#Behavioral Correction for Pets

[elvenferretots]

I say this with all the love in the world for Dalmatians, but they are the anti-malinois. A guardian/protection breed most of whose breeders vehemently don't want to breed to original purpose past aesthetic, and who think the breed gets an unearned bad rap. All the while, even the incredibly bred show dals I know are still very much guardian dogs with guardian dog tendencies.

[hoshigray]

Could you maybe do the jjk men with a brat reader?

˚₊‧꒰ა !! BRA✮T✮AMER !! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ | jjk men

✿꫶ ᩨkento, satoru, suguru, sukuna & toji × taming their bratty baby

contents: JJK men x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size differences - brat taming - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (m! receiving) - manhandling - shibari; rope bondage - sex toys - impact play (p + a slapping) - Daddy kink - overstimulation - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - more stuff specified in their respective perspectives - mentions of drool/spit, pain, and tears.

word count: 3.8k

a. note: my first multi-chara post to celebrate 10k, yippeee!! lmk how i did ( •◡-)-✩

── ✿ Nanami Kento ⋮ sex in a public space; office room - thigh riding - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (pressing and pinching) - orgasm denial - pet names (baby, [my] love, sweetpea).

“Taaahhh, Kentooo, more, mooore…”

All you had to do was be good, not cause too much trouble for your boyfriend in his place of work, and be patient.

So why does your man have to pull you aside to one of the offices of Jujutsu Tech to correct you?

“You’re not supposed to be enjoying yourself, love. Especially after that stunt you pulled a few minutes ago.”

Nanami pressed you against a wall, his arms caging you and a leg between yours. After a rather inappropriate display of affection, you had showcased to one of the faculty members he was speaking with–poor Ijichi–he grabbed your wrist and stormed inside to find the quietest area to deal with you. What is supposed to be a talk on your childish antics turned into…you riding his thigh?

He doesn’t know why or how it happened; one moment, he was lecturing you on how indecent your behavior was (in a school, no less!), and then he watched your attention drift downward, away from his chocolate eyes to the tan pants. Your hips slowly come to and fro, sliding your groin on the hard surface of his thigh. He catches on after the third or fourth thrust, the tone of this conversation dialing to a more intimate connotation. 

Your hands grab hold of his blazer, shaky huffs escaping your lips. “Ohhh, Kentooo,” you purr with a bitten lip. “You feel so good…”

“Is this what you wanted?” The blonde man comes to your ear to whisper and shivers crawl up your spine as you nod. He brings a hand to cup and squish your cheeks. “But explain why you were playing with my belt in front of my peers, my love?”

“Because,” you drop your head on his chest, the rhythm ace of your hips going a bit faster. “You're supposed to—Mmmm!—give me…attention.” 

“Yeah?” He chews on your ear, and a soft gasp exits your mouth. “Doesn’t mean you have to do stuff like that, honey; it makes me look bad.”

You giggled. “You know how much I love to see your reactions, babe. It’s funny—Eeyaah!”

“Well, I’m not laughing,” Nanami’s hand glided down to your skirt, lifting it to touch your groin covered by underwear, and it’s not surprising to feel a damp spot getting wetter. “I’ve told you multiple times to be patient.”

“I…I–I can’t help it!” He shushes you as your voice gets a bit louder, but that’s expected when his thick fingers press hard on your clit. “Whenever I’m with you, I want to be the—fuck—the only thing you care about…”

Nanami kisses your cheek faintly, and you melt to the kiss as his fingers slither inside your panties. “You know I always care about you,” his middle finger teasing your labia and getting covered by your slick. “And when it’s just us two, I always know how to treat you right, huh?”

“Yessss,” you sigh heavenly; the feel of his digit teasing your entrance have you giddy, and his thumb brushing and pressing up on your clit makes you jitter. “Ohhh, Ken, right there…”

“What’s that, sweetpea?” He gently pinches your bud with his thumb and fore, and you grip his blazer as reins. “Want me to care for my baby like I know how?” You slam your lips onto his; he groans and permits the kiss, sucking on your tongue while his fingers curl and erupt moans of pleasure for him to drink. You separate to pant heavily, and he says: “Tell me, my love.”

Oh, God, yes! The bucks of your hips get faster. “Yess, pleaseee…!”

He huffs with a tiny smile. “Well, not right now.”

….Huh?

Nanami removes his fingers from your skirt and immediately removes himself from you, wiping your essence with his tongue and handkerchief. “Like I said, you must be patient to get what you want.”

Wait, huh?!? “W-Wait a minute, we were,” you watch him walk to the office door. “Just getting…started.”

“I know; I gave you a small taste of what’s to come after my meeting,” he opens the sliding door. “Until then, stay here and be good like I told you.”

“Hold on—Kento, stop!” Before he leaves, Nanami gives you a smirk, a tiny sign of victory on his part. And with the close of the door, you groan out loud for all the people of the school to hear.

── ✿ Gojō Satoru ⋮ oral (f! receiving) - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (licking + sucking) - multiple orgasms - overstimulation - pet names (angel, baby, princess, sweetie) - mention of drool/spit.

“Haaaahshiiiit! Ahhhh, ‘Toruuu, shtop iiiit!!”

“Mmphaa—fucking God, you taste so fucking good, angel.”

Gojo is just as childish as you—don’t let the height and the intimidating aura fool you, motherfucker is a literal overgrown child. When he needs to be serious, he will deliver as the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, and his confidence and indestructible arrogance are what aid him in flying through his enemies or people who wrongfully think they can try to control him.

And that also goes for you, his little cute brat of a crybaby.

“Sat’ruuuu, don’t suck so h—Aaaahh!!”

You loved to play fire with fire with your tall boyfriend, both harboring an ego that clashes periodically. You never want to make it easy for him; he’s the strongest, after all—he should be able to handle you! For example, one thing that Gojo can’t stand when he’s with you is ignoring him. You want to get him really on his nerves? Just ignore him as best as you can! And that’s what you did, walking around your shared apartment, not coming to him when he calls or listening to music on full blast while scrolling on your phone until he snatches it off your head.

Or–and this is the best–moving away from him whenever he’s affectionate towards you. Oh, it messes with his head! He puts an arm around you? Scoot out of his reach. Wants to hold hands with you? Nonchalantly remove yours and act like you’re checking your nails. Pulling you in for a hug and kiss? Suck your teeth and put your hand on his expecting lips, and move somewhere else to really add salt to the wound.

It leaves him shellshock, gawking at your figure walking away from him—and you know his expressions must be golden. But he’s not dumb—he knows what game you’re playing. And, most certainly, two can play that game. 

“Gaahhh, nnnhh, y-yo’r tongue—Ghhhh!”

Gojo knows you’re putting him through this trivial hell for your enjoyment because he’ll come crawling right back to you for attention. And he will…and he’ll do it in a manner you hadn’t envisaged tenfold.

He pulled you by the legs on the living room couch, hearing you giggle as he stripped you off your leggings and underwear. It started small—kisses and light nibbles on your inner thighs, spreading your legs for access. You peer down to his snow-haired head, grinning in triumph as you finally get what you want.

However…there’s a catch.

Gojo’s tongue feverishly tongues you down, nestling the wet muscle in between the lips of your labia. His saliva and your come blend with the swishes of his tongue and is then sucked into his mouth. Your body quakes from the commotion of your boyfriend eating you out so ceaselessly, his nose bumping into the hood of your clitoris.

“Fuuuck, baby, you taste too good!”

 “‘Toru, stop iiit, it’s too muuuch!” You shake your head that’s pounding relentlessly. “I came three times already!”

“Ehhh, but this is what you wanted, right?” He loves the way you shudder as he licks and flicks your clit. “Wanted me to treat you like a princess, huh?”

You writhe as he blows and spits on your messy cunt, yet the hands on the back of your knees keep you aground to the couch. “Nnnmph, n–not like thisss, one was enough—I’m gonna break…!” You nearly choke on your drool as Gojo sucks on your clit roughly. “D-Don’t…! Fuuuhuhuuck…!!”

The white-headed man lifts his face to look at you, watching your expressions and wailing cries as he stuffs his fingers to please you. “Awww, what’s wrong, sweetie?” The blunt of his fingertips scraping your texture has you moaning aloud. “Think you’ll cum again?” 

You babble and nod so frantically; God, you were too adorable for him.

“Mmmm, I don’t know,” the sing-song tune meant to patronize as Gojo’s fingers go faster. “I’m still kinda hurt you avoided five of my kisses today,” he returns his face to your chasm. “But if you can cum for me five times, all is forgiven, princess~.”

“Bu–But I can’t…!” Teeth find your bottom lip to chew once he stuffs his mouth back onto you, latching his lips to slurp more of your fluids with a firm hold on your knees. “I’ll breaaaak…!”

“That’s exactly what I want!”

── ✿ Getō Suguru ⋮ shibari; rope bondage (boxtie) - fingering (f! receiving) - sex toy; clit vibrator - finger sucking - clitoral play - overstimulation - pet names (baby, pumpkin, sweetie).

Do you really think a man who raised two girls on his own doesn’t know how to handle a minx like you?

“Hahhhh, ohmyG—Mmmph! Suguru, pleaseee—“

“Shhh, quiet, baby. Or they might hear you.”

Let’s be honest with ourselves—if anything, he likes it when you try him like this.

If Gojo was overgrown child #1, then Geto is second in proclaiming that title. However, unlike Gojo, he’s not going to come to your level and try to one-up you in your game—no, no, no; that’s not his style of play. Instead, Geto aims to bring you down from your high horse and humble you.

You experience it firsthand after trying to badmouth him earlier, calling him some stupid nicknames that aren’t appropriate for his cult members to hear, doing or going places you were told not to, or whining at him for attending to his activities rather than spending time with you as he promised. You are supposed to be his top priority, and, to your dismay, you are not being top prioritized now. Hmph! 

Of course, Geto is witness to your little tantrum, letting your childish nature reign supreme until he has the availability to deal with you. And when he does deals with you—

“Ughhh!! Fffshiiit, d-don’t doo that!!”

He deals with you.

Now you’re in his quarters, stripped from your flared mini-skirt and your hands tied behind your back with shibari rope. Your back to his chest, vulnerable to him as he gropes your chest with one hand, the other in between your spread legs, fingers playing with your leaking cunt. Fingertips rub on surfaces you can’t reach, and you can’t help but release your cries.

He chuckles as you writhe from the rough tweeze of your nipple. “You’re such a handful, you know that?” His hand leaves your shirt to toy with the blindfold that shields your eyes. “Just can’t behave and make things easier for me, can you?” 

“Mmmm—ohhshiiit,” you throw your head after a curl to your upper vaginal wall. “…J-Just because you tell me to do something, doesn’t mean I’ll—ohhh!—do it…!”

“And you wonder why you’re in this predicament.” Geto then grabs the small remote sitting idly by his side, presses a button, and the moan you let out grows predictably louder. “Woah, that’s a nice sound!”

The vibrator that’s held by your panties stimulates the sensitivity of your clitoris, having you gasp and wail from the intensity and your legs wanting to close. This is impossible as Geto’s ankles keep your feet apart; your feeble attempts to squirm out of his proximity only farce him. “Don’t try and run now, sweetie. Gotta stay still to correct your behavior.”

“—Nnnaaa, ahaha, correct me?” You titter in pants, moving your face to peer at your lover with innocent doe eyes. “You wouldn’t punish…me, your sweet babygirl, right?” 

The narrowness of his violent eyes, paired with the broad smirk, has you clamping onto his digits like crazy. Geto sighs as he removes his hand from your aching slit, your fluids coating his slender fingers before she shoves them inside your mouth. “Look at you trying to act sweet now,” you lather his fingers with your tongue, sucking on them and tasting your excess come. “We haven’t even gotten to the real punishment yet, but you’re already crying.”

Your hips sway voluntarily, your ass purposely grinding on his groin. “D-Do it, then! I’m not scared—Daaah!!” Geto removes his hand from your lips to travel back down, pressing on your panties to have the vibrating clit toy overwhelm your senses.

“Heh, bet you can’t even last five minutes in, pumpkin.” He grinds the vibrator on your clit more.

“Nnmph! Make that ten!”

He scoffs. “We’ll see.”

── ✿ Ryōmen Sukuna ⋮ size difference (true form! kuna) - double penetration; anal and vaginal - eagle position - degradation - clitoral play (pinching) - impact play; pussy slaps - choking - unprotected sex - pet names (little toy, pet) - mention of pain and tears.

“—Haahhh, fuuuck—Aaaaht!”

“Shut the fuck up, little shit. You even scream like a fuck toy.”

Oh, to be a brat to the King of Curses. Indeed, you have a death wish.

Not only is Sukuna the powerful curse user of Jujutsu history, but he is also the most selfish, egotistical, and vilest man ever to walk on this Earth. People and curses around him know better than to challenge his standing, knowing that they’d end up in minced pieces or beheaded in their first step. It is that fearful respect that Sukuna feeds on, besides cutting down on those who absurdly test him.

And you, his little consort, tested him the worst of all.

One thing that Sukuna fancies about you is your independence; it’s the thing that had him curious about you in the first place—it beats someone clinging onto him and seeking comfort in his personal space. The problem, however, is how that said independence has its faults. For his life, no one in this rotating globe has found joy in pushing the giant cursed man’s buttons other than you. In his philosophy, when Sukuna commands–never asks–to do something, nothing is expected outside of doing simply that. 

He does not expect the “Nah, don’t wanna”s, the “I’m busy, ask someone else,” or worse: “Ever heard of please, big buy? Oh! Better yet, how about begging me to do it~?”

Infuriating is the best word to describe having to deal with you. Your only saving grace is that he treasures and finds use in your presence; if not, your blood would be seeping down to the bedrock.

…However, that doesn’t mean he won’t pin you down and teach you a lesson if necessary. After all, he eats people for less.

So here you were, back on the futon while your legs were propped up by Sukuna’s upper arms, all of your clothes scattered around the tatami flooring surrounding the room, and sweat decorating your hot skin. 

Your hands find purchase on his massive thighs as he bullies one of his fat cocks into your asshole; the sheer girth of him is enough for your eyes to run for the ceiling. “Daaahh, hooohshit, i’m ‘o fuuull…!”

“Hmph,” the four-eyed man scoffs at your comment, watching your expression contort to pitiful euphoria. “Fucking pet, the only thing you can think about is dick.” He slams his hips, roughly smacking your ass and scraping the walls of your rear channel with the tip of his cock. “Too stubborn to even follow what I tell you to do.”

