#next: mindfulness and hiking

[mapsthewanderer]

The Maze

Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.

Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.

Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?

Details: 4000ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but corresponds with in-game canons. Caleb. Just Caleb and his chip. 18+ psychological thriller/drama, plot with p0rn aka smut and detailed descriptions of god knows what. Explicit language. All warning tags and all that jazz. Do not read if you are just a tad sensitive, I promise. This is not for sensitive souls. This is angst. This is pain. This is suffering. If you value your peace, stay the fuq away—your whole week will thank you. You are warned.

Chapters: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter eight (final chapter)

Tags: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290 @justpassingdontworry

Surrender | Chapter seven

The Maze, the waterfall, Caleb

The first wave of resistance hits fast.

At first, it’s just a flicker—a glitch, a momentary misfire deep beneath the surface. A barely-there static crackling at the edges of his vision, a subtle drag in the circuits threaded through his nervous system.

Then—sharper.

A pulse at the base of his spine. A warning spike straight through his neural pathways.

Too much.

He’s pushing too far.

He’s not supposed to feel this much.

Not supposed to want this much.

The second jolt is worse—a crackle of electricity sparking beneath his skin, something tightening, resisting. His fingers dig into your waist, grounding himself in the heat of your skin, his breath ripping through his lungs.

He should stop.

He should pull away.

He should force himself back into something manageable, controllable, something that won’t send another violent surge through his system.

But—fuck.

The way you’re looking at him.

The way your breath stutters against his mouth.

The way your fingers clutch his shoulders, pressing into the soaked fabric of his shirt, gripping him like you don’t even realize you’re holding him together.

Like you’d never let him come apart.

The way your body reacts to his—heat against cold, touch against tension, fire against a machine that was designed to smother the spark before it ever had the chance to spread.

But he doesn’t want to smother it.

He wants to burn in it.

Even if it kills him.

His grip tightens at your waist, muscles coiled, everything in him bracing against another jolt of resistance. His voice comes out hoarse, gritted through his teeth as he swallows down the next surge, forcing himself past it.

“I’m not stopping.”

Then—he lifts you.

Water rushes between you, sliding over your skin, the movement slow, unhurried, but his hold is steady. His grip unshaken, even as another flicker lashes through him, rippling down his spine like fire in his veins.

His jaw tightens, a muscle feathering, his breath pulling sharp through his nose. His throat constricts, his spine stiffens, but—

He keeps walking.

Through the water.

Out of the pool.

Carrying you.

Carrying you back toward the bedroom—toward the inevitable—he moves with purpose. Your arms wind around his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as your nails drag lightly along his scalp, drawing a quiet shiver from him with every stroke.

His pulse is faster than it should be.

His breath—uneven.

But your touch—

Your touch soothes.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, you

The door slides open with a quiet hiss, cool air seeping in, stark against the lingering heat of your bodies, against the water slicking your skin.

Caleb steps through, his grip still steady, firm, unyielding. But there’s something different now.

Something raw.

Something vulnerable.

He lowers you to the floor slowly, carefully, almost too gently. And then—

Neither of you moves.

Not immediately.

Just standing there, breathing unevenly, eyes locked, the weight of something unspoken dense between you.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp shines against the water dripping from his clothes, casting faint shadows along his jaw, the slope of his collarbone, the sharp planes of his chest. The light catches against the small metal tag resting against his sternum, a glint of silver shifting with each breath.

A reminder of what he is. What he was.

His gaze flickers over you, his expression unreadable, something warring behind his eyes. His fingers twitch at his sides—a hesitation, something he can’t quite suppress.

Then, wordlessly, his hands move to the buttons of his shirt.

You do the same.

The fabric peels away in increments, water trailing down your skin, slipping over curves and angles, following the heat of exposed flesh. Each layer removed reveals more, exposes more, inch by inch, moment by moment, until the soaked weight of your clothes drops to the floor, one by one.

Until—

Nothing is left.

You stand there.

Bare.

Unhidden.

Exposed.

Just the two of you.

And for once—

Neither of you knows what happens next.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, Caleb

He could break.

He knows it.

Every second, every breath, every minuscule flare in his neural pathways is a warning—sharp, urgent, telling him that he’s pushing too far, playing with something too fragile, too volatile, too human.

And yet—

He chooses you.

He chooses this.

The weight of it settles deep in his chest—not control, not possession, but something entirely different. Something that terrifies him more than losing himself ever could.

Because this isn’t about taking.

It’s about giving.

His knees hit the floor—not as a man grasping for power, but as a man surrendering completely.

His hands find your thighs, fingers spreading against your skin. Not with force. Not with demand. But with the kind of devotion that hums through his bones, the kind of need that makes his breath come unsteady, the kind of ache that makes him feel whole even as the last fragments of himself threaten to slip away.

What’s left of him—that last, flickering fraction—isn’t meant to command you.

It’s meant to serve you.

And he wants—no, needs—to prove it.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, you

The moment he lowers you onto the bed, you feel it.

This isn’t like before.

Not a game.

Not a power struggle.

This is reverence.

His lips find your forehead first—a slow, warm press, heavy with something deeper than affection.

Then—your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your lips.

Not a tease. A promise.

The breath between you feels charged with something neither of you name. His mouth moves lower, a slow, melting descent, warm as velvet, soft as devotion.

Down your throat.

Over the rapid pulse at your neck.

Lower still.

Each kiss is placed with intention, carved into you like scripture, like he’s committing you to memory with every press of his lips, every slow exhale warming your skin.

His hands follow, fingertips ghosting over your ribs, tracing the soft curve of your stomach before sliding lower, gripping your hips—not to restrain, not to control, but to anchor himself.

Then—he pauses.

His hands slide over the inside of your thighs, thumbs pressing just hard enough to make your breath catch, your legs twitch, anticipation tightening in your core.

And then—

“Let me.”

His voice isn’t commanding. Not smug. Not even teasing.

A request.

No—a plea.

He wants this.

Not to control.

Not to break.

To worship.

Your breath shudders, heat pooling low in your stomach. The need to say yes is instinctive, undeniable, a pulse deep in your bones.

You nod.

And Caleb—

He descends.

The first stroke of his tongue is slow—not hesitant, not searching. But like he’s been thinking about this for days, mapping it out, memorizing every second, calculating exactly how he wants to make you fall apart.

Your hips twitch, a gasp slipping from your lips—

And Caleb groans.

Not in satisfaction.

In need.

His tongue flicks against your clit—before sinking lower, tasting you, breathing against you, groaning like you’re the first thing that’s ever made him feel real.

Then—a finger.

One, sliding in slow, precise, stretching you open with the kind of patience that makes your stomach clench, your thighs quiver.

His forehead presses against the inside of your thigh, his breath warm, his other hand gripping your hip just hard enough to keep you still.

A jolt. A small twitch in his neck, a faint tremor in his fingers.

The chip. Resisting.

You shift slightly, ready to stop him, to pull away—

But his grip tightens.

“I’m fine.”

His voice is hoarse. Raw. Wrecked.

“Never been better.”

His tongue meets his fingers, wet heat and precise strokes moving in tandem, dragging you deeper, higher, unraveling you thread by thread. He presses his free hand against your stomach—low, firm, just above where his fingers work inside you—

And you shatter.

Because you can feel. Every. Single. Movement.

Your spine arches, your thighs trembling, your breath breaking into a sharp, helpless moan.

And Caleb—

He watches.

Every reaction.

Every sharp inhale.

Every tremor.

Every second.

He’s learning you. Devouring you.

And when you finally break apart beneath him—

He doesn’t let go.

Not yet.

His lips press against your thigh—slow, lingering, savoring.

Like he’s just found his only remaining religion.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, Caleb

He should stop.

His body is screaming at him to stop.

Warning pulses fire through his neural pathways, static flickering at the edges of his vision, sharp jolts lashing through his skull, the chip pushing back, resisting.

But fuck—he can’t.

Not when you sound like that.

Not when your breath stutters, breaking apart into soft, gasping whimpers.

Not when your body reacts to him like this—clenching around his fingers, arching into his mouth, gripping the sheets with trembling hands, knuckles white.

Not when you’re falling apart for him so beautifully.

His breath is too quick. His jaw clenches against another sharp crackle of resistance, the chip seething inside him, fighting, trying to sever this before it goes too far.

But it’s already too late.

He’s past the point of return.

Past self-preservation.

Because the only thing left of him that still feels human—

Is you.

So he does it again.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t even give you time to recover.

He just keeps going.

Slow, patient, devastating.

His mouth finds you again—hot, wet, his tongue pressing into you, breaking you down just to put you back together.

His fingers press deeper, curling just right, dragging against that perfect spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, that makes your stomach coil too tight, too much—

His other hand slides up your ribs, not to restrain, but to feel—

To memorize the way you tremble, to map the way you react, to etch the moment into his mind as if this is the only thing that matters.

And it is.

To him, it is.

His breath hitches against your thigh, his shoulders tightening, another flicker of resistance running through his body.

He should be in agony.

And maybe he is.

But he doesn’t stop.

Because touching you is the only thing that feels real.

And when he makes you come again—

This time, it’s slower, heavier, the pleasure pulling you under like deep water, molten, thick, endless.

Caleb doesn’t let go.

His lips press against your skin, slow, lingering, his tongue giving one last flick before pulling back—

His breath is ragged, his body taut, his fingers twitching faintly from the internal warfare inside him.

And then, finally, he speaks.

“Come on, Pip-squeak.” His voice is hoarse, almost a whisper. “We need to get cleaned up.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, Caleb

The water is hot against his skin.

But your body?

Hotter.

You rest against his chest, your damp skin pressing into him, every inhale making you rise and fall with him in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. His arms are wrapped around you—not tight, not caging, just there. Grounding. Holding onto something fragile, something sacred, something he has no right to keep.

Your scent mingles with the steam curling into the air—apples, soap, the faintest trace of sweat, something entirely, devastatingly you. It fills his lungs, coats his senses, clings to his skin like something permanent.

His fingers drift absently over your thigh, tracing lazy, weightless circles beneath the water’s surface. His touch is featherlight, but every movement sends ripples through the stillness, distorting the soft reflections against the tiled walls, stretching shadows along the edge of the tub.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the suffocating silence of the Maze.

Not the mechanical hum of shifting walls.

This is something else.

Something he doesn’t know how to name.

And fuck, it’s dangerous.

Because he likes it.

Because he wants it.

Because for the first time in days, in weeks, maybe even in years—

He doesn’t feel like a machine.

He feels like a man.

His fingers slide beneath the water, finding your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there, absentminded but reverent.

It’s too intimate.

Too quiet.

Too good.

And that’s the problem.

Because this?

This is where he could lose everything.

What happens when the last, flickering fraction of him isn’t enough?

When the chip doesn’t allow this anymore?

When you stop looking at him like he’s still the person you remember?

His throat tightens, a pulse of static flickering behind his eyes, a warning he’s been ignoring for too long. His grip on your thigh tightens slightly, just for a second, just enough to steady himself.

He wants to say something.

Something that will keep you here.

Something that will make this real.

But before he can, you shift in his arms, turning slightly, tilting your chin just enough to look up at him.

And whatever he was going to say—

Dies on his lips.

Because fuck.

You’re looking at him like you’re waiting.

Like you already know.

His fingers drift lower, brushing over the watch strapped to your wrist—the one he gave you. The one that was supposed to be a reminder, a taunt, a cruel joke about time that no longer existed.

But now—

Now it’s something else entirely.

His thumb ghosts over the metal, tracing its edges, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath it—

And suddenly—

He feels like he’s running out of time.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, you

The heat soaks into your bones, the weight of exhaustion settling over you in slow, lazy waves. The warmth of the water wraps around your limbs, lulling, pulling, keeping you in this moment longer than you should be.

But it’s not just the water.

It’s him.

His breath, deep and steady, a rhythm that calms you. His chest rises beneath your back, solid, real, something to lean into. The warmth of him cradles you, holds you in a way that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—this is safe.

His fingers move in slow, absentminded motions, gliding over your skin, tracing patterns with no intention except the simple act of touching you.

A silent devotion.

You could melt into this.

Sink into him.

Forget.

Forget that this moment isn’t real.

Because it can’t be.

Because Caleb doesn’t exist anymore.

Because this can’t last.

And maybe that’s why—before he can break the moment first—

You do.

“I still see him, you know.”

His fingers still.

The air thickens.

The warmth of the water that had soaked into your bones seeps out, turns cold against your skin.

“Underneath everything. Underneath the programming, the control, the orders.”

He doesn’t move.

Not a shift. Not a twitch.

Nothing.

You turn slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, expecting something—anything.

And something is wrong.

His violet eyes are locked onto yours—

But they’re empty.

No flicker. No dilation.

His chest isn’t rising.

His muscles are rigid, locked into place, his body frozen in the way that isn’t human.

“You’re still Caleb.”

The words barely leave your lips before—

Static.

The sound isn’t real.

But you feel it.

A sharp, invisible crackle in the air, like electricity skimming too close to skin, like the charged silence before a lightning strike.

Caleb shudders.

Once. Hard.

Then—

Nothing.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, Caleb

Warning.

Critical malfunction in neural pathways.

Error—

Error—

Recalibrating.

But it’s not working.

The words are still there.

I still see him.

You’re still Caleb.

He wants to reject it.

He wants to override it.

But he can’t.

Because a part of him wants to believe it.

And that’s why he’s breaking.

The chip can’t process these contradictions.

His breath stutters.

His vision flickers.

The water feels too heavy, like it’s pulling him under, like he’s drowning without moving.

His fingers, once tracing you, now frozen against your skin.

He can’t speak.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t move.

The chip doesn’t know what to do.

So it does the only thing it can.

It shuts him down.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, you

One second, he’s holding you.

The next—

His body locks up.

His eyes are open, but there’s nothing there.

No tension in his jaw.

No flicker of recognition.

No movement.

Just emptiness.

Just Caleb, frozen in place, breathless, unmoving—

Gone.

You grab his wrist.

“Caleb—”

No response.

“Caleb, wake up.”

His muscles don’t react, his pulse remains steady, but his eyes—

His eyes are vacant.

It’s like looking at a statue of him.

A body with no soul inside.

Panic claws up your throat.

“Caleb.”

You shake him, harder this time.

Nothing.

You press your palm to his chest, feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, but it’s mechanical—like a clock ticking, like something detached from him.

You want to scream.

You want to pull him back.

But you don’t even know if there’s anything left to pull.

And then—

The bathroom light flickers.

Once.

Twice.

A short, sharp burst of static fills the room.

And then—

Everything goes dark.

——————————————————————————

The room is drenched in steam, heat curling through the air in thick, damp waves, the bathwater still lapping weakly against the sides of the tub.

Caleb is drowning.

Not in water—in himself.

It’s wrong.

Everything about the way his body locks up beneath you, the way his breathing stutters then stops, the way his eyes stare through you, unfocused, frozen—

It’s wrong.

“Caleb?”

No response.

Your own breath catches, panic spiking, because he’s still sitting up against the edge of the tub, but he’s not there.

His body is tense, muscles coiled like wire, his jaw locked so tight you can see the tendons straining in his neck.

And then—

His spine jerks violently, like an unseen force just ripped through him.

The sound that tears from his throat isn’t human.

His lungs shudder, his chest rising too fast, like his body is trying to force itself to breathe, trying to override something.

“Get it out.”

The words barely make it out.

They’re shattered, strangled, like something is crushing him from the inside out.

His body convulses again, his limbs twitching, spasming, his right arm locking into place at an unnatural angle.

“Get it out—get it out—NOW!”

Oh, fuck.

——————————————————————————

Caleb shoves himself forward, but his body won’t move the way he wants it to.

He’s stumbling out of the tub, hitting the wet tile on his knees, his fingers clawing at his own skin.

“Caleb, stop!”

You reach for him, slipping, your hands skidding against the slick floor as you try to grab onto him—

But he’s not stopping.

He’s writhing. Fighting. Trapped in a body that’s shutting down around him.

His right arm is dead weight, hanging useless at his side, but his left hand grips his own neck, his fingers clawing toward the back of his skull—

Like he’s trying to rip the chip out himself.

His breath is ragged, frantic, his body rolling onto his back, heels pushing against the floor, arching in pain.

His voice cracks on a guttural, broken scream—

“F-fuck—it’s—killing me.”

You don’t think.

You can’t think.

You just act.

Your hands slam against his shoulders, your body pressing over his to stop his limbs from convulsing, your wet skin sliding against his overheated body.

“Caleb, tell me what to do!”

His eyes snap to yours, wide, desperate, pupils blown so dark you can barely see the violet.

“Override.” His fingers twitch against your forearm, clutching, shaking. “Back of my neck. EMP. Override panel. F-fuck—”

His whole body tenses, his breath catching like a glitching system, like he’s stuck between shutting down and rebooting—

And then—

His eyes roll back.

And everything stops.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, Caleb

Warning. Critical malfunction detected.

Neural pathways compromised.

Systems failing—

It hurts.

More than anything.

More than battlefields, more than crashes, more than reprogramming.

This is deeper.

This is his own mind rejecting itself.

He can feel the fire of his nerves burning out, his body losing control, his right arm gone, his left barely responding.

His spine arches off the ground, muscles seizing, a vice tightening around the base of his skull—

“Override it.”

His own voice sounds distant. Shattered.

“Pip-squeak—”

He can barely force the name out.

“You have to cut it open.”

The words stagger from his lips, barely intelligible, voice strangled in agony.

“It’s—under the skin—back of my neck—”

You freeze.

“What?!”

Caleb shakes his head, his body twitching beneath you.

“There’s—” His breath hiccups, a garbled sound of pure agony. “There’s a panel—can’t—open it manually—you have to cut.”

His fingers twitch against the tile, reaching blindly, grasping at nothing.

“Blade. Something. Just—”

His voice cuts out.

Then he seizes.

A full-body spasm, his limbs jerking violently, his spine bowing off the floor so sharply it looks like he might snap in half.

His mouth parts on a soundless scream—

You scramble.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, you

There’s no time to hesitate.

Your body moves before your mind does—a frantic, instinctive lurch toward the counter. Your foot slips on the wet tile, your balance tilting, adrenaline surging, hands reaching—

The first thing you touch.

