting it to be over. Believing that you’re going to block all his socials and never speak to him again. The second you walk away, the only thing in his mind is the absolute worst, so when he sees you on the couch he’s… relieved? But just for a second. It means there’s still hope for him! You would have just disappared if you wanted nothing to do with him, right? But he also recognizes the trope, he knows he’s going to need to work to be forgiven—

Idia is just standing there when you wake up. Pacing around the living room and losing his mind. He gets startled when he sees you’re awake, like he’s terrified of what will come next. At least he’s had (more than) enough time to think about what happened… the apology you get is very much sincere, even if it gets rambly at certain parts, ending with the two of you comforting each other.

𐙚 Malleus Draconia

For obvious reasons, things can get tricky with Malleus. Whenever you feel like you’re really starting to understand him, something strange will happen again, it’s a real cycle. All the factors in his upbringing connect with each other to build a very specific kind of character. Even if it looks like you two are really similar, there’s going to be a minimum of a handful of details that just change everything.

He’s always careful with his words, with basically no exception, but sometimes he just doesn’t know what the “right” thing to say would be, or he doesn’t know what a certain cue could mean in the moment, or whatever he knows is something that doesn’t apply outside of specific context of the royal family he’s a part of— The possibilities are endless, but a lot of the time, it’s more likely that things will just chalk up to the fact you don’t understand each other’s perspectives.

He might notice something is off right away, he might think nothing wrong happened at all, it can be wildly different depending on the topic at hand. He’ll ask what’s wrong if he does notice, but even if you do try to explain to him why you’re hurt, it may not make sense inside his head right away. And even though he’s genuine and fast to apologize, it can feel cold when he clearly can’t tell what’s actually wrong.

When he walks by the couch you’re asleep on, it doesn’t even register as being related to the argument right away. He shakes you awake to tell you it’s not a good idea to sleep there because it gets really cold later in the night. Right now, he’s had enough time to process and understand the situation, quickly giving you a new, truly heartfelt apology. Even if in the whole thing, in retrospect, was a pretty minor issue — And if it isn’t, or you’re just not ready to forgive him yet for whatever reason, he doesn’t push it. The only thing he’ll insist on is having you sleep somewhere more comfortable, really.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[kizzmexoxo]

“Taught to Obey”

PAIRING - L.hs x OF reader x S.jy (Hee & Jake are both brothers)

WARNINGS - Smut, oral sex, unprotected sex, blackmailing, touching, slap (one time), voyeruism, slight dubcon, this is more of hee’s smut scene

WC - 1.7k+

a/n - This is one of my first fic I wrote. This will probably contain a part 2 (spoilers: will prob focus on Jake since this one was hee’s) depending on the outcome of this post. Have a good time reading and remember to separate reality & fiction. Thank you!

Part 2

kizzmexoxo 2025 © all rights reserved.

You’re a perfect student. Straight A’s, good reputation, everyone knows and loves you. A sweet perfect angel in their eyes. Though, you had a secret of yours. A dark secret no one must know. Somehow, someone discovered that secret of yours. What’s worse is that it’s the brother who you’re tutoring of.

Everything started when you were called by your professor to have a chat.

“Amazing grades as usual, Y/n.” He gives a big smile and pushed up his glasses that was falling off his nose. You give him a smile and nodded as a thank you gesture.

“I have a proposal for you.” He continues, “Would you like to tutor one of my great friend’s kid? He says he was finding someone dependable, and you are very fit for that position.” You were pleased about the idea, even though you did hesitate a little.

He chuckles, “Of course you’re getting paid. My old friend offered $500 per hour. Would you be okay with that?” He looks up at you with expectant eyes while yours widened. “Seriously? Of course I’m taking it!” You say with an excited tone. He chuckles at your reaction. “Alright, you can start tomorrow. I’ll send you the address and details in your email.” You nodded and thanked him once again before taking your leave.

Studying has been always easy for you. So tutoring other people won’t be that hard. You hope.