The mouth of his stomach licks your tummy. “Mmmm, w-who pulled your pants up a notch?” You dare flash a smile at him during this, yet it withers away when the forefinger and thumb of his lower left hand find your clitoris and give it a pinch.

“Still got enough spark to talk back, huh?” The digits roughly squeeze your sensitive bud and only have you screaming louder and your anus puckering on his length tighter. “Hnngh...Just doing things I tell you when you want to,” another snap of his hips causes a howl, along with another nip to your clit. “But when it comes to this, you’re a real submissive tool, hmm?... Oi, I’m talking to you.” 

Sukuna slaps your cunt—and he slaps it hard—the impact has your eyes shot wide and cry out from the pain flourishing. “Nnnfff! F-Fuck…I only listen to you when it benefits me!”

“You never listen to me.”

You giggle wickedly with tearful eyes. “That’s the point.”

Maroon orbs narrow with the growth of an evil grin. “Fucking whore,” you earned yourself another smack of the palm on your chasm. 

“—Ffffuuhuuck!!” Your head is thrown back to the sole pillow you lay on, your small frame overshadowed by his gigantic size. “I’m so clooose…gonna cuuum…”

Another slap. “What makes you think I’d let you cum?”

Your face returns to look at him with a bitten lip, eyes fierce yet playful. “Because I fucking said I so!” Oh, fuck did that reply tickle something in Sukuna, a guttural chuckle sneaking up on him. 

He switches his upper right arm with the lower right to grab your neck. Your tiny fingers come to his wrist as the crook of his thumb is enough to add weight to your windpipe, yet your hazy smile refuses to leave your face. “Your say so means nothing to me. You will cum when I say so, little toy. Is that clear?” 

Your resilience is still present in your eyes, but you’re smart enough to know you should comply. You nod slowly, and the grip on your throat loosens a bit. Sukuna then silently moves his lower left hand to guide the top of his dual cock, kissing your aching folds. The hand on your throat grabs for your cheeks to keep your face on him—he likes to watch what happens once he inserts inside you. Your eyes roll with tears striking down, your mouth goes agape to the push of his cockhead, and the silent shriek at the addition of his second cock nestling within you all has him snicker malevolently.

“Pathetic.”

── ✿ Fushiguro Tōji ⋮ manhandling - restricted movement - oral (m! receiving) - Daddy kink - backshots/leapfrog position - impact play; spanking - unprotected sex - pet names (baby, babygirl, mama) - cervix-fucking - creampies - mention of pain and spit/drool.

“Ohhh! Ohh! D-Daddy, it huuurts—Shaaaah!!”

“Gonna keep hurtin’ more if you don’t quit squirmin’ like that.”

Toji is one motherfucker who knows how to deal with brats; like Sukuna, he gets a kick out of it. So, someone like you who likes to cross a line with him? He’s just waiting for you to give him the chance.

That chance came today when you really wanted to try him. You always had a big mouth on you—something that humored the older man more frequently than not. Walking up and down saying shit that tries to tick him off because, he knows, that’s what you want: to get a rise out of him. And sometimes he’d brush it off, not buying into your bullshit or saying, “Don’t talk big unless y’re tryin’ to learn.” 

Nevertheless, there are times when that big mouth of yours felt like you did want to learn. You opened your mouth earlier, telling how you’d take whatever hell he’d give you without problem. The first sign was a single eyebrow raised as he sipped his coffee, yet you still pushed on, giving him the rundown on how you were ready. He scoffed and retorted. “No, y’re not.” His nonchalant tone sparked you to keep pressing him on, only for him to send a tiny glare. “I’m tellin’ you; y’re not ready.”

But you never knew when to quit, giving your signature smug grin as you walked towards him. “Why, too scared? Don’t think I can handle you?” He says nothing, letting you dig your own grave. “Guess I should find a real man who isn’t afraid to prove me wrong.”

It wouldn’t be befitting as your partner for him not to take the bait. If there’s one thing Toji loves to do, it’s screwing that humble lesson into your thick skull…with the help of his cock. 

Toji smacks your bare ass harshly, erupting a sharp cry from your drooling lips. “C’mon, baby, what happened to that bigass ego of y’rs?”

So…fucking big! It was borderline embarrassing–pathetically so–to act like this. You were going through the absolute most you swore you could handle. Now, you’re stuffing your face into the pillow, your arms pulled to your back and caught by your wrists by a firm hand, ass propped up for Toji to roughly play and plow with.

His girth was surreal; the stretch was beyond words to describe and overwhelming to experience. You mouth seeping incoherent words that can’t be pieced together. Toes curl as the girthy limb in your chasm stretches you out like crazy. And your eyes water from yet another slap on your ass, Toji’s fingernails pinching the skin. “Ghh—ahhaaa, shtoop iiiit!”

“Shtooop iiiit,” he mocks with a dark snicker. “Stop what? Y’re the one who wanted this, right?” He pistons hard, and the raunchy sound of skin smacking onto skin fills the room. The white come that slides out with every push decorated his dick with a white, soapy ring. “Wanted to be filled to the brim and smack around like a bitch in heat, huh, babygirl?”

“Daddyyyy,” you wail, spit rolling out your puffy lips. “T’oo muuuch! I-I can’t take it…!”

“Oh no, we’re way past tapping out now, mama.” Toji’s hips go erratic, and the hold on your wrists grows tighter. “Told you, don’t talk big game if y’re just gonna cry and act like a baby.”

Fuuuck, I can’t!! The hot pain stings your asscheeks, getting worse with every snap of his pelvis. Toji was too much, stretching your velvety walls so badly yet ecstatically good, bringing your face up with just his fingers pulling your mouth and jackhammering his girth so deep inside you. You hiccup to every graze of your G-spot, sounding so dumb with how you’re squealing.

“OhhhhJesus, Daddy, please, I’m sorry,” you plead; that’s all you could do while being fucked out of your mind like a toy. More spanks to your butt threaten more tears to fall off your face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!“

“Hmmph, if y’re so sorry, why ya clenchin’ me so tight, huh?” His hand releases your wrists, adding more of his weight on you by pinning you down by the shoulders. The move creates more babbles to escape your mouth and your brain to go mush. “Y’re not sorry f’r shit!”

And to tell the truth, Toji was right. He’s so good at making your body feel good that this had you at an all-time high, your gummy walls contracting around him as you grip the satin sheets in euphoria. Shivers crawl through your frame as he pokes your womb with accuracy, words sputtering in an obscure fashion.

“Hoooohshiiit, fuuck, I-I’m, I’mmm…!!” There’s no room for you to warn him; he doesn’t give you that chance. He pushes your face to the pillow as he keeps pounding you until he reaches climax, spilling his semen into you for the third time that night. But he doesn’t stop until you get off your high, jabbing your cervix so that it has your head battering like a storm. Finally, you let loose and succumb to your orgasm, your vagina clamping onto him as you experience the most Earth-shattering shocks of your life. 

Toji hisses with a deep sigh, finally allowing his waist to rest and slowly removing his length out of your quaking figure. But he doesn’t permit you the 

same courtesy, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck to slap his dick on your cheek. “Suck it clean.”

Your visage, in a complete haze, come slides out of your cunt and messes up the sheets beneath you. Yet, you titter with an aimless smile and take in his cock with a hum. 

“That’s it, mama, atta girl.”

© HOSHIGRAY2024 ✮ reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ header art by hyocorou + dividers by @cafekitsune.

[petcatandkitten]

How to Discipline Your Cat for Misbehaviour?

It's crucial for each cat owner to understand the proper methods of cat discipline. Training cats in the same manner as dogs won't always work since cats react differently to dogs. Alternatively, you can try to train your cat to act correctly by learning and using a variety of various cat training strategies. Read More...

[malewifesband]

EDIT: if this post has made you think about whether or not you are autistic, im really glad! i hope you get some better understanding of yourself and are able to find community and support

however before you go and tell a therapist and seek an official diagnosis please read this thread and consider the points made therein:

autism is highly stigmatized. be fully informed about what you gain and what you lose from having an official diagnosis before seeking one.

EDIT OVER ENJOY THE POST

people do correctly identify that laios is autistic fairly often but a lot of the reasoning begins and ends with his special interest and social difficulties, but honestly it goes far deeper into the build of his character than just those two things

his pain tolerance is wildly inconsistent, unable to tolerate a drop of hot oil (or any heat) but able to shrug off both his leg being bitten off and it being reattached

hes sensory seeking in the extreme. he rubs the bat bones against his face, pets and fluffs the shapeshifter tail.

his desire to eat monsters comes from three very autistic places. 1) the rules for why monsters are not okay to eat but animals are are arbitrary to him so he cannot follow them easily: he cannot understand the 'feelings' argument others make. 2) this too is a sensory seeking behavior. he wants to experience these new things, new flavors and new textures. 3) it completes his knowledge of the monster in question to also have data on its edibility. because he cannot draw that arbitrary line around all monsters, he wants to evaluate them case-by-case and see if real patterns emerge. butchering and eating the monsters improves his knowledge of them greatly and highlights their importance in their ecosystem, as well as making him a part of that same ecosystem

he cannot emote the way others expect him to. he compartmentalizes his feelings (to an unhealthy degree) because he needs a pragmatic solution. so as long as there is a problem to solve, that matters far more than evaluating his emotions and allowing himself to experience them. while this is also a coping mechanism for ptsd, it is a trait found in many autistic people regardless of trauma, as we have trouble sorting the feelings we have and often need time to think about what we feel, so it becomes easier to simply not do it and pretend we dont need to. laios emotions certainly affect him, with or without his processing them, but others do not see what they expect to see and thus dismiss that he is feeling what they would feel

he is incredibly gifted with pattern recognition, observation, and analysis within realms he understands. to understand subjects that dont come easily to him, he must filter them through his established schema (his special interest--this is why they are so special! they help us sort the world). when he isnt sure about the social cues and details hes observed in the shapeshifter arc, he filters it through the lens he understands best: monsters. he was making correct observations about his friends all along, but he could not be confident in that the way he was about their behavior when it came to his interest (chilchucks caution, senshis passions, and marcilles carelessness)

[trances-and-tentacles]

Idea: Aphrodisiac spray bottle to use on disobedient subs. Its the perfect way to correct a stubborn pet's behavior. Watch as they go from bratty and disobedient to desperately horny and pliant with a few sprays, begging for pleasure.

Bonus points if they're in denial.

[smileysuh]

good & bad

🌙 staring. Kim Mingyu & Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “My new therapist says it’s healthy behavior to let Wonwoo do what he wants to do ever so often,” you explain, watching Wonwoo beat Seungcheol at the arm wrestling and proceed to down two shots in celebration. “I’m not sure how she can think him coming to frats, getting drunk, and getting into pissing contests is healthy, but hey, it’s not my job to counsel power holders.”

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, dry humping, horny!gyu, dom!wonwoo, Wonwoo tells virgin!Gyu what to do, hand job, Wonwoo using his power to help y/n ride Mingyu, manhandling, size kink, groping, nipple pinching, praise, degradation, voyeurism, pussy stretching, cream pie, multiple reader orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous & baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 8.8k

🍭 aus. superpower au, uni au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I was thirsting for another Meanie fic and I came up with this super power, I'd never seen it before and I thought it would be fun :)

Prologue:

“We thought she just had an active imagination,” your mother explained, reaching over to grab your hand and give it a soft squeeze. “Most kids show signs of powers when they’re six or seven, she’s ten now, so we just thought maybe she wouldn’t have any. Her father is a none-supe, so we came to terms with it years ago.”

The doctor was looking over your family file, and she nodded softly, looking up at your mother, then to you. “When did you first see signs that these imaginary friends of hers weren’t just in her own head?”

“There were little things,” your mother admitted. “I was cooking one night and she was drawing. When I looked again, the paper next to her had this image on it- a completely different art style to what she had been doing. When I asked her who drew it, she told me that Mingyu had.”

“Mingyu is one of her imaginary friends, correct?”

“Yes, she has Mingyu, who at first was described as the ‘good’ one, and Wonwoo, the ‘bad.’”

“Something akin to an angel and devil on your shoulder,” the doctor nodded. 

“Exactly.”

“After the art incident?”

“She was outside one day, tossing a ball around, and the ball bounced back to her, like some invisible person had thrown it back. At first, we thought maybe she had some sort of telekinesis, but she told me she was playing catch with Wonwoo.”

“So this was the first instance you saw proof that one of her imaginary friends could actually manipulate real-life objects, correct?”

“Yes.”

The doctor leaned back in her chair. “Are there any other events that have happened that push you to believe these imaginary friends of hers are real and it’s not a telekinesis power?”

“Well, y/n fell off her bike last week. Her knee was all scraped up. I was about to run and get bandages when this soft glow appeared over her knee. The scrape disappeared and she told me that Mingyu had healed her.”

“Very interesting.” The doctor had looked at you then, rolling forward on her chair. “Can I see your knee, please?”

You lifted the hem of your dress, showing your leg. There wasn’t so much as a scratch where Mingyu had healed you, and your ‘imaginary friend’ leaned over the doctor's shoulder to inspect his work. 

“Can one of these imaginary friends move an object in the room for us?” The doctor had asked next. “Perhaps, a book on the shelf over there?”

“Wonwoo can do that,” you’d nodded, gazing over at the boy your age who was leaning by the door, a disinterested look on his face.

With a sigh, he’d approached the bookshelf, reaching for a copy of War and Peace. The book had clattered to the ground.

“I don’t like being paraded around like this,” Wonwoo had mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Very interesting,” the doctor nodded. “It appears there might be some power at work here. I’ve never heard of a power like this one- two imaginary friends, one of which has healing abilities. I’ll make a note of it, and we will see how the power progresses with age. It’s possible as your daughter grows, so will the strength of these friends of hers.”

“Do you mean…” Your mother looked down at you nervously. “Is it possible we’ll ever see these friends ourselves? Or do you think they’ll stay invisible forever?”

“It’s anyone’s guess on that. As I said, I’ve never seen a power like this one. All we can do is wait and see what happens.”

one 

You’re seated on a musty old couch in the middle of a loud frat party, and a large part of you really doesn’t want to be here. Even with your friend Joshua keeping you company, you’re not here for yourself, and that always feels obvious to those around you.