A razor.

Small. Sharp. Cold.

It gleams beneath the dim light, shaking violently in your grip as you turn back toward him.

Caleb convulses again.

A violent, spine-wrenching shudder, his head snapping to the side, fingers twitching like a puppet with cut strings.

He’s slipping. Fast.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are barely a breath, a whisper raw with desperation, breaking under the weight of what you’re about to do.

Tears blur your vision.

But there’s no other option.

You press the blade to the back of his neck—

And cut.

——————————————————————————

The second the blade slices through flesh—

Caleb seizes.

A guttural, choked noise rips from his throat, a sound you’ve never heard before, something torn from the depths of his body, raw and inhuman.

His fingers claw weakly at the floor, reaching, grasping, desperate—

His right arm hangs useless, lifeless.

The wound splits open.

Beneath the broken skin—

Metal.

A panel, embedded deep beneath his flesh, glinting dull and silver in the dim light.

Then—the blood.

It wells up thick and red, spilling down his spine, pooling at the base of his neck, slick and wet against your trembling fingers. The smell hits first—sharp, metallic, coppery. The heat of it seeps into your hands, sticky, thick, staining your palms, your wrists, smearing across the floor beneath him.

Your fingers fumble, scrambling against the slickness, slipping, coated in red, but you find it—

The small access point.

Click.

The panel pops open.

Inside—wires. Circuits.

And one glowing core.

The chip.

You don’t think.

You can’t.

You grab it.

And yank.

——————————————————————————

Electricity surges.

A burst of pure energy races through Caleb’s body, a violent arc of static burning beneath his skin.

His back arches—

A scream breaks free—

The lights overhead flicker. Once. Twice.

Then—

Silence.

Stillness.

Caleb collapses.

His body hits the tile, unmoving.

His chest doesn’t rise.

His fingers don’t twitch.

You are still covered in his blood.

Wet. Sticky. Everywhere.

The scent clogs your lungs, burns your nose, smears across your skin in hot, crimson streaks.

And you—

You don’t know if you just killed him.

——————————————————————————

Chapter eight

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: I honestly don’t even know what to say—this hurt me on a metaphysical level. I really wanted Chapters 6 and 7 to be posted close together, and that banner announcement was the final push I needed to get them done. Now I just need a couple of days to breathe before diving into the final chapter. Maybe we all do. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[fjordfolk]

puppy fever, might be terminal

[perryelornitorrinco]

Omg I think these were the best 4 days of my life, or at least it’s been a looooooong time since I’ve had so much fun for so much time

[mikkolas]

grieving giggles so hard I'm taking a stand and not watching games until she's home safe to me

[fidgetspringer]

Røsts collar is so pretty (the one with the orange and blue geometric patern) would you mind sharing where you bought it?

Oh thank you! I'm guessing you mean this one!

It's from BrynandCo on etsy, the listing is here :)

[iiguess]

✧･ﾟ: * 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 : 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 🌊

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways.

𝐑𝐄𝐃 🌹

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters /fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets.

𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 🌻

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains/ drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets/ angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams.

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 🍃

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grotto / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theatre productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 🦇

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife/ dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theatres / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces.

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 ☁️

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail /a longing finally satiated/ kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art.

TAGGED BY: @phantomuheist TAGGING: @agloryofuniicorns (Akechi), @ofhope, @memovia (Muyang), @mmxstrangers (Theta), and you!

[tonycries]

BAD INFLUENCE

Synopsis. Summer’s in heat and so are you - luckily, your aIpha knows just how to…help.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!oméga!reader, aIpha!JJK men, OMÉGAVERSE AU, heats, knots, size kínks, matíng presses, they go FÉRAL, pheromones, spítting, chokíng, GOJO’S POWERS, true form Sukuna, dp, tummy buIges, creampíes, p talking, bréeding, losing control, best friend!Choso, matíng bites, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. OvuIation has me like this…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Mr. Milkman

“O-oh my, mmm, Toji-”

“Quiet.” He’s swallowing down his parched throat, staring down at you through the gaps of his dark bangs- on all fours, your trembling hips rut back mindlessly into his. 

Sluggishly - almost hypnotized - Toji’s nodding his head down to take a sniff of those sweet, sweet pheromones of yours. Just a tiny puff before his body’s acting on pure, primal instinct- slamming every lengthy, vein covered inch of his until he’s thumping the bottom of your core.

Your heat was driving him crazy. His beefy arm curling ‘round your neck, nose pushing into your throat-

You find yourself sobbing out cutely, “Yes- yes, please mo-”

“More?” Toji doesn’t even let you finish. And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d be marvelling at the way his low, gruff baritone was breaking near the very end. At the way he could only plaster the reddened tip of his shaft against your walls and gasp—“M-more?”

Oh, now you’ve done it.

Now you were making him tighten his hold, a warm puddle of drooling splashing out of your mouth n’ all down his veiny forearm. “More, huh?” And there’s something dangerous to his tone. Something dark. Unsteady. “I’ll give you f-fuck- more.”

And before you can even register those words within your melty mind, he’s using the leverage to slam your trembling body to his-

“So much more you won’t be able to take it, doll.”

He meant it- oh, your poor, overly-stuffed cunt’s finding out just how much he meant it. 

Because then Toji’s fucking you into the dampened sheets like an animal- fast. Hard. He’d been rough before, but never like this - like he’d die if he couldn’t feel the velvety ridges of your sweet innards. 

Low grunts slipping after each swat of his geysering orifice, knees spreading even wider on the creaky bedsprings to feed your dripping pussy with his veiny measurement. 

He pushes a hand down at the base edge of your spine and grins at the way it makes your irises stupidly whirl—“Tch, s’this it? Is this what you wanted, needy thing?”

“O-ohhh just like that.” You’re mewling, hands fisting into the silken sheets when he’s surging his hips after the recoil of each thrust. Chasing your cunt. “Yeah- just like mm–”

Toji grunts, “This enough for my girl’s slutty pussy-” One of his raven brows raise as he’s taking in just how utterly wet you were with your heat, extra layers of your slick ringing around his hilt. “-or d’you still want fuck- more, needy lil’ omega?”

Your cute lower lip wobbles and he already knows the answer- hell, he’s fucking the answer out of you just as soon as he realizes.

A large, callused hand swats down on the slippery slope of your pussy with a snicker. So hard that a slimy squelch! rings in his ears like music, “Speak up. Tell me what your heat wants.”

“Ngh- I want-” Your back arched at the warm contact of his thigh hiking up, pressing to the side of your bouncing hips to stop you from squirming. Every maddening thrust just had you so stupid that you can’t even string together a coherent sentence at this point. “I want- fuck…”

And the next few pretty noises you’re letting off aren’t from your gaping mouth - they’re from your sopping wet pussy. 

Just the loudest, most lecherous slurps each n’ every time he’s opening up your every nook and cranny. 

Toji has to nibble down on his scarred lips to prevent himself from whining- “O-ohhhh, I get it.” You swear you hear his lips depart with a husky giggle - a giggle. And Toji can’t help but urgently lick off the honeyed glaze of your slick all over his digits, extra sweet now. He roams them back down for yet another spank. “This heat has you hah- talking t’me from here, huh?”

Another three strikes, and another few gluey squelches.

He’s sticking the pads of his fingers against your cunt and watching as you jolt at the raw stimulation, whimpering. “T-Toji it feels so-”

“Ah ah-” Ah, for a second he’s wondering whether he’s teasing his poor girl too much- but then he’s whiffing in more of your heady scent and shit- what was he thinking about again? “If m’gonna be used for my ngh- cock, doll, I wanna talk to the lady in heat.”

Cock so, so swollen that he has to swerve his hips ever-so-slightly to bully all the way inside, your pheromones so hypnotic that every where he touched left utter bruises. 

You were making him lose control.

You were making him gulp in a looong lungful of your clouded pheromones before he’s tumbling his head back and fighting for his damn life not to cream your insides already. Feeling just a pearly bead of cum escape the end of his shaft, “F-fuck, she’s gonna be the fucking death of me.”

“What are you–” You’re starting out, before flinching at the splat-splat-splat of something all wet trickling down the middle of your spine. 

Snapping your head around and oh- the vision you’re seeing is something so effortlessly sexy.

He’s never been like this.

Toji- with his head lowered near your scent glands, chiseled abs tensed, darkened eyes glittered with tears. They’re travelling in a thin line down his cheeks and splashing onto your back, “Toji are you o- fuck!”

“Don’t you fucking ask if I’m okay, doll.” Oh, he’s seething. Leaned in close so your fever’s catching onto him in full effect, every ragged breath of his punctures with a harsh thrash near your g-spot. “Don’t you- fuck, look at her n’ ask if I’m okay-”

Mindlessly, your head lolls down to watch as he slides in n’ out of your folds relentlessly. Your pussy bulging wiiidely agape, struggling to take in his sheer size.

And Toji’s thighs tremble as he’s groaning, “Begging to be filled up- begging to milk me dry. This omega’s begging to be bred by me, and you think I’m okay?” Jade peripherals dilated, canines honed, he was gone. “S’what you want, right?” 

The circular divot on top of his mushroom tip pushes against your sweet spots and you scream, “Yes- yes yes yes-”

“Shush, doll- can’t hear…” Trailing off, Toji grows quiet- well, as quiet as he can be when he’s making you squeal out after each jackhammer. “Oh…y’know what she’s saying now?”

“What?”

“Mmm—” Manhandling your head to splay out across his collarbone, he’s pointing straight inside his mouth. Grinning, “Spit in my mouth if ya wanna hear the answer, omega…heh.”

And it’s not difficult - not even a bit when you’re slobbering out pathetically with every tiny graze of his veiny cock. Hitting his ripe, pink tongue dead-on-

“She says–” Gasping once he’s lazing down his sloppy cadence just enough to make you feel the thick, swollen curve surrounding his base. So round and girthy that it was making your knees weaken - his knot. “-we’re havin’ a daughter this time, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - DILF!

“Kento, are you-”

“No no–” Comes his breathy answer, and you’re catching the way that Nanami’s bass hitches with each slip n’ slide of his cherry-red tip between your folds. “I’m quite alright, darling.”

And oh- you’ve known your husband long enough to tell when he’s lying.

Known him long enough to feel the way that his geysering shaft plumpens up inside of you, the shaky muscles of his thighs gluing to yours. Nanami drinks in another breath of your heady pheromones and thinks he can feel a part of his sanity genuinely splinter- 

“O-on second thought…” He gulps, slightly-quivering fingerpads pushing up on the metal frames of his glasses. “-your heat might be affecting me a bit-” And you’re making his poor, husky tone break when you clench, temples glistening with a thin line of perspiration. “-more than expected.”

Your hands wind their way around his broad shoulders with a pout, “You can go rough all you want, y’know?”

“My love, you’re just talking out of your heat-”

“I want you to go rough.” And oh fuck- oh, you knew every single one of his weaknesses. From the way that he’s gasping at the slight pout of your lips, to the shuddering of his fat, bulging mushroom tip when you whinily add—“Please?”

And Nanami’s big - more than big. He’s so prolonged n’ girthy with his shaft that it usually takes him hours to be able to bottom out, to even dare to try. 

But right now with your heat, all it takes is a singular, solid slam for his tawny happy trail to scratch your poor clit raw. For him to glue the pointed end of his shaft against the sponge of your cervix and draw a loooong glissade down, “Fuck fuh-fuck–!”

“Mmmm just like that-” You’re blubbering out, thighs thrashing when he’s starting to push a sensual, loving massage of his veined length. “Harder, Ken.” Too teasing that the only thing you can do is claw your way down to one of his wrists and mewl- “Harder.”

“But-”

And you knew he was being the sweetest. You knew it would make him break when you’re letting off a scorching breeze of your pheromones, watching in real time as it makes his pupils dilate. 

You’re tucking in one of his thick fingertips past your swollen folds, feeling the startling cold of his wristwatch - still on - make your outer pussy gush with saturated slick. “D-do you not want to-”

“Never think like that.” He huffs, he pants and that only makes the primal whirling of his head even worse. Slightly ragged. Slightly out of control. 

Nanami’s kneeing your thighs apart from his previously romantic missionary position into something lecherous that’ll have his slimy cockhead rovering the deepest. Banging the curvy end of his shaft dead-on into your most favorite spot until you’re seeing stars, “You don’t- you don’t know what this scent- this pussy does to me-”

A smug smirk starts tugging at the corners of your spit-glossed lips, and you can feel your scent glands beginning to heat up once more. “Oh, really—”

“Don’t-” Barely even able to let off a single cloud of murky pheromones before a sudden, engulfing hand comes slamming down on your throat so that he can squeeze. “Don’t you- fuck!” So he can cover up your scent- at least, that’s what it was meant to be, but in reality Nanami’s using that rude hold to manhandle your entire body to slam back into his. 

Rougher. Harder.

His leaky tip probes into every one of your battered orifices until you’re left speechless, gasping at the sheer force makin’ all the air depart from your lungs. 

“You want your alpha, don’t you?” He spits into your open mouth, and you can only gape because your husband’s never talked to you like this. “Wan’ me to haaaa- fuck this pretty pussy through your heat?” Never hiked his powerful knee up until he could pin down one side of your restless inner thighs with it. “Well you have no idea how you make me- ngh- lose my mind.”

And Nanami Kento, usually so put-together, couldn’t stop babbling from now on.

He’s leaving half-moon nailmarks down the side of your throat, “Have no idea how rock-fucking hard you m-make me.” Twitching so hard inside of you that the sensitive line of his slit engraves into the roof of your pussy, “Have no idea how I hck! ran all the way from the fucking office here.” He did - the very second you’d called him, right in the middle of his work day. Ran out, in fact. “And it m-makes me wanna…”

Your chin is positively glittered with drool at this point, and you can only whine—“Wh-what…?”

Your husband shakes the blond tresses out of his clammy forehead, like that will help clear his mind. “N-no, forget about it, darling I—” Only for all that work to be undone by a single clench of your gooey, circular-shaped insides. A single slip of his hands on your glands and he’s gasping, “-fuck! Wanna get you pregnant.”

And you don’t know whether it’s your heat driving him mad or simply you.

The way your skin burns up twofold with high temperature, heels locking at the dimples homed on the base of his spine to pull. 

All your mind was craving, “Please- want- ngh- want it.” Eyes tearing up in an adorable way you’d definitely be embarrassed about if this way any time but now, your scent screams need and that makes him salivate. “Unless you don’t-”

“You’d be pregnant with our tenth kid n’ even then I’m hah- gonna fuck you stupid, my silly omega.” The straight edge of his nose bridge crinkles in amusement. Head tilted, Nanami smiles down through half-lidded eyes as you’re taking up every solid thwack! Every grind. Every spurt of dewy wet pre, “The only thing I ever want is my pretty lil’ wife ngh- all round and glowing with my seed.”

And before you can even blink your tear lathered lashes, he has his hand teasin’ your drivelling cunt. Hard. Sloppy. You swear the tint of his hazel irises only grow carnally darker when you’re pouring out around him.

Thumbing down the crevice of your pussylips before pressing deeply on your clit- one hand driving you crazy, the other interlacing with yours so that he can bite down into your left ring finger. “So stop thinking stupid things and jus’ open up oh- reeeeal wide f’me- fuck.”

It’s so much- only one, two, three straight barrels of his ruddied tip until you’re crashing into your high. Taking over you like a wave - and just as wet, you’re hiding your eyes in the back of your head and squirting.

Mouth ajar, pussy quivering. 

Thick, translucent splashes straight onto the lines of his toned hips. Formulating such a steaming hot puddle that clings onto your thighs in a sheen, shit, he has to stop himself from craning his head down to taste-

Nanami’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow, “Fuck…” Roaming his tips to stir the lines of his veins across your sweetest spots, so good that it makes your toes curl- “Fuck. You’re lucky if we stop at ten kids, my love. ” 

♡ GETO SUGURU - Drunk-daze…

“Mmm–” Geto’s mouth glues onto your clit after each sodden kiss, amethyst eyes barely even visible through his unruly bangs. “Yer even sweeter when you’re in hah- heat, gorgeous.”

And so much wetter, too- a gush of your slick streams down the side of his chin and leaves your inner thighs all flooded. 

You can only clench your legs ‘round his sweaty scalp and whimper with every flick of his slimy, rovering tongue. He’s slipping them between your folds and lapping up every milky ounce of cum you have leaking out of you from all those hours before, oh-so-filthy. “Please- ngh- want-”

And he’s finding the way your hips buck up uselessly so cute- not that he’d admit it out loud, of course.

Sniffing out a chuckle, “Wha’s thaaaat?” The way he blinks his dark lashes up at you is almost hypnotic, pussydrunk. “Open that pretty mouth and use it for me, omega.”

He knew - oh, he knew what you wanted so badly. 

He could smell the pheromones dripping from you, the way your gorgeous eyes were all glassy with need. Every tiny slip n’ slide of his expanding tongue inside your hole only making you want more more more- you were still in heat. 

“Want- please-”

And Geto’s teasing with the way he’s languidly getting up to hover over your jostling body. Fat, knotted cock spanking down between your plump pussylips, exactly thrice. Geto seeps out his own calming jasmine scent as he’s rubbin’ your clit with the swollen base of his length. 

Watching your sloppy hole wink up at him and crave the stretch, “Heh- m’only here to serve. Tell me what you ngh- want, gorgeous—”

Your mouth sticks together slightly with a few syrupy strands of saliva as you flap them open, starting—“Sugu, I-I want- oh, fuck.”

You can’t tell him - you can’t even breathe once he’s waiting just long enough that your whiny voice is beginning to babble- and then pushin’ the curvaceous ends of his cock inside with all his might.

Inside, swabbing his way until your slicked walls bulge. 

It’s tight - hot. Your swollen folds are pried apart around the sheer circumference of Geto’s mushroomy tip, and the only thing he has half the mind to do is throw your legs over his shoulder to rut and rut and rut-

“Whoops.” Your boyfriend has the audacity to giggle - giggle, only stopping once he’s registering the sour stubborn scent of your pheromones. Apologetically thumping the flared ridge of his crown right against the roof of your cunt, it’s enough to have you shrilling. Tone lilted, “My heh- mistake. Promise I’ll be nice, tell me now- still in heat, hm?”

