nenynrawrites

[nenynrawrites]

Phil & Joe: Cooking chaos part 2

Summary: Phil and Joe try to impress the other band members by trying to cook them breakfast. The only thing that needs a pan is the egg and sausage and you can just heat up the beans, so it won't be too hard, right? Right...?

Wordcount:

Warnings: Uuh...They might burn the beans:3

A/N: @steveinscarlet I thought of that one story I wrote about Phil and Joe in the kitchen and then I thought of this. I'm really curious on how their cooking is in real life x3 // And the football in this is soccer (for the americans)

Joe definitely wasn't an early riser, but was forced to, when Phil decided it was a good time to go on a morning walk...Or run, therefor.

Joe + running = Near death experience. He's not the biggest fan of exercise, unless it's football. But they still hadn't found their ball (Rick accidentally kicked it too far away).

So after what felt like hours of running (they were just walking fast, though Phil jogged), they were hungry, and what's better than not only make food for yourself, but for your mates, too? So they went into their kitchen, going on a hunt for wherever they put their food (it exists but never at the same place).

At first nothing really happened: Phil set the table (aka took the plates out the cabinet and put them on the counter) whilst Joe did his best at frying the sausages, the eggs and warming up the beans. And that's when chaos ensued (once again):

The eggs were fine

The sausages were throwing oil all over

The beans were smoking and not moving

Phil had vanished, which wasn't great at all. But first off: Stove off and the pans off of it!

,,Are you...Smoking salmon? Open the window, dear god-''

Steve's tired eyes popped up in between the smoke and he went to open the windows himself. As he walked back, he found the cause of this: Half burnt sausages, very crispy eggs and beans, who were...A black sludge at this point.

,,What-"

,,Who had the idea to let you two cook!?"

With Sav and Rick showing up, too, Phil and Joe were at a loss for words, trying their best to explain their harmless idea of wanting to cook for the whole band, but with it ultimately failing, there was no way they could save themselves.

,,Alright...Both of you plus Steve: Go down to the bakery, we'll take care of this."

Rick just looked at Sav. Apparently now it's mother Sav, but whatever helps the situation...

Eventually in the end, they managed to clean the kitchen as good as it got and their breakfast from the bakery wasn't burned at least:)

[nenynrawrites]

Rainy Days, Safe Arms 🌧️

warnings: 18+ angst, hurt/comfort, soft subby mike, emotional breakdown, aftercare, handjob, praise kink, crying, soft dom reader, safe space

wordcount: ~3,200k

a/n: mike need love. @nenynra

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The rain started while you were out. Just a light drizzle at first, but by the time you made it back home, it had deepened into something steadier—soft, rhythmic, peaceful. The kind of rain that slows everything down, tucks the world into a cocoon of quiet.

Mike was already home when you got in. He met you with a little smile, kissed your cheek, and asked how your day was. His voice was warm, his words the same. But something about him didn’t sit quite right.

He wasn’t teasing like usual. He didn’t make one of his silly jokes when you pulled off your wet socks and dramatically groaned about the weather. Just a quiet chuckle and a pat on your back. His arms wrapped around your waist for a moment longer than usual. His lips brushed your temple like always—but they lingered.

You didn’t say anything then. Just kissed him back and squeezed his hand. You could feel the way he was carrying something in his chest. Not heavy enough to show in his words. Just enough to dull the sparkle in his eyes.

And you knew Mike. You knew how hard he worked to hold himself together when he was hurting. How deeply he hated feeling like a burden.

So instead of asking what was wrong, you asked him what he felt like eating.

He said anything.

So you made comfort food.

Grilled cheese. Tomato soup. Those little pickles he liked on the side, because of course you remembered. You brought the plates into the bedroom and fluffed the pillows, clicked off the lights. The only glow came from the hallway lamp and the silver ripple of rain against the windowpane.

You didn’t even try to turn on the TV. You knew he wouldn’t want it. Not tonight.

Instead, you climbed into bed beside him, settled in with your plate, and passed him his with a soft “here you go, baby.” His fingers brushed yours when he took it, and you felt the way they trembled—barely. Almost unnoticeable.

But you noticed.

You always noticed.

He sat cross-legged on the bed, hunched a little forward, eating quietly. His hair was still damp from his shower, curling slightly at the ends. You watched him stare at the plate between bites, eyes flicking occasionally toward the window. Rain dripped slowly down the glass.

When he finished, you didn’t rush him. You took the plates and set them aside. Then you came back to bed and pulled the blanket over both of you—tugged it high around his shoulders and wrapped your arms around him from behind.

He let you. No resistance. Just leaned back into you with a soft exhale like it had been waiting in his chest all day.

You didn’t say anything yet. You just held him. Let the quiet build between you, soft and slow. The rain outside. The warmth under the covers. Your arms around Mike’s body. One hand gently combing through his damp hair.

His breathing started to slow.

And only when you felt him begin to truly relax against your chest… you whispered into his hair:

“What’s wrong, baby?”

His body went still for a moment.

Not frozen, not stiff. Just�� still. Like your question had touched something quiet and sore inside him. Something that didn’t know whether to flinch or curl toward you.

Then you felt his head tilt just slightly against your chest. His voice came out low. Soft.

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just kept petting his hair, slow and rhythmic, tracing along the line of his scalp with your fingertips. You weren’t going to push—not yet. But you also weren’t going to pretend you didn’t see it.

After a few quiet seconds, you murmured:

“It’s just… I noticed you seemed like you were having a hard time today.”

That was when his shoulders gave the tiniest twitch. A guilt-twinged breath passed through his nose, almost like a sigh. You felt it more than you heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, like it was the first thing he owed you. “I was just… tired, that’s all.”

He tried to keep it light. But you could feel the way his chest wasn’t rising as easily. The way he was bracing himself, even now, just to stay composed.

You tightened your arms around him.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Your voice was softer now, and closer to his ear. Warm and full of that deep, aching care. Your hand moved down from his hair to gently rub along his arm, then across his chest—calming, grounding.

“You don’t have to keep it all in. Not with me. You know that, right?”

He was quiet. You felt him swallow.

“You’re always so strong,” you said gently, your fingers resting over his heartbeat, slow and steady under your palm. “You’re strong for me. For everyone.”

That’s when he went a little tense in your arms.

Not like before—this wasn’t a reflex. This was something cracking open. You felt his breath hitch, barely audible. Like he wasn’t prepared for that kind of softness, or someone seeing him like that.

“I just…” he whispered, almost to himself. “I didn’t want to… bring you down or anything.”

Your heart broke a little at that. You cupped his jaw, turned his face toward you just enough to press your lips into his temple.

“Baby, you could never bring me down.” “I love every part of you. Even the tired parts. Even the hurting ones.”

You felt his body curl a little closer.

And then—just the faintest tremble.

You pulled the blankets tighter around both of you. Let him hide. Let him fall into your arms just a little more.

Then, gently…

“You okay?”

His voice came back ragged. Barely a whisper.

“I don’t… I don’t know why I—”

He didn’t finish. Your heart dropped, as you felt him try to swipe at his face. Trying to catch the tears before they could fall.

Too late.

He was already unraveling.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just held him.

He was trying so hard not to fall apart—you could feel it in every trembling breath, every shaky exhale. He was pressing his face into your chest now, curling into you like he was trying to hide the tears he couldn’t stop. It was horrible to see him fight what he needed.

You hushed him. Softly. Gently. Your hand stroked up and down his back, slow and calming.

“Shhh... c’mon, baby... don’t fight it. It's okay. You're okay.”

His whole body was trembling now. You pulled him in tighter, curled protectively around him, like you could shield him from the weight in his chest. His breathing broke again—another gasp, another wave.

You pressed kisses into his hair, over and over, whispering between each one.

“You’re safe.” “You’re not alone.” “I got you, my sweet baby...”

He clung to you like it hurt. Like it was all finally crashing down on him at once and his body didn’t know what to do with the ache.

Then it came—words, tumbling out in gasps between sobs he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I swear I didn’t mean to— I don’t know, it’s just—”

He shook his head hard, pressing it deeper into your chest.

“All the memories just kept coming back today... and I couldn’t stop them. I just... I couldn’t get my head clear. My chest just—”

He sucked in a harsh breath, trying not to sob again—but it tore out of him anyway. Broken. Raw. It made your heart twist in your chest.

“It hurts.”

That last part—soft, like a confession. And it shattered you.

You wrapped both arms around him as tightly as you could without hurting him, your voice nearly breaking.

“Oh, my love... I’m so sorry. I know, I know it hurts. You don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore.”

You kissed his hair, his cheek, his temple, anywhere you could reach. His tears were soaking through your shirt now, warm and desperate and so long overdue.

You held him through the waves. He was falling apart, and you held him like glass. His sobs came harder, like he couldn’t stop, like his body had been waiting years for this permission. For this safe place to break. And now that he had it—he couldn’t go back.

“I hated myself,” he choked out. “I thought... I thought I deserved all of it.”

You gasped softly, pain blooming in your chest. Your hand slid up to cup his face, gently tilting it toward you—not forcing, just holding.

“No, baby. No. You didn’t deserve any of that. You never did.”

He looked up at you through tear-soaked lashes, his eyes wide and broken. You kissed each one. Slowly. Tenderly.

“You were just a boy,” you whispered. “A beautiful, brave boy who didn’t get the love he needed. But I’m here now. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a sound that broke your heart in two—a hiccupping, shaking sob as he curled even tighter into you, arms around your waist like he needed to anchor himself to something real.

And you gave it to him. All of it.

You held him through the storm. Through every tremble, every moan, every wave of emotion that crashed over him. You whispered to him in soft, loving tones—

“My sweet boy.” “You’re so strong.” “I see you. I see everything you’ve carried.”

And he sobbed harder.

But now he wasn’t hiding it.

He was letting go.

Letting himself feel it...

He stayed like that for a while, and you held him in silence. Rocking him to the rhythm of the rain.

Eventually his sobs had started to soften—still wracking his chest, but smaller now. Fragile. Like aftershocks.

You kept petting him, murmuring soft words into his hair. He was so quiet again now, just little gasps and whimpers between his breaths. One of your hands traced down his back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

“My sweet boy,” you whispered again. “You’re safe now. You’re doing so good, baby.”

But then you felt it—a little flinch. Barely a shift of muscle. His body tensed under your touch like he didn’t mean to, but couldn’t stop it.

He buried his face deeper into your chest.

“Don’t call me that…” he mumbled, voice hoarse. “I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be a man...”

You didn’t rush to correct him. You just kept holding him. Stroking the side of his face, the curve of his jaw.

Then, softly—

“You are a man.”

He froze a little, as if unsure what to do with that.

You kept going.

“You’re the strongest man I know.” “But even the strongest people have soft parts. Wounded parts.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper, one hand moving to cradle the back of his neck, your fingers curling gently in his hair.

“There’s still a piece of you inside… a little boy who never got what he needed.”

He trembled at that. You felt his breath catch.

“And that little boy deserved love. He deserved to be held when he was scared. To be told he was good, and brave, and safe. To not be told to get over it when he was in pain. To be loved and supported. And he didn’t get that. That wasn’t your fault.”

You felt him break again—just a little.

A soft cry escaped his throat, and his arms clutched at your waist like he needed to hold onto something before he drifted away.

“I thought I was just being dramatic,” he whispered. “I thought… if I just kept going, it would stop hurting.”

You shook your head against his hair, your own voice thick with tears.

“No, baby. You were surviving. You were doing your best. And that pain? It was real. You never deserved to carry it alone. Never deserved to be told it doesn't matter, or that it's your own fault...”

He whimpered. A soft, aching sound. His tears returned, quieter now, but steady. His body curled more into yours, like he wanted to disappear in your arms completely.

You let him. You cradled him.

“You’re still that boy sometimes,” you whispered. “And he’s allowed to cry. He’s allowed to need. And so are you.”

You placed a slow, loving kiss on the crown of his head.

“You’re my good boy. My beautiful, strong man. And you deserve all the love in the world.”

That’s when you heard it—so soft you almost missed it.

A little moan.

His breath hitched, and his thighs shifted against yours.

That soft little moan melted into your chest like it had slipped out before he could stop it. His body shifted again—closer, tighter, needy. You felt his hips twitch, just slightly, as he burrowed deeper into your arms.

He was still crying, but quieter now. No longer fighting it. No longer apologizing. Just letting himself feel.

And under it… a new tension.

You could feel it pressing lightly against your thigh.

He went still the second you noticed. Froze, like he'd just realized he couldn’t hide it anymore. A small, shaky gasp left him, and he tried to curl his knees up like he could make it disappear. Like he was ashamed.

You were already there—hand gently smoothing down his back, lips brushing his temple, voice soft as a lullaby.

"Oh, baby..." You let it come out like a soft, deep moan. He flinched, as if he didn't expect it.

“Shhh… it’s okay, darling.”

He shook his head against your chest, voice cracking.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t— I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, no... you don’t have to be sorry,” you whispered, cutting him off with a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve been holding so much in, baby. It’s okay if your body needs comfort too.”

He whimpered again, and you felt the weight of his tears as he clung to you tighter. His face was still hidden in your neck, but his breathing was faster now, little hitches and broken whines. Like he wanted to crawl inside you and never be alone again.

You cradled the back of his head and whispered:

“Let me take care of you, sweet boy.”

Your hand slid slowly down his side, feather-light, until you reached the waistband of his sweats. You paused.

He didn’t speak. But the way his body trembled against yours—the way he nuzzled his tear-streaked face into your throat—was answer enough.

So you slipped your hand gently inside.

He gasped, his hips giving the tiniest jerk forward, then freezing in place. Embarrassed. Vulnerable.

You wrapped your fingers around him gently, warm and slow, like you were holding something fragile. Something precious.

He whined into your skin.

“That’s it, baby... just let go…” you whispered. “You’re doing so good. My good boy… my sweet, soft boy...”

He let out a soft, overwhelmed moan—then another, higher this time. His body was shaking in your arms again, but not from tears this time. From release. From surrender.

“I’ve got you, darling. Let me love you. Let me help you feel safe.”

You lovingly continued to caress him all over with your other hand. You stroked him slowly, steadily, your free arm wrapped tight around his waist, holding him so close he could barely breathe—but he didn’t want space. He wanted you. All of you. Your warmth. Your praise. Your hands. Your love.

Every time you called him baby, or good boy, or sweet thing, he whimpered harder, grinding helplessly into your palm. His face was still buried, still hiding, but his body was begging for more. Every little twitch, every gasp, was soaked in years of unmet need, every cry carved straight from his heart.

And you gave it to him.

All of it.

“You’re so good for me, baby.” “So beautiful. So brave.” “You deserve to be held like this. You deserve to be loved.”