Your gaze keeps shifting to Wonwoo, who’s having the time of his life. He’d done a keg stand the moment you’d arrived, and now, he’s in the middle of an arm wrestle with Seungcheol, the frat president, who, like your dark protector, also has a strength power variation.

Dino, a new pledge approaches you, handing a fresh cup of alcohol to Joshua. Like you, Dino’s eyes are locked on Wonwoo. “Tell me again why that dude isn’t part of the frat? I’ve never seen anyone go toe to toe with Seungcheol like this.”

“Should I tell him, or do you want to?” Joshua grins, bumping his shoulder against your own.

“You can tell him,” you sigh. In the past ten years since you found out you had an unusual power, you’ve gotten tired of explaining it.

“Dino, this is y/n, y/n this is Dino. Dino, y/n has a power where she has two imaginary friends, except, these days, they’re not so imaginary,” Joshua begins. “Wonwoo is one of y/n’s imaginary friends-”

“Wonwoo prefers the term companions,” you quip.

“Right, one of her companions,” Joshua corrects himself. “He’s got super strength like Cheol does. The reason Wonwoo’s not in the frat is because he can’t go more than a ten-meter radius from y/n, he’s tethered to her.”

“That’s a weird power,” Dino muses.

“Don’t be rude,” Joshua snaps, smacking the pledge’s arm. “Anyways, y/n’s not a huge fan of frats, so Wonwoo can’t join because she won’t be caught dead here more than once, maybe twice, a week.”

“My new therapist says it’s healthy behavior to let Wonwoo do what he wants to do ever so often,” you explain, watching Wonwoo beat Seungcheol at the arm wrestling and proceed to down two shots in celebration. “I’m not sure how she can think him coming to frats, getting drunk, and getting into pissing contests is healthy, but hey, it’s not my job to counsel power holders.”

“You said you have two uh… companions, where’s the other?” Dino asks, looking around.

“Mingyu’s staying inside tonight, he doesn’t agree with this sort of thing,” you sigh.

“Staying in?” Dino’s brows furrow in confusion. “I thought you said there was a radius thing?”

“Staying in here.” You tap your head. 

“He’s… inside your head?” Dino’s face scrunches up in something like disgust. “You have a dude in your head right now?”

Before you can answer, another frat boy comes running up. Seungkwan looks frazzled, his shirt haphazardly buttoned, eyes wide. “Y/N!” he bellows. “Quick, I need Mingyu! Some kid is greening out and puking in the bathroom upstairs!”

In an instant, your light protector appears next to you. Mingyu stands up quickly, face already shadowed with concern. “Show me where.”

“Jesus-” Dino jumps from the sudden emergence of the six-foot-two brick wall of a man. 

“Come on,” Mingyu urges, grabbing your hand to pull you from the couch. You let out an annoyed groan as he drags you through the crowd after Seungkwan, leaving Joshua and Dino in your wake.

You arrive to the second-floor bathroom, and you wait outside while Mingyu goes to investigate. Ever since the frat found out Mingyu has healing powers, they call on him for any sort of drunken mistake, including greening out. One touch from Mingyu can clear nausea, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to his powers.

You’re at a university dedicated to helping people train their abilities, and yet, you often feel like an outsider. It had been clear that you’d been struggling when you arrived, after all, you yourself don’t have any overt powers other than being connected to two men with astounding abilities, and that’s when you’d been assigned a therapist.

This whole ‘do things for Wonwoo and Mingyu’ idea has been a lot to wrap your head around, but you’re trying to make it work-

Wonwoo bounds up the stairs, his eyes alight with anger. “What are you two doing up here?” he practically growls.

“Mingyu’s helping some kid who greened out,” you explain.

“Of course he is, fucking knight in shining armor. Doesn’t he know this is my night? He’s ruining it with good deeds- pulled me away from beer pong.”

You sigh. “Discuss this with him.”

“I will,” Wonwoo states, pushing past you to enter the bathroom.

Releasing a deep breath, you sink against the wall, listening to the two men argue. Their words are muffled by the loud music that thrums through the house, and you don’t particularly care to know the details of their heated exchange.

You’re exhausted, and after looking at your phone for the time, you decide enough is enough. Pushing your head into the bathroom, you find Mingyu and Wonwoo holding each other by the front of their shirts, and their argument stops the moment you appear.

“It’s past midnight, I want to leave,” you sigh.

“But-” Wonwoo begins.

“That’s a good idea!” Mingyu grins.

“Wonwoo, I know this is your night, and I’m sorry, but I just can’t do this right now.”

Wonwoo frowns at your words, then releases Mingyu. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just go.”

two

“You seem agitated,” the therapist notes, watching the way Mingyu is fidgeting on the couch.

“It’s just…” he casts a sideways glance at you and Wonwoo, seated next to him with noise canceler headphones on, “I worry that they can hear me.”

“I can promise you they can’t. The noise cancellers are playing loud music. This is your time to talk with me.”

“Still…” Mingyu frowns, “it feels weird.”

“We can ask Wonwoo to go back inside y/n’s head if you’d like.”

“I don’t want that either, Wonwoo prefers to be outside.”

The therapist looks down at her notes. “Tell me more about that. What does being ‘inside’ feel like.”

“It’s dark,” Mingyu explains. “I can’t really explain it. Wonwoo and I don’t sleep, so I don’t know what sleep is like- but I’m pretty sure it’s not just dark boredom the way being inside feels.”

“Do you both have a preference for being ‘out’ then?”

“I mean… it’s a whole lot nicer than being in.”

“Have you ever discussed this with y/n?” The therapist cocks her head, and it’s clear she’s trying to understand, but Mingyu’s still not used to her.

“No. She has enough on her plate, especially now with the whole ‘give Wonwoo time to do what he wants to do’ thing.” Mingyu looks down at his hands, and he picks at his skin.

“I take it you don’t enjoy doing what Wonwoo wants to do.”

“No, and neither does y/n. My night in control is all about good food, relaxing, and watching Netflix. Wonwoo’s night in control is frat parties, keg stands, and getting into fights.”

“Sounds like comfort versus destruction.”

“Destructive is a good word to describe Wonwoo,” Mingyu admits. 

“Aside from your feelings on frat parties and keg stands and fights, do you think you each having time to choose what’s happening has been beneficial?”

Mingyu thinks about it for a moment. “Wonwoo has been less of a dick lately.” 

“That’s good news.” The therapist jots down some notes. “If I may, from the way I understand y/n’s power, you and Wonwoo are both parts of her. Opposing parts, but parts nonetheless. Do you think it’s possible that seeing as you’re both parts of her, there’s some part of y/n, perhaps even some part of you, that enjoys frat parties?”

Mingyu only shrugs.

“From what I understand, you mostly stay in during Wonwoo’s controlled times. If you weren’t so focused on disagreeing with his morals, or whatever it is you do disagree with, are there things about frat parties that you might like?”

“Maybe.” Mingyu picks at his skin again. “I do like to dance.”

“What if I challenge you to be out more at frat parties, to let loose and give it a chance?”

“I’ll do it because you’re asking me to, but I’m not sure how good it will feel.”

“Maybe that’s something to discuss at our next one-on-one.”

Mingyu can only shrug. He’s been tied to Wonwoo for over ten years now, and he doubts much could change the destructive, obnoxious way he views your darker half.

three

When you’d been accepted to a superpower-focused university, you’d been enrolled in things that would benefit both Mingyu and Wonwoo’s powers. For Wonwoo, you have to go to the gym with him and watch him lift obscene amounts of weight. The gym isn’t your favorite place, but at least you can get a workout while he trains. For Mingyu, on the other hand, he’s doing healer training in the hospital, and due to doctor-patient confidentiality, you’re stuck sitting in the hallway outside the exam room where he heals people. 

It’s quite boring. 

The one shining grace is that Wonwoo often sits with you, and the two of you watch anime on your phone together. Although Wonwoo doesn’t complain as much as he used to about being bored, you can tell from his slouched stance and heavy sighs that he’s just as tired of this whole thing as you are.

“You know,” you say, nudging him between episodes, “you don’t have to sit with me.”

“If you have to be here, I have to be here.”

“You can go back inside, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I’m entertaining, you’re less bored when I’m here,” Wonwoo insists. “Waiting for Mingyu is boring. You weren’t bored at the frat though, because frats are infinitely more fun than hospitals.”

“It might be boring,” you admit, “but… either way, it’s nice to see you both thriving. I think this therapy thing has been helpful with seeing all sides of this power.”

“As long as you’re thriving too,” Wonwoo notes, casting you a sideways glance. “It will be girls' night soon- you can have a whole night without us.”

“For real this time?” You narrow your eyes at the man who had ‘popped out’ during your last girls' night. While you enjoy Wonwoo’s company, both he and Mingyu make it very difficult to have female friends, who always get caught up in a sense of longing for the gorgeous men. 

“For real,” Wonwoo sighs. 

“Good, because if I get propositioned by one of my friends again for them to get a chance to sleep with one of you, I might just poke my eye out with a fork.”

Wonwoo lets out a soft chuckle. “Maybe that’s something you want to talk about with the therapist in your next session.”

“Maybe it is,” you huff, hating whenever Wonwoo says something that’s actually valid.

Your eyes turn back to your phone, where the anime has progressed through its recap and intro. As boring as sitting in a hospital for hours is, Wonwoo does make it a little bit easier.

four

Wonwoo appreciates Mingyu staying inside your head for his therapy sessions. It’s less stress having only you seated next to him, your noise cancellers on, your head leaned back, eyes closed. He thinks you might be sleeping, and he’s happy you can rest while his psyche is getting poked and prodded by the therapist. 

“How are your classes going?” 

“Fine,” Wonwoo murmurs.

“Elaborate on the word fine.”

He shrugs. “Fine. Not good, not bad. Just… fine.”

“What’s the not good aspect of that?”

Wonwoo looks up at the therapist. He doesn’t want to open up, but you’ve encouraged him that this is the place to do it.

With a loud sigh, he leans back against the couch. “I guess… last week we had a class about prospective jobs for people with strength powers, and I don’t know… all the other guys have options. They could join superhero teams, make a difference- and I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“No, I can’t,” Wonwoo repeats. “I’m tied to y/n. Anywhere I go, she has to be within a ten-meter radius. I couldn’t run into danger and worry about her getting hurt. She’s my priority, not anyone else. No matter how much I want to do more with my power- I can’t.”

The therapist cocks her head at him, assessing him with analytic eyes. “It sounds like you’re saying you feel like perhaps your skills are being… repressed, in a way.”

“I guess you could say that.” Wonwoo looks down. “I just… it’s not as bad for Mingyu. He could get a job at a hospital and y/n would be safe there. She’d be bored out of her fucking mind. But she wouldn’t be in danger. I’m starting to think that’s the best path forward, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“Do you think y/n would prefer that path?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t talked about it with her.”

“For three people so closely tied together, it seems as though there’s not as much communication about the important things as there could be.”

“We talk,” Wonwoo insists.

“When was the last time you all talked about something important?”

Wonwoo can feel hot anger bubbling up inside of him, but luckily, he has a quick example. “We talked about how we feel about this whole sharing time thing.”

“And?”

“Mingyu and I both like it, but… as much as y/n says she’s okay with it, I’m pretty sure it’s draining her to be bored all the time.”

“Earlier you said being tied to y/n has restrictions, do you think being tied to the two of you has restrictions for y/n too?”

“Clearly it does.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Some days, I think she’d prefer to be powerless and be at a regular university.”

“Has she ever voiced that to you?”

“She never would, even if she felt it. No matter what it might look like to outsiders, the three of us care about each other. Or… well, I care about y/n, and so does Mingyu, and she cares about us.”

“You and Mingyu still haven’t been getting along I take it.”

“Nope.”

“And yet, Mingyu is inside right now. He’s giving you space to have a private conversation, which is a grace you don’t return when it’s his chance to talk with me one-on-one.”

“I hate being inside her head.” Wonwoo has never told you this, but most nights, when you go to sleep, he waits for you to be fully passed out before coming out again. He sits on the couch, watches anime- Mingyu’s gotten on his case for it a number of times, but Wonwoo hates boredom like he hates sand, hot weather, and the way Mingyu hums to himself when he cooks for you. “I don’t like being inside,” Wonwoo states again, more firmly this time.

“If you had your preference, how often would you be out?”

The answer comes quickly, “A hundred percent of the time.”

“And this is not something you can talk about with y/n?”

“It would make her uncomfortable,” Wonwoo says. “She never talks about it, but- she’d never had a proper relationship, she can’t with two dudes in her head or hanging around all day. I bet she can’t even touch herself without worrying me or Mingyu will pop out- I can imagine it would be very uncomfortable, and if I asked to be out all the time, it would put even more pressure on her. I don’t want that.”

“You care about her a lot.”

Wonwoo doesn’t see the need in responding.

The therapist clicks her pen. “Do you often think about these things? About… y/n’s sexual restrictions due to you and Mingyu?”

A wave of heated anger flashed over Wonwoo’s skin at the question. “I’m not a fucking pervert.”

“I never said you were, I’m just trying to understand the way this unique power affects that aspect of y/n’s life, of your life. Humans are sexual beings, and repression of desires like that can lead to anyone being pent up and frustrated.”

“If you’re asking if I’m a virgin, I’m not.”

“No?”

“Y/N’s had sleepovers with other girls since coming to university. More than one of her friends has propositioned me.”

“How frequent are these… encounters?”

“Not at all now. Y/N was getting upset with her friends falling for me, and sometimes I felt it was unfair to the girl. I can never have a relationship. On top of that, I felt bad keeping it a secret from y/n.” Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “It’s better for everyone if I keep it in my pants.”

five

Girls' night is going very well so far. You and two friends have already watched a movie, and now, while checking for your next rom-com, you’re all chatting about classes.

Jenni has ice powers, and she’s progressed an astounding amount already with how long she can use them. Yeji, on the other hand, can manipulate sound waves, and there have been all sorts of weird ways she’s adapted that for offensive and defensive situations.

It sucks sometimes to listen to them gush about their powers while you don’t really have any of your own. Besides Mingyu and Wonwoo, you feel like you’re just y/n. You yourself have no super strength or healing, no mind reading or telekinesis- you’re… just y/n, and in a university surrounded by amazing power wielders, it can be hard to hold your head high.

“Anyways, enough about us,” Jenni says, turning her eyes to you, “How are Wonwoo and Mingyu doing? I heard Mingyu’s one of the top healing power students this year.”