As if to prove his point, he’s slowing down just barely enough that the mazing direction of his shaft stops short of your g-spot. Where you wanted him the most. Croaking out in a panic, “Ye- mmmpf-”

But, of course, Geto Suguru was never that nice.

“Hmmm…don’t talk.”

In just mere sultry nanoseconds, he has your mouth stuffed with two of his lengthy fingers, your cunt overfilled with his cock. Bottomed-out. And yet, still pushing like he wanted that weepy hole of yours to remember his exact measurements-

Spitting. 

Twice - once straight into your mouth, and the second time a great, glittering dollop against your cunt. “No need to when you just wanna be mmm fucked, don’t you?” Geto’s spitting out in pure raw hunger against your sensitive ear lobe. Jamming the doughy crowns of his fingertips in circles along your cheeks, in sensual unison with the circular motions of his rummaging cockhead. “Isn’t that all you ngh- want? Isn’t that what this fiilthy fucking pussy’s been beggin’ for?”

Hissing out ravaged whispers every time the globular end of his cockhead thumps your g-spot. Geto turns his head and gnaws down on the shell of your ear just because he’d already bitten you all over your glands. 

“Fuh-fuck, Suguru- more- gimme more…”

“More?” Almost open-mouthed, staring at your fucked-out expression, you’re releasing such sweet, sweet pheromones that make the knot homed on his cock swell. That makes him gasp, shiver. “If you want more then take it, gorgeous.”

“Sugu-”

“C’mon.” Urging you with his sinful hips, he’s just so prolonged in his size that every shovel of his solid inches makes your eyes roll. It’s like he’s never-ending. “S’that all you can do?”

And you might be desperate, but he’s gone.

All but melting his toned body on top of yours, the ridges of his abs glissade down your front and Geto keens once your hands claw greedily down his core. “Tch- harder now. Harder- I thought you were in heat, omega.”

Fingers digging in so hard that it’s almost like you’re trying to draw blood. “I-I am.”

“Yeah right.” Nostrils flared, reddened cock furious each time he swipes it down the entrance to your womb. And teasing you was the only thing that kept him from fucking whimpering- “As if you can even handle this big stretch.”

Your breath hitches humidly, and you’re not sure whether it’s the heat or the pure yearning after the way his thick, throbbing kisses your treacly cunt. “I can handle it.”

“Oh yeah? Say it then.”

“What do you-”

“Say it-” Geto croons, head tilted down with such a sleazy smile. Smug. But you catch the way that the ends of his rosy lips twitch, the way his dark brows furrow, the way his strawberry divot spurts. “-say you want that hck! biiiig stretch, gorgeous—”

“I want it-”

Scoffing, “Want what?”

And he’s not just fucking you until your eyes swirl in pathetic circles- he’s slamming the curve of his rotund knot. Making sure to grind it in a way that just grazes your clit, “Say it f’me~”

Maddening. 

“Big- ngh-” Mewling, “Want that big stretch-”

“Stretch her out for me, hmmm–” Toying, he can only watch as your trembly fingerpads smear open your pussylips. Aching for more, your thighs twitch at the way his knot was pushin’ and pushin’ trying to fit, the girth so big- “Now how about you say ‘pretty please-’”

And you can’t take it anymore.

Before you know it- before Geto knows it, you’re saddling your heels into around his lean spine and flipping the two of you over. Slamming him down by his muscular shoulders, shovelling his proud knot right inside like you were going to wring him dry-

“O-oh.” 

Ah, you made the proud alpha stutter. Puffing out something raw from the end of his throat- eyes widening. Breath catching. Cock flinching as he’s shocked. 

He can only watch as the glazed, cherry-pink spheroid of his tip pushes past your entrance and slips all the way back down. And you swear the infamous Geto Suguru whimpers, you swear he’s smiling. “Ch-choke me, gorgeous?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Knotty boy?!

You were riding Choso crazy, you were riding him dry n’ the only thing he can do is cling on helplessly to the bouncing sides of your hips. Spit drivelling between his unfastened maw after each bounce, “Fuck- fuck! Baby, I don’t know if I even can-”

“But m’not done yet, Cho— ” You’re cooing, brushing away the chestnut strands of your best friend’s bangs. He’d agreed to help you through your heat- and here he was, fucked-out and blushing. 

Throwing his head back every time the rovering edge of his tip pushed against your womb, Choso’s chasing your cunt with his toned v-line. Letting the insides of your thighs squish his pelvis, “Please-”

“Hmm—?” You cock your head just as soon as he’s dredging up one of your hands with both of his own. Guiding it all the way up to his clammy neck- “Please, what, baby?”

You don’t even have to do it for him - Choso’s tightening your pretty hands ‘round his neck and letting you choke him. Drunken eyes whirling inside the whites of his eyes, he’s breathing in the air of your pheromones and it’s enough to make his plump knot throb. “Please- please, use me then.”

Oh- oh, his nose is just so sensitive to your heat. To you.

And the only thing you have to do is throw your head back to bare your scent glands- to let a murky puff of it reach his lungs, and he’s cumming.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Husky voice strangling in his throat, it’s all Choso can do to smear his meaty thighs further open and hit your sponged cervix. Letting the puckered, weeping hole at the end of his shaft plaster against the bottom of your pussy and flood.

In long, creamy swipes of his cock that leave your walls all bruised n’ battered. He’s milking himself on your cunt, trying with all his might to bead out every ounce inside of his balls.

But there was only one problem-

“Cho—” You’re gasping, once his orgasm didn’t feel as sloppy as usual. It’d been hours now, and Choso had always loved to make such a mess that would leave your entrance overspilling for minutes. And yet, now…“Did you just cum dry?” 

“No-”

Yes.

He did, and it makes his dark, dewy peripherals glisten with a hot welling of tears. “No, nghhh- no no no no- ” With one hand creeping down to cup his aching hot hilt and help rut upwards. “M’such a hck! useless alpha.”

You’re cooing, “Awww- don’t say that-”

“But I am.”

And he couldn’t be- he won’t be. All those days and nights dreaming of having you, his pretty lil’ best friend, like this would be for nothing if he couldn’t even help you through your damn heat.

With your sweetened scent thoroughly fogging up his mind, Choso’s fingers twist into a few cursed shapes- and suddenly you’re feeling the air between your sheened thighs buzz. You’re feeling it crackle with cursed energy. 

But more importantly, you’re feeling him harden. Gasping at the way that his red, bulging tip was now more than rock-hard, Choso’s prolonging his rovering cock so much that it was painful. “Oh, baby, don’t tell me…”

“Blood manipulation technique.” He’s giggling, thick lashes fluttering with every push of his hardened shaft into your springy insides. His mushroomed cockhead recoils from the back of your cervix and Choso almost whimpers at the loss of contact- just that pussydrunk. “It’s my duty, I hafta ngh- fill her up. Make her t-take my knot.”

Oh, he was going to have you so stuffed with all his cum that it was going to form a puddle right there on top of him.

And Choso’s already swiping away the glistening stripes of your slick spilling down his abs, pumping it back in with a free thumb between your folds. 

“Come on-” Panting. Heaving in your scorching scent. Bullying the fattened curve of his digit past your first ring of muscle, you’re letting off such shrill whines every time you’re hitting your pussy down to meet his touch. “Come on come on- take me. Use me.”

The mere words are enough to have your heat flaring up twofold, the tastebuds on your tongue sizzling with saliva after each impact of his veiny cock. “You want me to mmm- use you?”

“Yes! Use me use me- s’what I’m made for, please. Don’t know if I can even do anything else anymore.” He whines, and suddenly you’re too-aware of the rotund, pulsating girth of his knot.

So big that a chilling shiver runs down your spine, it’s the sheer circumference that has your thighs twitching with need. Your treacly cunt already fucking back in your sloppy cadence to try and take him on.

“You want to hah- knot me, Cho?”

Your fingers tighten on Choso’s flushed neck as he gulps- “Yes- please-”

Pretending to think for a few sultry moments, “Hmm, well–” Even though you already knew that everything from the thickly saccharine pheromones to the way your cunt quivered at his cursed energy told him that you wanted it greedily. “Only if you bite me, too.”

And Choso Kamo looks like he’s just entered heaven.

“I…I can mark you?”

You’re barely even motioning out your nod, barely even starting before it takes him one ripple of his muscular body to flip the two of you over. 

Sprawling you out on your back like such a slut, pushing your legs bent until your knees strike your tits, snapping his cock deeply inside before he squirts.

Not just cumming for an nth time - but Choso squirts, in thick, honeyed sloshes that take over your cunt. You swear you can feel it welling up all the way at your throat, and every sloppy drag of his cock only pumps it deeper and deeper and-

“Smells so good- feels so good.” He’s rasping out, a hand toying on your clit- just because it made you clench in a way that eagerly gobbled up his creamy dewdrops of cum. “O-oh, you’re gonna push me into a rut.”

Oh, fuck- your eyes widen, that was it.

That was the reason for the sweet chocolate pheromones taking over the air alongside your scent. That was the reason why Choso was more animal than man- more feral when he’s teething over your cute scent gland. He was in rut. 

Hand twitching on your nubbed clit, just as unstable as his voice was when he’s uttering—“Need you to c-cum now. The momma should ngh- cum if we want a baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Heian-Era Hard

“Keh, fuuuuck—” Any and every time that Ryomen Sukuna might have teased you for your humanly stamina was thrown out the window. He’s bending you into a lecherous full nelson with two hands, and swiping his sweaty forehead with another- “Makin’ even the king break a sweat-”

You’re blinking, teary gaze wafting over your shoulder, “Wh-what?”

“Nothing.” The garish mouth across his abs bites one side of your hips, just a little punishment. 

Honestly- your heat was just so strong that it had your tight pussy drooling all over the royal bedsheets. Sukuna’s dual cocks absolutely lavished in a thick gloss of your slick each time he’s spearheading you full, “Tch- but honestly, how much more d’you want, spoiled brat?”

Though, he wasn’t complaining.

Oh, never- not when he had you like this. His ruby-red tips rubbed raw down the soft surface of your cervix, Sukuna swats a hand over your mouth just as you begin to babble out an answer. 

“Don’t answer that- you’ll only talk outta yer ngh- fucking pussy, anyway.” Rolling his crimson eyes, he’s smearing the wiry ribbons of saliva escaping your mouth and gluing to his palm with a grin. “Messy girl, you’re drooling everywhere-”

“Mmm- I’m- mmpf-” And it’s as if just the sound of your voice was enough to send zaps of electricity racing down his spine. 

Breath catching, the matching girths of his cocks pumping up even harder- fuck, the smell of your sweet pheromones was already bad enough. He couldn’t handle having you whimper in his keen ears, too- “Why don’tcha just kiss me proper now, human.”

And before you can even think, he’s manifesting his second mouth to slash across his palm. Letting the thick, slimy tip of his tongue lap between your mouth and latch on in such a filthy, filthy French kiss. 

“There—” Sukuna coos in his gruff baritone from behind, and the swell of his balls tighten at the sloppy visage of you. “Hah, this heat has made you even more messy than usual, mama. Look at you.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to, because the rough hold that the King has on your face lets him tug your chin downwards. Showing you the bulging orifice of your cunt in all your stuffed glory, singing out the loudest slurps! every time he squeezes his two tips past your entrance. 

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Again and again until your legs twitch sensitively at the scrape of his winding veins down your walls, “See?” He has the audacity to snicker- “S’it make my human- my pretty omega into a cockdrunk little slut? Aw…”

“M’n-not-” You’re fighting to gasp through the slight gaps of his spit-polished hand, hips squirming at the way he’s probing your every hidden crevice deep inside. “But I do like…well…”

“Tha’s a lot of words to just say ‘take it’, heh.”

And he was making sure you did, your heat doesn’t even have the time to flare up and ask for more before Sukuna’s giving it to you. Pummelling it. Holding your legs pried apart with his beefy, tattooed arms that just make your mouth water, one more covering your mouth. And the last?

Oh, he’s creeping his fouth n’ final palm vertically down your tummy. Glissading across the tender, cylindrical outline of his cocks, being thrashed against your womb and fucked right through your walls. 

Pushing down-

He’s gnawing down on your bottom lip like cute bubblegum, “Oh, fuck! Kuna- oh my god, mmm-”

“Yeah, take it.” With a grunt, Sukuna’s thumbing his clawed digit over those precise matching bumps. He could feel the way they thumped two proud, circular bruises against the back of your dripping pussy. “Take it- take it and more, mama.”

If you weren’t stupidly cockdrunk before, then you surely were now. Dazed pupils heart-shaped and criss-crossing every time he was swiping down your g-spot. 

“You have to take it take-”

You claw at his wrist, “I-I am-”

“I know. Yer in heat- can’t go a single second without feeling my biiig fucking cock, can you?” And at this point, Sukuna’s only grateful for how gone you were because your pheromones were simply making him babble. Jackhammering into you like an animal, “Want it all deep inside-”

You’re whimpering, steady streams of tears watering down your face when he presses his fingerpads even harder against the fragile spot of your tummy bulge. Your womb. “-here?”

“Yess- yes!”

“Mmm—” Sukuna pretends to ponder, for just a split-second, even though all he could think about was the suckling sensation of your cunt and just how feverish you were. “Well, m’feeling generous today, brat. So I’ll let you pick.”

Confused, your chin hits your chest as you follow his line of sight. “Pick what…oh.” You knew what. You could feel it.

All the way between your legs and nudging against the bawling entrance to your pussy, both of Sukuna’s knots were fat and aching for your touch. Throbbing each time they skid past your slick-sprayed thighs, stronger. Harder. “Eeenie meenie, lil’ human. Hurry up.”

“W-want…” You’re babbling out, and he can’t stop himself from hunching over with his towering frame to listen in. Struck with the full force of your candied scent, his favorite. “-both.”

Oh.

It’s a tiny, sinful gasp- and it rips from big, bad Sukuna’s lips before he’s realizing. 

Before the words finally sink in and he finds himself grinning, oh, this was why he loved you. “Cheh, then…” 

And he knew you were talking out of your heat, he knew it would be a tight fit, and he also knew your poor, soppy pussy might not even be able to fit all of him. But that was what your grouchy alpha was here for - to make it fit. 

And he’ll do it.

“O-oh, fuck.” It makes you dizzy, it makes you wail- just the feeling of Sukuna’s second mouth enlarging across his tense core and wriggling the tip of its tongue between your pussylips. Stretching. Bending dexterously inside just to try and push his knots past your cushy folds. 

Half-rutting, mindless.

He’s barely even pulling all the way out before planting his feet flat and spanking your cunt with the expanse of his lengths. Slap after slap- hell, you think you’re seeing one of his own hands slither downwards to pry your entrance oh-so-open.

The stretch so mind-numbingly delicious that you can feel your vision splotch, your mouth whining–“Kuna, I-I don’t think it’ll-”

Only to be cut off by the raw, lecherous plop! of two hot, heavy knots being bullied into you. So thick that you can feel the velvety layer of your walls twitch each time he throbbed inside of you. 

And at this point, you’re not even sure you’ll make it out of this alive-

“And now-” His booming voice snaps you out of your little reverie, Sukuna’s scorched divots geysering out steady drops of pre. Blushing- and so was he. “-the fun begins.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - “P-pretty…”

It’s the one thing that can depart from Ino’s mouth other than the plea to simply set him free because your sweet, syrupy pussy was holding him hostage. 

Already having stuffed his aching knot inside of you mere minutes ago but still yearning for more, more, more-

Gasping. Whimpering with every slick swivel of his mushroomed tip probing every spot inside your cunt- “Pretty, oh-oh, I need to fuck you- again- can’t stand being like this.”

“Again, Taku?” You’re mewling once his hips start pulling back from the lewd mating press he’d bent you in. Trying- failing because the girthy circumference of his knot was just so much, so big. “Baby, your swelling’s still not down.”

“I know.” And he’s oh-so-tortured by the fact, breathing in your heat. You. “But I wanna- need to fuck you again, sweetness.”

Cooing, “Need to?”

He’s nodding- nodding and nodding until you’re wondering whether the long column of his neck doesn’t ache. “Yes, please- ngh, fucking hell, I have this sweet cunt all on top of me n’ I can’t even fuck you?”

You’re almost starting to giggle, the determined wobble of his lips just so cute where he held you- that is, until Ino’s fighting against his silky knot. Reeling backwards, he can barely even move at this point- only slow, sluggish humps that tug on the first ring of muscle at your cunt as if he was the one in heat.

And the stretch is so good that it makes your thighs weaken, nearly falling from their perch on top of his shoulders-

“No!” Startling you with a gasp, he swats his aching cockhead against your g-spot and watches you squirm. Panicked. Urgently holding your thighs back up, you can’t be finished- you can’t. “No no no- no- we’re not done yet, pretty, let me– let me…”

He’d read up online that heats can last about a week and he needed to fuck you till he physically can’t anymore. Till your slicked walls had memorized him.

Until he was wrung dry and raw, Ino’s plump thumb comes snaking down to press on the cute tummy bulge he was fucking into you. All bumpy with the solid press of his cock, doubled up on his wads of gooey cum, “Oh, sweetness, you’re not done with your h-heat yet, right?”

You’re shaking your head- difficult, with the way that his delicate grindings had your mouth watering with scorching saliva. Scent flaring, “N-no, still have more to go, baby.”

“Yessss—” Oh, you wonder if he even realizes what he’s doing when he’s using a free hand to pry apart your swollen folds. Letting out the rawest carnal squeeeelch! just as soon as he eases his knot out. “C’mere then- milk me dry.”

And he’s sensitive - so, so sensitive that those prettily blushing cheeks of his streak with tears by the time you’re bucking your hips up. Voice drunken, “Are you- ngh- okay, Taku?”

“Yes- yes, m’fine.” Stubbornly, he’s fucking his slender hips back in tiny, mindless ruts. Barely even pulling out, barely even able to handle being even inches outside of your warm cunt. 

It felt like fucking heaven inside of you with every wad of cum webbing your walls, your pussy greedily sucking up each thrust - and it wasn’t just the heat, Ino was completely n’ utterly pussydrunk. Prattling through his flooding mouth, “F-fine, tooootally fine- jus’ helping you through your ngh- heat like a good boyfriend, sweetness.”