He came with a choked cry, his body curling into yours like he couldn’t stand the feeling of being apart from you for even a second. And even then—even as his body trembled with the release—you held him through it. Rocked him. Kissed his temple. Rubbed his back.

“You’re okay, baby... it’s okay now… I’ve got you...”

He was still panting softly when it was over—his body curled into yours like a little boy, flushed and trembling and small in the way that only someone who’s just let go of everything can be. His sweat-slicked forehead was pressed to your throat, his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

You could feel the dampness of his tears on your skin. Still warm. Still fresh.

You stroked his back slowly, hand moving in wide, soothing arcs. The rain outside was gentler now, like even the sky was trying to be quiet for him.

“You did so good, my love,” you murmured against his hair in awe. “I’m so proud of you. You let it all out… I know how hard that was.”

A tiny whimper escaped him—just a breath, but it cracked your heart wide open all over again.

He was still shaking. Still hiding. Still not quite sure if he was allowed to exist like this.

You tilted his chin just a little, guiding his gaze to yours. He resisted for a second—still shy, still swimming in shame—but you waited patiently. Soft smile. Gentle eyes. Thumb stroking the apple of his cheek.

When his eyes finally met yours, glassy and red-rimmed and so, so vulnerable, you held him tighter.

“Look at me, baby.”

He did.

“I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

His lip trembled. You kissed it. Soft. Slow. Sweet.

“You’re not a burden.” “You’re not too much.” “You are everything.”

He let out a tiny sob, and you kissed it away. Kissed every part of him. His cheeks. His jaw. His tear-wet lashes. You took your time like you were making a vow with every press of your lips.

“You don’t ever have to be alone in this again.”

He blinked at you slowly, exhausted and dazed. Like he couldn’t believe any of it was real.

You cupped his face in both hands now. Held him like he was sacred.

“I’ll always keep you safe.” “I’ll never let you go.”

You leaned in, brushed your nose to his, and whispered:

“You’re mine, baby boy.”

That did something to him.

His whole body melted into yours, a soft cry escaping as he nuzzled back into your neck like it was the only place in the world he belonged. He wrapped his arms tighter around you and tucked his head under your chin.

“Yours,” he echoed softly. “Yours...”

You just held him. Rocked him gently. Kept petting his back, kept whispering soft praises—mi amor, my baby, my strong boy, my beautiful, sweet baby boy. Over and over, until his breathing started to slow.

Until the tension drained from his limbs. Until the last of the shivers faded.

Eventually, he yawned against your chest. Just a little one. But you felt the peace blooming in him like sunlight after a storm.

You kissed the top of his head again and tucked the blanket up around him.

“Sleep, darling.”

And he did. Still wrapped in your arms, still clinging to you in the softest way. His chest rose and fell against yours, steady now. Calm. Safe.

You held him all night long.

You would’ve held him forever.

Because you knew—he was still healing. The wounds ran deep. The journey would take time.

But he’d finally let himself start to face it, felt safe enough in your arms to let it hit him. To receive your patience and love.

And you’d never stop reminding him just how worthy of that love he was.

[nenynrawrites]

hii!! hope u doing well

if this aint too freaky can u plz write smth where like reader is begging a lot for 00s dave take her out to shopping but hes denying, she goes under his skin with begging for him to take her to the mall and he just decides punishing her putting a vibrator inside her and taking her out for the damn mall, obliging her to act normal when she just cant 🥴

btw i love ur writing 💗

Warnings: Smut, public sex, oral (m receiving), use of toys (in public), orgasm denial, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

After begging for weeks on end for Dave to take you shopping he finally agreed, on the condition that he gets to pick your outfit.

"Seriously?" You asked, peeking over his shoulder to look at him as he sat at his desk in his studio. "That's it, you want to pick my outfit? You're not gonna make me go in, like, a pig costume or something, are you?"

Dave chuckled and shook his head, pushing his chair away from the table as he got up. "No, nothing like that, I'll pick out your outfit and you wear every last detail." He wrapped an arm around you, sweetly kissing your forehead as he made it way out of the studio.

You followed him back to your shared room, a hop to your step as you went, finally getting what you wanted. He had you sit on the edge of the bed with your back turned to the closet while he picked out an outfit for you.

Dave had good taste and a good sense of fashion so you weren't too worried in that aspect, it was the 'every last detail' that had your attention. You heard him flipping through hangers and setting down clothes on the bed behind you, you tried to sneak a peak but he just turned your head back.

A drawer opened and closed, your first thought was a watch because Dave had a good collection of those, but he never let you wear them so it didn't make any sense. "Alright, get ready." He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes widened at the sight, not because of the outfit he'd gotten for you -a short skirt and a band shirt of his, an older one from the eighties that fit you much better than it would him now- but at the toy he'd set on top. Vibrating panties; thin black lace panties with a toy attached inside, a two inch nub to make things worse.

"Every last detail, darling." Dave mused, a devilish grin spread across his face as he caught you eyeing the outfit.

"Dave, you can't be serious." You said, arms dropping to your sides.

"We don't have to go if you don't want." You were about to protest but he cut you off. "Don't worry, I'm not going to humiliate you in public, I just want a little fun." You supposed that was something, but you were still wary of his wording. You really wanted to go shopping, if this was the price to pay... Maybe it could be fun, at least you hoped it would be fun.

You took the clothes, including the panties, and went to the bathroom to get ready. Returning a moment later Dave was waiting on the bed, changed into jeans and a shirt of his own, having already tied his shoes even -he wanted this to go fast, he wasn't much for shopping. "You've got it on?" He asked, to which you nodded. "No you don't." He sat up, patting the spot in front of him.

"I do too!" You said, even lifting up your skirt to show him.

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I see you're wearing them, but I'm not calling you a good girl for cheating, you didn't turn them on."

You scoffed, fixing your skirt. "I did too."

"You didn't."

"I did!"

Dave flashed you a remote, thumb pressed down on the button with no reaction whatsoever from you. Your face flushed a deep shade of red at being caught.

Dave stood and got to you in a few short strides, grabbing you roughly by the shoulders and bending you over the bed. You didn’t argue, only sighing and looking back at him over your shoulder. He stood behind you, hands roughly grabbing your hips and holding you still. He leaned down, lips going right by your ear. “You’re really gonna behave through this?” He asked, massaging the flesh of your ass. You gave a small nod, a pout tugging at your bottom lip. He gave you a quick smack before standing up and letting you get up as well. “Alright, come on, then.” He said, heading for the door.

You huffed and followed him, barely making it out the door before he turned it on. Your knees buckled and a moan slipped from you, your hand gripping the doorframe to keep you standing. Dave laughed and walked back to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Better to get that out of the way now instead of at the mall, huh?” He asked, giving your hip a light squeeze.

He led you out of the house and to his sleek black car. Living outside of town was beautiful and scenic, but it also gave Dave a long chance to torture you. Almost an hour long drive into the city to get to the mall, he’d keep the toy going, getting right close to the edge -your chest heaving, heavy breaths leaving you, loud moans filling the car, your hips rolling on the brown leather seats. Then it all stopped, he took his thumb off that button and you were left whining and holding back tears, couldn’t risk ruining your makeup.

He found a spot further from the doors, it would be easier to park there. He wrapped an arm around you and led you up to the doors, so far not touching the button. You had a few stores you wanted to go to, the first three were easy, you found some shoes you liked, a few shirts. Dave was supportive as usual, complementing your choices and picking out a few of his own.

After the third store Dave spotted one he wanted to check out. “We’ll be quick.” He assured, tugging you along.

You pouted. “Davie, we’re supposed to be here for me.” You whined, tugging back on him to get him to stop.

Dave shot you a look, a brow raised. “Oh, are we? You didn’t make that clear.” He said, a little meaner. You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, leaving him to make a decision. “How about I go in my store and you go in your store?” He suggested, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled widely and nodded, already waving.

You made it barely five feet before stumbling, a jolt going through your body. You looked back at Dave who was grinning from ear to ear. “Problem?” He asked, pressing harder on the button to increase the vibrations. You bit your lip and shook your head, leaning against a nearby wall for support. Dave came over to you and held you to his side. “So, my store?” He asked, you reluctantly nodded and followed him into the store after he stopped the toy.

He let you sit down while he looked around, he’d come over to you every few minutes with something new to show you, acting as if nothing was wrong or awry. Then you were off again to another store, and the next which was farther away.

You were talking about something else, going on and on. Dave was listening but he was also looking around, when he spotted a lingerie store. He smirked again and squeezed your hip to get your attention. “What about that, huh?” He asked, knowing you weren’t allowed to say no. You shot him a look and nodded, heading in with him.

They had some nice things, a few things you liked, some things Dave liked. You got five or so things to try on before slipping into a dressing room while Dave was still looking through a few other things, checking the prices and internally crying for his wallet.

“Sweetheart?” He called in the dressing room area, unable to find you. He didn’t say it loud so as to not call attention to himself, but you didn’t hear him. He waited a minute, feeling weird standing in such a store by the dressing rooms with a few sets all by himself. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and pressed down all the way on the button. There was definitely noise behind one of the doors, Dave walked over and knocked.

The toy had a lot more power than you thought it would, it brought you to your knees in the stall. With a hand clasped over your mouth you reached up for the door and unlocked it. Dave pushed it open and slipped in, locking it behind himself.

He smiled widely down at you. “What? Having a hard time?” He asked, holding the remote out, his thumb still on the button. You nodded, desperate for some relief of some kind. Dave wasn’t that nice, he reached down to undo his belt and fly, pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi-hard cock. “Be a good girl.” He purred, tapping the tip on your cheek.

You did your best to not make any noise as you opened your mouth, taking the tip in to muffle any other noises you wanted to make. You let him do the work, rolling his hips into you, his cock quickly hitting the back of your throat. Your own hips were desperately bucking against nothing, the toy doing its job well. You were basically riding the air. Dave smirked, struggling to hide his own groans.

He pushed his boot under you, pressing it right up against your clit. Your eyes shot wide open, tears that had been threatening to fall freely gliding down your cheeks now. Drool was starting to slip past the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. Dave grabbed a fistful of your hair and began thrusting into you faster. You knew you’d be caught if there was too much sound, so you grabbed his balls.

Now it was his turn to cover his mouth. He gave a nod, looking down at you with dark eyes, letting out a heavy breath. His hips rocked into you more aggressively, chasing his high while still torturing you, making you ride his boot with that stupid fucking toy making you lose your mind. Massaging his balls was working, making him throw his head back sooner.

“Mmph, fuck…” He groaned, doing his best to keep himself quiet. You were getting far too close to begging him to fuck you right here in the stall. He was pulsing down your throat, balls tightening in your hand. Dave bit down on the meat of his thumb, his hips sputtering as he shot his load down your throat.

All of a sudden the vibrations stopped. Dave’s head fell back in ecstasy, holding your nose in his bush until he came down from his high. He pulled away from you, tucking himself back into his jeans before helping you up. He took the chance, with his arms around you and his lips right close to your ear, to speak. “Crazy you thought it would be that easy.” He teased. “Don’t worry, the ride home will be much more fun.” He assured, patting your ass before leaving the dressing room, leaving you to finish trying on the sets.

[nenynrawrites]

i haven't been able to get this idea out of my head for like two weeks so

imaining SFSGSW Dave with a sweet/soft gf who's sensitive (not like childish bc that's just age play) but like they've had sex a few times before but shes never ridden him (idk if thats the right tense) but like Dave is sitting up on the couch and shes in his lap maybe they're just kissing making out and its all innocent until she feels him get hard, so maybe it makes her feel more horny anyways eventually she starts riding him and since he's in her all at once all deep and shit shes like moaning rly loud and Dave is praising/degrading her calling her pretty girl... or pretty slut (they alternate) but he's just praising her and uh yeah

i have such a bad praise kink and a degradation kink help

Warnings: Smut, riding, praise and degradation, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You'd flown out to see Dave during the tour, he'd managed to get a bus to himself and some stage gear, but it was worth it to be alone with you after all this time.

You hadn't been together all too long, almost a year but he was also touring a lot during that. Still, he'd flown you to some beautiful places and often called you to see how you were, make sure you were loved and cared for even while he was gone.

Dave was the experienced one, having had a lot more adventure in his life than you in more ways than you could count, but you loved listening to his stories late at night with your head on his chest while he played with your hair and just talked and talked, his voice getting raspier the later it got but he wouldn't stop until he was sure you were out.

You were rather innocent, you'd had partners before Dave, you'd had sex before, none better than Dave but you weren't a virgin when you met. Dave new some things were still going to be new to you so he never rushed you, never pushed you to do anything you weren't comfortable with, always checking in on you to make sure you were doing ok.

You knew your period was coming, you were hoping it would stay away since you were coming to see Dave, but you were getting desperate and your fingers just weren't cutting it.

Dave had you on his lap, his hands on your hips and holding you just a little tighter, kissing you just a little rougher. Your arms were around his neck, hands lost in his thick hair.

You shifted in his lap and a soft groan left him, making your ears perk. You shifted again, this time his hold on you tightened to keep you in place, more importantly you felt something firm beneath you. Dave chased your lips as you pulled away. "Davie?" You started. "Do you like this?" You asked with a smirk, rolling your hips again.

Without your lips to muffle the sound he moaned, nodding vigorously. "Yes-! Yes, I like it a lot." He said, swallowing thickly. "Can you do something?" He asked, not knowing how much you could feel your heartbeat in your pussy.

"I can definitely help with that." You assured, hopping off his lap to take your pants and panties off before straddling his lap again. Dave's cheeks brightened, his hands going to your hips again and holding you firmly in place.

"What are you doing?" He asked, watching as you reached for his jeans, undoing them with practiced ease.

You tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough for his hard, leaking cock to spring free. "Trying something new." You mumbled, sitting on his cock, not putting it in yet just sitting on it, letting your wetness gather on his length.

Dave smiled softly up at you. "Trying something new?" He repeated. "What a big girl you are, thinking you're in control because you're sitting on my lap." He mused, rolling his hips, tip catching your cunt. "I'm not gonna help you with this one, you know that, right?"

You had to think about that for a moment, you always took his worry over you as cute and caring, sure he could be mean and he was definitely dominant, but he was also praising you the whole time, genuinely giving you the love you deserved. "I can do it." You assured, taking the tip in first.

Dave smiled widely at your confidence, moving his arms behind his head and watching as you took more of him in. "Aw, looking at you stretching around me... pussy's so tight." You were pulsing around him, needing to pause to adjust. Your breathing was heavy, blush bleeding down to your chest. "Too much? Come on, you've taken me before, too much of a whore to stop now." You thought that comment would hurt more, the moan you let out said otherwise.

You sunk down further, taking more of his cock until he was completely buried in you. "See? I-I can do it." You said, swallowing thickly.