“Yeah, they’re doing good,” you shrug. “We’ve been spending more time at the hospital, Mingyu seems happy to be helping people.”

“He’s definitely the good one,” Yeji nods, flashing a grin at Jenni. “Are they gonna pop by tonight? They’re both uh… really hot.”

“I don’t think so… this is girls' night.”

You don’t miss the way Yeji frowns or the way she exchanges a glance with Jenni. 

“Anyways,” you turn to the TV, “should we start our movie?”

The girls nod and you begin to watch your next rom-com. You try to enjoy having just girl time, but soon, you start to get hungry. 

“How do you feel about ramen?” you ask.

“Oooh yum!” Yeji’s eyes brighten at the idea, and you immediately stand to go to the kitchen.

You haven’t even reached for a pot to boil water when you feel a presence beside you, and you turn to look up at Mingyu.

“You guys need a cook?” he grins. 

You let out a sigh, turning to see if Yeji and Jenni have noticed Mingyu, but they’re leaning together discussing classes.

“Gyu,” you whisper, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“But I thought maybe you’d wanna relax and I could cook?”

“Wait-” you narrow your eyes at him, “this is the second time in two weeks you’ve popped up at the exact time something was convenient for you. First with someone getting sick at the frat, and now with cooking-”

Mingyu looks guilty, and you cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to explain himself. “Look… my uh… my power has been getting a little better and I kind of have a general sense for your thoughts when I’m in your head now.”

“What!?” You can’t help the way your voice raises, and you see Jenni and Yeji whip to look at you from over the couch. “Since when!?”

“Just for a bit-” Mingyu raises his hands in defense. “Look, I especially didn’t hear anything about Yeji calling me hot like two seconds ago.”

Now you’re mortified, and one look at your friend’s pink face shows you she is too-

Before you can say another word, Wonwoo appears, and he gives you a once over, then Mingyu. “I uh… sensed a disturbance in the force.”

He’s such a nerd, and in an odd way, he actually calms you down a little. “You know what? Fuck it. Mingyu, you can cook for us, but when you’re done, you’re both going to my room and wearing headphones and not eavesdropping on my girls' night!”

“Okay, you got it.” Mingyu turns to begin making the ramen, and before you can go to join your friends, Wonwoo grabs your arms.

“Uh, sorry about this,” he apologizes, and you’re shocked he’s apologizing for Mingyu’s behavior. “Neither of us really like being ‘inside,’ I think… he was just looking for an excuse not to be cooped up.”

“I’m very sorry,” Mingyu says over his shoulder.

“Look- we can talk about all of this later,” you sigh, trying to process what Wonwoo just said. “Please just- this is my night, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo nods. “We’ll try not to be a bother.”

six

At this point, you’re pretty sure neither Wonwoo or Mingyu can hear you talking to the therapist, after all, whenever you have the headphones on, everything else is muted by music. Even so, if they were to hear you, part of you wouldn’t care.

“It was girls’ night,” you state. “Girls’ night. My night. And even though I asked them to stay inside and not interrupt, they still popped out! And it turns out, their powers have been getting better, so now, even when they’re inside, they can sense my thoughts?! I have no privacy! It’s a disaster!”

“Deep breaths,” the therapist encourages you. “I can see why that would be frustrating.”

“Very frustrating!” You let out a deep sigh, and you’re shocked when it helps calm you down. “The thing that really bugs me though- is Wonwoo said they don’t like being inside.”

“What about that bugs you?”

“Because now I feel bad- now I feel like I’m being a bad friend whenever I ask them to go back inside- but, a girl needs alone time. She needs girl time- without two hot guys walking around and making her friends drool and go all googly-eyed!”

“What about your friends ogling Mingyu and Wonwoo frustrates you?”

“I guess- it’s more than the fact that they’re both hot,” you admit. “I think- sometimes I think I feel lesser to begin with because I don’t have any overt powers. I feel powerless in a university of power holders. It’s hard to make friends if you can’t do anything flashy- I never know if girls are friends with me for me, or for them.”

“Let's touch on that feeling of being lesser for a moment, then we can circle back to everything else,” your therapist suggests. “You said you feel powerless, although, the way I see it, you have two top-tier protectors. Mingyu is the highest-ranked in his healing classes, and his professors say he’s extremely gifted. And Wonwoo is strong, he’ll protect you no matter what.”

“But those are their powers, not mine.”

“They only exist because of you. Have you ever thought about your future after this? After school?”

“Not extensively,” you admit.

“How would you feel about being outside an operating room, about Mingyu being the main breadwinner and using his powers to take care of you?”

This isn’t something you’ve ever considered, and the notion takes you by surprise. 

“Many people use their powers to make a living, Mingyu is no different, and since he’s an extension of you, allowing him to use his power to take care of things would be moral, it would be natural even, don’t you think?”

“Are you suggesting I be a pretty little stay-at-home powerless tether to a healer?” you ask.

“It’s one possible outcome if that’s something you’d be interested in.” The therapist cocks her head at you. “You enrolled in this university, obviously you care about Wonwoo and Mingyu furthering their powers- I would find it difficult to see you go through all of this only to get a regular job that doesn’t utilize them.”

“I really have not thought that far ahead.”

“Think that far ahead for a moment. Tell me your ideal situation.”

You sit there, thinking. The Mingyu outcome she’d just painted was interesting, so you dare to consider a Wonwoo option. Could you go with him on hero missions? No. He wouldn’t let you. The Wonwoo path wouldn’t be good for anyone. Wonwoo gets distracted enough about your safety when you try new weight machines.

“Maybe… maybe going forward with Mingyu’s healing career would be good.” 

“Healers with the aptitude he has go far in this life,” your therapist notes. “You wouldn’t have to worry about money, or getting hurt.”

“But what about…” You bite your tongue. When Mingyu and Wonwoo had first become visible to others when you were fourteen, it felt like a dream, but when you’d been sixteen and unable to spend time with boys for fear of one appearing- you’d started to realize the downside to having two constant protectors. You try not to think about having a relationship too often, but now that you’re being asked to consider your future, you know you’d be happier to have someone in your life five years from now- even a week from now if that was possible.

“What are you thinking?” the therapist asks.

“Just that… as years go by, I feel like my hopes for getting a boyfriend diminish more and more. If we’re talking about my future, the one thing I know for sure is that I want someone to share it with.”

“You have someone. Two someones, in fact.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Are you suggesting…”

The therapist shrugs, sending you a girlie smile, one Yeji has sent your way multiple times before. “Are you interested in either of them that way?”

“I mean… sure… look at them.” You cast a sideways glance at Wonwoo, then Mingyu. “But… would it be weird to do that? They’re part of me, aren’t they?”

“Self-love and acceptance is the most important part of life, or so many Yogi’s say.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, I’ve always thought maybe that would be crossing a line.”

“What line?”

“An invisible one?” you suggest, not quite having the words to explain it yourself. 

“Listen, I understand why this might be daunting. It would change the dynamic, as I’m sure you know, but, if you are looking to be romantic with someone, or two someones, I know that it would be hard to find a man who would care about you and want to take care of you the way Mingyu and Wonwoo do.”

“Is it okay for you to be suggesting this?” you ask.

“My job is to further your development, to straighten out any roughness in this dynamic. I’ve not shared this with you yet, but my power is to see auras. Whenever you talk about Mingyu or Wonwoo, your aura lightens, it’s a sign of love. Theirs lighten when they’re talking about you too. Wonwoo’s in particular is quite dark, but whenever you come up, he’s shockingly thoughtful and candid. Mingyu’s easy to read, as I’m sure you know. They both care about you, and you care about them.”

“I guess- if they feel that way, why haven’t they ever said anything?”

“You’re the boss, y/n, I think sometimes maybe you forget that.”

seven

If there’s one thing all three of you can agree on, it’s anime. Nights spent watching shows together are always very civil, and you enjoy the peace of this, even as you begin to get a little sleepy.

When you yawn for the third time, Mingyu turns to you. “Do you want to go to bed?”

“Nah, not bed, I think I just need a nap,” you explain. “But don’t worry, you don’t have to go back inside, I can just… curl up here and rest for a bit.”

You and Mingyu are on the main couch, with Wonwoo on the solo seater just next to you. You lay down, but Mingyu’s so big and takes up half of the space, so your feet end up haphazardly on top of his lap, and it’s not the most comfortable position.

“Do you want me to be the big spoon?” Mingyu suggests.

“That would be nice,” you admit.

You don’t often get that close to Mingyu and Wonwoo, but on rare occasions, when you’re feeling an extra need for protective energy, you’ve found yourself as a little spoon.

Carefully getting behind you, Mingyu opens up the space so you can stretch your legs. A soft sigh escapes you as you curl up to the pillow, with Mingyu’s warmth heating your back. 

You close your eyes, and while you are able to rest, you aren’t able to fall asleep.

Your mind is too full of thoughts about your last therapy session. Now that a professional has given you the go-ahead to explore things sexually with your two protectors, it’s frequently at the forefront of your mind. Having Mingyu’s strong body behind you isn’t helping any of these dirty thoughts, and you do your best to readjust slightly, trying to get into the most comfortable position in the hopes that you’ll pass out.

“You good?” Wonwoo asks. 

“You seem fidgety,” Mingyu notes. 

“Just thinking,” you sigh. 

Wonwoo casts you a glance. “About?” 

“Just…” Should you tell them? “I guess I had a kind of weird chat in therapy yesterday.”

“Our therapist is definitely a little unconventional,” Wonwoo agrees, and from the look on his face, you can tell he’s had an interesting chat or too as well.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” Mingyu asks softly, his hand soothing against your arm.

“We were talking about the future,” you explain. “She asked what I wanted with my life. I hadn’t thought about it much before, but… I did tell her that one thing I’ve always wanted is a relationship. I don’t see myself getting old and being alone, you know?”

“You’ll never be alone,” Mingyu assures you, wrapping his arm tight around you to pull you close to his chest. “We’ll always be here with you.”

“And that’s the thing,” you let out a small laugh. “I’m out here wishing for a life partner, when I already have two.”

The room goes quiet, neither of your protectors say anything. You hear Mingyu take in a sharp breath, and Wonwoo looks at the man over your shoulder. There’s an unspoken communication between the two of them, and then Wonwoo’s eyes meet yours.

“What are you saying, y/n?” he asks.

“I guess… what I’m saying is…” You take a deep breath, mustering up your courage. “What if… what if we gave it a try?”

“Gave it a try?” Mingyu repeats.

“You know, it.” You look at him over your shoulder, willing him to understand.

“I think you need to spell it out for him,” Wonwoo chuckles. “He’s such a goody toe shoes he doesn’t get that you’re propositioning us for sex.”

“She’s what?” Mingyu’s lips part in confusion, and he looks between you and Wonwoo.

“I mean, unless you don’t want to-” You’re quick to try to back out of this, feeling anxious that you’d ever even brought it up.

“We want to,” Wonwoo assures you. “Mingyu’s been in love with you since we were sixteen.”

“Have you really?” you ask, blinking up at your bright protector. 

“I uh… well…” Mingyu stammers, his skin turning a cute shade of pink.

“And what about you, Wonwoo?” you turn, looking at the stoic man. “Are you in love with me too?”

“I’m the bad one, remember?” Wonwoo smirks. “As if I’d get sappy like he does.”

“I feel like that’s a yes,” you grin, heart thundering in your chest at this new development. “How come neither of you ever said anything.”

“We’re not big fans of putting pressure on you,” Mingyu says softly.

“It would also change things,” Wonwoo notes.

“Yeah, but, part of me thinks it would change things for the better,” you admit.

“So…” Wonwoo pauses your show, turning to face you and Mingyu. “Are we going to do this?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, giving a quick nod.

“Yeah?” Behind you, Mingyu presses closer, his hand caressing your arm again, his breath hot along your throat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I think he wants to hear you say it,” Wonwoo grins. “We both do.”

“I want…” your words falter, but you’re quick to steady yourself even as Mingyu rubs his clothed cock against your ass. “I want you both to fuck me.”

Mingyu presses his lips to your neck, it’s a soft kiss, but it sets your body on fire. You let out a sigh of delight, tilting your head to give him more access. Tingles of pleasure erupt across you as he continues to press his gentle lips to your skin, his hand slipping down to cup your hip.

He squeezes you, almost enough to hurt, and it’s a rough motion from your generally gentle giant- it betrays how he feels, how deeply he wants you, and it makes you moan in excitement.

“We should move into the bedroom,” Wonwoo directs, standing from the single sofa. “Come on,” he reaches down for you, easily lifting you from Mingyu, who lets out an annoyed whine.

Sometimes you forget Wonwoo has the power of strength, and he carries you like you weigh nothing. His gaze is forward, his intentions set on getting to your bed, and it’s so incredibly sexy you think you might die.

“How do you want to do this?” Wonwoo asks softly.

“Hmm?” You’re a little shocked at the question, and it takes you a moment to even register it. “Oh, uh… no anal?”

Wonwoo laughs, looking down at you with those pretty eyes of his. “Yeah, that feels a little advanced for you.”

“Fuck you, I can be advanced!”

“Sure you can, just not tonight.” Wonwoo places you on the bed, and Mingyu, who had been following the two of you, is quick to big spoon you again, his lips returning to your throat.

Your eyes are on Wonwoo, and after a moment of watching you, he gets onto the bed too, facing you.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, cupping your cheek.

“Uh huh.”

Wonwoo only laughs, shaking his head slightly before he brings his mouth to your own. It’s a soft kiss, and it takes you off guard. Behind you, Mingyu is getting more and more restless, all hands and tongue- but Wonwoo, in contrast, feels as cool, calm and collected as a cucumber.

At this point, Mingyu is practically dry-humping your butt, grinding his front against you and moaning. His sounds are awfully distracting, and you break your kiss with Wonwoo to look over your shoulder at the man who immediately grabs you to bring your lips to his.

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle again. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is, Mingyu’s a virgin. The good news is, that means he’ll be easy to teach.”

“I’ll be good,” Mingyu murmurs against your lips.

“Wait.” You turn to look at Wonwoo again. “He’s a virgin… you’re not?”

“I’m the bad one, you keep forgetting that,” Wonwoo laughs. “It’s not like you’re an angel either.”

That’s true, so you choose not to dwell on it. Instead, you grab Mingyu’s hand on your hip, guiding it down to your abdomen, then bellow the waistband of your sweatpants. 

“Do you want to direct him, or should I?” you challenge Wonwoo, who cocks a brow at your change in tone.