Oh, but Ino’s sing-song voice was toppling, his toned chest heaving. 

Each singular swat of his geysering divot reached into your deepest depths and made you keen, “B-but you just- your knot-”

“And I can give you another one-” Tilting his head down to drink in your syrupy scent, it’s making him almost crazed. Almost feral- the entirety of his body runs stiff with a shiver once you throw your head back and clench- “Gonna give you all of them- so many- everything- make it so you c-can’t even walk-”

You’re being fucked into the rickety bedsprings like never before- and you can’t help but ogle at the way that Ino looked so pretty during it, too.

With half-lidded eyes boring deeply into you each time he’s bulldozing your g-spot, bangs gluing to his sweaty forehead like a curtain, rosy lips pursed and trembling- 

“R-right?” He almost sounded as if he was on the verge of tears as soon as your cockdrunk reverie lasts just a tad too long. Eagerly tugging on your clit to goad the answer out of you- fuck, your heat had him ruining himself on your pussy. “Right, pretty?”

“Nghhhh– yes, Taku-” Each split-second punctuated with the constant motioning of his sloppy cadence, again. And again. And again and again and again until you’re losing count of how many bruises circle your poor cervix. 

Ino doesn’t have the patience, he doesn’t have the need to even give you the time to think.

Big, pearly teardrops of overstimulation clinging onto his tawny lashes, “S-so you’re gonna be mine, aren’t you?” 

His- his mate. It’s what he was begging for, it’s what he’s rovering his slimy tip between your folds and making you gush for. 

“Yes-” Cooing, your back arches into the perfect curvature once a buttery glide of pre slips into your cunt at the answer. “Yes yes yes-” Your teeth skim across his throat and his ravaged cock flinches-

Clawing at the sheets himself, you could smell his own pheromones pitch up in response to yours. The temperature in the room sizzling so many degrees higher, the tips of his canines digging into the side of your neck hard enough to drag blood-

“Oh- oh, fuck–”

It could’ve been seconds later- it could’ve been hours. 

But you could feel the way that Ino’s mouth trickled thin lines of saliva once he stares at the now-marked scent gland at your neck and drools. Knot dangerously smoochin’ your puckered folds now, “And our kids are gonna be the ngh- absolute fuckin’ cutest, sweetness.”

Oh. 

♡ GOJO SATORU - PLEASE ME, BABY

“P-please.” Gojo’s spitting through the gaps of his long, honed canines- snowy brows scrunched and staring at you through such heady partially-lidded eyes.

He slicks out a thin trail of drool from the corner of his lips when another wave of your sweltering pheromones hit. Grunting. Pushin’ and pushin’ his face into the scent glands at your throat just to sniff—

“You’re not- ngh-” Whimpering. Shaking each time the gooey mess of your cunt was clenching ‘round his fat cock. He perks his slender hips up just enough to dig out a syrupy, ivory wad of cum from between your pussylips, “-you’re not done yet, right? This pussy’s still in h-heh…heat, right, sweetheart?”

It’s been hours by now since your heat had started - hours, maybe even days. The strongest had bitten you across every inch of your skin and was still ravenous for more. 

You’d stuffed Gojo’s thick, black blindfold between his pretty mouth for that, just to make sure that you made it out of this alive. And yet, he’s still pumping his red, bulbous cockhead between your folds like an animal, still gasping in the perfume of your heat. 

He growls, “Oh, please- please don’t you t-tell me s’over already.” Gnawing down on the fabric- he couldn’t help himself. 

“F-fuck!” You mewl, clawing down the sweat-glazed mounds of his muscular back. Oh-so-feral. “Toru, it- ngh-”

But the strongest wasn’t letting you answer, as if he couldn’t even bear to hear a ‘no’ fall from your whiny lips. He swats the raw, reddened curve of his tip over n’ over repeatedly against your g-spot to make you salivate all stupidly down to your tits.

“Right?” Drunkenly, he’s sliiiiding his nose across your neck and gasping in the sweet scent of your pheromones. Voice cracking. Octaves higher. Eyes wild. “Right? She’s still in heat, my girl? She s-still needs me?”

The dangling edge of his dampened blindfold strikes your chin and you moan, trembling with each rovering of his numerous inches. “Yes- yes yes yes- I’m still mmm-”

And that very answer seemed to make his big, beefy frame shake on top of you. Like you’d just broken him.

You’re making him so weak- and he’s just so large with his white-tufted pelvis squishing down on your hips, until the skin surrounding his base was all rawly pink. Letting go of the blindfold, “O-oh…” 

Collecting his breath for a mere second, Gojo sticks his clammy fingertips to the undersides of your thighs. Hoisting them with his strong arms onto his deltoids, he drags one palm behind his neck and keeps them locked - biceps bulging as he pushes you down, down, down.

A mating press.

“Perfect.” Keeping you pinned with only one hand, you can only watch as his handsome, flushed face tilts down with such a sleazy grin. “Mmmm, of course she does—-”

Of course. Of course. Trembling, he swipes the thick end of one of his thumbs down your slippery slit. “Look at her, she wants to be hck! filled up so badly.” The mere sight of those pearly white beads of seed from hours prior dribbling out of you, making his ravaged length twitch. Rolling over your clit, “Wants to be plugged up with my fat fucking knot, huh?”

His knot was just so achingly desperate where he was pushin’ it constantly against your treacly cunt. Again. And again. And again just teasing your first ring of muscle with the incredible circumference.

And it was a joke - partly. It was him babbling off of the top of his overheated scalp as he fucks you furiously into the rickety mattress. 

But you’re throwing your head back and sobbing at the sheer stretching pressure put on your hamstrings. 

“Please-” Gojo’s knot was just so big, the sheer girth enough to have your pupils roll dazedly in silly circles. You tremble, “Wan’ it ngh- inside again, Satoru.”

“Whoooo–?”

“…”

And Gojo has the audacity to giggle whilst he dredges up whatever’s remaining of his scattered brain, “C-c’mon, pretty omega- what do you call me~”

“…Alpha.” Pouting stubbornly, your pussy clamps eagerly down his base and he damn near creams himself right then and there. He’s swervin’ his v-line just right to stir your melty insides, slipping out husky grunts at every slap of his pre-glazed tip into your deepest insides. 

“That’s right.” He breathes- pecs heaving, tone airy. There’s almost something fragile in the way he is right now. “Your heh- alpha’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart—-”

You could feel him rummaging your quivering cunt, wads of sap sloshing side-to-side after every one of his direct hits. They were just so accurate and making your toes curl. “Close- c-close, Toru.”

And he’s just growing more ruined on your saturated pussy by the second. At this point, you weren’t even sure which one of you was in heat - you or him.

Definitely him- you’re realizing through your addled mind when he’s whispering, “And m’gonna be the ngh- best alpha- the best…dad, too.”

Both you and Gojo - lightly - gasp in sensual unison, just as bewildered as you were. 

Echoing out through a shallow breath, “The best dad…” His hazy peripherals fizz with slight bolts of cursed energy, like he’s following the rovering of his slimy tip inside of you like an x-ray. “Gonna- gonna wash the kids- oh, dress them, mmm h-help you feed them-”

Whimpering, once he’s cupping one of his free hands over the bouncing area of your tits. Groping. Parched mouth sucking—

“B-but I want some, too.”

The stimulation throwing you into such a frenzy, your wailing whines are practically feverish at this point. Eyes sparking with pure white behind your lids, “Please- not gonna mm last.”

“And m’gonna cook for them- and you, sweet momma-”

“Fuck-”

“Gonna take them to school, come right back home and ngh- fuck another one into ya all over again.”

“Satoru-”

“So cum-” Gojo groans, voicebox scratchy. His pale lashes flutter as his Six Eyes work into overdrive, he knew it wouldn’t be long now. He could see it. Smell it in your sweet, sweet pheromones. “Cum now because you’re gonna end up s-soooo pregnant already.”

And maybe it’s just because of your heat, maybe it’s because it’s him - but you’re cumming, easily. 

Thighs twitching with each flash of your high, you’re sticking them to the side of Gojo’s toned obliques to let him pound you maddeningly through it. The only thing you can fucking do as he’s hunching his washboard abs into you with what sounds like a whimper. “Yeah- yeah yeah yeah- take it- fuh-fuck.”

Gojo counts exactly five solid pushes against your g-spot before he’s able to bully his thick knot inside - and oh, does it break him. He throws his head forwards, leaking enough cursed energy to make your bedroom lights spark, sapphire eyes tearing up glassily at the feeling of your warm, cushy walls. 

Before you know it, before even he knows it- he’s sinking his gleaming fangs into the side of your neck and finishing.

Your pussy was just greedy, swallowing up every long creamy wad of his cum - layers upon layers being painted down your channel. There’s a noisy, lewd squelch! when it’s too much and you’re flooding out a puddle of ivory. 

Finally, you’re blinking, your heat was was starting to bate-

“S-sweetheart…I think m’in rut.”

A/N. UGH I could take them all at once (not in a fight-) Also this song has been in my head omg-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[novaimperia]

★ asking roommate!sukuna if you can sleep with him because you’re scared

“no.”

the door slams in your face, grazing your nose ever so slightly. you don’t know what you were expecting when you knocked at 2am — maybe you weren’t thinking at all. the booming thunder outside was dizzying and your feet raced you out of your room and down the hall in record speed before you could even process the rattling of your bones. 

you knock again. the door swings open. he is not happy. 

sukuna’s sporting a scowl, piercings glinting from the hallway light, as he glares down at you. he’s shirtless and wearing boxers that hang low on his hips, revealing sharp angles and thick lines of ink. on any other occasion, you would have swooned to yourself but now’s not the time. 

“please, s’kuna. i can’t sleep on my own like this.”

his brow quirks up. “and that’s my problem because?”

fuck. 

he’s not listening. you can’t even blame him — it’s late and he’s already warned you he’s not the sweet type, that you shouldn’t treat him like a boyfriend, and he doesn’t cuddle so unless you’re up for spreading your legs, you should keep your distance. but you thought since you guys have been having dinner together, going out for errands, and even building inside jokes that he might feel inclined to do you a little favour. 

“y-yeah, you’re right. sorry.” you jolt when the next rumble sends the apartment swaying. “oh! fuck. just…sorry. night.”

scrambling back, you clutch yourself tight, resenting the shudders running through you, like the storm has wormed its way in and is eating you from the inside. 

“ah!”

two huge arms wrap around you, lifting you up, back, and tossing you onto a bed. you bounce once. twice. sukuna makes an exasperated noise and runs his hand through his hair. “you’re an annoying little shit. you better not snore or i’m kicking you out.”

then, he’s climbing in behind you, lying on his stomach, faced buried in his pillow and paying you no mind. you’re in his bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you’ve been here before and will be again. it did occur to you that things might get awkward, but the way he’s not even the slightest bit tense and letting you hike up the covers over both of you even though he runs hot tells a different story. 

minutes pass by, you still can’t sleep. the storm is suffocating. just as your eyes flutter shut, a flash of lightning breaches the blanket of his curtains and a fierce roaring follows shortly after, shaking the bed frame. shit.

“quit shivering. can’t fucking sleep when you’re on vibration mode.”

“sorry.”

he opens one eye to judge you. “you scared of a little thunder? embarrassing.”

“yeah.”

grunting, he mutters something, as if scolding himself and throws an arm around you. sukuna rolls you two over so he’s on his back and you’re on his chest. he’s warm and hardened with muscles, yet you melt into him as if he’s a teddy bear. he smells nice too. 

you’re rendered confused, unable to reconcile his actions with the relevance to anything that had transpired in the last ten minutes. but…you hear it. or rather, you don’t. his body is shielding you from the sounds outside, distracting your senses with the feel of him, bare, against you. the thunders are washed away by the beating of something inside his chest.

quietly, you quip, feeling the need to cover up the heat rising to your cheeks, “i didn’t know you had a heart.”

sukuna scoffs. “yeah, neither. now shut up, don’t want to deal with your grumpy ass in the morning.”

maybe you are closer than you thought. though you won’t bring that up to him, knowing how defensive he gets. unspoken and subtle, you’re content with the way he shows his loyalty. it’s sincere and consistent and that’s all that matters.

so, you find yourself falling asleep dreaming of a fire engulfing you, drowning all else away, and laying a gentle kiss on your head. 

[classyrbf]

thinking about fucking professor!nanami who you met at a bar, celebrating your last day of summer before college classes begin again. With his blonde hair, chiseled cheekbones and those muscles popping out from his dress shirt may have made you a little nervous, but with a few shots of liquor in your system you gained liquid courage. His perfect smile and smooth voice only drew you in more, and god how his thighs looked in those khakis made your imagination run wild. The conversation ran smooth, he told you he was a professor, which led you to realize he was older than you may have believed, but that didn’t stop you. Honestly, it seemed exciting being with an older man considering you’ve been told many times that they’re great in bed.

So with a few drinks in your system and hours of flirting back and forth, you both end up in his car, in the back of some random building. Your dress is hiked up, and his hands are gripping your ass, guiding your hips up and down his cock. The aroma of sex and sweat lingers in the air, your bodies pressed close together as he thrusts up into you. The tip of his cock grazes against your cervix, your eyes rolling back. “You’re so fucking deep! Yes!” You cry out. And Nanami doesn’t plan on stopping, the intoxicating of your pussy gripping down on his does something to his brain. Having a pretty little thing like you on top of him makes his dick throb harder than ever before, especially with how eager you are.

His hand swats down your ass, grabbing at the flesh to soothe the sting. His breath fans against your ear, panting heavily as he succumbs to your warmth, basking in the pleasure and thrill of this moment. “You like it right here? Huh?” He angles his hips just slightly, flushed against yours as he presses against your sweet spot. You let out a pornographic moan, gripping onto him tightly. “That’s the spot, baby? Right fucking there, hm?” He toys with you, thrusting up into you again. Your body shudders in his hold. “Ohhh, yes, baby. Take it. Fucking take it.” He starts loving at an animalistic pace, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” With each brutal thrust, your skin heats up, heart rapidly pounding in your chest. Your brows furrow in pleasure, turning your head to catch his lips, feverishly kissing him. His tongue slips against yours, both of you moaning, panting, high off pleasure. “Ohhh…shit…I’m gonna—gonna c-cum!” You moan, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Atta girl, cum on my dick. Let me feel all of you,” he whispers against your ear, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you. “I got you, sweetheart.” His presses a messy kiss to your lips, each growing second your orgasm builds, and you already know how intense it’ll be. Your mind goes completely blank, incoherent mumbles and whimpers are all that are heard from you. Without warning, your entire body shakes, your orgasm raining down on you like a storm. “There she is,” he chuckles. “Good fucking girl.” He spanks your ass a few times, taking enjoyment out of watching you cum on his dick, still fucking him back as best as you could.

And the next morning, your up early in the morning, walking to your new class like nothing happened the night before. Thankfully it was your last year of college before you were officially done. It felt like a lifetime before that would happen though. You sat down in the lecture room, noticing a few faces from campus and previous classes through the years. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. All you were hoping is that the introduction was quick and smooth so you could go back to bed.

The side door to the room opened, the professor clearing his throat and setting down his things on the empty desk. “Good morning class, welcome to bio chemistry. I’m sure it’s nothing new for you. My name is Professor Nanami—”

You look up from your laptop, eyes wide in shock to see that your professor is in fact the man who just fucked you in his car last night. Why didn’t he say he was working at this college? Why didn’t you ask more question? You were so stupid. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you quietly whisper to yourself, hoping he didn’t notice you in the sea of students. “Are you fucking serious?!” You sink down in your seat just enough for the laptop to hide your face.

If only this class wasn’t a requirement for your major…

part 2 here

feel free to support me <3

[everlastingserenitys]

GETTING FINGERED BY YOUR STREAMER ROOMMATE ?!

pairing. Caleb x f!reader

cw. fingering you on a live stream, possessiveness, jealousy

a/n. horny 4 him again lol & not proof read !!!

streamer!Caleb who let you be his roommate for time being because you didn't have a place to stay, and he wasn't complaining. though, he didnt think much of it, but it was a huge distraction to his streaming side job.

streamer!Caleb who was currently live streaming as you were cooking in the kitchen. Caleb was talking to his chat as he leaned back on his chair, his bored eyes glance at the chat and to his second monitor with a wallpaper of you.

streamer!Caleb whose expression immediately changed when you walked in the room and gave him a plate of food, a small smile formed on his lips as he carefully took the plate from you, and god, he needed to kiss you, bad.

streamer!Caleb whose eyes landed on the chat and a certain someone said something that immediately changed his mood. Caleb’s eyes darkened as he silently read what the idiot dared to ask for–his girl’s number. he kept the username in mind, for later, of course.

streamer!Caleb who decided to try to ignore the angry thoughts rushing through him and continued the stream per usual. but an hour passed and the troll was back at it again, asking to see you again. Caleb quietly scowled at the screen as the troll continued to pester him with dumbass questions.

streamer!Caleb who clenched his fist when he couldn't handle the questions anymore, "you want to see her? want her number, huh?" Caleb teased and leaned his head back before he called you into his room.

streamer!Caleb who immediately wrapped his fingers around your waist before you pulling you to his lap as he angled the camera at the perfect spot. Caleb's fingers trailed under your tiny skirt as he hiked up the fabric revealing more of you each second.

streamer!Caleb who rests his chin on your shoulder as he stares at the chat, the troll still unfazed as he continued to shower you with praises and unnecessary compliments. with one hand, Caleb gripped on your thighs with an aggressive manner and with the other he slid your panties down.

"Caleb?" you whisper, grabbing onto the sides of his chair, and before you knew it, your panties fell slid down your legs and plopped on the ground. Caleb let out a quiet, amused chuckle before his fingers rested against your twitchy clit.

"what is it, pipsqueak?" his teasing voice soothed against your ears, Caleb rubbed small circles against your clit and you let out a whine, squirming beneath him. Caleb glanced at the chat and the troll's comments started to end up more degrading.

"y'see this?" Caleb whispered, slipping a finger in your soaking cunt, the movements from his one finger working so well inside you almost made you cum at the spot, which also made you grip on his chair even tighter.

a low unsteady moan escaped your lips and you buck your hips the slightest and thats when you felt Calebs boner poke against your ass. Caleb told you to stay put before he slid another finger inside you.