The next day, you finally arrived at the address your professor sent you. The house was quite bigger than you expected. I mean, the owner offered you $500, of course they would be loaded. You knocked on the wooden door. You waited for a while, yet no response, you rang the doorbell. No response again. You sighed and knocked while ringing the doorbell at the same time, trying to get someone’s attention inside the house.

Finally the door opened, only revealing a tall boy with messy black hair, wearing black hoodie and grey sweatpants with a furious but tired look on his face.

“What do you want?“ he didn’t bat an eye at who he was talking to since he just woke up from a nap. He rubbed his left eye, as soon as he dropped his hand he locked eyes with you. You stare at him awkwardly. “Im a tutor here for..” you looked at your phone, “Jake Sim..” you look up at him, noticing him staring at you with those dark eyes that made you feel nervous.

He looks at you like he’s checking you out. He was. He looked at you up and down before making space for you to enter. You thanked him silently and entered the house. It very modern and spacious.

You turn your head to find out what felt like someone was been piercing the back of your head and noticed how the man who let you in had a seductive look on his face. Or maybe he was just really attractive.

Before you could say anything, the sound of footsteps going down the stairs got your attention. “Sorry! I was taking a shower.” Said a man who looked younger. He came up to you, flashing you a big smile. He looked like a happy dog.

“I’m Jake Sim, you must be the tutor.” You nodded and gave him a smile back. “Y/n Y/l/n.” He nods, “Father isn’t here today but he knows you’re coming. Let’s head up to my room?”

“Alright.” You give him a smile as starts walking up the stairs. Before you could follow him, you felt an arm wrapped around your waist. “Make yourself at home, y/n.” The taller man whispers on your ear after leaving to go up the stairs. What the heck?

You arrived Jake’s room.

He leads you to his table as he sat on the opposite side of you. You sat down and your session has started.

It’s been an hour since getting to know each other and started on a topic he was failing at. You had noticed that in sometimes he gets touchy. Whenever you pass notes or paper to him, he purposely place his palm onto yours before he takes it. Or when he chose to sit beside you and start playing with one of your fingers resting on the table.

You didn’t mind at first since maybe this was his habit. Although his touches were getting intense. His hand now on your thigh, squeezing it slightly as you try to discuss this one equation to him. It just had been less than two hours.

I could feel his hand reaching higher and higher till his pinky finger slightly graze on your mound. That’s when I grab his hand, to stop him.

“Jake. Are you even listening to me?” I lock eyes with him. He still had that innocent look on his face as if he weren’t just about to grasp on my cunt.

He sighs. “I was wondering when you were going to stop me.” He smiles. “I wish you didn’t though.” His hand lowered but was still on my thigh.

“You should stop.” You remove his hand from your thigh. “Last warning, Jaeyun.” He chuckles and accepted his defeat. “Okay don’t be mad. It was just a joke.” He hums and shows a pout. How can you get mad at a face like that.

Minutes have passed. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You walked out of Jake’s room and met yourself with a hallway. You proceeded to walk with Jake’s directions.

As you continued to walk down the hallway, you met the taller boy again. He locked eyes with you and showed a smirk.

“You again.” You give him a small smile, walking pass him. “You’re familiar you know.” You paused your tracks. You turned around, seeing already him looking at you. “What do you mean?”

He took a step closer and took out his phone. You were confused what he was doing until he showed it to you. Your OF. Fuck. Your screwed.

You took a step closer trying to grab his phone but he quickly swing it away. “Hey there.”

“What are you trying to do with that?” He chuckles, “What? I haven’t subscribed yet. Should I?” He leans down close to your face. “Don’t show that to anyone.” You got straight to the point.

“Whoah, calm down princess.” He laughs in your face. This was very fun for him. “Who knew the ‘angel’ of the school sells her body like this.”

“Keep your tone down!” You cover his mouth with both your hands, not wanting Jake to hear.

Wait a sec. He knows you? Oh my gosh, how could I not recognize him. Lee Heeseung, the known troublemaker in the campus.