“Touch her pussy, Gyu. Tell me how wet she is.”

Mingyu moans in your ear as his hand explores further down, his fingers brushing over your clit then between your pussy lips. “Fuck, she’s so wet, and so warm-”

“Tease her a little. Her clit is at the top, it’s this small, pearl-shaped bud. Girls love it when you play with that. She’ll be dripping by the time you’re done.”

God, hearing Wonwoo talk like this is taking your breath away, and you squirm as Mingyu does as he’s told, his touch lingering on your clit.

“I found it,” Mingyu groans, pressing his cock against your ass again. “Does this feel good, baby?”

“Feels so good, Gyu,” you whine, your hands reaching out to grab Wonwoo’s broad shoulders like an anchor. 

Wonwoo watches your every expression. “Once she’s wet enough, you can try to slide one of your fingers into that tight pussy of hers. It’s important to stretch her out since I know you’re packing.”

A shiver runs through you now. Mingyu’s big- you know it in your bones, you feel it against your ass- 

“Can I?” Mingyu asks, sucking on your ear lobe. “Can I put my finger in your tight, wet pussy?”

You nod. “Please-”

He teases your opening, and you wait with bated breath for him to finally push in. When he does, you both moan loudly.

“Fuck her like that for a bit, then see if she can handle another finger,” Wonwoo instructs next. “While you’re doing that… how do you feel about stroking me off, gorgeous?”

You swallow thickly, nodding. Then you reach down for Wonwoo’s pants, helping him shift them down to his thighs. His cock slaps up against his abdomen, hard as a rock and glistening with precum. He’s big, on the longer side more than thick, but you don’t mind. You grasp him, rubbing your thumb through the precum to spread it across his skin.

“Do you need direction too?” Wonwoo grins at you.

“Don’t even try it,” you warn him.

“I was just teasing, you don’t seem to mind Mingyu’s teasing.”

“That’s cuz he’s-” Your words are choked off as Mingyu thrusts his finger in your pussy. “He’s doing a different kind of teasing.”

“Can I add another?” Mingyu groans in your ear, seemingly oblivious to the bickering between you and Wonwoo. 

“Yeah,” you nod, stroking Wonwoo faster while you wiggle your hips as an open invitation to Mingyu. 

Two fingers drag through your pussy lips, and when Mingyu pushes them into you, you swear you see stars. You throw your head back, eyes closing in ecstasy-

“If you crook your fingers, there should be a soft, spongy spot. That’s called the G-spot, girls like it when you apply pressure there,” Wonwoo tells Mingyu.

You feel Mingyu’s fingers beginning to explore inside of you, and you let out a whimper when he finds the spot Wonwoo is talking about.

“Looks like you found it, Gyu,” Wonwoo grins. “See? What did I tell you? A quick learner.”

Mingyu applies more pressure to your G-spot as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. Soon, you can hear how wet you are, and Wonwoo’s eyes darken.

“I think you’re just about ready for him, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yeah- fuck it, yeah,” you nod quickly. “Let's all get naked.”

Mingyu’s hand is out of your pants before you can even finish your sentence. He licks his fingers off, groaning at your taste, before he rips off his pants and shirt.

Your clothes are quick to follow, discarded onto the floor. “I’m gonna ride him,” you announce.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Wonwoo nods. 

You swing a leg over Mingyu’s hips, your hands flat on his chest- when you look down at Mingyu, you’re overwhelmed with a feeling you quite can’t explain. Bending down, you press your lips to Mingyu’s, capturing his cock between his body and your pussy. You grind against him while you make out, a flurry of tongues and whimpers of pleasure. 

“He might not last long, so I’d be careful if I were you,” Wonwoo warns, and you feel his body behind yours, his hands trailing up your sides.

You pull away from Mingyu, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your pussy. He’s so big- and his tip stretches you out as you slowly seat yourself down onto him, your wet hole taking inch after inch until you’re full to the hilt. 

“Fuck-” Mingyu whimpers, his hands settling on your hips.

“Feels like heaven, huh?” Wonwoo asks.

“Even better than heaven,” Mingyu breathes.

Wonwoo’s lips find your throat, and you arch your head back, enjoying the way his hands capture your breasts, massaging you. His thumb and pointer squeeze your nipple and you gasp, your pussy clamping down on Mingyu, who groans loudly.

“You should start riding him,” Wonwoo says, his mouth hot on your neck. “Here, I’ll help you.”

Wonwoo’s hands find your hips, and he lifts you off of his fried before pushing you back down. You let out a whimper of pleasure, closing your eyes and resting your head back against Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

With his super strength, he can easily lift you up and put you back down on Mingyu’s cock, effectively taking away all the leg strain so you can enjoy every moment of Mingyu filling you up.

“I might be bad, but I can be nice,” Wonwoo coos. “Look at me doing all the work.”

Mingyu lets out a grunt, and he begins to thrust up to meet you, driving his cock even deeper into your pussy.

“Fuck-” you gasp, reaching behind you to thread your fingers in Wonwoo’s hair.

“He feels good, doesn’t he?” Wonwoo asks. “Hey Gyu, rub her clit. Wonder if we can get her to cum for us.”

Mingyu’s thumb finds your sensitive bud and you squeal with delight, pussy throbbing around the massive cock impaling you. 

Each circle of his digit on your clit drags you closer and closer to the edge, your sounds filling the room-

“She’s gonna cum,” Wonwoo announces. “Tell her how badly you want to watch her cum.”

“Wanna watch you cum,” Mingyu moans.

“That’s not very original,” Wonwoo tuts.

“Fuck, you look so good bouncing on my cock. We both wanna see you cum. You’ll cum for us, right?” Mingyu looks so desperate. Lips puffy and parted, skin a soft pink, dark hair curled with sweat by his strong brow-

“Okay, okay- fuck,” you groan. “I’m gonna- fuck, I’m close-”

“When a girl tells you she’s close, don’t change anything,” Wonwoo tells the man below you. “Don’t add pressure or take pressure away from her clit. Don’t change your pace- the only thing I’d say you can change, is you can fuck her harder, but since you’re the bottom right now...”

Wonwoo’s grip on you tightens, and he bounces you even harder onto Mingyu’s cock, which makes you nearly cry from how good it feels. “Oh my god, oh my god-”

“How about you cum for us?” Wonwoo suggests. “I’m sure you’ll get Mingyu there too.” 

“Are you gonna cum with me, Gyu?” you ask, looking down at Mingyu from under heavy lids. “Please- I want you to cum with me?”

Mingyu lets out a grunt, his brows furrowing in concentration. You’d bet he’s holding off his high now, waiting for you, waiting for the moment you say it’s okay-

The cord in your stomach coils tighter and tighter, and when Wonwoo leans over you to whisper the word, “Cum,” in your ear, you can’t even help yourself.

Your pussy tightens like a vice on Mingyu’s cock, all the tension snapping as waves of pleasure throb from your core outward to the rest of your body.  The moan you let out is obscene, and the one Mingyu echoes is even worse, in the most sinful, sexy way.

“Fuck-” Mingyu grabs your hips, forcing you down on him completely, unable to move while the contractions of your orgasm milk his cock for all he’s worth.

“Look at you two cum whores,” Wonwoo breathes, and for some reason, the degradation doesn’t phase you in the slightest. “Bet you both needed that, didn’t you?”

You can only whimper a sound of affirmation. 

Wonwoo’s hands smooth along your back, helping your body calm down from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Let me know when you’re ready for more,” he says softly.

“Now,” you respond without hesitation. “Fuck me now.”

“You’re that eager?”

“Eager- plus the moment we’re done, I think I might pass out,” you admit. 

Wonwoo only laughs. “I’m going to help you off of him, then it’s face down, ass up. You good with that?”

“So good with that,” you grin. 

It’s easy enough for Wonwoo to help you off of Mingyu. He sets you next to your gentle giant, who’s still trying to catch his breath. 

You immediately push your butt toward Wonwoo, arching your back and looking at him over your shoulder.

“Wow, you really are ready,” he muses, hands gliding over your ass. “Don’t fall asleep on me or it might bruise my ego.”

“Sleep after you cum, so don’t worry if it’s quick.”

“What if I want to take my time?” Wonwoo asks, dragging his cock up and down your slit.

“Then I’d say you have so many other opportunities in the future to take your time, but right now, I just want to be full, and then I can pass out between you and Gyu.”

“You know what? That doesn’t actually sound that bad.” Wonwoo presses his cock into your wet hole, Mingyu’s cum acting as a kind of lube that makes it all too easy for Wonwoo’s length to glide against your walls.

“Fuck-” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. 

Wonwoo isn’t as thick as Mingyu, but somehow he reaches deeper. Two hands spread your ass cheeks so each rough thrust has Wonwoo’s cock going as deep as possible, his tip kissing your cervix and making your toes curl.

“Taking it so good,” Wonwoo muses, digging his fingers into your flesh.

“So pretty,” Mingyu whispers, pushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

He leans in, and you find yourself kissing Mingyu while Wonwoo rails you from behind. You can hardly help your moans as Mingyu’s tongue glides over yours.

“It’s kind of hot watching you two make out,” Wonwoo admits, his thrusts slowing so he can appreciate the view in front of him.

“Yeah?” You kiss Mingyu even harder and he shuffles closer, groping your breast.

“Rub her clit for me Gyu,” Wonwoo instructs. “If she wants this fast, we’ll have to get her to cum first.”

Your body tingles- you should have known Wonwoo would want one of your orgasms for himself if you gave one to Gyu. You have no problems with them providing you pleasure and you providing them with a view of your high in return.

You simply relax while they work you up together, acting in unison. 

Mingyu’s fingers are rubbing your clit in rough circles, and the feeling of Wonwoo filling you up has you going crazy. You’re doing your best to hold onto the moment, but you can feel yourself getting close to the edge again.

“You’re getting tight, gorgeous,” Wonwoo muses. “Gonna cum for us?”

“Yeah- almost there,” you whimper, arching your back even more so when Wonwoo drives forward, he hits a specific spot that has you seeing stars. “Fuck-”

“You feel so good, want to feel you cum on my cock, wanna feel your perfect pussy get all tight and creamy with my cum-” Wonwoo grabs your ass tighter, and the slight pain paired with his dirty words is enough to throw you over the edge.

Your entire body tenses as the cord of pleasure snaps, erupting through you like a volcano of white, hot intensity. “Fuck-” you whine, and Wonwoo echoes the sound as your pussy grips him harder than ever before.

“Shit, I’m cumming,” Wonwoo warns you, his thrusts faltering as he shoots his load deep inside your throbbing core. 

He lets out sinful groans, and you love the way he sounds as he rides you through your orgasm, roughly ramming into your gspot with shallow thrusts that feel like heaven.

Wonwoo finally comes to a stop, and you can feel him breathing heavily against your bare shoulders. 

“Clean up time, then bed,” Mingyu reminds you before you can close your eyes and fall asleep then and there.

“Right-” you whisper lazily, resting your cheek against the comforter.

“Here, I’ll help you, but only if I get to be your big spoon,” Mingyu suggests.

You nod. Wonwoo pulls out of you, and Mingyu is quick to bring a warm cloth to your aching core, wiping up the cum and getting you situated. He helps you lay down, disposing of the towel before joining you at your rear. His lips are soft against your shoulder, his hand gliding the expanse of your arm.

“We love you,” he tells you. “Even if Wonwoo won’t say it cuz he’s a jerk.”

Wonwoo only laughs, laying on his back in front of you and Mingyu. You’re too exhausted to say much other than, “I love you guys too,” and with that, you fall asleep next to your two lifelong protectors.

You don’t know what the future holds, but one thing is clear; as long as Mingyu and Wonwoo are protecting you, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! this might be low key my hero academia inspired- I've been going through the anime's like an addict lol

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🔮 preview. It’s been interesting learning about yourself and your sexual tastes with Mingyu and Wonwoo

cw/ tw. Threesome, unprotected sex, dildo use, pussy eating, oral (m/f receiving), deep throating, Mingyu monster cock agenda, spitting, spanking, dirty talk, dom!wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, cream pie, Eiffel tower/spit roasting, double penetration, cumming on y/n’s face, masturbation, etc…   I petnames. Baby & gorgeous. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 145

🌙 starring. Wonwoo & Mingyu x afab!Reader

 bonus

“So,” your therapist grins as she looks amongst you and your protectors, “I’m guessing things are going well?”

You can only smile, squeezing Wonwoo and Mingyu’s hands.

“It’s never been this easy,” Mingyu says wistfully, bringing your knuckles up to his lips to kiss.

“How are you two getting along?” your therapist addresses Wonwoo and Mingyu.

“Shockingly,” Wonwoo sighs, turning to grin at Mingyu, “I feel like we’re pretty good. Once Mingyu started listening to me, for once, things got easier.”

You nearly choke at Wonwoo’s words- reminiscing about how well Mingyu listens to Wonwoo’s instructions in bed.

“This is a good step,” your therapist smiles. “I’m proud of all three of you.”

No one’s ever told you they were proud of you for getting railed like a whore in heat by not one, but two, men- but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

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[yanderenightmare]

FEM x M INSERT masterlist

Fem reader x male insert

Yandere and other Kidnapping Tales ~

Yandere kidnapper takes your virginty:

♡ VIRGINITY

Yandere captor has too much libido:

♡ REMINDER

Thirsty thoughts on big yanderes x tiny darlings:

♡ GENTLE GIANT

Yandere kidnapper softly nonconning darling:

♡ soft noncon

Yanderes who keep you high as a kite:

♡ HIGH AS A KITE

Yandere captor using you as his pretty rope-bunny:

♡ ROPE-BUNNY

Yanderes who's obsessed with breeding:

♡ FORCED BREEDING

Spending Valentine's Day with your incel kidnapper:

♡ HAPPY VALENTINES

Yandere kidnapper is a sexual sadist:

♡ RIBBED CONDOMS

Yandere captor staking claim to all your holes:

♡ STUFFED

Misogynist boyfriend keeps you captive:

♡ A SHITTY MOVIE

Strange Yandere keeps you locked inside his playroom:

♡ THE PLAYROOM

Your sweet boyfriend shows his true colors:

♡ TRUE COLORS

Your rich boyfriend buys you everything:

♡ PROPERTY

Poly yanderes with captive reader in apocolypse au:

♡ THE BUNKER

Boyfriends and Husbands~

Simpy boyfriend is unabashedly obsessed with your ass:

♡ ASS

Boyfriend is embarrassed:

♡ POST NUT CLARITY

Sweet boyfriend won't stop talking about anal:

♡ SECOND VIRGINITY

Snugglebug boyfriends who're just so clingy and hopeless:

♡ VIRGINAL

Your toxic boyfriend is a little old-fashioned-minded:

♡ BENEVOLENT SEXIST

Breaking up with you bad boyfriend:

♡ BAD BREAKUP

Condescending boyfriend:

♡ HOPELESS

Businessman x trophy wife:

♡ TASTE OF MONEY

Reformed bully boyfriend wants to roleplay the past:

♡ REFRAMING TRAUMA

Your trip-sitter isn't as trustworthy as you think:

♡ TRIP-SITTER

Incest and Pesudo-incest ~

Step-bro creeps on you:

♡ CREEP STEP-BRO

Step-daddy puts you in your place:

♡ TRAINING

Omegaverse and other Hybrid Tales ~

Pet collector buys bunny reader:

♡ BOUGHT & SOLD ♡ THE OTHER PETS

Beast boyfriend x human reader:

♡ INSTINCTS

Poly wolfboys x bunny reader:

♡ BUNNYHOLES ♡ GROOMING

You were certain you were an Alpha, but as it turns out...