"how're you feelin'? both of you." Caleb asked you, and the idiot in the chat. you whimpered and nodded quickly in response while the troll in the stream just sent a '...' in response.

"still want that number?" Caleb teased.

"go on pipsqueak, tell him your number."

Caleb's fingers curled inside you and you shamelessly listen to him as you started reciting the first three digits of your number. Caleb laughs and continues to senselessly fucks your cunt with his fingers.

"silly girl."

before you could get to the next three digits, Caleb leaned in and ended the stream, continuing to finger you on his lap.

"cale– 'm gonna cum!" you gasp, riding out your orgasm on his fingers. Caleb nodded and rested his forehead against your shoulder. a wave of pleasure rushed through you when you felt the white mixture pool down your pussy.

streamer!Caleb who carried you to the bed and climbed on top of you, his necklace dangling above your face before he leaned in and planted small kisses along your face.

"we're not done."

[esote-rika]

Red is Your Color | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: You just committed perhaps the most atrocious wrongly sent message ever. By some trick of nature, your coworker is more than willing to play along. (This is from @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient prompt list. Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker; check out her prompts, they're really fun!)

Content: softdom!spencer, fingering, multiple orgasms (female receiving), p in v, creampie, reader is on the pill, Spencer calls reader a naughty girl and pretty girl, tenderness and lots of checking in, vaguely Christmas themed. 

Word count:  3.1k

A/N: I read something really poetic and profound yesterday and it inspired me to write, but my mind was in the gutter, so this happened. lmfao happy holidays. UNEDITED, I wrote this at 2 in the morning T.T

Do you think Santa would bend me over and punish me?

Spencer Reid was almost too scared to even open the following messages—he’d already made the mistake of opening this one. And there was a barrage of them, sent a few minutes after the very first one, in quick succession, one right after the other. His phone buzzed and buzzed, matching the distracting hum in his brain at the moment. He should probably read the next messages, because surely, surely those contain the explanation to this one.

Unfortunately, his eyes were glued on this first one—it seemed like it was the only one that contained a picture, after all, and what was that they said about a picture saying a thousand words?

What could it mean then, this picture his coworker had sent to him? What did it mean that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it? (What did it imply if he didn’t want to? That he liked the picture? That it made his pants uncomfortably tighter?)

He stared at the picture, his eyes greedily taking every inch of smooth skin exposed by the short, strapless sexy Santa dress his coworker was wearing. It wasn’t explicit—she was fully dressed, after all, but the caption, paired with the way she had been posed… Sitting on what he presumed was her bathroom counter, her legs artfully crossed, the fabric of the dress hiked up to reveal long, luscious thighs. With her pursed lips painted crimson, it was obvious what the message was meant to imply and Spencer felt his mouth grow dry. He shifted on his seat, both hands gripping his phone because he didn’t trust them not to wander down, to give himself relief.

No, he should not be jerking off to his coworker. He shouldn’t even be fucking looking at this photo. He should delete it, call Penelope and ask her to rewire his cloud or memory or data or whatever it was called. Just to get rid of it from his phone. That would be the decent thing to do, and Spencer had always prided himself on being a gentleman. 

He knew that would be futile; knew his mind would be treacherous and have the image of her with those supple thighs, and red mouth in his dreams, his nightmares, in every fantasy—

His phone was ringing.

He stared at it, wondering how she was sending so many messages so quickly, before he realized that she wasn’t texting anymore.

She was calling.

His thumb found the answer button without his consent. The next thing he knew, her voice was pouring from his phone’s speaker. Soft. Contrite. Embarrassed. He frowned. What on earth was she embarrassed about, he wondered. She, who looked stunning, who looked good enough to be worshipped—

“—Please say something, Spence.” she was saying, pleading, and something in his gut clenched. That nickname, coming from her lips. That nickname, coming from her lips, while she was wearing that dress.

“Spence—”

“It’s all right,” his voice was strangled. He cleared his throat, “It’s all right. I’ve deleted it.” Lie, what a liar, she deserved better than hastily told lies.

“Okay,” she sighed, relief palpable even without seeing her face to face, “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with HR, on top of everything.”

HR. He almost laughed. They wouldn’t care (unless someone blabbed, like what happened with Derek and Penelope, but he would never do that to her, not in a million years.)

“You wouldn’t, I promise… it wasn’t even that explicit, if I’m being honest.” he heard himself say. He rubbed his eyes in frustration—why did he have to add that?

Her laughter floats from the phone, nervous and low. “I guess not. I wasn’t about to send a complete nude to my friends.”

He straightened up, confused. “Your friends?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice still wavering nervously, “Like I said in my texts, it was wrongly sent to you, I was talking to my friends.”

In other words, it wasn’t for him. He would have known that, had he opened her texts, had he not been too busy ogling the picture she had mistakenly sent, the picture that wasn’t even for him. Something unpleasant burned in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of the curiosity that lingered.

“You send explicit pictures to your friends?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that explicit,” she chuckled, “But, uh, yeah I do… I dunno, maybe that’s weird, but we were joking around.”

That was something new he learned today. That friends could casually send sexually charged photos to each other. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So you don’t actually want to be bent over and punished?”

Dear heavens, sometimes he understood why his teammates gave him weird looks. If he had a mirror, he would give himself a weird look. Still, he held his breath for her answer, surprised by the wave of disappointment at the thought of her saying no, it was just a silly text.

The pause grew between them, and Spencer was almost about to apologize, when she spoke again.

“I mean, if someone were willing to do it…”

He swallowed. His pants felt tight once again, and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. This was not an invitation, he thought, she had not asked him, she was not saying if you wanted to do it (which, he does, desperately so.)

“Right.” he managed to croak. Another pause, as if she was contemplating. 

“Spencer,” she was whispering now, “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

You’re not sure what possessed you into inviting your coworker over, but you did. And now, you’re sitting in your living room, in that blasted sexy Santa dress, panic texting your friends about it. He had said fifteen minutes. Eight minutes had gone by, and you knew he would fulfill his promise. He would be here in seven minutes.

Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to agree. Your perception of Spencer Reid has always been of a sweet genius, wholly brilliant and too preoccupied with academics to even give a second thought to sex and romance. He was a germaphobe, for crying out loud, you had thought it would make him have some sort of aversion to the inevitable sticky, sweaty mess of two bodies coming together. 

But you’d heard it in his voice. Strained, low, and riddled with desire. 

So you had mustered enough courage to ask. And now—

Your doorbell cut through your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into a drawer, not wanting to see the offensive piece of technology for the rest of the night. You looked out through the peephole, and there he was, still in his office clothes. Tall, and slender, and dishevelled and yours for the night.

You pulled the door open, ignoring the heavy thump in your chest. 

He smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” You teased, standing aside to let him in. His eyes were glued to you, pupils dilating as he took you in.

“You’re still wearing the dress.”

Right. Once you had realized you sent the text to Spencer instead of your friends, you had spent the next several minutes in agonizing anxiety, sending text after text to Spencer in an effort to explain. In your utter mortification, you had forgotten to change out of it.

He seemed to like that. It gave you enough confidence to surge forward, blindly, recklessly.

“I am.” You said, red lips tugging into a smile you reserved for handsome strangers at a bar. You lowered your voice, just enough for the next words to come out breathless, “Honestly, it’s a little itchy.” 

“Is it?” He stepped forward, crowding you into the door. It creaks as it moves with your weight, the knob clicking in place. He reached forward, and you held your breath, anticipating his hands on you, gently running over your skin, but instead they closed over the doorknob, locking it. He didn’t miss your reaction, though, his eyes a glittering night sky of sweet, utter want. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

You nodded, mouth parted in silence, whatever words you wanted to say have died in your throat.

He brought his hand up, caressing your jaw, and you marvelled at how large his hands are, long fingers reaching the nape of your neck. “Red is your color.” he murmured, before leaning in to capture your lips.

His lips were cold and chapped, and you returned his kiss eagerly in an attempt to warm them. Your mouth opens at one swipe of his tongue, moaning as he leans his whole body into you, pushing you harder against the door. Tonight, you learned that Spencer Reid, the sweet, unassuming genius, kisses like he wants to crawl into you. It’s a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth, and a whimper escaped your mouth as he bit your lower lip.

“Too much?” he asked, pulling away for a moment. 

As an answer, you wrapped your hands around his neck, and returned the fervor of his kisses. You heard him chuckle, felt it on your own tongue as it happened and it made your knees buckle from sheer want. 

His arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up into his embrace. You felt him move, stumbling across your apartment before setting you down again. The blunt edge of a drawer hit your lower back, just as he pulled away. 

A whine left your lips. You didn’t know if it was from the pain, or the loss of his kiss.

“Turn around, darling.” he murmured, but your brain was so damn distracted you just stared at him blankly. He grinned, hands at your hips gently maneuvering you to face away from him. “You said you wanted to be bent over.” 

Chills went down your spine as he pushed you forward, elbows landing on the smooth, wooden desk. 

“Y-yeah, I did say that.” you managed to reply. This time, the breathless quality in your voice was not an affectation. You felt his nose on your neck, pushing away the stray locks of hair, before his mouth landed over the skin, open and wet, traversing the expanse of your flesh with reckless ardor. You moaned, craning your head back in a wordless plea for more.

You felt teeth, the sting of it clamping over your flesh. You didn’t even realize you’d yelped until he stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered, soothing the bite with his kisses.

“It’s okay,” You replied, one hand reaching up, running through his hair. “Do it again.”

The rumble of his laughter made your stomach warm. He sunk his teeth into your neck again, sucked at the spot he bit, and you would have face planted into the desk had it not been for his hands holding you up. 

“You’re a naughty girl,” he purred against your skin, “Aren’t you? Sending that picture to me, I bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

“It was,” you protested, but then he grinds his crotch into your ass and any indignation was stifled by the feeling of how damn hard he was. “It was - I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to make me this hard?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, naughty girl.” Before you could answer, you felt something digging into your ass. He was tugging at your panties. To the side, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to strip it off of you. 

It was hot as all hell.

“My god, you’re absolutely soaked for me.” he groaned into your ear, and you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers ran through your cunt. Somehow, his fingers have remained cold, and the sensation sent a shudder down your spine.

“S-Spencer,” you whined, knuckles finding leverage at the edge of the desk you’ve been sprawled over.

“Mhm? What is it, darling?”

“M-more.”

His laughter filled the room once again, “And I thought I was being needy.” he said, but he obliged your request easily, slipping two fingers into your pussy. His breath fanned over the overheated skin of your neck as he buried his face against your shoulder, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you moved your hips against his hand, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. You’d never enjoyed this by yourself; your own fingers were thin, too short to cause any sort of pleasure when you touched yourself. But Spencer’s hands were large, his fingers long and elegant and perfect. They curled inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been able to with your own hands, and you cried “Oh, fuck yes!”

It was everything. Quite literally. His arm was holding you against him, his body a solid, lean mass behind you, pressing into the slopes of your own, digging in wherever your softness yields to his hard angles. You moaned and moaned again, as his fingers quickened, as his thumb found your clit and rubbed fast circles until your arms gave out and your entire upper half was splayed on the desk. 

He didn’t stop, cooing soft words into your ear, his tongue and lips and teeth a whole other dangerous territory of its own. You knew you would have hickeys tomorrow. You knew the team would ask questions. You didn’t particularly care.

“Can you take more?” he asked, and you nodded, eager to take whatever he was going to give. A third finger slid into your dripping cunt, stretching you in ways you haven’t felt in a long time and you groaned, head buried in your arms. He paused, his other hand rubbing circles on your hip, “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” you sobbed, and you knew he wouldn’t believe you because you sounded sad, and everything that Spencer has done up until this point proved that, despite it all, he cared. 

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know.” he murmured. His lips laved featherlight kisses along your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, bucking your hips. The idea of being slightly incoherent from the pleasure he’s been giving you was a little too enticing, and you were in no mood to stop, “Please.”

“Okay,” he resumed his ministrations, slower this time, dragging his fingers in and out of you with a precise rhythm, now that he’s figured out your weak spots. “You are so pretty like this, darling. Dress hiked up, your lipstick smudged.”

A mewl came out of your throat, and you would have been embarrassed if you still had the presence of mind to feel an ounce of shame. He coaxed a second orgasm from you, and you marveled at the fact that he could elicit responses like these with just his fingers. It seemed unfair, but a large part of you reveled in it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowly pulling his fingers out, “That’s my pretty girl.”

You lifted your head from your arms. The sight that welcomes you is a blurry one, impeded by the clumpy eyelashes and messy tears that had gathered in your eyes. You knew you looked a mess, far from the pretty girl he kept repeating, but you ate up the praise all the same.

As if by their own accord, your hips move back, grinding into his erection. You wanted more. You wanted him to be in the same daze you were in right now, wanted to be one. “Spencer,” you whined, and he laughed, and you wondered if it was possible to get drunk off of a sound.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he replied, playfully chastising, but the sound of his belt buckle reached your ears and you grinned.

“Just wanna make sure you get something too.” you mumbled.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I had forgotten a condom?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, bracing yourself on your elbows again, and looking over his shoulder.

“Wow, isn’t your whole thing the complete opposite of forgetting?”

“I was a little distracted.” he said, his smile sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, “I’m on the pill.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Mhm-hmm.” You nodded, one arm moving and blindly grasping for the zipper of your Santa dress. His hand gently encircled your wrist, placing it back on the desk.

“It stays on,” he said, as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past your pussy, “I told you, red is your color.”

Your mouth dropped open as he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, and wordless expression of pleasure. He had spent a large chunk of time fucking you with his fingers, and the necessity of it dawned upon you now.

He was big.

The stretch made you groan, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy fluttered around him. He pressed his body over yours, pushing you into the desk as he began to rock, in and out of you. Involuntarily, you clenched around him, earning a sharp hiss.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, holding you tightly around the waist with one arm. The other went to the desk, steadying himself as he found a rhythm that made you writhe beneath him, “Oh god, yes.”

You couldn’t even respond, your body moving on autopilot, meeting his every thrust with your hips. The sounds your bodies made were obscene, wet, sloppy noises of flesh meeting flesh. It filled your head, made you dizzy with pleasure. 

“Spencer,” at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated his name. The world has anchored all meaning to that one sound, and you said it, over and over again, “Spencer.”

“Mhm,” he responded by snapping his hips, pushing his cock so deep into your toes curl, “That’s it, darling, say my name.”

“Spencer,” you said in your broken voice, every repetition turning higher and higher in pitch, and it seemed like the higher your voice went, the harder he fucked you. Your desk banged against the wall from his rough thrusts, joining the cacophony of sounds from your coupling. 

His pace grew rougher, faster, his grip on you reaching the point of painful and bruising, but it made your head spin in the most delicious way possible. You clenched around him, squeezing his cock in an attempt to find your peak, and instead initiating his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, as his load exploded inside you, somehow filling you even more, and you dropped your head to the desk again as your own body shuddered with release. 

Panting, and exhausted, you both stayed there, bent over the desk half upright, like a tower about to topple. He kissed the back of your neck as you fought to catch your breath. Looking over your shoulder, the sight of him fills your vision, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his lips smudged with your lipstick, and you couldn’t help but think that red is his color too.

[jeansdoll]

this is so so wrong. fucking your boss, sylus, in his office? yeah, very unprofessional.

you shouldn’t be here. shouldn’t be sprawled across his desk with your legs over his shoulders, your pencil skirt hiked up and shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal your cleavage. he shouldn’t be gripping your thighs hard, enough to leave a few bruises the next day. he shouldn’t be drilling into you like he’s been waiting for years to do it, tip kissing your cervix with every thrust.

the desk rocks under you, papers and pens scattered across the surface, some even being swept off onto the floor. it’s hard against your back, uncomfortable, but the overwhelming pressure at your core, the way he fills you to the brim, makes you feel numb. taking your mind off everything and suddenly you don’t care what’s right and what’s wrong.

sylus breathes heavily above you, his glasses slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose — the same glasses you admire through his office window. his hips never falter, snapping against your own. he was so big, thick, stretching you wide and deep. and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have any assumptions about your boss. but, god, he definitely exceeded your expectations.

you arch beneath him, desperate for more. your hands scramble around you for anything to grip. your thoughts mix with desire and guilt along with something addictive. you know this shouldn’t be happening, but it feels impossible to stop.

꩜ masterlist !

[mwphisto]

If there is one thing Zayne adores, it’s mornings where neither of you have anywhere to be.

No obligations, no reasons to leave your shared bed nevermind your shared home. The mornings where no alarms are set and he can wake up to the adorable sight of you snuggled into him. Your hair tousled and your lips parted, the faint bruises on your neck and shoulders visible in the early morning light.

Your skin is warm against his, soft and bare. Your legs are tangled together, one of yours thrown lazily over his hip. It gives him ideas, his mind recalling everything the two of you did only hours prior. A mix of not being able to see each other due to work and the fact that you both had the next day off led to quite… strenuous activities.

Even now, he could feel your uncovered heat radiating near his hips. Almost perfectly aligned with his equally naked groin. Zayne swallows, holding you a little tighter as he shifts himself under the covers. He’s already twitching back to life, cock eager and ready to be wrapped in the sinful paradise of your cunt. Luckily for him, you’re a heavy sleeper, especially after he spent hours wearing you out.

Zayne’s kisses are soft, covering your face, your jaw, your neck. His hand is hiking your leg just a little higher up his hip. Slowly sinking down again to wrap around his aching cock. He’s careful with his movements, studying your face as he glides the dull head of his cock between your folds. “You’re wet?” A quiet mutter, slightly disbelieving.

“What a naughty girl, what are you dreaming about?”

He had been so meticulous about cleaning you up, even carrying you to the bathroom after you complained about not feeling your legs thanks to him and his eagerness — just so he could ensure you didn’t get a UTI.

“I could take some guesses…” he’s laughing softly to himself, planting a wet kiss on the center of your forehead as he nudged your entrance with his tip. Your brows furrow slightly, a brief flicker of confusion on your face before settling back into blissed out sleep.