You never knew he had a brother. Though that’s not your concern right now. I gasp. “Heeseung.”

He held your hand to remove it from his mouth,“Took you long enough to recognize me.”

you sighed. “Seriously, heeseung. Don’t show that to anyone.” He scoffs. “Why not? I was planning to show jake.”

You hit his shoulder. “No..! I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

You look up at him before hesitatingly agreeing by nodding.

“I saw how Jake touched you back there.” He suddenly says, stepping forward, our bodies so close to each other.

“I stopped him.”

“Will you stop me too?” He lets wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, closing the gap between your bodies.

“Heeseung-“

“You said anything. Or you want me to show Jake your dirty pictures?”

You kept quiet. Letting him touch you.

“Do you show your little tits in this website?”

You looked away, avoiding his eyes and questions. That didn’t last long as he grab your chin to make you face him.

“Answer me.”

You nodded, embarrassed.

“Can you show me too?” He says breathlessly.

I look up at him again, noticing his dark eyes, craving for lust.

“Come on.” He grinds his body to yours.

“Show me and I’ll keep it a secret. Both your account and now.”

You sigh in defeat, nodding.

That’s how you ended up on Lee Heeseung’s bedroom, your legs spread out, your hand covering your mouth to avoid making loud moans. You glance down, the sigh of his messy black hair and his face digging into your wet cunt.

You whimper from his licks and kisses all over your cunt and your inner thighs.

“This taste so good.” He says before diving back in again. You can feel his warm tongue inside your cunt. His tongue pushing back and forth your entrance and swirling.

He teases you by giving a kiss onto your clit then sucking onto it. You moan

You wonder how many minutes have past. Jake is probably looking for you already. “Hee..” You whimper. “Jake is probably looking for m-me.. that’s enough..”

He looks up and chuckled. “I haven’t even fucked you yet. Now you want to leave?”

He suddenly turned you around, your face in his pillows and your ass raised up with your back arching. He gives your ass a slap. You let out a muffled scream against the pillows.

You can feel his tip, rubbing it up and down into your wet slit. “Going to fuck this pussy real good.”

He slid it in, he groans at your walls clenching into his dick. You let out a gasp after he pulls it out and rams in back in. You grip his dark grey sheets as he continues to thrust his hips faster.

His head rolls back while he continues pounding, hitting your cervix. Both of his hands gripped on your hips, making his dick slide even deeper.

Not even an hour in, the room was already filled with pants, heavy breathing, and moans. You wonder if Jake could hear you from his room. You were scared to get caught, but it was thrilling.

“Heeseung! Please hurry.. i still have to tutor your brother.”

“Step brother.” He thrusts faster. “And he can wait.”

It connected. Their last names weren’t the same, yet? You had no time to think about that as he fucks you like an animal. You let out a pained moan, but you were feeling good. Really good.

So good that you didn’t realize Jake watching the whole entire time. His eyes glued to you. Fuck you were so hot getting rammed like that. He wished he was in Heeseung’s place right now.

Heeseung glanced on his side, seeing his brother, step brother rather, peeking through his door. He gives him a smirk and continued to thrust into you harder.

“S-slow down..!” You whine. He looks down at you, sliding his palm behind the back of your neck and brought you closer to his face, giving you a kiss. He slides his tongue inside you as he thrusts into you, reaching his limit.

Finally, he lets it out. Your walls painted white by his cum. You moan gasp one more time while your legs shivering from the sensation. He lets go of your neck and leans back to enjoy the pleasant view in front of him. He wanted to go for round two.

He looks back to his door to find Jake gone. He scoffs and ran his sweaty hair with his hand as he turned to look at you again, fully blissed out.

You pant and took a glance at him, already looking at you. He brought his face close to you, his palm on the side of his face and gave you another kiss. “Let’s do this again, yeah?”

“You don’t want me spreading that little secret of yours.”

You stare at him, disheveled. What will you do now?