♡ TWIST OF FATE

Hybrid bear yandere takes bunny darling captive:

♡ BUNNIES MAKE THE BEST SLUTS

You're sent to an omega institution for behavioral correcting:

♡ THE OMEGA INSTITUTION

Patronizing soft dom Alpha:

♡ OVERWHELMED

Behemoth dominant Omega x tiny Alpha reader:

♡ UNNATURAL ♡ part two

Sword and Sorcery ~

Massive warrior claims you as his war prize:

♡ WAR PRIZE

Orc master loves making a cum-slut out of his pretty elf slave:

♡ ORC x ELF ♡ ORC x ELF

You become the spoiled prince's personal maid:

♡ FARM ANIMAL

Bullies and other College Tales ~

You let your bully fuck you in exchange for him leaving you alone:

♡ WORSE OFF

Your childhood bully tracks you down:

♡ APOLOGETIC BULLY only avaliable on AO3 ♡ PART TWO

When the playboy finally falls in love:

♡ PLAYBOY

Your strict teacher fucks your throat raw in detention:

♡ DETENTION

You're a popular airhead, and he's your loser tutor:

♡ BLIND TRUST

Teacher teaches you a hard lesson:

♡ HARD LESSON

Boss-man and other Office Tales ~

Boss uses his assistant whenever he wants and however he wants:

♡ BOSS

The old-fashioned boss with intern reader:

♡ NEW INTERN

Colleague crushing on reader in office au:

♡ CUT TO THE CHASE

Miscellaneous ~

Reader owes the mob:

♡ PROPERTY

You're not cheap, but you're worth it:

♡ FAVORITE WHORE

You're not really a model, but the brash photographer doesn't care:

♡ PHOTOGRAPHER ♡ PART TWO

♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[whumpandothercomfort]

Pet whumpee's ownership transferring from a sadistic whumper to a carewhumper.

Carewhumper fits them with a new shock collar & Whumpee is terrified. But then Carewhumper only uses light shocks to correct unwanted behavior & praises Whumpee for how quick they are to learn. "It's so nice how you never even make me use the higher settings :)"

Carewhumper notes how well Whumpee responds to affection and praise, so they make sure to shower Whumpee with it, especially when Whumpee is clearly uncomfortable or struggling with a task.

Carewhumper using gentle encouragement where pet's previous owner was cruel. Pet slowly getting used to this strange style of ownership, but never taking it for granted. They start automatically seeking out Carewhumper's reassurance whenever they're nervous or upset.

Carewhumper is very happy to hold them and pet them and tell them how good they're being.

[fleetingtemper]

when you get lost

possessive unhealthy behaviors! heavily implied yandere

SUNDAY

you were only supposed to be gone for a few hours, doing shopping around the dreamscape. of course, sunday would be damned if he didn’t assign designated oak family agents to closely accompany you all day. you are, after all, mr. sunday’s precious darling.

but he could only blame the incompetence of these agents for losing you. he will have to punish their families quite severely, he thinks to himself. this could only be an act of treason, sunday reasons.

his wings twitch in annoyance.

“i suppose any good pet returns to their master after they’ve realized what an unforgiving world we live in,” he muses

and would he be the head of the oak family if he wasn’t always correct?

there you were, shivering in his doorway, dripping like a wet puppy.

poor (y/n), he thinks. how likely of you to be entranced by street performers and wander off like a child. stars fill your eyes, struggling to take in all the gleaming lights. you are enchanted by these sights for quite some time, until you realize you are lost.

suddenly, the world wasn’t quite as beautiful.

you shakingly walk over to sunday, looking up at him through tear soaked lashes. he tsks before brushing your hair out of your face.

“my dear, how ever did you get lost?” his gloved hand caresses your hair. “i’m afraid i’ve been so careless with you,” how could he let you, a poor, stupid thing, leave his sights again?

“you worry me too much, my dear”

“i’m sorry—“

he pressed a finger to your lips

“as the head of the oak family, i must protect all of my citizens. including you.”

“you best not leave the estate at all.”

JINGYUAN

when jingyuan is informed of you never returning from your outing, he abandons the stacks of paper work at hand. he truly wonders if you just enjoy the punishment at this point.

you had fallen asleep at the base of a tree after a long day of entertaining friends and family. you just needed a break.

deep into your slumber, you felt a raindrop hit your face. groggily, you open your eyes to finally see rain puttering down upon your head. you curse silently before a loud clap of thunder surprises you. however, the thunder was quickly drowned out by the sound of hundreds of armor clanking towards you.

you rub your eyes, only to finally see yourself suddenly surrounded by cloud knights. your stomach drops. how long had you been asleep, you wonder anxiously.

oh no, jingyuan will be—

speak of the devil.

the cloud knights part to make way for the general himself.

the thunder crashing and downpour don’t feel as threatening now that he had shown up. and of course, with the lion.

he silently picks you up bridal style, and you do not dare fight it. you only just recovered your legs recently, after all.

“may i suggest that you take a nap in my sights next time?” ah, but he didn’t really mean that there would ever be a next time.

“yes, general.” you mumble

he gently, but firmly, takes your chin. “you need not maintain formalities, my love,”

“however, as your general, i do not wish to have to imprison you for high treason.”

your eyes widened. high treason?

he lowers his head until his lips are against your ears. “you are my spouse and it is your duty to be as such”

“you cannot absolve yourself of this duty for as long as the mara-struck live.”

VENTI

venti knew you were lost.

there was nowhere in mondstadt where you could ever wander off to where he wouldn’t know your every move. he admired your furrowed brow and how you chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. you were lost, indeed.

oh dear, it seemed as if you were about to walk through an area notoriously frequented by hilichurls and slimes. he thinks to himself that you’ll just have to learn your lesson.

he watches as the hilichurls take notice of you and alert the others.

he only watches as he watches one notch an arrow and lets it soar, narrowly missing, yet scraping your leg.

you yelp out in pain and he almost gets the urge to help you.

but maybe in a little while.

the anemo archon is amused by how you fumble to grasp your sword imbued with your (element) vision. he makes a face, revolted by the reminder of how one of his fellow seven had blessed you, his darling, with their power before he did.

finally grasping your sword, you swing at the hilichurls charging at you, knocking down a few. the pain in your leg makes it hard to fight but archons, you couldn’t afford to lose.

you stifle back groans as clubs bash against your unarmored back. you feel your head spinning from hours of dehydration and hunger.you swung violently at the monsters, not realizing the commotion your fight was causing.

how did that eye of the storm get there?

when you thought you had finished off the monsters, you felt a strong gust of wind knock you down. dirt and debris swirl around you, filling your lungs. you cough violently, eyes filled with fear at the storm in front of you. no way, you internally scream.

you reach for your sword but it is blown out of your weak grip several feet away. fuck, you had no option other than to crawl away.

just as you thought you were finished, an anemo imbued arrow soars past your head and right into the storm, dissipating it. you whip your head around to see venti, the drunkard bard you had befriended.

“are you alright, (y/n)?” he gazes at you worriedly. tears fill your eyes as you throw your arms around the bard, knocking him back onto the grass.

“t-thank you venti,” you hiccup, burying your head into his shoulder.

he rubs your bruised shoulder soothingly. blood stains his hands and he resists the temptation to taste you. how naive, he thinks.

to think you were so badly spooked by a little wind,

he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to dvalin.

[sjkezz]

୨୧ u gave them a plushie

pairing: enhypen x reader | genre: fluff

cw: no warnings!

[notes] hi everyone! i wanted to try and do this for the first time so i hope that yall note it! im trying my best to post 2-3 this week so if i cant, i apologise. enjoy reading and please show support. thankyou! 🤍

[heeseung] he would come home and see a random plushie on his bed with a note on it saying that it's a gift for him from you and a smile would beam from ear to ear. he would find you in the house and when he sees you, he would give you a backhug and wont let go. he would pepper kisses all over your neck as a form of his appreciation. both of you know that you dont have to say thank you as a sincerity, you have to show it.

[jay] he will probably start bawling his eyes out since he feels very thankful and very grateful for having you as his girlfriend. (also bc he's dramatic) he would go up to you and give you a big hug and continuously say thank you and will tell you that he's going to buy you an even bigger and nicer gift. (bc yk jay's 💸)

[jake] he will of course get startled by the random plushie on the bed and seeing layla playing with it but he'll start to hold the plushie and hug it. he would go to you and ask you why you bought him a plushie, when you did it, why did you do it, which store you went to and how did you manage to do it. he'll ask you all sorts of questions because he's excited and happy that he had gotten something from you. (such a jake behavior)

[sunghoon] he will be so unfazed when he reaches the room after work or something, then get back to his senses and see that there is a literal plushie on the bed. he would pick it up, show it to you and say, "who got you this?" and be so possessive to you then you tell him that the plushie is actually for him and he'll start laughing and showing his fangs a little. he'll thank you, kiss you all over the face and go back to the bedroom to put back the plushie and go change. (correct me if im wrong but i feel like this is such a sunghoon coded tho)

[sunoo] he'll literally squeal like at the back of his lungs and take the plushie and start hugging it due to how cute it looks and naming it. he'll kiss it all over and then go over to you and start hugging you and being so lovey dovey to you. he'll play with the plushie and bring it around in the house as if the plushie's his pet or his child. he'll eat with it, sleep with it etc.

[jungwon] he'll get startled by the plushie from afar thinking that it's an animal. he'll go closer to your room slowly and when he sees the plushie, his dimple smile will be shown and he'll be so grateful for it. he'll go to you and say, "so, you got that plushie for me babe" and hug you by the waist. he'll admire you and ask himself how did he get such a thoughtful, beautiful and caring girlfriend. he'll be the most whipped whenever it comes to you.

[ni-ki] he'll start smiling and already thinking about his next gift for you. both of you will compete for the most cutest gift for each other that yall had gotten. he'll say that the plushie is cute in his heart because he doesnt want to admit these type of things and he'll say that you look like it. he'll compliment you whenever you're around and also because he's clingy after getting something from you. he'll let bisco play with it because the plushie's from you, not a stranger. he's a big baby when it comes to you giving gifts. to him, gifts is not necessary, your pure love and existence is.

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 1

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the father of one of your students is acting rather strangely - but when he smiles at you, you can’t help but forget your own name.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: mentions of blood and violence, swearing, pining, stripping, strip club, sex workers, sexual fantasy, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), pet names, dom!miguel, single father!miguel, teacher!stripper!reader

author’s note: set in the universe where miguel replaces his father!variant with himself. ps - planning on turning this into a series/full fic.

New York

Earth - 9193

Since you could remember, the sky above the city, flecked with struggling stars and choking on itself over clouds of smog like cigarette smoke, had been deep purple. Some called it violet. Others named it plum. They were trying to make a prettier picture of an ugly reality, desperately ignoring the real world that held them captive. The purple held every soul in this city on a taut leash; each time someone was given a little slack, they wandered too far and discovered that, really, they hadn’t ever wanted to stray in the first place. Car bombings every week. Shootings. Back alley guttings. Innocence all but a foreign language to the citizens of New York.

You wished with every bit of you that one day you’d be able to escape and see the real color of the sky. Because deep down you knew, wanted to believe, wished and prayed… that it was not this shade of dark.

Your classroom was one of the only lit rooms here in Washington Elementary School, a beacon through dimly-lit hallways and the even dimmer streets outside your windows. A long, silent exhale managed to escape your lips as you continued to grade your third graders’ spelling tests, using a pink pen to correct their mistakes instead of a red one. You figured it was less harsh, more inviting to be open to learning from where they first failed. Your back was beginning to cramp from sitting in these damn little-kid chairs, your knees practically hugged to your chest due to how low to the floor you were. You would have been at your desk - hell, you would have been home getting ready for your second job right about now - had it not been for the young girl sitting across the table from you.

Gabriella O’Hara was, in your opinion, one of the most intelligent children you’d had the pleasure of teaching. She was quick and clever and friendly, not to mention, captain of her little soccer team funded by the taxes of PTA parents and the grumbling millionaires of the city. She was a frequent flier on your good-behavior list, and her name had made a home for itself on the principal’s honor roll long before she’d landed in your class.

She was a sweetheart, to say the least. She had been raised well by her father - who, uncharacteristically, had been a no show when it came time for pick up two hours ago.

Glancing up from your papers, you smiled gently at Gabriella as she scribbled along her homework page. “Briella, honey,” you said and leaned your chin in your hand. “Why don’t you check to see if your dad texted at all.”

Obediently, Gabriella dug her phone - a little flip-type, despite there being hundreds of smartphones out these days - and clicked the button to scroll through her recent texts. You watched as her face fell, thick brows and full lips pulling downward. “Nothing,” she said and placed her phone back. She looked to you, and it was obvious from the way she squirmed in her seat that her nervous stomach was starting to get the better of her. “I’m kind of scared, Miss Y/N. My daddy’s never late.”