Zayne soothes you regardless, hugging you tighter as he pushes in with little resistance. The groan that vibrates his chest is damn near animalistic. He’s had you so many times at this point, and yet nothing prepares him for the sensation of being so close to you.

Bottoming out leaves Zayne breathless, hazel eyes glued to your sleeping face. A picture of calm save for the little twitch in your expression that tells him you feel it even in your dreams. Fuck does he want to ruin you.

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: You wake in Joel’s bed, sharing a quiet, tender moment together. But by mid-morning, he can’t keep what’s been bottled up inside any longer, and the dam finally breaks, taking everything with it. || smut MDNI 18+, thigh grinding/riding, handjob, pinv, still considered a pregnancy kink right?, dirty talk, lots of longing and angst, fighting (physical and emotional!!!), no outbreak, they're still terrible communicators, possessive joel, these are not healthy dynamics and I do not support these characters lol, au: joel speaks his mind, this is not medically accurate we do it for the plot || notes: this follows a bit of a different layout than the other parts, more focused on the drama than the smut. and it sure is dramatic. but hope you still enjoy!

The next morning, things felt… well, normal. 

Waking up next to Joel was becoming close to what could almost be routine with how often you stayed there, though your brain still struggled to make sense of how it all happened. How his house, his sheets, his scent had started to feel like home. 

Sleep came in fragments these days, always interrupted: by the need to pee, by the stretch of your skin, by the tiny feet inside you drumming against your ribs at ungodly hours. Nothing about your body was comfortable anymore—except maybe this.

Joel was still asleep, his body slung heavy and loose with the kind of deep, unguarded rest you never saw from him in daylight. He took up so much space—broad shoulders pressed into the mattress, bicep curled behind his head, the other arm draped over your hip as if to anchor you to him. His bare chest rose and fell beneath your palm, warm and solid, coarse hair spreading beneath your fingertips in a dark, masculine patch.

You couldn’t help but touch him. It was always hard to fight the urge, especially when he was laid out like this: soft in the face, the furrow between his brows smoothed out, sunlight painting the bridge of his nose, brushing across the dark stubble along his jaw. You let your hand drift, fingers splayed, tracing idle patterns through the hair on his chest, letting your nails graze lightly just to feel him shiver in his sleep.

Joel was always so warm. The kind of heat that felt like security, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you melt right into him. He was a furnace as he laid next to you. It felt safe and warm and secure next to him. One of his thick thighs was wedged between your legs, supporting your hips and keeping the ache in your bones at bay, but also creating a whole new kind of ache—a throbbing pulse you couldn’t quite ignore.

Sometimes you wondered if it was just the pregnancy. If it was hormones making you this needy, this desperate for him in the early morning light. But then he’d breathe against your neck, heavy and steady, or shift beneath you and pull you closer, and you knew it wasn’t just that. It was him. You’d never felt this strung-out and aching, like you might crawl right out of your skin just to get closer.

You pressed closer then, greedy for him, for the solidity of his body. Your swollen belly pressed snug to his side, your leg hiked up over his, and for a moment, you just breathed him in. He smelled of that pine leather cologne he always wore and the faintest hint of last night’s sweat that still clung to him.

Your hand slowly wandered down the curve of his chest, tracing the faint scar just under his ribs, feeling the soft give of his stomach beneath your palm. Your fingers played along the dip of his waist, following the trail of hair down until you reached the band of his sleep shorts, his hip bones jutting out under your touch.

He shifted, a low sound rumbling from his throat, half a groan, half a sigh. The arm around you tightened, pulling you in closer, and you felt him begin to stir, breath hitching as your nails scraped lazily over his skin. Your eyes traced the length of his body—broad chest, thick arms, the way his stomach rose and fell with each breath, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he adjusted beneath you.

You were so caught up in the feel of him, so solid, so present, so utterly Joel he was that you barely noticed when his eyes cracked open, lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones as he looked at you, still foggy with sleep. His mouth twitched into the beginnings of a lazy, crooked smile.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice gravelly and rough with sleep, his hand sliding up under your shirt, palm spreading wide over the curve of your back.

You smiled lightly up at him, your finger hooking into the top of his waistband as you said, “Good morning,” 

He let out a soft grunt, half amusement, half satisfaction, and tucked you closer, big hand gliding up and down your spine with steady, lazy affection. The warmth of his thigh was still pressed snug between your legs, and you couldn’t help the way you rocked against him, just a little, seeking out any relief for the ache you woke up with.

Joel’s gaze flickered down, darkening as he felt you move. His hand stilled, heavy at the small of your back. “Someone’s eager this mornin’,” he murmured, his voice low, the smile never leaving his lips. He squeezed your hip, guiding you to press down just a little harder on his thigh.

You bit back a laugh, the sound coming out as more of a breathless sigh. “I blame hormones.”

He hummed, a deep rumble in his chest, and shifted his thigh, giving you more to grind against. His eyes were heavy-lidded, hungry, but still gentle in the way only Joel could be—with you, at least. 

“Can feel how wet you are, sweetheart.” His hand pressed between your shoulders, holding you steady as he watched your face, watching the way you moved for him. “You want somethin’ from me?”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you didn’t stop. You finally moved your hand below his waistband and curled your fingers around him, sliding over the thickness that waited beneath the fabric, already hard and aching for you. He shuddered, hips twitching just barely, a low, broken sound caught at the back of his throat. He let you stroke him, slow and teasing, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb swiped across the slit at the head of him, spreading the pearl of precum. 

“Jesus,” he said, fidgeting beneath your touch, his hand coming up to cup your face then, pulling you closer to him, his lips brushing over yours as he said, “You like makin’ me crazy for you, huh?”

You nodded, feeling too breathless to tease him back at the feeling of how thick he was in your hand. You reached forward just a little bit to place a kiss against his lips and he sighed dreamily into it, your mouths slotting together, tongues already searching for each other in a dance you’d come to know so well. His hand threaded into your hair, keeping you close as you moaned into his mouth, your hips grinding down on his thigh, matching the rhythm of your hand as you stroked him.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered against your lips, “Take what you need baby. Ride my thigh, just like that. Gonna take good care of you if you come for me.”

You whimpered, caught between embarrassment and desperate hunger. Your body was so heavy, so swollen with want, and the pressure of him beneath you was almost enough to make you dizzy. He held you steady, watching your face, kissing your jaw, murmuring encouragement every time your hips rolled a little harder, a little sloppier.

“There you go,” he whispered, voice so gentle but the words biting at your resolve. “This all for me? Just from wakin’ up next to me, hmm? Greedy little thing.”

“Yes, Joel,” you whispered as you kept your hand wrapped around him, stroking him as you moved, loving the way his cock pulsed under your touch, how he didn't care to bite back the moans every time you squeezed a little tighter.

“Come on pretty girl,” he coaxed, kissing your lips between words, groaning as you squeezed the head of his cock in your hand, “Want to feel you come just from this. Be a good girl for me, baby.”

His praise did you in, pleasure cresting in a wave as you cried out, grinding down hard on his thigh, squeezing him tight in your fist. He hissed, holding himself together as you rode through your climax, fingers loosening and twitching around his cock. 

When you finally stilled, breathless and shaking, Joel’s arms came around you, gathering you close, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your hair and shoulders.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, voice like gravel, “You’re perfect.” 

“Here, let me—” you started, realizing he hadn’t finished yet.

“Don’t worry, greedy girl,” he chuckled rough with affection. “I’ve got you. Why don’t you turn over for me?”

You did as you were bid, rolling onto your other side with his help. Joel crowded up behind you, big hands steady and sure as he adjusted you—so careful with your body, always mindful of your swollen belly, always treating you like something precious and breakable, even as he was aching for you.

He slid his arm across your clavicle, cradling you close so your face tucked into the warm crook of his elbow, his other arm hooking beneath your belly and holding you flush against him. You felt him press up behind you, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and he groaned low and desperate. 

“Promised I’d take care of you,” he said, his voice tight as his breath fanned over your ear, “Always gonna take care of what’s mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

Goosebumps rose across your skin and he slowly pushed inside you. Your body welcomed him, pulsing from your own release, stretching to accommodate the sheer girth of him. Your head tipped back, jaw slackening as your lips fell open. Joel’s breath stuttered out, his face buried in the nook of your neck, lips pressed to your skin. His hand stayed splayed wide of your stomach as he pushed himself into you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough in your ear, “So good for me, always takin’ this cock so well.”

He moved inside you, slow at first, rocking his hips while keeping you locked tight in his arms. The weight of his body behind you, the press of his hand over your belly, the heat of his breath at your ear. It was overwhelming, and you never felt safer, more wanted.You moaned, helpless, reaching back to grab at his thigh, needing to anchor yourself to him. Joel’s grip tightened, his possessiveness coming out in every word, every movement as it so often did in these moments. His voice dropped lower, rougher, almost a growl.

“Tell me, baby. You ever feel this way before, huh?” His hips snapped a little harder then, his words sharpening with how much he needed you. “My brother ever make you this cock drunk? Ever have you so full you can’t even think straight?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, just pressed his mouth to your ear, biting down gently. “Knew you’d never need anyone else after me. Knew you were fuckin’ mine the second I made you come on my cock that first time. Now look at you, carryin’ my baby, takin’ it so well in my bed. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to make you feel this good.”

You sobbed his name, caught between shame and desperate pleasure, the stretch of him inside you almost too much. Joel’s hand slid lower, finding the pulse between your legs, working your clit in slow, insistent circles.

“That’s right, my pretty girl,” he hissed, “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna see you lose your fuckin’ mind for me. Just for me.”

You came again, shivering in his arms, and Joel groaned behind you, the sound thick and desperate as he felt you clench and pulse around him, drawing him in even deeper. His arms locked tighter, holding you close, his hips stuttering as he finally let go, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan.

He stayed pressed to your back, catching his breath, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand never left your belly, stroking gentle circles there, as if he could soothe every ache and tell you without words how much you meant to him.

You let yourself drift in that silence for a moment, letting your breathing slow, letting his touch ground you. But the words he’d said, the rawness, the edge, still lingered, curling in your chest with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Joel…” you whispered, voice small in the hush of the room. He hummed in response, nuzzling the back of your neck.

You hesitated, then said softly, “You can’t… you can’t say things like that.”

He went still, hand pausing on your belly. “What things?” His voice was quieter now, the cockiness gone, just him and you and the smell of sweat.

You sighed, turning in his arms to look into his eyes, something nervous and uncertain there in them as you said, “When you ask me if anyone’s ever…if Tommy has ever made me feel the things you make me feel.”

His brows furrowed, mouth opening for a moment before closing again, eyes drifting over your shoulder in thought. 

“With the way things are right now… I’m already so…” you buried your face in the pillow.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your cheek as his eyes came back to you. “Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. I know I get carried away.”

You nodded, not quite able to meet his gaze. “It just… it gets in my head. I know it’s just talk, but right now everything feels so… intense. Heavy, you know? I just need it to be you and me, just for a little while. No one else.”

“Alright,” he murmured, voice softer, “I can do that. I promise.”

You let yourself relax into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat thudding strong and sure against your cheek.

“I got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair. “Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself believe it, letting the quiet settle between you. Wrapped in Joel’s arms, for just a moment, the rest of the world could wait.

Later that morning, the house felt unusually quiet—just the low hum of the fridge, the distant tick of a clock, and the sunlight slipping in through half-closed blinds, striping the living room floor in gold. You stood near the old couch, hands braced at the small of your aching back, watching Joel as he finished gathering your things. Your shoes sat where you’d left them by the coffee table, just out of reach.

You eyed them, willing yourself to bend, but your body had other ideas. With a defeated laugh, you dropped your arms and stood there, belly rounding out in front of you, toes barely peeking beneath its curve. “I feel so helpless,” you giggled, breath catching as you tried again to reach for your shoes, only to give up with a little sigh.

Joel turned at the sound, the corners of his eyes crinkling with something between amusement and worry. “Ain’t helpless,” he said, voice a low rumble. You watched the way he moved unhurried, steady, filling the space so completely as he made his way over to you.

He knelt in front of you, the soft thud of his knees muffled against the old rug, and took your foot in his hands, slipping on your shoe, lacing it up with quick, practiced movements. Then the other, just as careful, his broad shoulders hunched in concentration, the top of his head catching a slant of sunlight.

When he finished tying your shoes, Joel didn’t move to get up. He stayed kneeling on the old rug in front of you, one hand wrapping gently around the back of your calf, thumb tracing thoughtless circles. His head bowed a little, eyes fixed on your legs in front of him, jaw set as if he was working something over and over in his mind.

The morning seemed to hush around you as you watched him, noticing the way his brows pinched together, the distant look in his eyes. He was somewhere else, thinking so hard you could feel the air around you shrinking just to this moment.

You opened your mouth, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could, Joel spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper, still not quite looking up at you.

“Leave him.”

The words didn’t register at first. 

“What?” you breathed, sure you’d misheard.

That’s when Joel finally looked up, really looking at you, still kneeling on the floor in front of you. It felt so vulnerable, so raw, pleading in a way you’d never seen before. He swallowed hard, hands tightening gently at your leg as he met your eyes, voice breaking just a little.

“Leave him,” he said again, everything in him laid bare.

You blinked down at him. “Joel… I—”

He stood slowly, hands trailing up from your calves to your shoulders, his touch hesitant, like he didn’t know if you’d let him hold you. His palms cupped the back of your arms, not squeezing, just there. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he looked as wrecked as you’d ever seen him.

“I know I’m not supposed to say it,” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them now that they’d started. “I know it ain’t… fair. But I can’t keep pretendin’ ”

He swallowed, jaw tight. “It ain’t about the baby anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. You know it. I know it.”

You shook your head, the tears stinging, but he pressed on.

“Tommy—he gets to walk around actin’ like everything’s normal, claimin’ this baby’s his, claimin’ you. All I do is stand on the sidelines, pretend I’m just helpin’ out, just some fuckin’… uncle. I gotta stand there and watch you cry over him, watch him treat you like you don’t matter. And I’m the one here, holdin’ you together when he can barely look at you.”

He looked away, chest heaving, voice breaking. “He asked this of us. Asked me to do this—then treats me like it was nothin’. Like you’re nothin’. And you…you keep comin’ back to me. You keep wantin’ me. So I know it ain’t just me who feels it.”

You’d never heard Joel talk like this before—like the words were burning his throat, like if he stopped, he’d never be able to say it again. Once, months ago, he’d admitted he wanted you. But this was different. Now he sounded like a man drowning.

And you felt caught in his undertow, sinking just as fast.

He raked a hand through his beard, eyes shining with something desperate before his hands fell on you again. “I’m tired, darlin’. Tired of bein’ on the sidelines, watchin’ you cry over him, of hidin’ what this really is. I’m yours, and I love you. It’s killin’ me to watch you let him take everythin’ from you. From me. From us.”

And for some reason, as you watched him, as he waited your answer, your thoughts immediately were of Tommy. Of your vows, of the years you’d spent building a future you could barely recognize anymore. Of all the nights you’d spent crying, and all the mornings you’d woken up in Joel’s arms instead. Was it always headed here? Had you just been pretending too?

Tommy was your husband. He’d been your first love, your future, your family. He was supposed to be all of it. But you couldn’t shake the memories that belonged to Joel too. The way he was always there, always solid, the person you leaned on—at first for Tommy’s sake, and then… somehow, for your own. You thought it was comfort, survival. You thought you were just playing the role Tommy asked for.

It hit you now, standing in front of Joel, just how much you’d missed. You’d been living this way for months—sharing yourself between them, saying it was all agreed, all out in the open. But still, you’d let yourself believe it was something you could manage, that it could stay simple, that no one would get hurt. You hadn’t let yourself see the way Joel looked at you, how often he put you first, how quietly he let Tommy take credit, how he swallowed his feelings for your sake and the baby’s.

God, you couldn’t let him go. You didn’t want to. Maybe you loved him too, maybe you always had and just refused to see it.

But Tommy. And this baby. And the wreckage you’d leave behind if you chose yourself, if you chose Joel.

And here he was, pouring everything out for you, breaking himself open because he couldn’t stand in the shadows anymore. Because he loved you. Because you think…maybe, almost certainly…you loved him back.

 It all tangled together inside you—loyalty, guilt, fear, want—making it impossible to breathe, impossible to choose.

You felt the world slip sideways, like your heart was in your throat. “You can’t…” you whispered, voice barely there, “You can’t ask me to leave my husband.”

Joel’s grip loosened, his hands falling away slow, like letting go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. You saw the pain in his eyes, the way it hollowed him out. He looked older in that moment, worn down and emptied, as if saying the truth had cost him something he couldn’t ever get back.

You took a step back, knees trembling, the world tilting beneath your feet. “Take me home,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “Please.”

The whole ride home, you tried not to cry. You weren’t sure if Joel said your name once or maybe even twice. Everything was a blur, your thoughts screaming so loudly you could barely hear the world outside. It all felt dreamlike, suspended, unreal.

You’d be kidding yourself if you hadn’t all along how hard this would be, how eventually you’d have to make a choice. To pick one of them. But how were you supposed to choose? The man you married, the man you’d loved for years, who you built a life with… or the man beside you in the truck, who saw you, wanted you, cared for you in ways no one ever had?

And what if fate really was a twisted son of a bitch? What if destiny was cruel enough to let you meet Joel first, only for you to be blind to it and end up falling for his brother instead? You tried to build a future with Tommy, tried to make it work, only for everything to splinter when he couldn’t give you a child. And as if that wasn’t enough, it had to be Joel—his own brother—who could. As if the universe itself was determined to tangle all your lives together, to make you pay for something you never even understood.

You barely said goodbye as you climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind you as Joel parked. Maybe he thought of getting out too, but you’d already made it halfway to the porch, fumbling with your keys, desperate to get inside. You didn’t even look back. It wasn’t anger, not really, or at least, not at him. Joel was right. He was valid in every feeling, every need. What you had was real, stronger than anything you’d ever known, with a pull you could feel in your bones.

You were angry at yourself. For thinking you could have both. For letting yourself believe you could keep your life neat and easy, that you could somehow have your cake and eat it too. How did you ever think this would work? That you could be the hinge between two brothers and keep the peace?