"I see that." Dave purred, a sense of pride in his words, he'd trained you so well. "Now keep going, bounce on me." You nodded, taking his slight encouragement and starting to move.

It didn't take long for your legs to start hurting, but the pleasure you were deriving from it was helping. "Hah! Oh, fuck, Davie!" You moaned, going a little faster now. Dave was still just sitting there, leaning back into the couch and watching you do all the work.

He was pulsing deep inside you, Dave was watching the bulge in your stomach while you kept bouncing on his cock. He saw your thighs tensing, legs starting to shake from the sting of it. He rolled his hips up and you squeaked, legs momentarily giving up and forcing all of him in you, so deep, deeper than you normally took him. "Can't do shit by yourself, can you? Need me to put in the work and fuck you myself, is that what you need? Can't even handle riding me." You bucked your hips at his words, desperate to prove him wrong when he was right.

"Please, Davie..." You begged, looking at him with your biggest, saddest pleading eyes. He smiled back at you.

"How can I say no to that?" He asked, hands finding your hips again and guiding you, easing the pain by lifted you himself, letting you see his muscles flex.

Your moans got louder, head rolling back in pleasure. "Fuck! Davie, oh god!" You moaned, trying to move faster but he held you at a steady pace. "Please! Being such a good girl."

Dave scoffed. "Being a good girl? With that dirty mouth of yours?" He asked. "Fuck this, fuck that... Do you even deserve to cum at this point?" He asked, but the steady rhythm was good and he knew just the way to angle his cock, you were so close.

"I-I do! I'll be good, I promise!" You pleaded, squeezing him tighter. An idea came to Dave, his smirk widening to a grin as he lifted you higher on his cock, leaving just the tip.

"You'll be such a good girl, I just know it." He purred, slamming you down on his cock.

[nenynrawrites]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WE NEED AN NSFW ALPHABET WITH JOE I’M BEGGING🙏🐆

Warnings: It's NSFW alphabet, you know what to expect

A = Aftercare

Always always always a sweety with it, definitely loves to run you a bath and get you a snack. He'll sit in the bath behind you and you can sleep if you want while he washes you and just massages your back, extra sweet when he gets a little rough, if you want to be left alone he's gone.

I feel like he definitely likes to be welcomed home with sex after tours and afterwards he's out like a light, but the next morning he's waking you up with all the things he got you and breakfast in bed.

B = Body Part

His favourite part on himself I'd say are his legs, because then he wears tight jeans or short shorts and now you can see his dick, but that might be because that's his actual favourite part of himself.

Favourite part of you his your neck because he can bury his face there if he's upset, happy to see you and he can just nuzzle his face into you, loves the reactions when he kisses you there, plus that's where you spray perfume so he just smells you. Definitely loves marking you there because "it goes with every outfit"

^^^leaving that bc I still think it's cute but I've learned some things...

Your tits, LOVES them, will buy you breast implants, always comes home with new lingerie for them, outfits that will accentuate them, you are not free, he will sleep on them, suck on them, grab them whenever, you can have your bodily autonomy and do whatever you want to him, your chest is his, none negotiable.

C = Cum

His favourite place to cum is your tits, blow him and he will ruin your chest, but blowjobs are not his favourite -they might be for this specific reason- he loves actually fucking you and doing things to get you off as well so he uses it as a special treat, usually cums in you or on your ass/back/stomach depending on the position.

D = Dirty Secret

Steals your clothes, specifically your used panties and takes them with him on tour so he get smell you when he misses you.

Also steals other none sexual items to wear because he looks pretty in them but that parts not a secret.

E = Experience

Definitely experienced, the front man of a big band? Definitely has his fair share of women, but he is very loyal if he's with you.

F = Favourite Position

Missionairy, he gets to be on top of you, so close, see your face and all your pretty expressions? There are no downsides.

I'd say also say if you're in his lap, whether you're facing him or not, is also good because he can wrap his arms around you, nuzzle into your neck, it's less work for him if he's tired.

G = Goofy or Serious

Can absolutely make you giggle but usually more serious because he wants to show you how much he really loves you and it's very important to him.

H = Hair

Trims himself when he can but prioritizes just being clean on the road. Might prefer to be clean but not so much that it bothers him when he's not, if anything he likes the looks he gets when people see his happy trail.

I = Intimacy

Definitely more romantic, if you absolutely need him he's not opposed to sneaking off to the bathroom or his car but he prefers a real bed, or maybe the kitchen if you're cooking, if you're watching a movie maybe... Maybe it is wherever.

He does like being romantic and will try to be as much as possible but it's going to be you who pulls him off somewhere, he's not whispering in your ear begging for a quickie.

Groupies are another story.

J = Jack Off

Long tour and he misses you? Absolutely, otherwise it's optional. Maybe once a week, purely if he wakes up with a problem and you're not there, even then he's more likely to just go back to sleep and wait it out.

K = Kink

Loves when you where makeup, whether it's a more natural look or full glam, goth even, he loves when it runs down your face because it means he's doing a good job.

So, like, kind of dacryphilia, but solely if it's because you're feeling good, if you have a bad day and start crying he's crying with you.

L = Location

Like I said, anywhere in your house is ok, prefers the bed or couch because they're comfortable but he's good anywhere in there.

In public it's a lot less likely he will, the bathroom maybe or a car on occasion, but doesn't make a habit of doing so, unless you're into it.

M = Motivation

You, always you. If you want to he's ready, will buy you outfits he thinks you'd look good in while fucking (this comes this cooking because he will buy you cute little 'house-wife' looking clothes because he likes the domesticity of it).

If you dress more glammy he's on his knees for you. Leather skirt? Push it up, he's diving in. Fishnets? They're not surviving. You're wearing platforms? You better be taller than him, step on him.

N = No

Might wrap his hand around your neck but will not hurt you, light spanking is a maybe and he'll likely scratch you a bit when he gets into it, specifically your hips, will not hurt you.

O = Oral

Likes giving just as much as receiving but prefers to just fuck you.

Very skilled with his tongue and fingers (THEY'RE LONG), always on the lookout for what makes you feel the very best.

Not usually going to ask you if you would blow him, might say it as a joke and hope you take it seriously but wouldn't be upset if you turned him down, at least not serious, definitely pouts all the time because he knows you find it cute.

P = Pace

Slow and deep, keeping with that romantic thing.

Hands on either side of your head and he's looking down at your face as your eyes cross, lip parted as soft moans leave you, your hands clasped around his wrists. He just keeps going, glancing down at your pretty cunt sucking him in deeper again.

After tours or if he has a bad day (or if you ask him) can and will be rough, I'm talking snapping his hips, hand on your back, pounding you into the bed. You're makeup is printed onto the pillowcase.

Q = Quickie

Again, not a fan of them, would rather take his time and fuck you right but not completely against them, just not his favourite.

R = Risk

Like I've mentioned, will do it in the bathroom or in a car, but the bathroom is locked and the car is along the highway where no one will see you.

Dressing rooms or tour buses are different, he will absolutely do you in those, whenever, wherever, doesn't matter who sees or hears, but definitely prefers to keep it private with you, mostly because he wants to keep you private and knows it would be a much different story for you than it would be for him.

S = Stamina

He's the lead singer. He can go all night if you really want, will need Garotade, but will go as long as you want.

T = Toys

Not his favourite, if you like them he's all for it but he won't have any if you ask him. He never had a need for them, but he would like to watch you use them but he's not going to buy them for you (unless you ask him to).

U = Unfair

Evil. Nuff said.

V = Volume

Loud, he's likes hearing you so he assumes you like hearing him, and he sounds pretty and he knows it. He's a very confident man.

He can also be very quiet in more soft moments, lazy morning sex he's just breathing against the back of your neck and mumbling about how much he loves you.

W = Wildcard

Wants to have a threesome, like it's not needed and he's not going to make you do it if you don't want to but it would be fun.

X = X-Ray

He's six two. I mean, have you SEEN the pictures? That man owns too many tight pants.

Y = Yearning

He can definitely go a while without sex, he doesn't usually aside from tours and he's in a monogamous relationship, he will call you every once in a while and after a week or two all he needs is your voice to get him going.

Z = Zzz

Depends, loves aftercare because it's very important so he stays awake for a while, but if he's just coming back from tour then he crashes pretty fast after he cums so he always tries to make you cum first just so you don't go to bed unsatisfied.

[nenynrawrites]

content warnings: 18+, non-con undertones / coercion, emotional and physical abuse dynamics, sexual hitting / slapping, intense degradation and humiliation, sadism (sadistic!Layne), masochism (masochistic!Mike), manipulative!Layne, obsessive / possessive / stalker / yandere!Layne, controlling behavior, no aftercare, voyeurism / eavesdropping (reader POV), crying, emotional distress, depictions of pain during sex, power imbalance, psychological manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, gender neutral reader, referred to as she/her in dialogue

⚠️ DISCLAIMER / AUTHOR'S NOTE ⚠️Please read before proceeding. This work contains non-consensual undertones, emotional and physical abuse dynamics, sadomasochism, and intense psychological manipulation. It is a piece of dark fiction that explores disturbing and taboo themes in a controlled, fictional context. It is not intended to romanticize or condone abusive behavior in real life. The dynamics depicted here are unhealthy and intentionally toxic. They are written for emotional and psychological exploration—not as a model for acceptable intimacy or relationships. If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, please know that you are not alone. There are people and resources who can help. 💜 You deserve support, safety, and care. Please consider reaching out to trusted individuals or organizations in your country, who are readily dedicated and disposed to help. This is a “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” fic. Please engage responsibly and skip this if the content is not for you. Your mental health matters. 🖤

wordcount: 4,777k

pt. 1

𓆨݁ᛪ༙˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

The afterparty was nothing special—some person's house, music low, drinks warm, people laughing too loudly in too-small corners.

But Reader couldn’t hear any of it.

They were watching him.

Mike.

He was across the room, drink in hand, back slouched against the wall like always. His hair was a wild mess, his shirt half-buttoned, and his eyes…

God, his eyes.

Reader couldn’t unsee what they’d seen in them earlier. Couldn’t unhear the gasping, breathless, trembling way he’d whispered Layne’s name. Couldn’t unfeel the way his body had arched and begged and broken.

He looked normal now. Confident. Calm. Joking with someone. But it was unsettling. How much was he really suffering inside? He gave off such a convincing act, that they almost thought they'd imagined it all. But they’d watched him rebuild the mask.

And somehow…

That only made them want him more...

Then—

Mike caught their eye.

Reader froze.

He tilted his head.

Curious. Amused.

And then—he walked over.

Their heart stopped.

He moved slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world. Like he was the one in control.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and scratchy, like he hadn’t had enough water all night. “You been lookin’ at me.”

Reader’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

He grinned. One dimple. Crooked. Teasing. “What, you shy now?”

Fuck.

Reader stammered out something half-human. A laugh. A “just zoned out.” Trying to shake it off.

Mike stepped closer. “Yeah?” He looked down at them, eyes hooded. “You zoned out thinking about me?”

Their knees nearly buckled.

His tone was playful. Innocent, even. But his body—the way he leaned in, the confidence in his stare, the heat in his voice—was something else. Something dominant.

Reader was melting. They felt a strange hot sensation pervade them. Not at just the attention from their newfound obsession... but because of the act, because of the strange two-faced behavior.

They knew how he sounded when he broke.

They knew the way he moaned when slapped.

They knew he would whimper if Layne told him to.

And here he was. Smirking. Taking the lead.

And they couldn’t get the images out of their head.

They felt a certain level of alarm, like this situation was dangerous, and they should get uninvolved as soon as possible. But it was like their brain stopped functioning properly.

Mike said something else—something flirtier—but Reader barely registered it. Kept making flustered noises and responses, which only seemed to exacerbate Mike's advances.

They were dizzy. Drenched. Reeling.

And then—

They glanced over his shoulder.

And froze.

Layne.

Across the room.

Leaning against the doorframe.

Drink in hand.

Eyes locked on them.

He took a swig, tipping back the bottle with a dark look in his eyes. 

He wasn’t smiling.

Wasn’t blinking.

Just watching.

Fear spiked in Reader.

Mike was saying something again, running his hand through his hair, eyes flicking to Reader’s mouth—

But Reader couldn’t think.

Couldn’t breathe.

Layne didn’t look away.

Reader swallowed hard.

Their eyes darted from Layne—still unmoving, still watching—back to Mike.

And then… they blushed even harder. Their whole body felt like jelly. They felt like they should definitely walk away now, the dangerous glare in Layne's eyes was saying so. But they were in too deep now. They liked having Mike here, and they didn't want to hurt him by pushing him away.

God, it was too much.

Mike was right there—smirking down at them with that cocky, easy air like he had no idea how fucked up everything was.

A small part of reader wished they could somehow protect him.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was soft now. Still teasing, but lower. A little closer.

Reader nodded too quickly.

Mike’s head tilted, studying them. His hand flexed around his cup. “You’re actin’ like you’ve never had a guy flirt with you before.”

Reader’s breath hitched.

It wasn’t that. It wasn’t even about flirting.

It was about him.

It was about the fact that less than a few hours ago, they’d watched him get wrecked—stripped bare and crying out for someone else.

It was about the fact that he was making them feel weak now.

It was about how that same person, who had brutally wrecked him, was staring them down from across the room and Mike simply had no idea... Or did he?

Reader raised their eyes back to Mike's face. Noted the easy curve of his smile, the sharp angle of his jaw. The way his hair danced in a wild halo all around him, framing the seductive look in his eyes and lean of his body.

Was he really trying to get a rise out of Layne?

Were they just a means to an end for him?

The thought sent a shiver down their spine, and they couldn't decide if it excited them or scared them. Being caught in the middle of this, in any way, was scary. But Reader's heart raced imagining Mike was doing this to Layne— to himself... on purpose...

But then... maybe he using them to bury what he'd lost? What he'd given away?

Or was he just in search for some sort of comfort, intimacy, sense of normalcy?

Mike cracked a witty remark that made Reader huff absent-mindedly. And he leaned closer and smirked, looking Reader up and down suggestively. Reader instinctively reacted bashful to such an intense look. But beneath their lashes, they studied him, trying to figure him out. He was hard to decipher.

They didn’t just want Mike to look at them.

They wanted to know—

Did Mike really want them?

Or was he using them to bury what he’d lost? What he’d given away?

Was this about attraction?

Or control?

Mike leaned a little closer, elbow brushing theirs. His voice was low, amused. “What’s with the look?”

Reader blinked up at him, startled.

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

And suddenly, something cracked inside Reader.

How can he do this? they thought, throat tight. How is he not scared?

Because they were.

They were terrified.

Not just from the way Layne had looked at them—but because now, when they glanced back across the room…

Layne was gone.

That doorframe?

Empty.

That frozen gaze?

Vanished.

The air around them shifted. Heavier now. Thicker.

Reader’s chest seized with panic.

Because if Layne was gone, it meant he was somewhere.

Moving.

Thinking.

And that made him a hundred times more dangerous than when he’d just been watching.

“Hey,” Mike said suddenly, shifting his weight. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom—want me to grab you a drink on the way back?”

Reader looked up, breath catching.

He smiled again—crooked and charming. So normal. Like he hadn’t just been teasing them into a nervous wreck. Like there wasn’t a unspeakable tension hovering between them.

“Yeah,” Reader managed, throat tight. “That’d be… cool.”

Mike gave them a little nod, ruffling his hair as he pulled away. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Reader watched him walk away. Shoulders loose. Body confident.

And for a moment, they let themselves breathe. Just a little.

It was going to be okay.

Until they turned.

And saw him.

Layne.

Right there.

Leaning in the corner just behind them.

Like he’d been there the whole time.

Reader froze.

Layne smiled.

Not kind.

Not amused.

Knowing.

He stepped forward.

Reader trembled slightly.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” he said, low and smooth, voice soaked in something dangerous.

He was already too close.

Reader stepped back without meaning to, shoulder hitting the wall behind them.

Layne followed, slow, measured, cornering them with barely any movement at all. His arm slid up beside their head, palm against the wall, caging them in.

His eyes were still smiling. But his mouth?

Tight. Amused. Cruel.

Reader’s pulse thundered.

They tried to speak. Say something. Anything.

But Layne leaned in, breath brushing their ear. “You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at him?”

Reader flinched.

His smile sharpened. “Or the way you looked at me?”

They swallowed hard.

Layne’s hand dropped to their throat—not choking, not hurting. Just… resting. Warm. Controlling. He tilted their chin up.

“I saw you earlier,” he whispered.

Reader’s whole body went cold.

“You thought you were slick, huh? Thought you were clever, hiding back there?”

His thumb stroked the side of their jaw, mock-affectionate.

“I let you watch.”

The breath left Reader’s lungs.

“I wanted you to see what he really is.”

Footsteps.

Layne turned his head, not moving away, not breaking the position. Just flicking his gaze to the side, lazy and smug.

Mike.

Frozen in the hallway. Holding two drinks. His brows furrowed. His face twisted in a strange mix of jealousy and protectiveness.

“What the hell?”

Reader tried to move. Tried to step away from Layne. But he didn’t let them.

“Relax, man,” Layne said, voice silk. “We were just getting to know each other.”

Mike’s jaw clenched.

Layne looked back at Reader, eyes gleaming. “Did you know your girl here’s got a filthy little imagination?”

“Layne—” Mike started, tone warning.

Layne grinned wider. “No, no—hear me out. She was just telling me all about this fantasy she has.” He licked his teeth. “About getting fucked by both of us.”

Reader’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t—!”

Layne cut them off. “Shh.”

He pressed a finger to their lips, soft but threatening. He gave Reader a terrifying threatening look where Mike couldn't see.

“I know you didn’t want to tell Mike yet,” he said sweetly, gaze flicking to Mike with faux sympathy. His hand moved and started to trail up Reader's jaw. “He’s so shy about this stuff. Better to just rip the bandaid off, right?”

Mike stared, shocked. A flicker of something ugly in his eyes—hurt, maybe. Or anger.

“Layne, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Doing you a favor,” Layne said, tone chipper.

Then—to Reader—“C’mon.”

He grabbed their wrist.

And started pulling.

Mike hesitated. Eyes darting between the two of them. Still holding both drinks like he didn’t know whether to throw them or slam them down.

And then—

He followed.

Because he had to.

𖤝₊ ⊹᭪

The door clicked shut behind them.

Layne let go of Reader’s wrist and tossed his jacket onto the chair like they were just settling in for a casual chat. It was a practiced move, designed to lull them into a false sense of security, before he tightened his grip and steered the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go, regardless of the wreckage it might leave behind. He was playing a game, and they were his unwitting pieces.

The room was dim. Warm. Quiet.

Mike stood just inside the doorway, staring. Unmoving.

“Why did you bring us here?” he asked Layne beneath his breath, jaw tight. Like the question held more weight than Reader could understand.

Layne didn’t answer. Not with words.

He just walked up to Mike, slow and smooth, and leaned in close. His voice was low—too low for Reader to catch all of it. Just a soft growl of sound and a hissed name: “Mikey…”

Mike twitched.

Layne smiled.

Then he turned toward Reader and said, “Go on.”

Reader blinked. “What?”

Layne gestured loosely between them. “She’s yours, isn’t she?” A taunt. A trap. “Go ahead. Show her what you do.”

Mike didn’t move.

Layne’s smile widened.

And that was what made Mike step forward.

Slowly. Hesitantly.

He walked toward Reader like someone under orders. Not like someone who wanted.

Reader’s heart thundered. Their breath caught.

Mike reached them. Stared down. His hands rose—touched their waist, their hips, their cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly, catching their gaze. “You okay?”

They nodded, breathless.

He leaned in. Kissed them. Gentle. Searching.

And Reader kissed back—desperate and aching— and he tasted perfect. Felt perfect. But they could feel it: Mike’s hesitation. The tightness in his shoulders. The wariness in his movements.

Like he knew he was being watched.

Layne was quiet. But the tension in the room was thick as blood.

Mike kissed them again. Harder this time. His hands firmer. Like he was trying to feel normal again—to force it.

Reader moaned. They couldn’t help it. It was Mike. His mouth. His hands.

But then Mike pulled back.

He was shaking.

And Layne was laughing.

“You really think she wants you like this?”

Mike turned, slowly. His face flushed. Eyes wide.

Layne stepped forward, circling.

“No,” Layne said. “She wants you like I want you.”

His hand came down, sharp and fast, and smacked Mike’s ass. Smiling crazily like he doesn't even feel the tension in the air.

Mike gasped—more from the shock than the pain—and Layne was already behind him, grabbing his wrists, spinning him around, pressing him against the wall.

“Don’t fight it,” Layne whispered.

Mike barely flinched when Layne grabbed him.

But when he was turned around—his chest pressed flat to the wall, Layne’s body close behind—something in him tightened.

It wasn’t just fear.

It was exposure.

Reader saw it instantly.

The way Mike’s fingers curled into fists.

The way his head tilted slightly down—hair shadowing his face like he was trying to hide behind it.

The way his hips twitched, tense and unsure, caught between reaction and restraint.

Layne’s voice was low, breath hot against Mike’s neck.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmured. “You weren’t this shy earlier.”

Mike didn’t answer.

His breath was coming faster now.

“You didn’t mind it then,” Layne continued. His voice had turned darker. Softer. More invasive. “You were loud. So fucking loud for me.”

Mike winced, curling away from Reader's eyes evermore.

Reader’s breath caught.

Layne leaned in closer, his chest flush against Mike’s back now. His lips brushed the shell of Mike’s ear.

“Maybe you would’ve shut up if you knew we had an audience.”

Mike froze.

Reader saw it. Felt it.

The shift in his body. The sudden rigidity. Like every muscle in him locked up at once.

“What?” he rasped.

Layne chuckled, cruel and quiet. “You didn’t see her, did you?”

Mike shook his head slowly. “Who—”

“I told you Mike, we had a freak on our hands."

A wave of shame hit Reader as they watched Mike's expression twist in confusion, and the way Layne licked his way up his ear before whispering. "She was in the corner."

Mike stiffened further.

“Sweet little thing,” Layne purred. “Thought she was being sneaky. She stayed quiet… real quiet…”

His hand slid around to Mike’s stomach. Held him in place.

“…but she was there the whole time.”

Mike’s breath stuttered out of him in a sharp, trembling gasp.

“She saw how you begged,” Layne whispered. “How you cried. How you came apart for me.”

Mike’s eyes screwed shut.

Reader felt like they were burning alive.

Watching him—knowing that he hadn’t known.

Watching his body react to the knowledge.

The humiliation blooming in him like a bruise.

And still—still—he didn’t pull away.

Layne pressed closer, grinding slow against him.

“She knows now,” he said, louder. His voice was sharp enough for Reader to hear every word. “What kind of filthy little thing you really are.”

Mike trembled. Face flushed. Entire body locked up in some awful combination of resistance and surrender.

And Reader couldn’t stop staring.

Couldn’t look away.

Couldn’t breathe.

Because now they weren’t just watching Mike fall apart.

They were part of it.

𖤝₊ ⊹᭪

Mike wasn’t moving.

Layne’s words echoed—she saw you—and Reader watched, helpless and throbbing, as Mike’s whole body seemed to lock up from the inside out.

Still pressed against the wall. Still under Layne’s hand.

But the shame… it hit like a sledgehammer.

Layne didn’t rush it.

He just waited.

Smiling.

Watching the storm roll in behind Mike’s eyes.

Mike’s breath stuttered. His lashes fluttered.

“…She…?”

Layne leaned in, whispering it again. “Oh yeah. She watched the whole thing. Thought she was being clever. Thought she could hide.” A grin. “She liked what she saw.”

Mike shook his head.

Just once. A tight little twitch of denial.

But his body betrayed him.

His hips shifted. His knees softened. His breath came shallower.

“Don’t—” he whispered.

“Don’t what?” Layne murmured. “Don’t tell you? Don’t show her again?”

Mike turned his face to the wall. His forehead thudding gently against it, like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

“Stop.”

But his voice cracked.

Layne’s fingers crept up to his throat. A light, possessive touch, resting just under his jaw.

“You think she didn’t feel it, Mikey? That heat. That hunger. You think it didn’t fuck her up?”

A soft, sharp laugh. “You should’ve seen her face.”

Mike shuddered.

“You showed her everything. Every sound. Every sob. Every filthy moan.”

And then—softer. Meaner.

“She knows you now. And you can’t take it back.”

Mike made a sound in his throat—small, choked, almost a whimper.

And then—finally—he cracked.

“Fuck you,” he spat, but it came out too soft. Shaky. Like it hurt to say.

Layne grinned wider.

“Still pretending, huh?” he cooed. “Still putting on the tough guy mask when you’re one thread away from crying for it?”

Mike tensed.

Layne stepped back slightly, just enough to turn Mike around by the shoulders and force him to face Reader.

Mike wouldn’t meet their gaze.

His eyes dropped to the floor. His hair fell in front of his face. His hands twitched at his sides—like he didn’t know whether to cover himself, shield himself, or reach out.

Layne stepped in behind him again, one hand resting on Mike’s bare hip. He leaned back casually against the wall and brought Mike down against him.

Reader was breathless. Flushed. Frozen.

And Layne looked so pleased.

“Say thank you for watching, Mikey.”

Reader's eyed widened, and they felt the wave of second-hand humiliation intensely.

Mike’s eyes squeezed shut.

“Go on,” Layne said, tone playful now. “She earned it, didn’t she?”

Mike shook his head.

Layne’s hand crept back around his throat. “Say it.”

“No.”

Layne tightened slightly. Not choking. Just applying pressure.

Mike whimpered. Soft. Humiliated.

“Say it,” Layne repeated. “Say thank you for watching me be a slut.”

And that was what did it.

Mike’s knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself with a hand on the Layne behind him.

Layne let go. Started to trail teasing patterns across him, almost purring.

Mike stood there, flushed and shaking.

Then—

“…Thank you,” he said, voice barely audible. “For watching.”

Layne laughed.

“Good boy.”

Reader’s lungs hurt.

They hadn’t realized they were holding their breath until it trembled out of them.

Mike stood there, shaking. Red-faced. Staring at the ground like it might swallow him if he stared hard enough.

His voice still echoed in their ears:

“Thank you. For watching.”

It was horrible. How did Layne manage to strip him bare with just his words like that, leaving him utterly exposed? Layne’s hand was caresses him rewardingly. Lazily now. Satisfied. Possessive. Like petting something he’d already broken.

And Reader just—stood there.

Frozen.

Mind screaming.

“I should stop this.”

Mike looked like he might cry. His lip trembled. His fists clenched. His whole body shook—not from rage, but from something deeper. Something like grief.

“I should help him.”

He looked so small. So exposed. Every inch of that untouchable cool he’d always worn like armor—gone.

“This isn’t right. Layne’s being so—”

And then Mike whimpered. A little, bitten sound. One that made Layne smile and pull him closer by the waist, knuckles dragging along bare skin like he was deciding where to bite next.

“…I can’t.”

Reader’s thoughts twisted.

Shame. Disgust. Need.

“I want to see more...”

Their knees wobbled.

Because Mike wasn’t just being humiliated.

He was aching for it.

And Layne? Layne knew.

He leaned in, whispering close to Mike’s ear again—his voice like poison, sweetened just enough to burn.

“You gonna cry for me again, baby?”

Mike shook his head instantly. Eyes wide, lips parted.

“N-No.”

Layne grinned.

He hooked a finger under Mike’s chin, tilted his face up—not to meet his eyes, but Reader’s.

“Don’t lie,” Layne said, louder now. “Not when she’s watching.”

Mike made a sound—fragile and hoarse.

Layne let go of his chin and ran a hand down Mike’s chest instead. Then lower. Until his palm flattened just above Mike’s waistband.

He leaned in close again, speaking low and slow, but Reader could still hear it.

“You know what I want.”

Mike froze.

Layne moved behind him again, voice soft and cruel.

“Do it.”

Mike didn’t move.

Layne’s tone sharpened.

“Take your cock out. Show her how pathetic you are.”

Reader’s heart stopped.

Mike’s fingers twitched.

Layne pressed in closer, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Mikey,” he whispered. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen you before. Might as well give her the full show.”

Mike breathed out a shudder.

“I…” he mumbled, squirming.

“Do it.”

Reader didn’t blink. Couldn’t. Their eyes stung from the heat and the horror and the spiraling obsession.

Because Mike’s hands—shaking, slow—rose to his jeans.

He didn’t look at them. Couldn’t.

He just unbuttoned them with trembling fingers.

And the whole time—Layne was smirking.

Mike’s hand trembled over the undone waistband of his jeans.

He hadn’t pulled them down yet.

His knuckles were white from the strain of holding back.

He was twitching with tension.

Chest rising and falling. Jaw clenched. His whole body resisting the humiliation.

Layne, behind him, was calm.

A slow smile curling in the corner of his mouth. Like a wolf watching a wounded thing struggle.

He leaned down again—his voice velvet soft but sharp as a blade.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispered. “Don’t you want to show her?”

Mike shook his head, wild, jerky. “No—fuck—this isn’t—”

Layne’s hand snapped up and grabbed his jaw, forcing his head up.

“Look at her.”

Mike resisted.

Layne growled.

“Look. At. Her.”

And finally, Mike did.

His eyes met Reader’s—and it was like his whole soul cracked.

The shame. The fear. The desire. It was all there.

And reader was sure it was also their fault— that the depraved interest in their own face was part of what broke Mike. 

His lower lip trembled. His eyes shone. His body was quaking with the effort to keep standing.

Layne’s voice slid into his ear again, quiet enough it might have passed as loving—if the words weren’t so cruel.

“You wanted to be with someone else. You wanted to be with a girl.”

He kissed the corner of Mike’s jaw. Mike jerked.

“I’m just giving you what you wanted.”

Layne’s hand slid down his stomach, back over his waistband, and then lower—slowly stroking Mike through his jeans like a mockery of gentleness.

“She’s right there, Mikey. Look at her. She’s watching. She wants this.”

Mike whimpered.

Layne licked a slow stripe along his neck.

“You need to be good,” he whispered. “Be thankful. Don’t you?”

And Mike—eyes still locked with Reader’s, flushed, shaking, utterly wrecked—finally broke.

His hand dropped down.

He pulled himself out, trembling, and started to stroke.

Layne didn’t stop him.

Just leaned in behind him, whispering slow and poisonous:

"Good boy." kissing his cheek in reward. "That's it..."

“Let her see how desperate you are.”

Mike gasped. His hips bucked. His lips parted with a soft, involuntary moan.

“Let her see what a fucking mess you are for me.”

Reader couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

They were glued to the sight of him—shaking, red-faced, working himself in front of them. It was positively sinful. His eyes fluttering, his moans stuttering out as Layne’s hand returned to his throat, light and possessive.

Layne whispered again:

“Go on, baby. Show her how you cry for me.”

Mike did.

Tears spilled down his cheeks.

And he kept stroking. Kept moaning.

Kept looking at Reader the whole time.

It was positively sinful.

His eyes fluttering, his moans stuttering out as Layne’s hand returned to his throat, light and possessive.

And Reader—ashamed, breathless, aching—felt their own thighs press together.

Because they could feel it now, in their chest, in their stomach, in the heat between their legs:

They had done this.

They had helped break him.

Layne leaned down again, nuzzling the side of Mike’s cheek almost sweetly.

“See that?” he murmured to Reader. “He’s such a good boy when someone’s watching.”

Mike whimpered.

Layne turned his mouth to Mike’s ear, breath hot and slow. “Say it again,” he whispered. “Say thank you for watching.”

Mike shook his head, gasping. His hand never stopped moving. His thighs trembled.

Layne’s hand at his throat tightened just slightly.

“Say it.”

A soft, broken sob cracked from Mike’s lips.

“…Thank you for watching,” he whispered.

Layne clicked his tongue.

“No, no. That wasn’t good enough.”

He pulled Mike’s hair back. Not hard—just commanding.

“Look her in the eyes and say it.”

Mike moaned—helpless, exposed, his hand still sliding along his length with shameful rhythm—and finally raised his gaze again.

Reader’s breath hitched.

He looked wrecked.

“Thank you…” he gasped, voice shaking. He sounded so small. “Thank you for watching me… be like this.”

Layne purred, pleased.

“Good boy.”

And then—just as Mike’s breathing hitched, as his pace stuttered like he was about to fall over the edge—

Layne grabbed his wrist and stopped him cold.

Mike let out a guttural sound—something between a gasp and a sob.

“No,” Layne said flatly.

Mike’s knees buckled.

“Not yet,” Layne added, voice colder. “Not until she says you can.”

Reader’s heart slammed in their chest.

Mike whimpered again. He was still staring at them—desperate, red-eyed, trembling all over. He was gasping for air, trying to get a hold of himself.

Layne leaned in, his mouth still ghosting Mike’s ear.

“Beg her.”

Mike shook his head.

Layne grabbed his jaw again.

“You begged me last time, Mikey. Don’t you dare stop now.”

Mike’s mouth parted, words dying before they could form. He hiccupped, shame making him falter. But Reader saw the tears build again.

“P-please…”

Layne hissed. “Please what?”

Mike blinked down at Reader like it would burn to speak the words.

“…Please let me come.”

The words dropped into the silence like blood in water.

Reader’s lips parted.

A strange feeling ran through them. Something hot and shameful and dark. A hesitation.

They didn’t answer.

They couldn’t.

...Not yet.

Mike’s eyes stayed locked on theirs—desperate, raw. But the seconds stretched. Their silence became its own weapon.

His voice cracked again.

“Please…” he said, quieter. “Please, I—I can’t—”

Layne laughed.

A low, wicked laugh.

“See?” he purred, stroking Mike’s jaw like he was proud of him. “I told you she wanted you like this.”

Mike whimpered, eyes glossing again.

Layne kept going—his voice soft, coaxing, so gentle it hurt.

“She loves watching you like this, baby. Look at her—she loves it.”

Reader’s heart thundered.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

They did.

They hated it, hated themselves for it, for what they were letting happen, for what they were enjoying... Their thighs squeezing in desire watching the scene unfold.

“You’re just so beautiful like this, Mikey…” Layne whispered, letting his fingers trace down Mike’s heaving chest. “This is the real you.”

Mike sobbed.

His knees gave out, and Layne caught him—pulled him down slowly, carefully, letting him kneel in front of Reader, trembling and exposed, his ruined cock still in his hand.

Layne crouched behind him like a serpent coiling.

“Go on,” he whispered in Mike’s ear. “Say it again. Beg her one more time.”

Mike didn’t even hesitate now.

“Please—please let me come—please—” he gasped, tears streaking down his cheeks, hand around his painfully swollen member. “I’ll do anything—please, I need it—”

And Reader—

Reader felt something twist deep inside them.

Power.

Shame.

Arousal.

They swallowed, lips trembling, and finally nodded, gazing down at Mike kneeling before them.

“…Yes,” they whispered. “Come.”

Mike shattered.

His mouth fell open with a sob, his hips jerking forward, moaning louder than he had all night as he spilled across his own stomach, his knees shaking, his body collapsing backward into Layne’s arms.

Layne held him like a ragdoll. Stroking his sweat-slick hair, whispering sweet venom against his cheek.

“Good boy.”

Mike’s body was completely limp in Layne’s arms, helpless, spent, trembling.

His breath hitched with little aftershocks and sobs, shoulders still shaking. His cheeks were wet. His mouth hung open, slack, gasping.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even try to move.

Reader stood frozen—heart pounding, lips parted, still clutching the edge of the wall for support.

The room was silent.

Except for the soft, fractured sound of Mike trying to breathe through the aftermath.

Layne didn’t speak, either.

Not yet.

He just looked up at Reader.

And smirked.

Not cruel.

Not mocking.

Just slow. Knowing. Intimate.

Like he was saying:

“You watched him fall apart and loved every second.”

“You helped.”

You're just as bad as me. 

And Reader remained, a fly caught in amber, witnessing the truth reflected in his eyes.

[nenynrawrites]

Kfhgfjfff This was the best🫠🤤❤️

warnings: NSFW / explicit content, dubious consent (somnophilia / altered states), consent play, sleepy sex, power imbalance, psychological manipulation / mind control themes, fantasy sex magic, posession kink, mixing dreams / reality, hypnosis / trance, soulbond / spiritual possession themes, enchantment, magic influence, psychedelic, mindfuck, obsession, ownership, daddy kink, subspace, dollification kink, praise + degradation, somatic obedience, objectification, dreamsex, breeding kink, cockwarming, orgasm denial

wordcount: ~2k

series: pt. 1 pt. 2

a/n: mike said he was done— but he can't get enough of you...

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

“There she goes again…” His voice drips in like honey, deep and soft, as your eyelids flutter but don’t open. You can feel him before you know if you’re awake—buried deep inside, stretching you open, cock pulsing with steady heat. Your hips twitch, already moving with him before you understand why.

He’s got one hand splayed across your back. The other wrapped around your throat—not choking, just holding. Anchoring you.

You feel completely out of it. You make soft noises—whimpers, breathy gasps, unconscious pleas. He leans in and croons,

“What was that, little thing? Dreamin' of me? You always do.” The whisper right against your ear sends chills all across you.

“Or maybe you never really woke up.”

You whimper. You don't know which version of him is touching you now—the real one, or one from that dark dreamy realm that never quite lets you go. And it doesn’t matter. They’re both him.

They both own you.

Your body rocks helplessly on his cock, guided by his hands. He lifts your hips and lets you fall—slow, wet, sloppy. You gasp.

“Shhh… that’s it,” he croons, brushing hair from your cheek. “Good girl. Just let it happen.”

You’re still so wet. So raw. So stuffed full you don’t know where the pleasure ends and the ache begins. You give a mumbled moan of confusion.

“Still full’a me,” he groans, a soft sloshing noise emphasizing his words. “Fucked you full in your sleep and you kept it, huh?”

“That’s my sweet little sleepy darlin'. My perfect fuckdoll.”

He starts guiding your hips again. Slow. Deep. Rocking you against his cock until you’re leaking around the base and your thighs tremble like you're not even real anymore.

You whimper into the sheets, dazed, overwhelmed—half-lost in the haze he’s cast over you. You feel a slight jolt of panic at the disorientation, but the moment of resistance is smoothed over, with nothing to grab on to bring you back to reality.

And then—

His fingers slide up. His palm cups your jaw. He turns your head just enough so he can lean in and whisper—

“You thought you could wake up?”

His tongue licks at the corner of your mouth.

“You thought you were done?”

You sob something incoherent.

“Nah, baby.” “You're mine. Always were. Awake, asleep, dreamin’—don’t matter. Your body’s mine. Your holes are mine. Your mind...” He chuckles. “…mine too.”

His voice curls around your spine like smoke. Thick. Velvet. Inescapable.

And maybe it’s the way his cock throbs inside you… Or the way his hand tightens on your hip… Or the way the room seems less real now—melty, like candlewax and shadows— But suddenly you’re falling again.

Not physically—no, your body’s still stuffed full, still being moved, still trembling against his cock— But you feel it, that sensation like your mind is slipping from your own grasp.

Spiraling down through satin-drenched nothingness, sucked back into that dream-realm where he’s always waiting. Always watching.

Another hand. Same voice. Same cock.

But different weight. Different angle.

You sob. You twitch. You try to look up—and can’t.

Heavy sleep weighs your lashes shut. You’re anchored. Soft. Shaky. So... good...

You can't help but part more to the sensation—to him—for him. Feel how he splits you open.

“There we go…”

The other voice now. Deeper. Hungrier. The dream-him. Or the real one. You don’t know. You can’t know.

“Lookit you, baby. You don’t even care which one of me’s fuckin’ you.”

A kiss to your temple.

“It doesn't matter, does it?” Hands all across your body, shadowy warmth sliding across you. A groan against your cheek.

“You’re just my pretty little dolly, aren't you? Dumb, soft, full of me. That’s all you've ever been. All you ever gotta be.”

Your mouth opens. A tiny, choked ahhh~ That’s all that comes out.

He fucks into you deeper—real or dream or both—hands firm at your waist like you’ll float away if he lets go. Even in your daze, your body responds to his every move—like you're nothing more than an instrument he is playing.

“You stay right there,” he whispers, voice like a lullaby, “Don’t run, don’t wake up. Not till I’m done with you. Not till I’ve used you in both worlds.”

You mewl. Your body clenches, slurping around him. Milking him.

You don’t know which realm your orgasm starts in. But it you feel it coming hard.

You whimper, your walls fluttering around the cock inside you, everything becoming more hot, more intense. Fingers tighten painfully around your waist.

The sensation of stopping is so hard, so jarring, as he thrusts deep into you and stills. Your breathing stops for a moment. You tense, whine. You feel your body arching, being pulled into position by the hand in your hair.

“Aw hell no you don't, baby. Not this time.” The growl rumbles all through you, all around you. The distant memory of disobeying resurfaces with a hot wave of shame that makes you clench down. He hisses.

“Don't be a damned brat. You don't get to come.” You feel a gentle, possessive caress all down your curves. “Only on my terms.” You tremble, feeling a fluttery, twinkly sensation dance across your nerves. “Now... open back up for me~” His voice returns to that suave, coaxing purr that tears down all your defenses, all your borders.

You finally exhale as he slips in even deeper somehow, your body letting him even further in, slumping completely, all muscles relaxing.

“Fuck yeah…”

You clench around him at the dark satisfaction in his voice,

That glimmering sensation hums just beneath your skin again—like stardust flickering through your bloodstream, reacting to his voice, his will. It's like a spell that clings to every inch of you, velvet-sweet and iron-strong, wrapping around your hips, your throat, your fluttering core like silk and shadow.

“Oh, that’s it,” he breathes, voice low and molten, “let me work my magic, baby.”

Your breath catches as the energy curls through you like fingers beneath the skin—opening you, guiding him in even deeper, deeper than should be possible. You're not sure if it’s just the work of your needy mind, or just the way he owns you now.

You don’t even know what you are anymore.

You’re floating.

Tethered only by the cock inside you. The hands holding you down. The voices—two, now—curling through your head like smoke and honey.

“That’s it…” One breathes at your throat. “Good girl…” The other coos from somewhere deeper. “So soft…” “So dumb for it…” “Such a good little dream-thing…”

You shudder. You melt. You can't tell if your eyes are open. There's the blur of him, the weight of him so heavy and real, but you don't know how much it is you're seeing and how much you're just feeling. Everything’s warm, wet, dark. You’re being used—worshipped—possessed by two versions of the same man, and you don’t care which one is real.

Because it's always him.

And you belong to him.

Your limbs move without your input—knees drawn up, hips tilted, arms nudged over your head like you’re being posed. Like a doll. Like a thing made just for this. His hands shape you—gently, reverently, commandingly—and you go wherever he puts you. Your body yields, soft and obedient, bewitched by his presence or simply trained to respond.

“There we go... nice and soft for me,” he murmurs, voice syrup-slow as his palm skims your thigh and eases it wider. “Just like that.”

Time slips.

It feels like hours. It feels like forever. Little whispers and fragmented moments fold in on themselves. You push at it, trying to make sense of it all. You immediately touch a wall of resistance. Your body jolts, thighs quivering, head lolling as a flash of sharp pleasure rips through you.

Your lashes flutter—

And suddenly, you’re awake.

Eyes open. Chest heaving.

You’re straddling him. Hands braced on his chest. Hips still grinding on his cock in slow, automatic circles.

You choke on a sob.

“Wha—?”

Your voice is raw. Wrecked. You don’t remember… how…

He looks up at you. Calm. Smirking.

One hand slides to your throat. The other caresses your trembling thigh.

“Shhh.”

Your breath catches.

“What did I tell you? Don’t think, baby. Don’t even try. Just go back to sleep.”

Your mouth opens. And closes.

Your body obeys before your mind can argue.

Your spine slumps. Your eyes roll. Your hips keep moving.

Back into rhythm. Back into him.

“Good girl,” he breathes.

His hands guide you. His voice cradles you.

“That’s it. Let daddy dream through you.” “Let me fuck you from both sides of the veil.” “Let me in your mind, your body, your soul.”

And you do. You do because you can’t not.

You feel him, like a tangible power all around you. Keeping you warm and sweet and fuzzy. You don’t know if you’re dreaming anymore, if you'll ever escape from this limbo.

You only know that you don't want to. That you’re his.

Your spirit feels like a wisp in hands, so soft and slippery, yet he has such a good grasp of you wherever you fall, playing this little dance of catching you every time he drops you, already waiting on the other side.

Your head lolls forward. Limp. Open-mouthed. Barely breathing.

He moans softly at the sight of you— his doll —slumped above him and still working his cock like a mindless, sleep-drunk thing built for no other purpose.

He drags his fingers down your spine, slow and reverent. Watches your skin pebble. Watches your cunt clench around him even in your stupor.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still fuckin’ me in your sleep, like a proper doll.”

He cups the back of your head and pulls you down, burying your face in his neck. You whimper—tiny, muffled. He holds you there, rocking your hips for you. Steady. Sweet. Slow enough to keep you under.

“That’s my good girl.” “My sweet, naughty little kitten.” “You'll never escape me. Escape this. Body’s mine even when your mind’s gone, huh?”

You mewl something soft and shivery into his throat. You don’t even know what you’re saying. You don’t know you’re speaking.

But he does. He hears it.

“Yours… always was…”

His cock twitches deep inside you. His fingers tighten in your hair. You can’t see the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his jaw flexes.

“Say it again.” His voice breaks. “Say that shit again.”

You can’t help it. You’re floating again—lips brushing skin, thoughts unraveling into instinct, voice no longer your own.

“Want you inside… even when I’m gone…” “…dream of you all the time…” “…don’t wanna wake up if you’re not there…”

You’re crying and smiling and drooling, hips stuttering and clit throbbing, and your body just keeps going.

“My body’s yours… awake or asleep…” “…my body, my mind, my soul…” “…don’t ever let me go…”

He growls. Wraps both arms around you. Rolls you beneath him again, keeping his cock inside you—never breaking the rhythm. Never letting you go.

“You’re not leavin’, doll.” “You’re mine. Always were. Always fuckin’ will be.”

He kisses your temple. Your cheeks. Your tears. Your lips, slack and breathless and wet with mindless devotion, whimpering his name like a prayer.

“Stay with me.”

Your lashes flutter. You break —again.

He keeps rocking into you until your entire body trembles and spills. Until your thighs shake and your toes curl and your mouth opens in a perfect, silent o that only releases the faintest, softest:

“…daddy…”

And then you’re gone.

Gone again.

Your heart races. Your eyes flutter. You’re whining and squirming vaguely, so swollen with him. So hot, quivering, intense. So his.

Still, he never stops. You lose yourself in the kaleisescope of sensation, overwhelmed and unable to handle it. On it unfurls—slow and vast—blurring the world into dark static. Until you lose your grip on any semblance of reality itself.

You don’t remember how you got here.

Only the feeling —heavy, honey-thick, like molasses.

But now, you’re walking.

Somewhere soft. Somewhere sacred.

Bare feet on warm wood. Golden light rippling through sheer curtains. The scent of cedar, candlewax, and something unmistakably him —clove, smoke, sweat, sex.

You know this place.

Not from memory. From instinct.

It lives inside you. It is you.

A chime rings deep in your chest: this is home.

And he’s here.

Standing in the golden hush. Bare chest aglow. Eyes dark with knowing. Hair wild. Smile soft. Like he’s been waiting forever.

“Welcome home, darlin’.”

You tremble.

He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t have to.

You step toward him—and the world melts. Softens. Warps at the edges like heat-haze.

Your breath feels made of him.

You feel him before he touches you. A warmth at your back. A hum on your thighs. A breath at your throat.

You blink— And the room is gone.

Replaced by velvet-dark nothingness. A void laced with molten light.

He’s everywhere.

Not in body. But in presence.

Filling you from every angle. Every part. Cock. Fingers. Tongue. Mind. Spirit.

You’re floating. Trembling. Overflowing with him. Even though he hasn’t touched you in any way that makes sense.

But it feels real. So hot. So wet.

You sob—airless, split wide—just as the rhythm begins. That familiar, relentless grind. The pressure. The pulse. The claiming.

And then— You feel it.

A tether.

Tugging you back.

The rhythm of his cock— real, buried inside you— perfectly synced with the thrusts in this dream-space.

They’re one. He’s one.

“It’s all me,” his voice says—echoing through the air, the walls, your cunt, your mind. “Your dream.” “Your body.” “Your pleasure.” “All mine.”

You scream. Or maybe you just shine.

Your body pulses with heat and surrender. Every part of you burns with his touch.

His energy cradles your womb, your chest, your spine, your throat. You feel the sensation of his deep pleasure in your submission overtake you.

“You’ll only come on my cock,” he growls—his voice sliding through the void and through you, vibrating in your blood. “You’ll only break when I spill inside you.”

And then— he does.

In the dream. In the waking world. In you.

He fucks himself into your soul. Fills you in every reality. Curses you with his name.

And you come —so hard the universe folds around it.

You feel it hit in your waking body—your back arches, his cock buried deep, his cum flooding your cunt, warm and final.

“You’re mine.”

The words wrap around your orgasm like silk.

You gasp. And open your eyes.

He’s above you. Smiling. Smug. Still inside you.

“Told you I’d stay with you, doll.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, possessive, adoring. “No matter where..."

A gentle kiss on your temple.

"Always... and forever... my darlin'..."

[nenynrawrites]

Kshdks The last part with being in his arms🥰🫠

warnings: NSFW / explicit content, light somnophilia, mindfuck themes, dollification kink, praise + degradation, soulbond themes, possession/obsession themes, comeplay, creampie

wordcount: ~2k

series: pt. 1 pt. 3

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

You jolt—eyes flying open with a gasp—

But you’re not alone.

The sheets are tangled around your legs. Your thighs are damp. Your whole body thrums with phantom pleasure.

And Mike—the real Mike—is between them.

He’s got your knees hooked over his shoulders like he owns you.

His tongue is already buried deep, slow and languid, lapping up your dream-heat like he’s been tasting it for hours.

You whimper, chest rising and falling in tiny panicked gasps. Your head lolls to the side on the pillow.

The room smells like cotton and sex and skin.

Your skin.

And him.

He’s looking up at you with a sleepy, smug little smirk like he knows everything you just dreamed about.

His hands—large, reverent, greedy—spread wide across your hips, holding you open.

“There she is,” he murmurs, lifting his head just enough to smirk against your inner thigh.

His lips are swollen. His eyes—dark.

“You were fuckin’ whimpering for me in your sleep, baby.”

He kisses your trembling core again, slow and heavy.

“Could feel you throbbing down here…”

His mouth barely leaves you—he’s too busy licking up every bit of slick you soaked through the sheets.

“Had a nice dream, did you?”

You can barely make a sound. Your hips twitch. You’re so sensitive.

He kisses your clit. Once. Twice. Slow.

“You were squirming,” he says like he’s accusing you. “Makin’ all these little noises. Whiny. Desperate. Like you were beggin’ for it.”

His hands slide up your body—everywhere. Palming your tits. Thumbing your nipples. Holding you still while you writhe. His breathing all ragged.

“Didn’t take a genius to figure out what was goin’ on in that pretty little head.”

You try to speak—some breathless little protest, some pitiful attempt at denial—but he just laughs.

Warm. Dangerous.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

His tongue drags up your slit.

“Thought I wouldn’t hear you moanin’ my name? Squirmin’ like a bitch in heat next to me?”

You shake your head, but he’s already sucking on you—soft, rhythmic, devastating.

You mewl. Arch. You can’t stop.

He flattens his tongue. Licks up—then down—slow and possessive.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, warm breath ghosting over your soaked pussy.

“Tell me what happened. What I was doin’ to you in that little slutty dream of yours.”

Your cheeks burn. You can’t speak. You’re too close. Too soft.

Too his.

He chuckles, and you feel it between your legs. The low rumble of his voice sinks into your core.

“What, shy now?”

Two fingers slide in—thick and slow and curling just right.

Your back arches off the bed.

He groans when he feels how wet you are.

“Fuck. You woke up like this, huh?”

He kisses your inner thigh.

“You were just dreamin’ about me and still made a fuckin’ mess of the sheets?”

You sob—nod—squirm.

He picks up the pace.

His tongue circles your clit. His fingers move deeper, relentless. He keeps talking, voice low and dangerous:

“Hell yeah you were.”

“You’re fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart. Look at you. You're a fuckin' mess.”

His voice muffles in your folds as he noses around shamelessly.

You gasp. Try to answer. Still Can’t.

You’re trembling.

The way he holds you down… the brush of his hair on your thighs… that glint in his eye—

It’s too familiar.

Like he knows.

His tone sharpens.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and tell me, aren’t you?”

He drags you to the edge. Doesn’t let you fall.

“What made you a wreck before I even touched you?”

Faster. Deeper. Your eyes roll back.

“Every detail.”

Thrust.

“What I did to you.”

Curl.

“How it felt.”

His patience runs thin. You hear it in every growl, every sharp flick of his tongue.

You whimper—soft and broken—thighs trembling, breath gasping. Still you can’t speak.

He pulls back.

Just enough to leave you desperate.

“Speak up,” he says—stern, devastating. “You wanna come? Use your words.”

You’re crumbling. You stutter, eyes rolling back.

He watches you fall apart.

“You think I don’t know?”

His hand presses you open. His mouth covers you again.

Your hands clutch the sheets. Your hips buck up, needy, desperate, helpless.

“Darlin’,” he drawls, slow, dark.

“Don’t tell me you thought that was just a dream…”

His fingers curl deep.

You choke on a whimper. Your heart stutters. Your eyes flutter.

You lose it.

Your whole body shakes. Your mouth falls open.

And you come—helpless and loud and sobbing—before he gives you permission.

You can’t think. Can’t stop it. Can't help it. Can’t even say his name properly through the broken gasps.

He groans like he loves the taste—but when he lifts his head…

His face is dark.

“Oh. So that’s how we’re doing this now?” he mutters, slow and dangerous, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He kisses your trembling inner thigh—hard.

Then he grips your hips tight.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come until I said it?”

You whimper. Try to speak. You plead.

But it’s too late. He’s crawling up your body—slow. Controlled.

And furious.

Real. Hot. There.

You feel every inch of him pressing down—his weight, his heat, the sharp edge of his restraint barely holding.

His cock drags hot and heavy along your thigh, smearing precum against your skin. His chest grazes your nipples, sticky with sweat. His voice—

Right at your ear.

Naughty damned doll…

It’s not a purr this time. It’s a warning.

His teeth graze your throat. His palm slips under your ass—gripping you like he owns you.

“You gonna tell me what you were dreamin’ now?”

You whimper. Try to hide.

But he growls—low. Dangerous.

His fingers tangle in your hair. He yanks your head back just enough to make you look at him.

He leans in closer, voice brushing hot against your ear.

“Be a good girl…”

You’re shaking. He forces your gaze into his again—eyes black with want, rage, obsession.

“Tell me.”

You stammer. Try. Words stammer wet and fragile from your lips.

But you do.

All of it spills out of you.

You tell him about the dream.

About the three of him.

About how they used you—held you down—overwhelmed you.

How they whispered dark, possessive things while you writhed.

How they surrounded you, consumed you. How they filled every hole, every sense, every breath—

and all you could feel, could taste, could know was him.

How they came inside you—just like that.

How you wanted it.

How you loved it.

You choke on the words, body trembling. Your cheeks burn.

But he’s silent.

Too silent.

You barely register the way he shifts—until you feel it.

The blunt head of his cock sliding against your soaked folds.

And then—he pushes in.

One hard, slow thrust—deep.

You wail—high and ruined—body already so sore and sensitive and overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. He bottoms out inside you like he owns the place.

“Of course you did,” he growls, voice hot at your ear.

“Fuckin’ loved it. Dream-you didn’t even try to fight. Just took it. Let go. Went all limp like a good little doll.”

He starts moving. Sharp. Punishing.

“Bet you liked being passed around like that, huh?” he sneers.

“All fucked-out. Useless. Didn’t even need to think. Just needed me in every hole.”

You sob—hips jerking up to meet his.

He’s deep inside you, pace steady and cruel.

“You get that dumb for me in your dreams, baby?”

“That’s how bad you need it? You just a dumb little whore for me?” His pupils are blown, his eyes a wild black.

He grinds in, dragging your hips down against him, hitting so deep you see stars.

“So easy to wreck you, huh? Just a few pretty words in your sleep and you’re soaked through the fuckin’ sheets.”

Your whole body is arching, you're whining and crying. Your hands claw at the pillow. You’re trying to hold on. You can’t.

He notices.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

But then he slows—just enough to make you whimper.

He leans in, voice dark and mocking.

“Dream-you didn’t cry like this.”

“She didn’t fight it. She just took what I gave her. Let herself belong to me.”

His teeth scrape your throat. His hips slam forward again.

“You gonna let go for me now, baby?”

“Or you gonna keep pretendin’ you’re not mine to use?”

Your body shudders. You can’t breathe. You nod, nod, nod—pathetic and gone.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

He fucks you harder. Marks you neck with possessive bites. Forces you to feel everything.

And right at your ear:

“You’re mine. Every version of you. Awake or dreaming. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You can’t speak anymore.

You can’t even think.

You’re drooling, body slack and trembling beneath him. You barely even register him manhandling you around and turning you over into the pillow with anything but a soft whine. Your hips twitch, thighs limp and so shaky you're thankful he's holding you. You give a shrill cry at the weight of him, the heat of his cock still grinding into you, deeper and sharper now from behind.

He’s not letting up.

Not when you’ve earned this.

Not when you came without permission.

Not when you confessed all your filthy little dream thoughts.

Not when you proved just how much you need him—everywhere, always.

“That’s it,” he growls, voice all smoke and gravel as his hips snap forward.

“Get stupid for me. Just like you were in that fuckin’ dream.”

You whimper. Your hands slip around on the sheets.

He grabs your wrists. Pins them again, up against the headboard.

“No.”

“You don’t get to squirm away now.”

He's completely curled around your tiny body, swallowing you easily. His pace is deep. Deliberate.

Each thrust like a strike against reason—pounding the thoughts from your skull until nothing’s left but whimpers and cries and the feel of him everywhere.

“What are you?” he snarls, voice right in your ear.

“Tell me.”

You can’t answer. You try.

Your mouth opens—nothing comes out but a broken little sob.

“Uh-uh. Use your words, doll.”

You sob harder. You try again.

“Y-Yours—” It’s a mewl. A hiccup. Half a whimper.

He grabs your jaw. Forces your head back. Forces your eyes to his.

“Say it right.”

Tears spill down your cheeks. Your legs twitch around his waist. Your whole body clenches—gives in.

“I’m your doll,” you cry.

“Yours. I’m your dolly, I’m—I’m nothing but yours—please—”

He groans. Deep. Feral.

And then he breaks you.

His thrusts turn ragged. Rough. He’s panting against your neck, fucking you through it—into it—like he’s trying to drive the words deeper than your skin.

“Yeah you are.”

“My perfect little fuckdoll. Look at you—look what I do to you.”

“All limp. All soaked. Can’t even think without me tellin’ you how.”

You nod. Or maybe your body just wobbles with the force of him.

Your eyes flutter. Your mouth falls open. You’re gone.

“You gonna come for me like that?” he snarls.

“Like my messy little dolly? Not a thought in that pretty little head?”

You sob something like yes and please at the same time.

And he gives it to you.

His fingers slip under, rub your clit in hard, tight circles while he drives into you from behind—deep and thick and neverending.

You come so hard you can’t scream.

Your whole body locks up. Then collapses.

You’re twitching. Gasping. Babbling.

You don’t even hear him the first time.

But then—

His breath is hot against your cheek.

His voice low. Final.

“Gonna fill you now, doll.”

“Just like in your dream.”

“Every drop. All of me. Gonna stuff you so full you feel me for days.”

You sob—helpless, messy, already fucked-out.

You nod, needing it more than anything.

He groans, deep in his throat—then slams in, hard and final—

And you feel him spill.

So hot. So deep. So much.

And all you can do is shudder and take it. Eyes fluttering. Body ruined. Mind blank.

Just his little doll.

And when he finally stills—breathing heavy, chest heaving against your back—

He wraps his arms around you. Cradles you like you’re glass.

“Shhh,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder. “I’ve got you now. Just mine. All mine.”

You barely notice when he pulls out—slow, careful, like he doesn’t want to waste a single drop.

You whimper at the emptiness. Still twitching. Still clenching.

But then his hand is there again, slipping between your thighs, pressing his spend back in.

“Ah-ah-ah~” he purrs, gently thumbing you closed.

“Gotta keep me inside, baby. Just like you wanted.”

You mewl at the sensation.

He lies down beside you. Wraps you up in his arms—tight. Possessive. One big hand between your legs. One curled around your waist. One smoothing up and down your stomach like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you from the inside out.

His nose nuzzles behind your ear. His lips brush your temple. It's dizzying.

“Such a good little doll,” he whispers.

“Takin’ me so sweet. Letting me ruin you so nice.”

You try to say something—anything—but it’s all breath and heat and shuddering. You can’t speak. You can barely move.

Your body is jelly. Your mind’s a puddle.

All you know is his voice, soft and warm and low, stroking through your brain like velvet.

“Don’t need to think, baby.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

He kisses the back of your shoulder. You feel him smile there, slow and satisfied.

“You know I’m never lettin’ you go now, right?”

His fingers trail down your hip. Trace the outline of your curves, lazy and reverent.

“You’re mine now.”

“Mine to keep full. Mine to fuck stupid. Mine to hold like this—every night, every morning.”

You sigh. A little whimper. A dreamy little sob. You nuzzle closer.

Still bare. Still aching. Still his.

He presses a kiss to your hairline. Tucks your head beneath his chin.

“Just rest now, doll.”

“Go to sleep full of me.”

“I’ll still be right here when you wake up beggin’ again.”

And you obey...

You fall asleep like that—ruined, marked, his—with his cum inside you and his voice in your head and his arms curled tight around your soft, fucked-out body.

[nenynrawrites]

OH MY GOD, THIS IS SO CUUUUUTE!!!!🥹🫶🫶

home

small mike snuggy imagine<3 (‾◡◝)♪(´▽｀) ~600 words 🍂

you're tucked into mike’s lap, both of you sunk deep into the oversized bean bag like it's a personal little nest. the room is dim, warm and quiet, save for the soft hum of a record spinning something slow and dreamy. the purr of a fan in the background. his arms are draped around you, heavy and lazy, like he has no plans of letting you go. your legs are tangled with his, your cheek pressed against his chest. the bean bag hugs both of you like a big soft hand.

his shirt smells like laundry and a like him—something woodsy and faintly sweet, like old cologne and vinyl records—and you nuzzle into it with a sigh, burying your face like you're trying to become part of him.

mike shifts a little, arm tightening around your waist. “you good, baby?” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly from not talking for a while.

“mmmhmm,” you hum, eyes already fluttering shut. “just… feel safe.”

there’s a pause, and then—softly—he starts humming.

it’s not anything recognizable, just a little tune that flows out of him without thinking. maybe something he heard on the radio, maybe something from his head. it's rough in places, lazy in others, like he’s just letting it pour out in time with his heartbeat.

you feel it vibrate through his chest under your cheek, and it makes your whole body go soft. your fingers curl into the hem of his shirt. you nuzzle closer.

mike’s hand moves in your hair, slow and gentle. he doesn’t say anything else—just keeps humming, almost like a lullaby, and every so often he presses a little kiss to your head. his lips don’t even leave your hair when he murmurs, barely audible, “love you like this.”

you smile against his chest, too sleepy to say it back, but he knows.

he always knows.

when you wake a little while later, you’re still curled up on his chest, nestled in the bean bag like it was made just for the two of you. the light is golden and dim, casting sleepy shadows on the walls. everything is hushed and still—just the soft whoosh of the fan, and mike.

his fingers weave into your hair, slow and tender, like he’s memorizing the strands. it gives you chills. he brushes them behind your ear, then starts gently stroking them, over and over, the rhythm like a lullaby.

"you always get so quiet when i do this," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “like a little cat.”

you smile, eyes closed, your arm curled across his chest as he starts to sway you just a little. a lazy, soothing rock—side to side, barely there, but enough to lull your body deeper into his.

"that feel good, baby?" he asks softly.

“mmm. feels like…” you don’t even finish. words melt on your tongue like sugar, and your head dips lower into his collarbone.

mike laughs under his breath, so quietly it feels like it’s just for you. “don’t need words. i got you.”

he keeps playing with your hair, brushing the soft parts with his fingertips, twirling a strand here and there. his other arm is wrapped securely around your waist, guiding the slow rock that gently sways all your thoughts away. he leans in to kiss your forehead—warm, lingering.

“you fall asleep on me again, i’m not moving you,” he murmurs into your skin. “you’re mine like this. all soft and snuggly and quiet. s’my favorite thing in the world.”

you don’t answer. you just hold him tighter, let yourself get rocked. let the world dissolve into heartbeat and soft noises of his breath and the comfort of his scent.

[nenynrawrites]

[nenynrawrites]

Getting back together

Summary: You and Mike used to date back in the late '80s to the early '90s. But what happens, if you decide to pick that relationship up again, more than a decade later?

Wordcount:

Warnings: None, just fluff:]

A/N: @rottingangelic , the imagine you've been waiting for!!

,,Hey, I didn't think you'd be here."

,,Well, I have nephews to visit and they would've been pretty mad if I wouldn't have come."

It was just a normal afternoon and Melinda asked you if you wanted to come over, as on one hand, her sons begged for it, and on the other hand, you haven't been around her place in a while, so why not? There wasn't any work for you to do, so as soon as she asked, you accepted. But there was an unexpected visitor.

,,Fair enough."

It should've been obvious that Mike was invited, too. After all, he's their uncle and in Melinda's mind, you two might still be getting back together, despite it being about 15 years since you've broken up. But you'll let her have that little bit of happiness. It's not like he still made your heart race everytime you saw him...

Whilst Melinda and the kids were busy putting some of the food outside, you were having a grill, you and Mike got busy preparing some salads. Though ,,preparing" was more -> He talked more than he cut the vegetables and fruits, but it was a welcome thing.

,,So, what have you been up to? I know music's been treating you well." Music had been treating you well. You and your band, to be exact. And that since, coincidentally at the same time, Alice in Chains got famous. It kind of was a big part on why you two broke up.

,,Yeah, I mean...That it's still, how do you call it..." Trying to find the right word was suddenly difficult, as Mike moved closer, putting all of it into the bowl in front of you, him putting his chin on your shoulder.

,,Amazing, I suppose." The moment was so short, it felt like it didn't happen, yet the weight of it was still there. He kept cutting the few remaining vegetables and fruits, not paying much attention to the silence, but unbeknownst to you, his mind and heart were racing, too. Was this too much? Neither of you had seen each other in over a year, yet it just felt...Right.

,,Yeah, yeah...Amazing seems right..." You stopped what you were doing, putting all of it aside. Somehow the gesture of Mike putting his chin on your shoulder made your mind so blank, there were just memories of the two of you replaying.

,,Everything alright?" The concern in his voice brought your attention back to him. ,,You look like you've seen a ghost." A chuckle that you missed for so long. ,,No, no, it's just...Is it bad if I want to talk about us?"

Mike raised an eyebrow, curious as to what you meant. You two were here right now, so what would be the need to talk about the two of you? Unless...

,,Is it about how we dated?" You just averted the eye contact, but he wouldn't let you. Softly as ever, he took your chin in his hand, turning it so your eyes met again.

,,It is, isn't it? I'm sorry for before, I thought we were good on that..." There was a bit of sadness in his voice. He knew you weren't mad about it, just confused, yet it still felt like a big stone on his heart.

,,We are, it's just...'' What was it exactly? You didn't know it yourself, how were you supposed to keep on talking?

Turning away, you put your attention back to the all the vegetables and fruits that still needed to be cut, mindlessly continuing, leaving Mike standing there dumbfounded, though he knew exactly what was going on in your mind.

,,Do you wanna try dating again?''

The question was in the air, yet it felt inappropriate to even ask it, it felt...As if you shouldn't dare to try. ,,I would want to, you know?'', Mike continued, stepping a bit closer. ,,It's alright if not, but I think that's what you've wanted to say, yeah?''

Turning to face him, there was that ever sweet smile that he oh so loved. ,,If I remember right, we were a pretty good couple, you know? And...'' He stopped, stepping closer and intertwined your fingers. ,,And in the past few years, I...I've never really gotten over us breaking up, you know? And whenever I'd see you here or wherever, I'd always wished to just...Hug you again, you know? Kiss you and all that...''

His cheeks turned a little red, averting further eye contact, but the grip on your hand stayed. Sure, you've been in relationships these past few years, but you couldn't even call them relationships because there was...Nothing. The guys were lovely, but none of them made your heart jump like Mike still does, and it was worth a shot, right?

,,Yes, that's what I wanted to say...I just...I couldn't get it over me, it felt...Wrong, in some way. Guess us parting on ,,good terms" wasn't good after all..."

Once you said your thoughts out loud, you realised how much you missed him, how much he meant to you, how much his love for you meant to you.

,,I'm glad we're on the same page, soo...Y/N, would you like to be my girlfriend again?"

The smirk on his face was the exact same as when he asked you out for the first time, followed by a loving and longing kiss.

,,I missed you so much, baby, you don't even know..." Whenever Mike was overwhelmed, he tends to just babble on about stuff, especially now, since he took it on himself to put you onto the free kitchen counter and keeping on kissing you as if there was no tomorrow. But there was one thing...

,,Hey, how are the salads- Oh goodness..."

In all the haze, both you and Mike forgot about your actual tasks, but since it was basically done, it didn't occur to either of you to finish it. Until Melinda stepped in.

,,Soo...", she took a deep breath, ,,You two are back together..." Her body language showed more being content than anything negative, so a quick ,,yes" from the both of you was everything to make her beam from ear to ear.

,,I've missed you two together, I'm glad to see this...But still, you gotta get those salads done! Come on, I'll help you lot out!"

The evening turned out to be great and you couldn't imagine how the rest of the night would go, since you and your (again) boyfriend still need to christen your new relationship in some way:)

[nenynrawrites]

In Every Way

warnings: NSFW / explicit content, dream sex, dream logic, oral (f/m receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex, overstimulation, subspace, mindfuck themes, dollification kink, praise + degradation, loss of control, light humiliation, body worship, tears, possession/obsession themes, identity confusion, reader unable to speak/think clearly, consensual but intense, sensory overload, comeplay, creampie (x3), reader folds like wet paper

wordcount: ~3k

a/n: mwahahaha 😈 nyra... @nenynra

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

You knew it was a dream. You just... knew. That strange slow delay between thoughts and sounds, the softness of the world like it had been dipped in honey. Lucid.

Which meant—

“Mike,” you breathed.

And the moment his name passed your lips, you were already moving.

You were inside something that looked like a warped version of a concert venue. Dim. Warm. Strobing lights without sound. People wandered past you, unfazed, aimless. You started asking around—"Have you seen Mike?"—but nobody even looked at you like you were real. Until you saw him.

There.

Far end of the room. Back leaned against a low wall. One boot resting on it, arms crossed. Like he was waiting.

You froze.

It wasn’t just some dream-version of him. You felt it deep, like a tuning fork behind your ribs—that’s him. Really him. The way his eyes immediately found yours. The way they burned. Your body moved before your mind did, feet half-tripping over themselves as you crossed the room like you didn’t even know how to walk anymore. Like your bones were melting under his gaze. He was lounging like a cat—dangerous, serene, smirking. Arms crossed over his chest. Cigarette tucked between his fingers, almost finished, ember low. A little plume of smoke coiled upward in lazy spirals. His shirt was half unbuttoned, ring catching the dim light. His hair messy like he'd just been tugging on it. You got even more nervous as you approached, unable to take your gaze off of him. You wanted to come see him... but he was so handsome, so much that you had to look away. But you couldn't. Couldn't stop yourself from drifting closer like a magnet.

“What, cat got your tongue?” he smirked, low and teasing.

Your mouth opened but no sound came out. You looked at the floor. Looked back up. He hadn’t stopped staring. He flicked ash from the cigarette, lazy. His eyes didn’t leave yours for a second. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

You tried again. “I—sorry, I just. I didn’t think you’d—be here. Like this.”

“Like what?” He tilted his head, grin widening. Eyes narrowing teasingly. “Hot? Real? Staring at you like I know what you’ve been dreaming about?” The cigarette had just about burned down to the filter. He brought it to his lips one last time, took a drag so shallow it was all for show, then slowly stubbed it out on the wall beside him with a quiet flick of his wrist.

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. You felt your legs go weak. Your body followed without asking. You took one, two, three steps. Almost toe-to-toe now. You could smell the ghost of smoke and something else—him.

Your breath hitched. Eyes wide.

Heart pounding at the scent of him.

You couldn’t look away… until you had to. It was all really too overwhelming. Your gaze darted down to his mouth, to the low cut of his shirt that left nothing to the imagination, to the scuffed toe of his boot, to anything but the way he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

"You gonna keep acting all shy," he drawled, voice like velvet sandpaper, "or are you gonna come closer like you meant to?"

His voice was so warm, so real. Everything about him, right in front of you. You couldn't believe it. Even in the confines of the dream, it was all so intense, so raw and present. His presence. His energy. Every detail of him. You were staring up at him again, hypnotized. You could've been drooling, for how spaced out you were.

You don't know how many moments passed like that.

His hand moved before you could react. Fingers tilted your chin up.

“I’m talkin’ to you, sweetheart.”

“Y-you were?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, looking a bit irritated, thumb brushing your lower lip. “But you’ve been so busy starin’ at my mouth you didn’t hear a single word.”

Your cheeks burned. You nodded anyway, pretending.

“Oh—yeah. Right. No, I heard you. Totally.”

He leaned in, lips barely brushing the air above yours.

“Liar.”

And then— There were two of him.

You blinked hard.

One still in front of you, thumb on your chin. One behind you now, leaned over your shoulder. You okay, baby? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

His voice was younger. His smirk, cockier. His hands slid around your arms like he’d been touching you forever.

"Wh—what the hell is—"

You thought you were just losing your mind. You turned back to the first one—he was still right there. Still holding your chin. Looking at you with that same unbothered, amused gaze. But now there was something even more smug behind it.

He knew.

He was doing this on purpose! You narrowed your eyes. Opened your mouth to say something—

And a third Mike stepped into view.

This one older. Maybe two, three years more. Slightly taller, calmer. Stern in a way that sent heat curling low in your stomach. His arms were folded, jaw set, eyes dark.

They didn’t say anything.

They just stared.

All three of them.

“Then tell me what I’m saying.”

The words came from all of them at once.

Perfectly in sync.

Your blood turned electric.

You blinked again, mouth open, chest rising in short, shallow breaths.

You couldn’t remember a single word.

The younger one behind you laughed softly. “She can’t even speak.”

The calm one—older, sterner—took a step forward. The one in front of you didn’t move, but his thumb still rested under your chin. His eyes burned into yours like he could see the exact moment your thoughts flickered out.

You shook your head, trying to focus. “This… isn’t real,” you whispered.

The one behind you chuckled darkly, leaning in closer so his breath ghosted over your neck. “Does it feel real?”

It did.

The press of denim against the backs of your thighs. The smoke still clinging faintly to the air. The weight of the original Mike’s hand under your jaw. The heat building under your skin, rising like steam—

You could barely breathe.

The one to your right moved now, just a little. His arms stayed crossed, but he tilted his head. Watching you. Measuring you. Like he was waiting for you to misstep.

And you would.

You already had.

“I—” you started, but your voice cracked. “Y-you're right... I don’t know what you said, I wasn’t—”

“Exactly.”

This time it came only from the one in front of you.

His hand slid from your chin down your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. His touch wasn’t rough. But it didn’t need to be. You were already trembling.

“You’ve been floatin’ off since the second you saw me,” he murmured. “Thought this was your dream. Thought you were in charge.”

He leaned in.

“You’re not.”

Your lips parted but he was already pulling back, just enough to let you breathe again. The younger Mike behind you tsk’d. “Should we punish her for not listenin’?”

The older one’s voice was low. “She doesn’t even know which of us to listen to.”

Your knees were weak. You couldn't think straight, couldn't think at all, surrounded by them like this.

The room—or whatever space this was—seemed to shift again. Blurred shapes around you moved like smoke. The three Mikes closed in, close enough for the barest touches, and yet, still just watching. Circling.

And god, their eyes were all the same.

You looked from one to the next, brain blank, lips parted in stunned silence.

The youngest one leaned around your shoulder again, voice syrup-sweet:

“Tell me somethin’, darlin'. If you could only have one of us... which one would you pick?”

You felt the blush rise up your neck and ears, heart rate speeding at such a question.

The one in front of you raised a brow. Waiting.

The older one pressed even closer, his shadow swallowing the light.

You tried to answer. You really did.

But all you could manage was: “I-I…I don’t know.”

And then the original one—your Mike—grinned. Real slow. Real smug.

“Then I guess we’ll all have to take care of you, huh?”

Your stomach dropped.

The younger one whistled low. The oldest one made a soft, amused hum.

And then—all at once—they started moving toward you.

Three versions of him. Three different smiles. All closing in.

Your back hit the wall. Again.

All thoughts gone. All logic gone. Just heat. Breath. Trembling want.

You tried to say something—maybe a protest, maybe a beg—but as soon as your lips parted, one of them (you didn’t even know which) grabbed your jaw again, soft but firm, and whispered:

**“You don’t need to think anymore, sweetheart. Just feel.”**

Your eyes fluttered shut.

And you folded.

You felt it the moment your body stopped fighting, stopped functioning.

That soft flicker behind your eyelids when your breath gave out and the tension in your legs melted. The flickering light behind your eyes turned golden. Warm. Safe.

You didn’t know which one of them touched you first. It didn’t matter.

There were hands.

One at your waist, fingers pressing just enough to ground you.

Another brushing your cheek.

A third somewhere near your throat—hovering. Barely grazing your skin.

You let your head fall back against the wall with a small, broken sound.

The younger Mike—messy-haired, too pretty—was at your side now, leaning into your space with a crooked smile. “Y’know, I think she likes being confused.”

Your lashes fluttered. “I’m not confused,” you whispered, weak.

The original Mike—your Mike—chuckled under his breath. His rings were cold against your skin as his fingers traced the edge of your jaw. “Sure, sweetheart. You’re in total control, huh?”

Your knees were going to give out. But before they could, strong arms circled your waist from behind—the older one, you realized. He caught you with quiet ease, slipping between you and the wall. pulling you back against his chest like it was nothing. Like you weighed nothing.

You let out a soft gasp and immediately felt his mouth at your ear.

“Breathe.”

One word. Low. Firm.

You obeyed without thinking.

The younger Mike shifted in front of you, nose brushing your cheek. “You’re bein’ real good now, baby. Almost sweet.”

You turned your face away, flustered—but that only got you caught between two mouths, two gazes, two versions of the same man drinking you in like you were something tender and dangerous.

The middle Mike—the one you’d found first, the one who never stopped smirking—placed one hand flat on the wall beside your head. The other slid slow down his chest, fingers brushing the fabric just lightly enough to make you ache. Teasing you, like he knew how his half-shirts drove you crazy.

You didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

His fingertip brushed the little ring. That goddamn nipple ring.

Your eyes widened like you’d forgotten it was there until now.

But he hadn’t.

“You look like you just remembered something important,” he murmured.

You choked on a sound. Tried to turn away again.

“Ah-ah,” the older one behind you said. His arms tightened slightly, keeping you still. “Eyes up.”

You obeyed again. Even as your thighs pressed together. Even as your brain fizzed.

All three of them could feel it. The crack in your attitude. The shift.

You were giving in.

“There she is,” the younger one crooned, nuzzling just below your ear, voice warm with praise. “Look at you, bein’ all quiet now.”

Your lip trembled.

Too much. Too many hands. Too many versions of him.

The Mike in front of you leaned in close—forehead to yours. His voice was the softest it had been all night.

“You were lookin’ for me, remember?” he whispered.

“So tell me, sweetheart. Now that you’ve found me… what are you gonna do?”

You didn’t know. Couldn’t answer. Didn’t have words. Just heat and ache and trembling.

“Thought so,” he teased, and kissed the corner of your mouth, so soft it made your eyes sting.

You didn’t know what set it off.

Maybe it was the hand between your thighs, coaxing slow circles through your clothes.

Maybe it was the one cupping your cheeks so gently while your mouth stayed open, helpless.

Maybe it was the one behind you, holding your wrists crossed behind your back with just enough pressure to keep you perfectly still as he rutted slow into the curve of your ass, just enough to feel him but not enough to relieve anything.

But something inside you cracked.

You made a sound like a whimper, but it didn’t even sound like you.

And suddenly, all you could say was:

“Please.”

And again—“Please.”

And again—“Please, please—”

Your knees gave out, but the arms behind you held you firm.

“She’s gone,” one of them murmured, amused and tender at the same time. “Just melted.”

“Told you she’d beg if you pushed the right spot,” the younger one said smugly, fingers dragging over your pulse like he could feel it fluttering too fast. “Didn’t even take that long.”

“Say it again,” the one in front of you demanded.

You looked at him—the him—and blinked slow, like your brain had fogged up entirely.

Your lips trembled. “Please.”

He smiled. Not cruel. Just… satisfied.

Like this was always how he wanted to see you.

And then—

One of them vanished.

Like smoke. Like he’d never been there at all.

You gasped.

“No—” It was small. Fragile. A single heartbeat of panic, confusion reentering your chest. “Wait—”

The others didn’t flinch. Didn’t explain. Just looked at you like you were adorable, trying so hard to keep hold of yourself in the dream.

Your breathing sped up. Your head turned—searching.

“Mike—?”

Then a hand returned between your thighs.

You whimpered. You hadn’t even noticed it was missing. Hadn’t even realized he’d slipped back in, not until he was pressing down just right and whispering—

“You got so scared, baby.”

A pause. A kiss against your neck.

“Did you miss me?”

You nodded, eyes glassy. “I thought—”

“Shh. I’m right here. You need me that bad, huh?”

The third Mike stepped back into view now—shirtless. Slow and quiet. Like he’d never left. Like he’d just been waiting for the moment your guard fell completely away.

And then his voice dropped.

“She’s ready now.”

You didn’t know which one said it.

But as soon as the words left his mouth, they all moved.

One hand yanked down your underwear. One undid the buttons of your shirt with practiced ease, exposing your chest to their hungry eyes. One mouth closed over your throat and sucked. Another hand slid under your thigh and lifted it.

Your head tipped back.

One of them whispered: “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your legs were shaking. Your mind gone. You couldn’t remember your name. Couldn’t remember what you were supposed to say, or want, or be. All you knew was yes and please and take me.

And then—one pressed into your mouth.

One pressed between your thighs.

One pushed against your ass, slow and slick.

You choked on a sob, caught in a haze of sensation. You couldn’t tell who was touching what anymore. They were everywhere. Holding your body like a doll, moving you like you were theirs to play with.

One voice—low and right at your ear:

“You’re such a perfect little thing like this.”

Another voice—hot at your neck:

“All full of me. All full of us.”

And another—whispering into your open, drooling mouth as your eyes rolled back:

“You’re not gonna forget this, even when you wake up.”

You didn’t know where you were anymore.

The dream had dissolved into golden static and shadowy warmth, where the only things you could feel were hands and mouths and him.

Three of him.

Everywhere.

Inside you. Around you. Against you.

Your body wasn’t yours anymore. You’d given it up. Given in.

You couldn’t speak. You felt then sensation of being stretched, of pleasure erupting in every part of your body. Of all your senses being taken over by the scent of him, the taste of him, how big he was. Him holding you up, holding you together.

Your mouth was stuffed, wet and raw and twitching as he pumped in slow, watching your tears fall prettily down your cheeks while he praised you through gritted teeth.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuckin’ perfect with your mouth full—”

Your thighs were shaking.

Another version of him—older, rougher—held your hips steady and dragged you down over his cock again and again.

“You’re clenching so tight, baby,” he rasped, almost proud. “Like you never wanna let go.”

And then behind you, the third—youngest, prettiest—moaned softly against your spine as he pressed deeper into your ass, gentle but overwhelming.

“She’s trembling. She’s trying so hard to take it all.”

His lips brushed your back like a prayer.

“Let us in, sweetheart. Let us have you.”

Your body arched. Your mind split.

It was too much. Too much and not enough.

Your legs kicked weakly, but you weren’t trying to get away—you were begging for more. All that was holding your little squirming form up was the three of them.

“Please—” It was muffled. Broken. A whisper.

And the Mike in front of you pulled out just enough to let you speak. Your mouth fell open, drool slicking your chin.

“Tell us what you are.”

His voice was hoarse. Commanding.

“Right now. Tell us.”

Your eyes rolled back.

“Your doll,” you whimpered. “M’your doll—just wanna make you feel good—please, I need it—”

The older one behind your back groaned, rolling his hips up into yours. “Fuck. She’s gone.”

The younger one draped across your back kissed your temple. “You’re such a pretty mess for us. Look at you—cryin’ just from bein’ filled up. You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

You nodded frantically, vision blurred with tears and sweat. “Yes—yes—please don’t stop—please, please—”

They didn’t stop.

The one at your mouth shoved back in, deep and slow and possessive, as if to remind you:

You were theirs.

Just a thing. A hole. A doll.

The one between your thighs picked up speed. Every thrust knocked another sob loose from your throat. Your skin was burning. Your pussy was soaked, stretched, claimed.

The one behind you slid deeper with every stroke, his hand tangled in your hair now, owning you.

And then—

“She’s gonna break,” one of them growled.

“She’s close.”

“She’s already gone.”

Their voices blurred. Their hands blurred. Their cocks blurred.

All you could feel was—

Let go.”

A single voice. All of them, and none of them.

“Be a good doll and come.”

You shattered.

It hit you like a tidal wave.

Your vision went white. Your back arched so violently it felt like you were flying. You swallowed them even deeper in every hole. Every muscle in your body convulsed. Every nerve caught fire.

You sobbed around the cock in your mouth as you came.

Soaked the lap beneath you.

Clenched so hard around both of them that it drove them over the edge.

You felt it.

All of them.

Spilling into you.

Filling every part of you until it overflowed.

“F-fuck—”

You weren’t even sure who said it.

Your body went limp. Boneless. Used. Floating.

Their hands caught you.

Cradled you.

Slowed.

Soft kisses. Gentle words. Praise murmured against your skin.

“There you go, baby.”

“So good for us.”

“That’s our girl.”

You cried without knowing why. Happy. Overwhelmed. Full.

You were safe.

Held.

Loved.

Even in a dream. And now, you felt yourself slipping, the subspace too potent and all-consuming.

Somewhere, in the swirling dark warmth of your overstimmed mind, you felt a breath against your ear.

Soft. Sinister. Real.

"You’re never leaving, you know.”

A pause. A hand curled around your throat.

"You belong to me."

"You always have."

"Even when you wake up..."

[nenynrawrites]

18+ mdni

that reality check hitting after reading smut

[nenynrawrites]

me: i just need to write this quick fanfic and get this off my chest

[nenynrawrites]

people in relationships say when something happens even if mundane the first person you want to tell is your partner and this is the height of romance . and well my first instinct is to tell my tumblr followers

[nenynrawrites]

Historical fiction writers at 2:46am be like

– how long does it take to bleed out in a field – could someone stab you with a hairpin – how did medieval people mourn – would a queen notice if her ring was stolen – did people think thunder was a sign – how loud was it inside a castle during storms – did anyone ever die from a broken heart in history

[nenynrawrites]

What i made instead of writing.....