Setting down your pink pen, you reached across the table and placed a hand on her small forearm. You’d stayed late before when parents were late for pick up, or they forgot, or they were too stoned out of their minds to bother, but you had to admit, you were rather worried, as well. Her father had never been late once, not even by five minutes. So two hours was, really, something to bat an eye at. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” you assured her and offered a gentle smile. “He probably just got held up at work. Maybe his phone died.” Your gaze flickered briefly to the windows behind her, strung across with colorful drawings and decorations, as a number of wailing police cars zipped past. When she started to follow your eyes, you added quickly, “I bet he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you finish up your homework so you can have the rest of the evening free when you get home.”

As she went back to her work, you found yourself tapping your fingernail against the table, your gaze stuck to an empty corner across the room. Miguel O’Hara was nothing but punctual, not just to everyday events like after-school pick up, but to every single thing he did. Soccer practice and games. Parent-teacher conferences. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to be an hour early to that fancy job of his at Alchemax every Monday through Friday. He was a perfectionist, signing every grade card check and permission slip with the neatest signature you’d ever seen. And it was a feat to marvel at, considering he was a single father.

Once, at a soccer practice, you’d heard from a few of the mothers who had nothing better to do than gossip that he’d moved himself and Gabriella over from Queens years ago when he was hired as a geneticist. Her mother had apparently left them when she was born, and he’d done everything from that moment on for the good of his little girl.

You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself he was, by far, the best-looking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones placed high on his face, wide, broad shoulders, a sinewy frame that nearly challenged the doorframes he walked through. He was friendly, sure. But that was all you knew. You’d never been able to get close enough to know much else. An enigma to your curious mind, Miguel was nothing short of a puzzle that you desperately wanted to put together and see the bigger picture for yourself.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to wind back into the present. God, you needed to get a fucking grip. Crushing on the father of one of your students? Fucking pathetic. You had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

You had just begun to grade your papers again, nearing the end of your stack, when there came the sounds of footsteps pounding against the tile floor of the hallway outside. They were jogging, approaching your room at an alarming rate. You stood, thinking it was the janitor having locked himself out of his closet again, and prepared to fetch your keys when a much different - yet no less welcome - figure filled the doorway.

“Hi, daddy,” said Gabriella as Miguel O’Hara entered your classroom.

You looked up, lips parted as you took him in. God, he was stunning. Somewhere around six feet with dark, somewhat-tamed hair that matched his tan skin and the thick brows sitting above his sloped eyes, he stood with a chest that rose and caved rapidly, like he’d run through the entire school searching for your room. Which he shouldn’t have - he knew the classroom his own daughter was in. Didn’t he?

“Oh, baby,” Miguel said and rounded the table so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. He hauled her up into his arms like she was nothing but a sack of flour and hugged her tight to his chest, almost like he was trying to mold the feeling of her to himself. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” As if just realizing you were in the room, watching the pair with a small smile, he set his daughter back down and pulled her backpack from the back of her chair. “Pack up your things, okay? We’ll go home in just a minute.”

He approached you where you stood beside your desk loading your purse, and you swore your heart skipped a beat as he towered over you. Thick, corded muscles and a frame that made your stomach churn excitedly, he was the perfect picture of a fucking masterpiece. “Hi,” he said in a low tone, meant for you to hear and not Gabriella. “I’m so sorry for keeping you here. Time got away from me, and when I got here, the front doors were locked.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For watching her, I mean.”

Forcing your heart to calm its thundering in the confines of your chest, you grinned up at him brightly. “It’s not a problem, Mister O’Hara. I was happy to.” You decided to say nothing about the fact that it was unlike him to lose track of time. He wore a watch that you recognized as one of the latest, expensive versions that were magnetic, not electric, so it was incapable of stopping. How exactly did time get away from a man who revolved around it? “I’m sure she’s going to crash when you get home, anyway. She had a big day.”

Miguel blinked a few times and placed a hand on his hip, jutting it out slightly. Fuck, you wished he wouldn’t do that. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a soccer scrimmage against one of the other classes today and she pulled the winning goal. Then there was the assembly over fire safety, but I’m sure you saw that in the handout last week.”

His lips remained parted for a long moment as his dark, umber gaze traveled across the stack of next week’s announcement handouts. “Right,” he said after a moment or two. “Right. Do, uh… do you think I could have another one of those? For this week. And maybe next week’s, too. Has that been sent home already?”

Giving him a rather crooked smile, you opened a drawer in your desk and produced the light green paper with last week’s announcements. Then you stacked it beneath next week’s and extended it toward his hulking frame. “Sorry if this seems a little… personal, Mister O’Hara,” you said as he took the papers, “but are you feeling alright? I really don’t mean any offense, but you seem a little… off.”

Tilting his head slightly, Miguel seemed to hesitate, fumbling with his answer in his head. He was frozen for a brief moment before your attentions were drawn across the classroom, where Gabriella zipped up her backpack and began to trudge toward the door. “I’m alright,” he said as he turned back to you. “I just, uh… I hit my head this morning. Been a little out of sorts, but I’ll be alright.”

“Daddy,” whined Gabriella under her breath. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, princesa,” he said and met her at your door. After slinging her backpack over his own shoulder and taking her hand, he glanced back at you. “Thank you again…” You watched as his eyes flickered to your name written across the whiteboard. “...Miss Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Mister O’Hara.” A few more words sat on your tongue, desperately trying to fight against your lips and jump out before the moment escaped. You tried to fight them down, but eventually they won the battle and spilled forth. “And - and you can just call me Y/N.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, and you thought briefly that you had crossed a line you had been unable to see. Then he smiled gently, his full lips spreading into a gentle grin. He opened his mouth to say something in return before Gabriella pulled him out the door and into the hallway. You listened as their voices and the sounds of their footsteps grew quieter before silencing, then turned away and finished gathering your things.

On your way out of the building, while slipping through the front doors, you noticed the steel bolt lock keeping them shut after dark had been snapped entirely in two - as if someone had pulled on the door hard enough to break the lock on their own.

You figured it to have been a couple students who got their hands on their parents’ bolt cutters and made a mental note to ask the janitor for a replacement.

Once you got to your car and flipped the engine, you took a breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. In that breath, you willed yourself to switch into the alternate persona you took on after the school days, after the sun had set and the night really came alive from its demented, hungover state during the lightest hours. You pushed your students into the back of your mind, your plans for tomorrow and upcoming projects and due dates into the recesses of your brain. You shoved back thoughts of Miguel O’Hara and everything about how much you wanted to fucking reverse time so that he could smile at you like he had tonight all over again.

It was time to really work, now.

The Menagerie was a club on the northeast side of the Financial District, where the warehouse fires and muggings weren’t quite as common. Police forces cruised through here more often than, say, Harlem or Queens; the people who ran the city had to keep their most well-paid workers protected and thriving, right? Who else would steal from the hands of the poor and throw it all away the first chance they got?

Thrumming, thundering music like a pulse, like the club itself was alive with the blood of money and alcohol pumping through it, pounded from speakers and shook the walls in their very foundations. Neon lights like jilted, water-colored sunlight shone from corners along the ceilings, creating shadows like both nightmares and dreams along the walls and the faces of the patrons. The bar was overflowing. Security was chasing their own tails. The place was packed. Everyone who was anyone wanted to get into The Menagerie, because between its four walls and roof, you could be anyone you wanted to be.

It was law in this gilded cage that everyone was to wear a mask, its paint and diamonds and ribbons designed to depict animals. Security wore the full-bodied faces of lions. Bartenders and servers played dress-up with rimmed eye gaps as raccoons. Guests were allowed to pick a mask ranging from creatures that roamed the sky to those that crawled the earth. And the girls - the girls were exotic, majestic things that no one would mistake for anything else. They were tigresses and peacocks, they were arctic foxes and lynxes, any animal that had long since gone missing or extinct in this world of yours. Why go searching for the real thing, when they could come here and find the women?

The Menagerie was not a club. It was a cage, for animals so desperate to get out they had bent the bars in an attempt to escape.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room, you gingerly affixed the golden mask to your face so that it would stay spread across your features while you danced and entertained. The hard, fake porcelain covered your forehead and nose, leaving your mouth free for the lips and tongues that would attempt to claim yours as their own. Orange and gold butterfly wings blossomed from the center of the mask, disguising you as the endangered insect everyone else seemed to have forgotten about; the Monarch. Fluttering and beautiful upon the wind, never easy to catch.

That was, unless they flew right into a spider’s web.

To your left, a few of the other girls were perfecting their makeup and adjusting their outfits - what little outfits you all had. Zara, known throughout the club as the Panther, caught your eye in the mirror and flashed you a sharp smile.

“You seem quiet tonight,” she said and ran a stick of gloss over her lips. She examined herself close in her handheld. “Something on your mind?”

A few of the other girls tried to inconspicuously listen in, able to sniff out gossip from miles away. Perhaps in here, you all were a little bit more animal than human, after all.

Forcing yourself to smile gently, you waved a ring-garnished hand in Zara’s direction and turned back to your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself like this, despite seeing this version of you all week long. You hoped you never did recognize it. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you brushed off.

Across the dressing room, Shawna, the Owl, tisked her tongue and hummed from deep in her throat. “You know you’re an awful liar, girl,” she said from where she sat scrolling through her phone. “We all noticed when you came in an hour later than you do. Something happen tonight?”

Well, fuck. Now everyone was waiting for your answer, waiting to see if it was worth listening into or not.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to show that it was no big deal, despite how much your stomach and your heart and your brain screamed that it wasn’t, you shrugged a shoulder and tried to avoid their gazes. “Nothing too big,” you replied and began to absentmindedly twist the ribbon keeping your mask in place. “Just… had a student stay a little later. Her dad lost track of time.”

“It couldn’t be that Alchemax hunk you’ve been telling us about.”

Fuck - you really learned to keep your cards closer to your chest.

Your silence must have been enough for them to connect the pieces, because a few of them tittered and giggled. A newer girl, who was still earning her way up to being on stage, piped up. “Have you ever talked to him?” she asked. “I mean, besides school-related stuff. Find out if he’s attached?”

“Absolutely not,” you forced out and stood to straighten out your costume. Your breasts were barely covered by the flimsy top and your ass hung out of the bottoms, both orange and black and white, like a monarch butterfly’s designs. Gold fishnet stockings lined your legs, leading down to a set of heels that had taken weeks to not tip over in. You were supposed to wear a cape, a gown-like train, but it was stepped on too much for you to bother with it. “He’s not there to cruise teachers, he’s just trying to help his kid through the third grade.”

“More than you could’ve asked from my dad,” Zara puffed.

God, you thought, yours, too. And your mother, while you were at it. They’d never come to meetings and games and plays like Miguel did. Hell, they hardly ever even remembered to pick you up from school on their good days.

Gabriella really had hit the father lottery.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her seat and picked up her own mask. “Even if that’s all he’s there for,” she said, then pulled the owl-designed porcelain over her face and fixed you with a stare through the eye holes, “doesn’t have to hold you back from at least trying.”

Her words rang in your ears as you carried on with your work that evening. They stuck with you as you danced for drooling men and women who oggled at you from behind their masks, as you ran your fingers down arms to chase bigger tips, as you followed a man who paid top dollar for a private dance.

Her words rattled like bells in your head as you mindlessly ground yourself against your customer, allowing yourself to get lost in your own imagination while you willed yourself to work. You shut your eyes behind your mask and let yourself fall into a dangerous little scenario you cooked up just for yourself.

You imagined not your boyfriend, who was out there in the city somewhere playing with his stupid fucking band to a crowd of three, not of any celebrity crush or model, but of Miguel O’Hara. You imagined him beneath you instead of some man whose breath smelled like expensive alcohol. You thought of him, and his hulking frame, and his powerful thighs you had found yourself staring at anytime he entered your line of sight.

Mind running away with this little fantasy of yours, you ground yourself a little harder against the lap beneath you, pushed your chest further against the chest parallel to yours. In your head, Miguel let out a huffy breath and rested those large hands of his on your hips, slowly but surely guiding your movements until you were riding his thigh. You tried to imagine, so intensely and desperately, how such an event would go.

He would gently, but firmly, help move your hips so that your exposed clit rubbed perfectly against the rough fabric of his jeans. You would keen and arch your back into him, hands running over his sinewy shoulders, as he hitched his leg and sent a powerful jolt of pleasure running through you and right to your core.

“You like that, pretty girl?” he would murmur in your ear, lips brushing along the shell before his tongue, warm and soft and pink and wet, licked against your lobe. “Ride, querida. ‘Til I say you’re done, and then I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

You would grind your hips against his leg, moaning aloud and unabashedly when he tensed his corded muscle so that you’d have something to hump into. His hands, wide and spread, would wander along your bare back, memorizing the skin there like it was his and his alone, and he would dip his head to attach his lips to your nipple. He’d suck the nub into a hardened bud, then kiss and lick and nibble the skin around it until it was marred with love marks that would darken the following morning, and then he’d switch and give the other one the same kind of attention.

“Miguel,” you’d whimper in a certain kind of tone, and suddenly you’d be on the bed, pulled to the edge so that the globes of your ass hung off and when he kneeled he had access to your cunt bared for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he would say as he pressed open-mouthed kisses up and up your inner thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most. “All for me and me alone. Isn’t that right, bebe?”

You wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer at first, not when he would lick a long, wet stripe up the center of your folds and up to your clit. He would expertly find that little bundle of nerves, wrapping his lips around it and fondling with his tongue until you couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan and card your fingers through his dark hair to pull him closer. He would suck on your sweet spot for a while, alternating between licking stripes and adorning it with kisses, before he would slowly drag his long, thick fingers toward your sopping folds.

But he would stop just short.

“Say it,” he would tell you, dark, impenetrable gaze fixated on you from where he kneeled between your legs like a devout believer praying to his one and only love - his goddess. When you would whine and cry from the pausing of his ministrations, he would take his mouth, his wonderful, hot breath, away from your aching cunt. He would cock his head, allowing a bit of hair to fall across his face. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, chica.”

“Miguel,” you would say again, because, really, that was all you could think of to say. “Miguel, please… need you, please…”

He would pull his fingers from your heat, gaze stony and immovable as a mountain standing tall in the midst of a storm. God, not even that could sway him. “Tell me,” he would demand again, this time in a low baritone that made your cunt clench around nothing because goddammit, even his fucking voice could send you into heat like a damn dog. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Now.”

“You,” would come the small, high-pitched answer, tumbling from your lips without another thought that did not involve him. “You, Miguel. Belongs to you. All for you, no one else.” You would babble, desperate to reach your climax before he let you fall back down that incline so, so cruelly, yet so, so deliciously. “Please, Miguel, need you. Need your fingers, anything. Just fuck me, please, handsome, fuck me ‘til I can’t remember my own name.”