The door clicked shut behind you, louder than you meant, and your eyes blurred so badly with tears you couldn’t make out anything in the mid morning light. You were already halfway to the stairs when you heard the scrape of a chair, a mug thumping on the dining room table.

“Hey—” Tommy’s voice cracked, hoarse with sleep or worry, you couldn’t tell. He was on his feet in a second, moving toward you, catching you just as you broke, your face falling into your hands, sobs spilling out uncontrollably.

He wrapped you up the moment you let go, arms tight, rocking you gently in the foyer, his chin pressing against your hair. “Honey,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

You clung to him harder, wanting to explain everything and knowing you couldn’t. You wanted him to understand—this wasn’t how you’d pictured things, all you ever wanted was a baby with him. You’d never planned for Joel to become such a force, such a gravitational pull in your life, but now you couldn’t picture a future without him in it. Not as an uncle. Not as a stand-in. You wanted them both, in some impossible, beautiful fantasy you thought could work. Just you and the two men you loved, raising your child together.

You knew, even through the heartbreak, that Tommy had reason to feel the way he did. Even though he was the one who’d first suggested this, he couldn’t have known how much it would change you, how much it would change everything.

He held you until your sobs softened, his hands smoothing over your hair, grounding you.

“Talk to me, baby,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Please. Are you okay?”

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, forcing yourself to breathe deeply, to find your voice again. Nodding, you pressed your palms against his chest, steadying yourself as you finally met his eyes.

“I’m fine. I just…” you shook your head, gazing up at him, “Tommy, why were you so…” you hesitated, your voice breaking around the words, “What happened yesterday?”

Tommy’s eyes dropped to the floor. His hands stiffened around you, searching for the words. “I messed up. I know I did. I… I was angry and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. None of this is fair, I know.” He swallowed, eyes shining with something raw. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

You nodded, but it didn’t feel like enough. The ache inside you was still sharp. “But you meant them,” you whispered, “Didn’t you? The things you said—about me, about Joel, about the baby.”

Tommy’s jaw worked, shame flickering across his face. He reached up, fingers threading through your hair, his thumb brushing your cheek with so much tenderness, “I was angry. I was scared. I didn’t mean all of it.” His voice dropped, hoarse and pleading. 

You held his gaze, desperate for something real, something to hold onto, “Do you still want this, Tommy?” you asked, your words trembling with need. “Do you still want me? This family? After everything?”

He stared at you, searching your face like he could find his answer there. His eyes were wet, his voice ragged. “I do. God, I do. I just—” He shook his head, trying to hold himself together. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want you. I want our baby. I want all of it.”

Before you could say more, a sudden sharp movement made you wince. Instinctively, your hands flew to your belly, pressing gently where the baby’s heel—or maybe an elbow—thudded against your ribs from the inside. You let out a small, startled sound, your breath catching as the sensation lingered.

Tommy’s hands covered yours instantly, his touch gentle, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “He kickin’ again?” he asked, voice a little lighter now, though still concerned.

You nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Feels like he’s trying to break out.”

Tommy smiled, the first real one you’d seen from him in days. “He’s gonna be a handful, huh?” His hands moved to your hips, steadying you, thumbs pressing soothing little lines into the small of your back.

“I uh… Learned somethin’ while readin’ that book you gave me,” he offered, nudging your arm playfully.

“Oh yeah?” You tried to sound curious, grateful for the change in subject, letting him tug you gently out of your head and back into the warmth of the living room. “Which one?”

He bent to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “What to Expect When You’re Expectin’, of course. The classic.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Bet you skipped right to the good parts.”

Tommy grinned, shaking his head, “Actually…” He turned you so your back was to his chest, and slipped his big hands beneath your belly, palms lifting with careful, practiced strength. You sighed out, relief washing through you as the pressure lessened, your spine grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh–” you sighed, your head dropping back onto his shoulder, tension melting from your body. You let your eyes flutter closed as you breathed through the release of tension.

Tommy kept you there in his arms with his hands steady, the rise and fall of your belly matching the gentle rhythm of his breathing. He pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder, voice a soft rumble in your ear, “Let me take care of you.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue. That was all you wanted. Just for him to be here, present, to see you and stay beside you. To be the husband you needed, the father this baby deserved. He’d been so distant lately, lost in his own thoughts, and maybe he didn’t even realize how much you missed him.

You stayed like that for a moment, letting him hold you, letting yourself relax into his body and the softness of the morning. For just a few precious seconds, the heaviness in your chest eased, the worries faded, and you let yourself believe, maybe, that things could be simple again.

Tommy nuzzled your cheek, his hand smoothing down your belly. “He’s lucky, you know. To have you for his mama.”

You swallowed, a tightness returning, but you held onto the warmth as long as you could. “He’s lucky to have you too,” you whispered, your hand finding his on your belly, fingers threading together.

 Joel, a few weeks later

Your eyes.

He couldn’t get them out of his head. He felt haunted by the way you’d looked at him last, pain and shock and something deeper flickering through. Every time Joel closed his own eyes, yours stared back at him. Confusion, then pain, then a kind of sorrow he hadn’t known he could cause. Maybe that was the worst of it, knowing you’d looked at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

He sat alone at the far end of the bar, shoulders hunched, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and fried food. His third glass of whiskey was nearly empty, but the burn in his chest hadn’t faded. He nursed the glass, letting the heat crawl down his throat, wishing it would take the edge off the ache in his gut. It didn’t.

Joel Miller never asked for things. He learned the hard way that nothing was ever handed to him. When Sarah’s mom left, he’d prayed for a sign, for mercy, for anything that might make it hurt less. None of it came. He’d gotten used to that kind of emptiness, filled it with work, sweat, exhaustion, anything to keep from wanting what he couldn’t have.

But then you.

He didn’t mean for things to change, not like they did. Didn’t mean for a deal struck in desperation to become the center of his goddamn world. He never meant to start wanting things like soft mornings, the sound of your laughter, the smell of you in his bed. He didn’t mean to want…this. A family with you. 

And he never meant to need you.

Now look at him. Washed up, bitter, nothing to show for it but a ruined family and a half-empty glass. Weeks had passed with nothing but silence. And these last weeks had been so crucial in your pregnancy, he knew. He knew it was only a matter of time before you went into labor. Would he get a phone call? Would he have to hear about it after the fact? Even Tommy had been avoiding him, working separate jobs, never meeting his eyes in the rare moments they did cross paths. Joel had never felt so exiled.

It was punishment, he told himself. For wanting too much. For saying what should’ve stayed buried in his chest. He deserved it. He’d fucked everything up by asking, by hoping.

But the longer he sat there, nursing his shame, the more it curdled into something ugly, something stubborn. He started to wonder—why shouldn’t he ask for more? Why shouldn’t he get to want you, after everything he’d done, everything Tommy hadn’t?

He thought of how you’d cried to him, how Tommy had left you to do it alone. How you’d reached for Joel in the night, not your husband. How it was Joel you called when you needed someone steady.

Didn’t that mean something? Didn’t he deserve something too, for once?

The whiskey didn’t answer. The bartender didn’t look his way. The whole world spun on, uncaring. Joel stared into the bottom of his glass, jaw clenched, the want and the guilt burning together now, making something sharp and wild out of him.

Maybe he didn’t deserve you. But even if that were true, he knew for damn certain his brother didn’t deserve you either. 

The bar lights blurred as Joel got to his feet, setting down the empty glass with a heavy, final thud. He slapped some bills on the sticky wood, not bothering to count.

He was already moving, pushing out into the night air, his mind made up before his feet hit the parking lot.

You

Dinner was quiet, the kind of quiet that crawls under your skin and makes everything feel brittle. The kitchen light buzzed overhead. You pushed food around your plate, barely eating, feeling every small irritation sharper than usual. Tommy sat across from you, arms crossed, his own meal barely touched.

He sighed, “You gotta eat more than that, honey. For the baby.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Tommy frowned. “You need to keep your strength up. Doctor said—”

You set your fork down with a little more force than necessary. “I know what the doctor said, Tommy. I was there.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering, “Hard to tell sometimes. You never listen to me anyway.”

You stiffened, the tension simmering right under your skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just means you don’t listen, is all,” he replied, voice tight. “Always got your mind somewhere else.”

Your hands balled into fists under the table. You wanted to scream, to throw your plate across the room. Instead, you bit out, “Maybe if you tried talking to me instead of talking at me, I’d want to listen.”

Tommy’s face went hard. “Real nice.”

You stared at him, something ugly swirling in your chest. This wasn’t about dinner. It wasn’t even about the baby, not really. You knew exactly what was bothering you. The ache of missing Joel had been gnawing at your insides every minute he was gone. But you couldn’t say that, not now. Not ever. Besides, it was you who’d been avoiding him.

Maybe Tommy sensed something had happened between you and Joel, and maybe he knew more than he let on, but he never asked. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

The argument stalled, both of you sulking in silence, a thousand things always left unsaid. You were about to get up when a sharp, heavy knock rattled the front door.

You froze. Tommy scraped his chair back and headed for the entryway, leaving you sitting there, heart suddenly pounding.

You heard voices. Tommy’s was low and annoyed, and then another, rough and urgent, words muffled but unmistakably angry. The front door banged open, making you jump in your seat. The sound of boots hit the hardwood, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes hitting you before you even saw him.

Joel strode past Tommy, ignoring the hand at his shoulder. His eyes were wild, dark and desperate, and before you could react, he was kneeling beside you right there in the dining room. He looked wrecked, raw, everything stripped bare.

“Joel, what are you doing? Have you been smok–” 

He cut you off, grabbing your hands, holding them tight like he might break apart if he let go. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice thick. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. But I can’t—I do this. I need you to see. Need you to understand what this is, what you are to me.”

“Joel…”

Tommy stormed into the room, voice sharp. “You got no right to barge in here. This is my house. She’s my wife, goddammit, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes never left you. 

He just clung tighter to your hands, gaze pleading, almost haunted. “You don’t know what it’s been like—how it’s been eatin’ me alive, sweetheart. I see you everywhere. I wake up in the middle of the night just... I can’t breathe. I can’t fuckin’ think straight.”

You opened your mouth again, but he just shook his head, voice cracking. “I know I ruined everything. I know I asked for too much. But I can’t stand watchin’ him treat you like you’re somethin’ he has to endure, like you’re not the best thing that ever happened to any of us. You needed him, and he left you alone. Over and over. And I’m the bastard who made it worse by fallin’ for you. But I can’t lie. I love you. I love you so goddamn much it’s made me stupid.”

Tommy’s jaw flexed across the room. “Let her go, Joel. Jesus, look at yourself. You reek like booze. You’re pathetic.”

Joel’s head snapped up at that, finally turning on his brother, rage simmering in his eyes. His hands still held yours even as he looked away, “You wanna talk about pathetic? You had everything. You had her, you had a family, and you still managed to make her feel alone. That’s on you, not me.”

Tommy bristled, stepping closer, voice rising. “You think you’re some kind of hero or somethin'? She showed up cryin' the last time she saw you. And you're...you're just a goddamn homewrecker. You’re supposed to be my brother, and you’re tryin’ to steal my wife—”

“Hey–” you tried to cut in, but they were already too heated.

Joel’s lip curled, the words coming out as a snarl. “You don’t even know what you’ve got. You’ve never treated her like she mattered. You just wanted a baby, and when you couldn’t do it yourself, you handed her off to me like it was a job, not a fuckin’ life. Just admit you’re angry ‘cause you know I can actually take care of her.”

Tommy shoved him then, hard, and Joel staggered back, catching himself on his palms behind him.

“You piece of shit,” Tommy spat. 

“Guys, please, don’t do this.” you begged, looking between the two brothers. Your stomach clenched and tightened beneath your hand as you flattened then against your swollen belly.

They ignored you, Joel getting up on his feet and moving into Tommy’s space. He glared at his brother, chest heaving, eyes wild with grief and fury.

“Go ahead, Tommy,” Joel growled, voice low and venomous. “Hit me all you want. Won’t change a damn thing. You couldn’t give her what she needed. Couldn’t give her a family. And you sure as hell never made her feel the way I do. Had to show you the way, didn’t I? How to touch your own fucking–”

But he was cut off by a right hook to the jaw, Tommy’s fist flying through the air. Joel staggered a little, but was quick to push back, lashing out in return, and then they were tangled, fists flying, bodies crashing into the table, sending a glass shattering to the floor.

You shouted again, stepping toward them, panic clawing at your throat, your hips and stomach tightening in clenching waves. “Stop it! Please, just stop!” But they barely registered you, lost in months of anger, shame, and jealousy.

Tommy had Joel pressed back against the wall, forearm pinning him, spit flying. “You think you’re better than me?” he roared. “She’s my wife, not yours!”

Joel snarled, twisting free, shoving Tommy back and sending him stumbling. He caught sight of you trying to get closer, and his tone softened even in the chaos, rough but laced with worry. “Not right now,” he said, breathless, eyes flicking over you, pleading for you to stay back, “This is between us.”

You hesitated, wanting to reach out for one of them, but Joel was already swinging, fist connecting with Tommy’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Tommy slammed Joel back against the wall, knuckles bruising, both men wild-eyed, locked in a vicious, ugly dance neither seemed able to end.

Your whole body was trembling, tears streaming down your face. “Stop it! Please, you’re going to hurt each other!”

A sudden, sharp pain twisted through your belly, stronger than before. You doubled over, a cry escaping your lips, and just as you felt a gush of warmth down your legs, you gasped, “Oh my god.”

The chaos stopped all at once. Joel and Tommy froze, both of them panting, bruised and bloodied, staring at you in utter shock. 

The room fell silent but for your ragged breaths and the sound of water pooling on the floor.

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[abyssyby]

maybe a dragon

— Lucian wants to be like his papa, which strikes fear into Sylus's heart like no other.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: lucian & sylus spotlight!!! did i cry when i wrote this? yes, i did. it was just supposed to be a soft banter thing exploring their dynamic but it kinda snowballed into this... now both lucian and kyros (coming up next! out now!) have angsty drabbles. i hope you enjoy this one! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: lucian is (my headcanon) 1/2 of sylus's twin boys. around 4 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩 read lucian's twin's chapter here ᡣ𐭩

sylus & lucian | sylus x reader | angst, fluff, comfort, sylus's son showing him that every part of him is lovable, dad!sylus, mom!reader tw: mentions of past violence/self-harm

Lucian likes it when papa is startled. It’s an emotion he’s extremely gifted in bringing out of him. Not by hiding around corners and going ‘boo!’. No, papa just smirks at that and shakes his head, tells him to try again. 

Lucian is especially talented in being in places papa never expects (or never wants) him to be in.

“Lucian!” Sylus barks, rushing over to him who balances himself on the window sill. Peeling fat little cheeks off of the glass and cradling him to safety. 

“Lucian.” Sylus warns when Lucian is halfway up the bookshelf. He supervises, but when Lucian loses footing, Sylus is quick to scoop him up and out of the study, drawing him close to his heart and calming his own erratic breathing. 

“Lucian?!” Sylus exclaims, rushing down the stairs after his son who passes him, sliding down the banister. 

Statues, trees, shelves, counters, tables and chairs— Lucian craves height. A bird’s eye view. Everything would be so much easier for him if tiny dragon wings popped out of his back. Although, that would be another headache for Sylus altogether.  

“Papa?” he asks one morning, already hauling himself up his father’s legs. Hair messy from sleep, having followed Sylus out to the balcony. His bare feet had pitter-pattered on the cold tile, and now he longs to be lifted.

Sylus has since shifted his routine to keep up with his family. He doesn’t mind it, not when he spends most of his waking hours being cuddled by his two boys, and his evenings snuggled up against you. 

“Yes, angel?” Sylus quirks his elbow out, just enough for the boy to use it as leverage. 

“D’you—do you likes going up?” 

“Upstairs?” Sylus asks, slightly teasing. He tilts his head to the side to give Lucian his shoulder to grip.

“No, no,” Lucian says. Shifting comfortably, completing his climb now with both legs dangling off of Sylus’s shoulders. He is pointing to the slowly coloring sky, tilting his head down just enough that Sylus can see his eyes. “Up, up-high, papa?”

“Oh,” Sylus nods. He thinks, he does appreciate being out on the balcony, checking in hotel rooms on the top floor, plane rides, looking at the scenery from atop a mountain after hiking it with you. Perhaps he does, although he doesn’t outwardly seek the thrill of it. “I do. But I don’t… look for it. I’m tall.” 

Hopeful eyes shine with enthusiasm only children can exude. “Will I be tall?” 

Sylus revels at this, singing, “Maybe.” 

“Why maybe?” 

“Because mama’s small.” 

“Mama not small.” Lucian giggles.

“Mama’s a kitty cat. Very tiny.” 

“No, mama not!” he giggles again, little bubbles of joy bursting from his chest. Stomach trembling against the back of Sylus’s head, ruffling his father’s hair. Contagious, Sylus grins too, straining to get a glimpse of Lucian’s laughing. 

Tiny means Mephisto— and Lucian distinctly recalls looking upwards when asking mama for sweeties.

Sylus reaches up and pinches his cheek. “Who knows? Maybe your whiskers will come in before your wings.” 

Lucian flinches, gasping like he’d just been startled by thunder. An excitement rushes through him, and his little fists tug at two spots on Sylus’s head that would’ve been too sharp for such soft hands a lifetime ago. “I’ll get wings?” 

It feels like an attack, when it flashes in Sylus’s mind like lighting— the image of his son with wings and scales and the tiniest of horns. Sylus has to take a grounding breath, distress reflecting in how his voice drops into a somber tone. 

“Or whiskers.” he tries to play along, to steer him ever so gently elsewhere. To you, back to you. His son will have his face, but he prays for him to have your heart, your soul. 

But Lucian has already invaded his vision— bright amber eyes and a happy smile. One Sylus has never seen on a face like his regarding turning into a monster.  It makes his stomach churn, his throat tighten, his muscles into stone. Like when he once lived in that cave, unmoving and undisturbed. Like when he was slain for being that very thing Lucian’s eyes shine for now. 

What once was something cursed unto his body, bloody and battered by his own hands— his son now craves. His son now wants with unabashed wonder. A gripping, heart-leaping prospect rather than the most horrific of fates. 

Sylus takes a deep breath through his nose, reeling it in. He feels his jaw tremble at the exhale, refusing to be dragged into the riptide of his anguish. Not now, he wills himself, not in front of Lucian. 

But his child’s desire knows no fences or stone walls, especially when he feels it draws him closer to his father.

“Papa, I want wings.” he says simply. Upside down, kissing his forehead, because mama does it when she’s near papa’s face too. 

Sylus flinches slightly at the all-too familiar action, not enough to jostle Lucian, but just so for the boy's voice to lower just that little bit. As if he thought he’d startled a poor deer. Lucian whispers, “Two please?” 

Sylus can feel the phantom crystal heart in his chest crack. And he knows for sure that one day, his love for his children will be the cause of its inevitable shatter.  

And he thinks this is his punishment for all the grief he’d caused you when you found him that day tending to his crumpled wings and bloodied horns. These things he’d purposefully hidden and tucked away to not horrify you now like he did back in that life, in that cave. 

To be faced with a soul that is both yours and his— with his face and your smile— telling him he wants to be just like him. Just like Sylus. And every inch of hate and dread for who he was is sickeningly turned on its head, slapped across his face in the image of his boy. Because how could he hate that of what he loves so dearly? 

And yet, maybe this is what you see when you look at him. This is what you marvel at with galaxies in your eyes and tenderness in your touch— his face, with the heart of a dragon. This— in the shape of a little boy— is who he is. One who cares, not abandons. Who feels, not hurts. Who loves, not leaves. 

Just like you did, your son cradles his being in tiny hands. Just like you did, his son looks at him with boundless affection. Just like you did, his son caresses his horns, embraces his wings. Just like you do, his son is cleaning his bloodied wounds, whispering words of comfort and telling him— “It’s okay. You’re beautiful, and I love who you are.” 

And somehow, that makes the pain bearable. Maybe now, he believes it too.

“Okay.” Sylus says through the lump in his throat. Swallowing thickly sticky sentimental pain to replace with something else. Something better. Something good. 

He gently maneuvers his beautiful beastly boy down into his arms into an embrace, burying his nose in his starlight hair and pressing his lips to the space between his brows. “Two then, for my Lucian.” 

His Lucian, whose talent lies in startling his papa with how little of him it takes to heal the wounds he’d thought were too deep to reach. Though, he supposes little hands can squeeze through the crevices of his heart just fine. 

His Lucian, whose talent also lies in making his papa cry. 

In silence, you catch them staring at the dawning of a new day. Two silhouettes of the same shape, talking fondly to one another, against the rising orange hues of the endless sky.

“Will I get big wings?” Asks the little one.

“Maybe.” Says the big one. “Mephisto’s wings are small.”

“Papaa!” Lucian whines and hopelessly buries his face in Sylus’s hair. Just like you do. And, for Sylus, what a delightful thing it is.

✧˚ ⋆｡ next: maybe a turtle (kyros) || read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for reading!

[ridingtorohan]

hey!! i saw ur recent post about the tulpar crew walking in on reader touching themselves, could u do the same but vice versa?

Ask and ye shall receive!

𓇻 ft. tulpar crew x gn reader

𓇻 content. 18+ content, minors dni. possible second hand embarrassment. masturbation, sexual propositions, the whole shebang. this is a sequel to this post. this one can definitely be read on its own though. lightly implied that reader didn't accept swansea or daisuke's offers in the prequel but that can be left up to interpretation. jimmy's definitely happened though.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

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Curly is just so damn tired. Tired of the reports, faxes, checking the straps in the cargo bay. One of the few downtimes he gets is when he can sit and watch the constellations pass on the common room monitor. The Augira, Constantine and Mitena were all ones that he recognized from this sect of the system, all penned from the eyes of Saturn and further.

Movies are a scarce commodity on the screen, given Jimmy's track record of not wanting to hook the systems up, but it helps him nod off most times.

Working out, though? Working out he can do. Pony Express has given him permission to bring his weights on board, alongside a slew of magazines and audiobooks to listen to.

While Curly doesn't think of himself as a gym rat, those moments to himself are some of the best. Nothing but the burn of iron, the strain of his muscles with each rep. It's methodical work, one that sets his mind at ease and off of reports for once.

Some days, he can get Jimmy in on the action, but most of the time his co-pilot bemoans it. Each time they worked out, the stretches between the next session grew longer.

He's pleased when you agree to attend a few sessions with him. By then, it's almost amicable between you two, as if him walking in you didn't even happen. He's very much acted the part of a dutiful captain, though, he can't help his own eyes from wandering when he sees you stretch. Can't help himself from putting his hands firmly on you when he goes to correct your stance. It doesn't linger, doesn't wander, but goddamn, does he wish he could throw propriety out the window.

It's after one of his solo workout sessions when he chooses another way to unwind. Really, that's the only explanation for it. One that he tells himself anyway, because the strain of propriety is heavy. If he still thinks of you from time to time, if your face crops up in his thoughts while he touches himself, that's his business.

The only places you'd catch him in the act is either in the bathroom or his room.

Curly has always been imaginative, thoughts trailing to roads not travelled, paths that burn out of sight. Of you, sprawled out on the bed, and how he wished he had stayed. How he'd have given anything to hike your legs over his waist and kiss you senseless when he slid against you.

As it always is, every fantasy comes to an abrupt end. Every night that he had dreamed of walking in to find you waiting, you found him. Wifebeater drenched in sweat, towel draped over his shoulders, every line of his well built body on display, hand fisted around his cock.

There's a difference between wishing you'd walk in on him and actually receiving it.

A painful, terse moment lingers between you two, tension so thick he swears he can cut it. His hand completes the motion, wiping from his base to the tip, each breath deep. Despite how uncomfortable he felt (for more than one reason), he also felt more prepared. "Hold on a minute." He'll cover himself, boxers and uniform hiding himself from view.

If you believe you could flee from the room without Curly following you, you're dead wrong. He'll track you down, put this to bed once and for all. He'll catch you, half-dressed in his uniform, blue workwear draped around his waist, hand against the wall. "We have to talk about this."

Regardless if you stay or leave, not talking about it is no longer an option. You've both seen more of each other than was warranted, then what you both signed up for, but dammit he wants this. And he's so tired of shying away from things that he wants. From the person that he wants. All because of some higher-ups sitting cozy back home saying that it's wrong to do. He can't do it anymore, not when he feels like he's on the cusp of something great for once in his life.

"I know that what happened isn't what either of us expected," he'll start, voice low and perhaps far too sensual to be appropriate considered his half-dressed state. "And frankly, we can keep it to ourselves, pretend we never saw it." Biting the bullet is one of the fewest things he's done in life, but this is something that he wants to do. By fractions, Curly leans in closer, his voice entering a low murmur. "But... it doesn't have to be. We could give each other a.. hand, so to speak."

Routine. That's one thing that the Tulpar is good at. Routine. Each meal time, the rigid necessity of clocking in and out on time, even bathing. Pony Express may be a shit machine but it's well oiled, worked raw by the people under it. Delivering the payload is a smooth easy task because they all work on it together.

Part of that routine is shift work. Jimmy, ever the night-owl, works evening and night shift. This makes it so incredibly easy to avoid him if you wanted, especially since he walked in on you tending to yourself.

But he doesn't let you forget it. Since that moment, there's a smoldering heat in his gaze, eyes hooded as he watches you go about the room. Watched as you did your tasks, always standing too close - enough that you can get a whiff of his woodsy cologne, or feel his arm against yours.

He's almost helpful, even when your tasks really don't necessitate the need for another. His hands linger, hot against your uniform, his hips against the back of yours whenever he steadied you, or reached above you. Each word a rumble in his throat.

Except there's never really any change to talk to him about what happened. Not when every moment is tense, fraught with unresolved desires and need. Not when Daisuke or Curly walk into the room, silencing the burning questions and words that haunt your lips. Jimmy seems especially disgruntled about the interruptions, getting almost snappy towards the other crewmembers.

All in all, you rarely have a moment to speak with him. It's the furthest thing from your mind when you step out of the shower, more than eager to collapse face first into bed and sleep the weariness away.

If you're the sort to bring clothes into the washroom to change into, the absence of them is noted fast. No amount of scrounging around turns them up either. At a loss, it's to your sleeping quarters to wrangle up something else to wear.

Except you're very much not alone the second you step into your door. The door swishes behind you but you're effectively grounded, eyes drawn to the man lounging on your bed.

His head is tilted, messy hair falling across his hooded eyes, a dark and smoldering look to them. A slow stretch of a smirk crawls across his face, a pleased look darting into his eyes.

Jimmy is just as bare as the day he was born, an arm languidly thrown over your pillow. A leg bent up, not at all coy about having himself on display. His other arm is resting against his thigh, one hand smoothing along his flushed cock in a slow, slick motion. His fingerstips are all but slathered in precum - or actual cum, as you might suspiciously think when you look at your clothes haphazardly thrown onto the floor, looking sticky.

"There you are. Took you long enough." He breathes out your name, chin tilted upward, something primal lurking deep in his eyes. Jimmy clicks his tongue, ever the disapproving copilot. "You should know better than to keep someone waiting." Despite the curt, wanting tone to his words, he doesn't move towards you. Letting you go to him. Like he knows you will.

"I've been thinking," each word is low and deep, husky in his mouth. Jimmy's hand very much doesn't stop moving, stroking himself as you're rooted to the spot. Whenever you glance down between his thighs, his smirk deepens. "That you owe me for what I did for you."

It's not like you could dance around the topic forever; each touch, every interrupted conversation, it all would have culminated to this. Jimmy waiting for you, eager to put his hands back on you, to feel you tremble and shudder beneath him as he pulls you apart.

The thing was, you realize, it'd be terribly easy to leave him here. To not respond to his advances. The door was to your back and even Jimmy had enough sense not to walk out nude in pursuit of you. It'd be easy to walk to another crewmate's quarters and pilfer clothes. It'd be laughed off, brushed under the rug just as another incident, excused as you being unable to enter your room because of 'technical difficulties'.

The thing is, though, you can clearly remember how his hands felt, the way he moved. How Jimmy watched you with the same intensity now, his eyes a dark promise of a repeat experience, if not more.

You don't really want to refuse such an offer, do you?

Try as Anya might, she can't get the image of you out of her head. The sounds you made, how your hands moved. She'd tried to be civil, though how quickly she averts her gaze and fidgety hands betray how much it affected her. Nerves, she'd try to excuse it. Nothing ever related to you, of course, because that sounds too much like blame. She blames herself for walking in on you masturbating, and blames herself for wishing that she hadn't left.

But by god, did it make her needy and so sexually frustrated. She's found every excuse under the sun to touch you then jerk back, at war with herself. She has to act professional. Doesn't she?

Something about you, seeing you like that, had coiled something burning inside of her. Something hot, that festered low in her gut.

For the most part, she can act professional. Mostly. But she can only get so far from letting her eyes trace your silhouette, from sitting on her leg whenever you talk to her. It's risky business, even riskier when she decides to keeps a few tokens of yours. Things that smell like you, even distantly - papers, a bracelet. Things that you've lent to her before.

It's been a while since she got laid, since she's even been attracted to anyone. But something about you just sets her on fire, burning with want and need. She needs you like she's never needed anyone before.

Realistically, Anya knows it's because of the forbidden nature; because of the close proximity day in and day out, but there's something so tantalizingly beautiful about it too. She's a sucker for it.

One of her favourite places to get off is in the medbay; she can lock herself in it - but she doesn't. Because it's so much more tantalizing when she thinks about you walking in. When she thinks about pressing you against the desk and using her medical expertise on you. She wants to hear you - taste you - feel you. Is that too much to ask for?

That's exactly where you catch her. Her breath coming out in hot breaths, eyes shut tightly, uniform pulled open. It'd be so easy to mistake it for something else, such as the room being hot - if it weren't for where her hands were.

One has all but ridden up her shirt, rolling the peak of her breast between her fingers. The zipper has gone all the way down to her waist, one hand curled tightly in her underwear, motions jerky as she fingers herself.

Every inch of her wishes that it was you, your fingers working her over, touching her clit and prodding at her walls. She feels so close, having edged herself for a bit until you came in.

It was just to ask her her input on supper, or for a nonsensical question that very well could have waited for another moment.

The door swishes shut behind you and her eyes flutter, dark as she looks up at you, flush all but crawling up her neck.

Seeing how you look at her - how you came to look for her- needing her for something, a question halfway on your lips - and it's her undoing. She moans your name, guttural and hoarse, hips jerking, dripping over her knuckles. "Wait-" Singlehandedly one of the better orgasms she's had, better than when she pined endlessly.

When her senses come back, Anya is breathless and shaken - and you're long gone.

She's not letting you go this time. Not when a new, burning question lodges inside her. Did you like what you see? Did you wish you weren't there?

Anya approaches your door at night, knocking crisply and when you grant entrance, she stands there, the atmosphere almost palpably awkward. She takes a few steps closer, feeling flighty and desperate, eyes searching your face, whispering your name.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispers, voice low in the room, nerves biting at her throat. She can't not know anymore. "But I'm... glad that you did."

"Is this.. tension between us all in my head, or, do you want me too?"

It's one thing after the next. Couplings came loose, Daisuke's homework is not up to par, the lightbulbs need to be changed but no one seems capable of doing it. It all amounts to a sort of frustration winding up in him. Swansea has enough grace not to lash out at anyone, but it's there, palpable in his tone.

By some saving grace, you're willing to help him out with his work. Passing over screwdrivers and wrenches, new copper wire as he needs it. Swansea has noticed that you're attentive and eager like that; willing to help. Sometimes, he really wished you were his intern instead of Daisuke, not that he blames the kid.

He really needs a damn beer.

Wanking out his frustrations as a teenager and young adult had really suited him just fine, and with each passing day, it becomes a far more likely possibility.

It surely does not help when every little moment with you feels charged. Knuckles brushing when you supply him with mechanic tools, or when his arm brushed against your thigh as he steadied the ladder for you.

Swansea finds his gaze lingering.. on how your uniform bunches, the sway of your walk, the excited chatter to your tone when you've launched into some spiel or other. Each look he gives you is in quiet contemplation, though perhaps not as obvious as to why.

He's long since brushed off your curious questions.

It's when Anya outright slipped and fell over an oil spill that Swansea called it quits. There's only so many small annoyances that he could take before it became a hazardous snowstorm.

After it's suitably cleaned, he tried to find a place to tuck himself away. Keyword: tried. Something else always needed to be fixed, and he had enough years under his belt to know the ins and out of everything. Leaky faucet? Hold his glass. Vaccuum given up? He's got it. Curly, goddammit, he has it.

It's so grueling to find a moment of peace, so he takes what he can. That just so happened to be in the utility room, frustrations to a boiling point.

He knows his body, knows just the right way to stroke himself, the perfect amount of pressure. Learned it long since his youthful days, since his amicable divorce from his wife. Sure, it might feel mechanic at a certain point, but to him, it was a small reprieve. A getaway that only booze came close to.

Foreskin pulled back, his head is tucked low, eyes heavily lidded, fingertips pressing under the tip of the head just like he likes.

Swansea has himself sticky with precum when the utility door rattles and open. "Swansea, I found your keys-"

His eyes track up, eyebrows raised. Whatever hasty attempt you may have made, it's blocked by the aging mechanics of the utility door. It's from an older rig, one that still uses keys instead of the security bars that the medbay and cockpit use. Which means it's faulty as shit.

He sighs, head tipped back, eyes still on you. "That's on me for not leaving a sock out there," he grumbles, voice gruff and husky. A reference to how he told you to ward off people when he caught you masturbating earlier.

Moving his hand from his cock, his gaze is surprisingly steady, arm draped against the back of the chair. "Listen, kid, I won't say shit about this if you don't. Keep it jammed tight better than a olive jar when making margaritas. But." He rolls his neck, feeling a satisfying crack run through him. "I can show ya a few things that the ole cap' or other men won't, if yer interested."

Daisuke has been, for lack of a better word, edgy around you. Hovering, then trying to create distance. He can't seem to decide how to act around you. Not when he's seen you that way, pleasuring yourself. When he wishes you'd involve him.

He's seen plenty of naked people before, got hard over them, but wow, did you take it to the next level. Even how you tilt your head or roll up your sleeves has him in an outright tizzy, straining hard in his pants.

Daisuke often has to excuse himself from your presence. Ignoring Swansea's rolling eyes and knowing scoffs is easy; ignoring you is harder.

It's during one of those mundane tasks, where you're prattling about your work to the others, his eyes glued to your form, absorbing every word that he can't take it anymore. Excusing himself, he pops right out of the room, awkwardly striking towards his bunk.

But of course that is the exact moment you decide you need to return his gameboy - or comic, or whatever he had lent you a few weeks prior.

Daisuke is completely in the groove, pants folded down, back propped to the wall, knees folded and lips parted with each heavy breath. He's always been loud, noisy and boisterous. But his saving (and falling) grace is that he's also often playing movies in his room, and what muffled sounds you may hear from the other side of the door is easily chalked up to that. (Or perhaps, you knew.)

You catch him like that, hand fisted around his lean cock, shirt ridden up over his stomach, his movements sharp and jerky. It's bad enough that you walk in on him like this - but another to hear Daisuke rattle out your name, the sound breathy and full of want coming from his lips.

He's a poor, flushed mess, eyes wide when he looks up at you - and it's so plainly obvious to the both of you that he didn't call out because he heard you come in.

"I- I can totally explain." Except he really can't, can he, when he has his dick in his hand, just moaning your name literally seconds ago.

Any attempt to backtrack out of the room will be greeted with a hasty, "Oh my god, no, pleasewait!" As he all but tries to leap from his bed, tripping over his pants in his haste to get to you. Daisuke is nothing but determined and will try to talk to you about this, even if you manage to successfully flee.

Choosing to stay has him utterly red-faced, almost ashamed as he rambles through a tirade of, "Okay, so," punctuated by repeated, stumbled phrases before he manages to get out, "So, me calling out your name just now - total accident. Unlessyoudon'twantittobe? But, like, I definitely understand if you want to leave but I'dreallyratheryoustaybecause I really can't stop thinking about you and, - oh hey, is that my gameboy? You can just set it-- that's not important! I just. Really don't want you to leave. Please."