He would tilt his head even further, like a predator toying with the prey he’d been chasing after for miles upon miles, before placing a gentle, feather-light kiss upon the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl,” he would say, then attack your clit with his full, thick lips, plunge two of his fingers into your heat, and begin to fuck you into oblivion.

The sound of his fingers constantly edging in and out of your dripping pussy, so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and your ass, would pull the most wonderful and pornographic-sounding moans and whimpers and whines of his name from your throat. Your own slick would coat his digits like honey, so sweet that for a moment he would stop his assault on your divine bundle of nerves and crane his neck to lick up a bit of it from where it dripped down your ass. The flat of his muscle would raise goosebumps along your skin as you cried out for him, one hand gripping his hair and the other buried into the sheets of the bed.

“Miguel,” you would cry and begin to rock your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, practically humping his face. He would take it like it was his last meal, returning to his sucking and licking and circling of your clit to send bolt after bolt of pleasure and heaven and everything else in between. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“That’s it,” he would murmur between licks through your soaked folds, feeling as your slick dripped down his wrist. “Say my name, bebe, tell them who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He would angle his fingers then at just the right angle, his fingertips hitting that perfect, fucking perfect spot deep inside you. Stars would dance in your vision as your mouth would open in a silent scream, unable to get anything out but a tiny wail of heavenly pleasure. You would swear you’d never felt this goddamn good in your life, like you would gladly trade everything in the whole world just to stay here forever. His pace would pick up, aiming for that spot inside of you, and he’d lap at your cunt in a feverish craze, like it was the only thing that would save him from losing his mind.

All too soon, your thighs would begin to tremble and you would feel that beautiful, familiar coil tightening and winding deep within your soul. “Miguel,” you would cry out for the whole world to hear. “Miguel, m’close, I’m so close!”

“Come on, pretty bebe,” he would say between your thighs that would try to wrap around his head in a feeble attempt to pull him closer. “Cum f’me. I want it. All of it.”

His words would send a shockwave of pleasure through you, one that would white out your vision so intensely you would have thought he’d killed you and sent you on your way to the pearly white gates, and you’d have been okay with that. He continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace slowing but never stopping, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along your thighs, your hips, your naval.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking it so well, all for me. Look so pretty all laid out like this, like I could just eat you up. Would you like that, hmm? You want me to just devour you ‘til you’re left shaking and crying my name?”

“Miguel. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“...My name’s not Miguel.”

Your eyes flashed open, suddenly brought back to the real world, pulled away from your fantasy. Through the holes in your monarch mask, you looked down to find your customer staring up at you with wide eyes and popping a boner put there by your mindless rocking against his hips. Feeling your cheeks flush, you slipped off of him and consciously tugged your outfit lower over your ass.

You pursed your lips, attempting to hide how mortified you were. “...That’s going to be another twenty bucks.”

It wasn’t until around one in the morning when you got home to your little apartment squished in a dilapidated little building wedged between two office towers because the landlord had refused to sell the place when they steamrolled the others ten years ago. The lights were off when you slipped inside, and a little piece of yourself inside wilted.

At once, you threw up a wall and dismissed that sinking feeling. Of course he wasn’t going to wait up for you. He’d had a show tonight, and he had another one tomorrow. He was tired.

Not nearly as fucking tired as you, though.

After wiping off your makeup and pulling off the fake little diamonds stuck on your temples, after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth, and after pinning a new drawing from one of your students on the fridge despite the fact you knew they’d never see it, you tiptoed back to the cramped little bedroom. You poked your head inside. Ferris, your boyfriend of six months, was spread out across the entire mattress, snoring gently into the fabric of the crumpled sheets.

You swallowed thick. You didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall and your pillow from beneath his arm, then slid on your socks back into the tiny living room. Plopping yourself down on the couch and plugging in your phone, you rolled yourself onto your side and stared at the dark screen. Willing something to happen. Something to come up, someone to reach out.

Because in reality, though you would rather throw yourself off the Brooklyn Bridge than admit it… you had never felt so alone.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Reader (maybe Tony’s niece?) is just making fun of Bucky.

I’m not exactly Russian around to make fun of you, but I’m Lenin you know that I’m not Stalin, either— I’m not feeling Tsar-y about these jokes— so Soviet, I guess.

Nat and Sam are impressed that she got five puns into one sentence, laughing while complimenting her comedic work.

Tony’s just like “I knew there’s a reason you’re my favorite niece!”

When everyone else leaves the room, Bucky leans over and lets her know that there will be a discussion (correction) of such behavior

To Be Corrected » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, Tony Stark x Niece!Reader with the Avengers

Summary: You don’t know how to speak Russian, but you try to make fun of Bucky.

Warnings: Fluff, tiny bit of implied Smut (18+), language, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Everyone this is my niece Y/N. She’s thinking about becoming an Avenger and will be sitting in today’s meeting.” Tony says, introducing you the Avengers.

“Hi.” You say politely, waving at everyone.

“Take a seat anywhere, munchkin.” He says, patting your shoulder.

You looked around the table for an open seat, finding one next to Bucky. You smiled and sat down in the chair next to him.

“Hi.” You whispered to Bucky.

“Hi.” Bucky whispers back.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Bucky.” He answers.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.” You whispered and smiled.

“Barnes, stop flirting with my niece.” Tony says.

Bucky rolled his eyes at him and you giggled. As you sat in the meeting with the Avengers for their upcoming mission, you understood some things, but not everything. After the meeting, you looked over the Avengers Compound and found yourself in the lounge room. Bucky, Steve, Sam, Tony, and Natasha were in there.

“Hi.” You say, walking further in the room.

“Hi.” They say.

“What do you think so far?” Steve asks.

“I love it!” You tell him.

“Does that mean you’re joining us?” Natasha asks.

You opened your mouth to answer her, but Bucky interrupted you before you could say anything.

“I didn’t know we were hiring 13 year olds.” Bucky jokingly says.

“Bucky, be nice to her.” Steve says to him.

You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, smirking to yourself when you came up with a good comeback.

“You speak Russian, right, Bucky?” You asked.

“Yes. Why?” He asks.

“I’m not exactly Russian around to make fun of you, but I’m Lenin you know that I’m not Stalin, either— I’m not feeling Tsar-y about these jokes— so Soviet, I guess.” You say.

Bucky’s jaw dropped at your comeback. Steve was trying not to laugh. Natasha and Sam high fived each other and laughed at your comeback to Bucky.

“You’re my new favorite person.” Sam says.

“You’re definitely my new best friend and I’m most definitely teaching you more Russian terms.” Natasha says.

“This is why you’re my favorite niece!” Tony says proudly.

Bucky finally chuckles and smirks at you, shaking his head at your comeback. After a while, everyone left the room, leaving you and Bucky alone. You sat down next to him.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you, doll face?” Bucky asks, leaning over towards you.

“I know my way around jokes. So yes, I do.” You say, smiling proudly.

“Just know, there will be a discussion for your behavior.” He says in your ear.

“Name the time and place and I’ll be there, Bucky.” You say seductively.

Bucky was about to kiss you, but a voice over the intercom interrupted you two before his lips met yours.

“Sergeant Barnes.” The voice over the intercom starts. “Mr. Stark told me to advise you to not put the sexual moves on his niece.” It said.

Bucky groans loudly, dropping his head against your shoulder, making you giggle.

“My room. Tonight.” Bucky whispers in your ear, sending a shiver through your body.

“I’ll be there, Sarge.” You say seductively.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started.  Joel clears his throat. 

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!” 

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult." 

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips. 

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person. 

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it. 

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs. 

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!" 

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees. 

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?" 

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree. 

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover. 

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses. 

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire. 

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says. 

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize.  You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks. 

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off. 

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway. 

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark. 

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window. 

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop. 

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.” 

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary. 

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half. 

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating. 

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head. 

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?” 

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave. 

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.” 

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you. 

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest. 

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space. 

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves. 

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin. 

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says. 

“From what?” 

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him. 

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap. 

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel. 

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says. 

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room. 

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back. 

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands. 

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel. 

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully. 

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm. 

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael. 

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night. 

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships. 

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down. 

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips. 

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish. 

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses. 

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer. 

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[heartfullofleeches]

Werewolf Bodyguard Reader in heat - Preparing for that time of the year, Reader normally requests time off week before hand so there's no surprises, but with a recent spike in threats towards their boss' safety they never had the chance to put in their notice early and now they're at work the first day it starts - irritable and far more snappy compared to their normally relaxed and laid back person. Their behavior gets stranger throughout the day. Staring down their coworkers - sizing them up and even cornering those to attempt to approach with intent on ripping through their clothing with their claws before correcting themselves and rushing off to the bathroom. They're seen wearing the muzzle they keep for public outings, snarling at people who question it or offer to wipe the drool dripping from their teeth.

As alluring and high low-key arousing their odd behavior is, some can't help but express concerns about it, most notably their boss when Reader refuses their harmless petting despite how much money they throw at them. Sure, Reader doesn't always like to be touched, but they never say no to a couple scratches behind their ears if theirs cold hard cash involved. Their boss presses them and eventually Reader caves.

"Don't look at me like that... It's.... just that time of the year again."

Their boss doesn't understand what they mean by that.

"I'm in heat."

Why didn't they say so sooner? Their boss will just clear up a few things in their schedule and they'll gladly help out... Or take Reader home. It is a little warm in their office. They're sure Reader won't mind if they take off their coat... it's just so hot theymight need to take off their shirt too. Reader wishes they had just swallowed their pride and called in sick with all the sick, horny fucks that pick up on their predicament and offer their bodies as relief

[misssmeat]

Any chance of sharing more details about your shock collar training? I love the power disparity they represent; discipline at the push of a button.

Sure! I’m happy to share a bit more about the experience I teased.

It was some years ago, and it was the first night I was meeting and playing with a new partner. Generally I don’t recommend such intensity for a first session with a partner, but I’ll admit that I was young, dumb, and overeager. Nothing bad happened and it was a wonderful experience, but I would do it differently today... just to be safer.

Before any play, he showed me the collar shocking himself and then let me play with the collar and intensities of shocks on my leg and arm.

When I was satisfied and comfortable with the collar, he commanded me to strip for him.

He then bound my hands behind my back before locking the shock collar into place on my neck. The prongs were positioned on the side of my neck, which is usually more sensitive than the front of back.

He added another tie at my elbows, forcing a tight posture that thrust my chest forward. I was commanded to stand and spread my legs hip distance apart while he added a short hobble chain between my ankles.

And then the exercise began.

As I’ve shared before, I love strict power dynamics and protocol. Maybe even more so than the sex itself… and he knew that. He had me walk the length of the room, holding my perfect posture, but keeping my eyes downcast, as an obedient submissive would to not drawn attention to herself. He demanded graceful steps despite the hobble between my legs, no jerks from the bindings or chains, and absolutely no raising my gaze to his face.

He then sat on the sofa with the remote for the collar while I walked back and forth at his command. Every stumble, any time I looked up, or even a moment of less than perfect gait would be corrected with a shock.

As I found confidence in his asks, he would add more challenges. By the end, I was nipple clamped, gagged and had clamps hanging between my legs. Still holding my composure for him, still being corrected by a shock each time I didn’t meet his standards.

I was crying from frustration and pain, but so deep in subspace. Every shock reminded me that I was a plaything, his little pet, existing for his entertainment. And the only way to avoid the electric punishment was to exist as he demanded. I felt myself mold to meet his expectations in real time with the help of the collar. And I loved knowing how powerless I was to lash out, push back, or give attitude of any type.

I could be withering on the ground in pain as a repercussion for my bad behavior, while he barely even had to lift a finger. He would never break a sweat.

All that to say, it’s a treasured memory and one of the hottest things to ever happen to me ever in my whole fucking life.

[myriadeyed]

Hi bird therians! I'd like to present the following list of definitions of avian terminology; instincts and anatomy. Specifically, terms for things that many birdkin may already be aware of due to their own shifts, but not know the word for or even that it's a real and normal thing. Why do I make that assumption? Because my own mind was blown every time I discovered one of these words, the way things I would do or phantom parts I would feel suddenly made sense. So I hope to induce the same reaction in at least someone.

Behaviors

Mantling is mostly a bird of prey thing, the action of leaning over a kill and shielding the spoils with your wings so as to defend it from thieves. I can do no better of a description than a photo, included at the bottom of this post and for raptors it will probably spark recognition.

Rousing is the word for that "slowly fluff up the feathers and then shake the whole body" thing that birds do. Yes, it does have a name! Birds do it when relaxed or just chilly. It is not a threat display. I experience this as like an near-involuntary action -- like scratching an itch or sneezing -- and because I'm not actually raising physical feathers it feels kind of like shivering. But it sort of feels frustrating that I can't seem to achieve it. Like when a sneeze goes away.

Feather-plucking (pterotillomania) is a maladaptive habit birds in captivity develop when they are stressed. You see it most often with parrots, because they're kept as pets more than other birds and are also extremely intelligent so more easily understimulated. Sometimes this does feel like being a bird in captivity and a lot of you might experience this instinct without knowing what it is your brain's asking to do because you have no feathers. Calling it pterotillomania is helpful to me because I have actual dermotillomania and if my body had feathers I'd be plucking them.

Anatomy

Nictitating membrane. Starting with this because you may already know it by now. The third eyelid of birds, translucent, drawn sideways across the eye so that you can keep it moist while still being able to see. Also, as you may know, relevant to cat therians!

Crop. Part of the digestive tract of a bird in the throat where food is temporarily stored before being digested. If you had these shifts it would feel like, according to Wikipedia, basically an enlarged portion of the esophagus.

Keel. An extension of the sternum, the structure to which flight muscles are attached. If you had these shifts it would feel like a thin bone going beneath (or I guess on a humanoid body plan, in front of) your ribcage.

Cloaca. In the interest of not having to mark this post mature, I will not define or describe this one. I encourage you to look it up. Mammals are already working to reduce the stigma surrounding these types of shifts and instincts; we can do the same. There is no shame in it. You're a bird and birds have these. Accept it.

Birds do have sensation in our beaks. There are nerve endings in the beak. Not as much as, say, human skin, but yes, birds can feel touch on their beaks. If you can feel your beak, great! That is anatomically correct, and it certainly does not make you fake!

And now for your enjoyment, a mantling eagle: