#I feel a bit uncomfortable posting this for multiple reasons but I will do it anyway

[seaofstarssystem]

Our experience in the Trans Academy discord

TW! | This post contains very heavy topics such as su*cide, self h*rm, threats, baiting, CSA and P*dophillia

The Trans Academy is a community on VRC in which it is labeled a safe space for Trans Individuals of the ages 13+, as a trans man we explored it as our first safe space when we first entered into VRC as it can be a bit of a questionable platform to be on especially when transphobic individuals run around the platform consistently. The TA was a safe space from that, or at least for awhile it was considered that for us. Though of course the TA instances had its moments of crashes coming into the public instances or simply trolling, there were a lot of flaws in the discord server and we as a system are going to talk about our experience. The TA was relatively fun, it was a great place to be and we in fact were in the TA for maybe a month or two. We met amazing people, and made great friends however despite the good things we experienced the negative experiences layered over it making it hard to find the TA enjoyable.

There where quiet a few cases and rather almost daily in which others would personally overshare, giving out personal things about them though always coming out in the form of venting. This led to many people expressing feelings of su*cide and selfh*rm especially in the general chat of the TA, leaving many people uncomfortable and uneasy. This made it difficult to talk in the TA as sometimes people would simply drop sensitive topics in the general chat especially when others are engaging in conversations with one another. Though naturally a good handful would also use this as a form of attention seeking and typically people would feed into their desire of attention which results in them repeating the behavior even more. There were multiple instances in where someone threatened to Off themselves if someone didn’t talk to them, where someone asks for su*cide letter ideas, where someone has openly stated they are going to off themselves which causes an entire chat to panic and had even caused systems in the server to split because of the stress. This also includes a case in which someone had made a joke about offing themselves and hurting themselves, leaving a lot of people uncomfortable and even communicating that they were uncomfortable- instead the individual making the joke double down and told others to cope and that they do not care, they would not try to reason with anyone what so ever and one of their friends had instead validated the behavior in saying the at it was a “coping mechanism”. When I had filed a ticket for a mod, the ticket was closed immediately with no real word being said in response to that ticket and the person who had made the sensitive joke is still allowed to talk in the server.

The amount of ableism we experienced in the TA was almost enough to make us leave, a lot of transfems were upset with systems as more and more started jointing into the server as many systems are bodily trans, and they were very upset about the idea of so many systems being present so much so to a rate where people had been actively putting “systems DNI” on their public profile and especially on their user name, then continuously alienating systems then continuing to villainize systems in the server and considering all systems to be shitty and horrible. This caused a lot of backlash from systems and even a good handful of singlets as they were extremely unhappy about the idea of villainizing systems, as systems were practically being shamed for existing in a server that they too should feel comfortable in. Even someone had defended the behavior of the villainization of systems, saying that they were valid for being uncomfortable and that people should stop harassing them for it. This thankfully did not happen again as the individuals who were expressing the ableism against systems simply left the server after multiple people had gotten on their case.

The thing that had really set in stone that the TA was not a comfortable space for us anymore was that of the littles in our system named Zelda or Zel for short had reached out to a mod. Zel had actually talked to a friend of ours, another trusted adult before hand cause they didn’t want to file a ticket because it had something to do with another staff member and Zel didn’t want them to see the ticket so one of our friends who we call Val had pointed out that the mod had something in their profile that wasn’t very - TA friendly nor appropriate for the server. They had “age player” on their profile which left us confused at first maybe thinning that they mixed up the term “age play” with “age regression” considering people mix the two together very often. The mod, in which we expected them to only be mixing the terms instead in that context that it was not a conversation that they could have in the TA, which made it clear that they were not mixing the two terms together and that this mod was proudly expressing their sexual desires on their profile in a server filled with minors. Admittedly we started to feel unsafe and uncomfortable in the TA after. Ageplay is a very concerning sexual ‘kink’, where someone will either regress to be younger or want to to be sexually involved with someone who’s regressed to a younger age, age play is essentially fetishizing the idea of P*dophillia - sexualizing the idea of an adult being with a minor although they are two consenting adults. This mod *did* remove it from their profile after Val pointed it out in the general chat which left quite a few people uneasy and uncomfortable with that mod as a whole. We had personally reached out to two different mods while Val had filed a ticket to address it, and when filing a ticket the response we had gotten through Val was this.

Tizzy (The creator of the server and the community as a whole) was defending the idea of ageplay. To which we responded, a bit harshly at first in a fit of emotional reaction. Val had asked if they could blur out my username and profile picture so they could share that with staff, that had the ticket open, to which I will share what I said here.

A little bit down the line Val had gotten a response to the ticket the only response we received was incredibly dismissive and very clearly came off in a way that they were not willing to address the situation properly.

As a result of that we had simply left the TA discord server as we continued to feel unbearably uncomfortable in a space that was meant to be safe for everyone including us. Though we did meet amazing people and do not get me wrong we did enjoy the small time we had there in the TA, unfortunately the bad had overrun the good things so I have instead resorted to publicly share our experience with the TA

[wiredalienvampire]

a quick drawing of an old comfort character from an old obsession I had

[hyuckiefluff]

𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 | na jaemin

pairing: roommate!na jaemin x fem reader

genre: smut

wc: 1.6k

summary: jaemin notices how innocent you are and he can’t help but take advantage of this.

content warning: loss of virginity, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, missionary, reader is very inexperienced, jaemin is pretty manipulative, usage of pet names (good girl, princess, angel)

a/n : this is not what i was planning to post next but oh well it’s here now! hope u enjoy it! feedback is greatly appreciated as always and happy new year! my new year’s resolution as a writer is to stop trying to write a million stories at once and then not posting any of them lol. also just realized this is my second time writing roommate jaemin hehe idk i’m kinda obsessed with him and this trope

pss: would you guys like me to post drabbles? i’ve been thinking about it but can’t decide, lemme know in the comments or my req/ask box :))

masterlist

Jaemin was so glad that you were clueless.

When he first moved in as your roommate, he immediately noticed you were too trusting… Letting a stranger like him move in with you without asking many questions. But the rent was good and the prospect of living with someone as pretty as yourself kept him from saying anything about it.

As he discovered the extent of your innocence, Jaemin found himself unable to resist taking advantage of it. He wanted to know just how much he could get away with.

So, on a particularly chilly winter night, Jaemin seized the opportunity and knocked on your door while you were cozily tucked into bed.

"Can I sleep here, princess? I think the heating broke down in my room," Jaemin asked, his head peeking through the door.

Even he knew that was a weak excuse. The apartment had centralized heating, so if it worked in your room, it definitely worked in his. But surprisingly, you fell for it.

"Oh, of course, Jaem," you replied with the softest tone, the nickname you’d given him already making him semi-hard.

He joined you in bed, keeping some initial distance. However, as soon as he noticed you in the skimpiest pajama dress, he felt himself growing harder in his sweatpants. You lay facing him, a sleepy smile on your face, your eyes glowing in the night light, completely oblivious to the thoughts racing through his mind and down to his dick.

"Are you okay, Jaem?" you asked softly, noticing him wince and shift a bit.

"Uhm... yeah, just... uncomfortable," he said absentmindedly.

"Are you uncomfortable with me?" you asked, your big eyes staring up at him.

"Oh no no, princess, it's not you. It's just..." he sighed, "Sometimes it hurts down there, and it will keep hurting until I do something about it."

It's amusing how he tried so hard to explain it, treating you like a kid despite you being his age, and ironically, the reason he was like this in the first place.

"Why does it hurt?" you asked, genuine worry in your eyes.

Contemplating whether to use your innocence to his advantage, he decided to take the risk. "Well, you see... whenever I'm with you, it kind of just hurts. It gets so hard, and I can’t handle it," he said, hoping you bought his act.

"Because of me?" you brought your hands to your cheeks, the action pushing your boobs together and making them practically spill out of your pjs "And c-can I make it better somehow? I feel so bad..."

Oh, clueless pretty thing.

"Of course, you can make it better, princess... you're the only one who can," he said, getting closer to your smaller frame. You didn't move away and simply let him grab your hand.

He placed it on top of his erection, "See how swollen it is? It hurts," you pouted, feeling terrible that this was your fault. "Will you help me fix it then?" You nodded at once, and Jaemin smiled. "Good girl."

He took off his shirt, and you were momentarily stunned by how toned his chest and abs were. You'd seen him shirtless before but never from this close.

"Princess, you're drooling," he teased, softly grabbing your chin so you would look at him.

"I'm not," you whined but still attempted to clean the imaginary drool off your face.

"So cute," he laughed, "will you take this off for me?" He pointed to his sweatpants.

"M-me? Uhm... okay," you said, and with shaky hands, you slid his pants down his legs. It was a bit hard pushing them past his bulge, and he noticed how this made you blush.

"Thank you, pretty girl," he pulled you back up, and now you were straddling him, only the thin fabric of your panties and his boxers separating your cores.

He experimentally rutted against you to gauge your reaction, and it was entirely worth it. Your face contorting, the way you gasped and made an "O" with your pretty plump lips. He never saw anything better.

"You trust me, right, princess?" he asked, his eyes heavy on you.

"Y-yes... I trust you."

He smiled and switched your positions, now hovering over your body. He caressed your cheeks, and then his hand went down until he reached the border of your PJ dress. He pulled it up until it was pooling right below your chest.

"So pretty," he said, his lips ghosting over your stomach.

"Jaem, that tickles!" you laughed, pushing his head.

"Princess, before you can help me, I gotta prepare you, okay?" He suddenly got serious again, his eyes with that dark glow you saw earlier. You nodded, your heart picking up pace when he suddenly hovered over your clothed core.

Then, locking eyes with you, he pulled your panties to the side. The abrupt shift from the cool air hitting you to his warm breath so close to your most private part gave you goosebumps all over.

Out of the blue, he licked a streak along your core. You gasped, nudging his head away. No one had ever touched you there, let alone licked you.

"You gotta relax, baby," he said, his voice so growly it almost had a purr to it.

Though he didn’t really give you a chance to relax. He latched his mouth directly to your cunt, sucking viciously, and the sensation was almost overwhelming.

"Oh my g-.. Jaemin," you moaned, the intensity taking you by surprise.

After a few minutes of relentlessly eating you out, he pulled away, his nose, mouth, and chin glossy with your juices. The knot in your stomach was so tight it could explode. But just when you thought he was finished, he inserted a finger. He explored your insides with vigor until he found that sweet spot, causing you to release a string of curses and curl your toes.

That was your first orgasm.

"You're ready for me now, beautiful," he said, planting one last kiss on your inner thigh before crawling until he was directly on top of you.

“… m’ so tired, Jaem..." you mewled.

"I know, I know... just hang on a bit more. You wanna help me, right?" he asked, gently moving some stray hairs away from your forehead.

You nodded, and he rewarded you with a chaste kiss on your lips. With a playful grin, he pulled down his boxers and even though you were spent, curiosity got the best of you so you peeked down. He was so big and thick; it startled you for a moment.

"Now, angel... tell me if you feel uncomfortable."

Jaemin was trying so hard to be gentle, but seeing you like that, all pliant and open for him, made him want nothing more than to fuck you hard into next week.

He pulled down your panties, amused by the way they stuck to you from how wet you were. Tossing them aside, he wasted no time positioning himself at your entrance. The tip was barely in, and you already felt overwhelmed. "I don't think it'll fit..." you said, but he seemed not to have heard, leaning in to kiss all over your neck and collarbone.

This distraction allowed him to go in more, and you held onto his shoulders for support.

"You're doing so good for me," Jaemin whispered against your skin.

When he bottomed out, he already felt like he would cum fast from how tightly you were squeezing him. He kept whispering for you to relax, and only when you did did he start moving at a somewhat slow pace.

"You feel so fucking good," he whimpered, his thrusts picking up pace and turning you into a moaning, writhing mess.

"J-j-Jaem..." you were unable to form a coherent sentence with how hard he was fucking you now.

"Fuck… I… should've… done… this… sooner," he grunted, his eyes locked on the mesmerizing bounce of your boobs.

"I'm… I feel so…" you whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He could tell you were getting there from how your walls were pulsating around him. So, he grabbed your legs, hoisting them up on his shoulders for some deeper access. This new angle had him hitting just the right spot, and in no time, you turned into a moaning, sobbing mess. He eased into a slower rhythm, helping you ride out your second orgasm.

"That's it, good girl," he moaned looking at the scene between your bodies as your release dripped down from your pretty cunt.

After you came, he didn't pull out. He was the one wanting to get a little more out of this, after all.

So, once your breathing had calmed down a bit, he resumed thrusting into you, each one driving deeper than the last.

"Jae… I- I can't…" you whined, too sensitive down there.

"You said… you would help me, princess..."

And so he kept fucking you hard. It didn't take long for your third orgasm to creep up, your walls squeezing the life out of him again. Relentless, he kept going even after you'd cummed again, pushing until he felt his own orgasm approach. That’s when he pulled out right away, his release spilling generously over your lower stomach.

He collapsed next to you, both of you panting.

"Does it still hurt, Jaem?" you asked innocently, looking at him.

He smiled softly at you and gently caressed your cheek.

"No, princess. You made me all better."

Jaemin loved how clueless you were.

btw i’m not ignoring requests it’s just taking me forever to finish the other stories i’m writing so requests are on hold for a little bit, you can still send but it’ll take me a minute to get to them :(

[biteyoubiteme]

busy signal

fem!reader x huening kai x choi yeonjun

synopsis: yeonjuns away on a trip and sends you a suggestive photo leaving you needing the help of your other boyfriend kai to take care of you.

warnings: 🔞!! established relationship, trouple/poly, phone sex, breeding kink if you squint, size kink if you squint, praise, nipple play, fingering, multiple orgasms (f!rec), oral (f!rec), unprotected sex, creampie, use of the name baby, love, and the word slutty is used once.

wc: 4.7k oops

an: this is my first post on tumblr and first time writing anything with k-pop idols. feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

in the middle of class your phone gave a deafening jingle in the silent room. for the better part of the day your phone had not gone off meaning you didn’t know the ringer was waiting to interrupt your lesson. waiting for the perfect time to make you flustered as you tried to dig it out of your over-cramped bag to shut it off. 

by the time you grab it, the class is watching as your cheeks turn pink stitching it to silent. the professor clears their throat to catch everyone’s attention again as you look at the message that embarrassed you. 

thinking of you <333

the photo attached is enough to make your blush burn your ears. Yeonjun had an away game this week in Chicago. Kai and you were unable to make it because of your class schedules, and every time he went away with the hockey team he made sure to fill your phone with lude photos and audios. in his words to “make sure you don’t forget about me.”

so now you were not only embarrassed for the outburst but feeling needy all at once. Yeonjun was leaning back shirtless on his hotel bed fisting his hard cock through the thin material of his underwear. 

you clicked your phone off as fast as you could hoping no one saw the photo and if they did it had been too quick to know exactly what it was. but you knew instantly because it was one of Yeonjuns favorite poses and he knew it was one of your favorites. 

You still had thirty minutes in class left and a bike ride home where you were sure to call Yeonjun to chew him out knowing he has your schedule memorized. for now you slumped in your seat pushing your thighs together to relieve yourself, if only slightly because as class went on the only thing you could think about was Yeonjun and his teasing. 

when you do call Yeonjun he chuckles over the line “I’m sorry the time difference has me all messed up,” 

“I was so embarrassed,” your tone is on the edge of a whine and you can practically hear Yeonjun smile. 

“Did I make you all hot and bothered in theoretical physics?” 

“junnie,” you drag the name out and he chuckles again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you can hear one of his teammates calling for him, “I’ll call you tonight maybe I can walk you through your little problem,” 

“I don’t have a problem,” but it’s a lie and he knows it. your bike ride having made it all the more obvious how needy you really are, the seat pushing the seam of your jeans right against your clit uncomfortably. 

“liar,” he sings, “if you can’t wait until tonight you do have Kai waiting at the apartment.  he could fix your problem,”

“I don’t have a problem for anyone to fix,” you say, making it to your apartment and locking your bike up. “and kai is busy you shouldn’t be making me his to handle when you did this to me,” 

“So you admit it,” grin in his voice. 

“Yeonjun-“ 

“yes yes I know no teasing you cross country but hey you have two boyfriends for a reason. now I have to go, I love you!” he hung up before you could reply. 

kai, Yeonjun, and you have been a trouple since high school and friends for far longer. it was not unusual in your relationship for Yeonjun to pass you off to Kai seeing as both of you tended to be a bit shy around each other when it came to sex unless it was the right circumstances i.e being drunk or just being extra clingy. kai and you are always cuddling and close. you love it when he touches you but Yeonjun is usually there to guide the two of you together, that one extra push to set the two of you in motion. you mostly think this is because the three of you started this way in the first place making it the norm. 

you push open the door to your shared apartment kicking off your shoes and handing your keys on the hook. Kai's penguin keychain is already in its place showing he’s home. The only light coming from the office down the short hallway, the curtains closed against the setting sun. Padding your way over to the office you see Kai with his rumpled brown hair typing on his keyboard. He had a long paper due by midnight and had been working on it the past week, even last night he had only made it to bed around two in the morning. 

you toss your school bag next to your empty desk on the opposite side of Kai’s before leaning over his seat to wrap your arms around him in a hello. “working hard huening?” you ask, pressing the side of your face into his hair. He tilts his chin in a way signaling to peck his check all without him taking his eyes away from the screen. 

“nearly done,” 

“Have you been staring at the screen all day?” you ask, taking in his squinted eyes and dark circles. “Did you eat anything since I left this morning?” 

“some jelly I found in the fridge,” he nods. 

“You can’t survive only on jelly,” you press on more kisses to his cheek before pulling away, “I’ll order takeaway for dinner but for now I’m going to try and nap,” he nods away, never leaving the essay the entire time. you are halfway out the door when he speaks up, “Did you talk to Hyung? Did his game go well?” and you’re brought back to the photo on your phone. kai would have been able to see how red you had gotten if he had looked your way. you weren't wearing a bra under your sweatshirt, your tank top being sufficient enough but your nipples are hard and uncomfortable against the martial. 

“His game was good, he um, interrupted my class with his messages,” your voice was weak but unnoticed by Kai. 

“oh good,” and you rush to your room to pull off your clothes. first the jeans digging into you then your sweatshirt. but as you lay down in your empty bed you can’t find anything to calm your racing mind. you grab your phone from the nightstand trying to scroll aimlessly but you keep thinking about the photo. 

tossing and turning you end up on your stomach too hot to be under the covers even in only your panties and tank top. you open the text chain with Yeonjun and it’s the first thing you see. the sly little “thinking of you” message eating you alive. it was so unfair that he was so easily satisfied when away from you but you couldn’t get off by yourself and not that you hadn’t tried many times before. your hands weren’t the right feel, too short fingers, too soft, too much to think about. but you needed to get off now, looking at him with the veins in his hands showing off. you were uncomfortably wet and aching. you hadn’t even noticed the small whines you were letting out as you rolled over to your back pulling your knees up to rub your thighs together. 

you wanted to call Yeonjun and beg him to walk you through an orgasm, wanted to beg Kai to take over with his mouth even if he was exhausted. but you dug your grave earlier and wouldn’t hear the end of it from Yeonjun if you fessed up to being so turned on by the photo. 

This conundrum leads you to the file you had saved with all the previous photos Yeonjun had sent for this very purpose. there was no forgetting him now and not ever when he made you feel this way hundreds of miles away. 

you hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting, how the room was dark and you were still stuck lying in bed looking for a release you couldn’t give yourself. and not for the lack of trying you just couldn’t make it to the end. Every missed orgasm made you tear up your soft whines suddenly pulling Kai’s attention from the other room. 

The office has an adjoining wall and he was too focused on his paper to see what time it was or to see that the only light now was from his screen. He hit submit flicking off the monitor to hear your soft whimper. 

he remembered you saying you would be taking a nap and then ordering food. but now seeing the time you had slept for way longer than you usually napped for after class and he would know because it was one of his favorite after-class activities to nap right along with you. 

he picked himself up from his desk making his way into the dark hallway following your desperate whines. When he made it to the dark bedroom the three of you shared he flipped the switch that only lit the far corners lamp. and There you were with your hand in your pale pink panties eyes screwed shut, skin hot and flushed. you gave a weak sob before tugging your hand back still unaware of Kai in the doorway. 

Kai was frozen, face turning all different shades of pink. He was tired before but now he was awake, the swell of his cock clearly seen through his gray sweatpants. He has always reacted easily to the sight of you and he was fast to try and push those feelings away. He was needy and always believed himself to be too needy and he wanted to keep you from that. Let Yeonjun take over sexually and let Kai take over emotionally. 

but now here you are teary and writhing in the bed. your phone is next to your head and without warning it rings startling both you and Kai, who you finally notice. 

 both of you are still as the ringtone sings alone in the silence. “answer it,” Kai’s voice is thick in his throat and you lean up on your elbows to grab the phone, shutting your knees to try and hide the wet spot on your panties as if he hadn't already seen it. 

“I almost didn't think you would pick up,” is the first thing Yeonjun says, the sound of his crinkling sheets on the other line telling you he was tucking in for the night. 

“I was…” another tear sliding down your cheek, eyes locked on huening who gives nothing away. “busy,” the phone pressed to your ear. 

“busy? working out the problem I gave you?” he says it as a joke but you’re already too needy to take it well. your voice shakes ready to burst into tears, “You’re the worst you already know I can’t do it myself,” you blink up to the ceiling trying to hold back any more tears from slipping and to avoid Kai’s gaze. 

“Where is kai? I left you in perfectly capable hands,” 

“he was busy and I didn’t want to bother him,”

“But where is he now, you said was, so he must be done. His deadline was a few minutes ago,” you peek over to huening, his arms crossed still standing in the door watching you, eyes trying to see right through your legs. “He's here,” you whisper shyly. 

“put me on speaker,” 

“junnie,”

“put me on speaker,” no room for argument. you follow instructions balancing the phone on your knees so you can rest your elbow back down on the mattress. “I leave for three days and you guys can’t live without me?” 

“Hyung-“

“huening we’ve been over this before if she needs to be taken care of she gets taken care of,” 

“I’m not a house plant,” you quip, “ and I don’t need to be forced onto any-“ 

“you’re never forcing me,” Kai cuts in, “if you had asked I could have…” but he shakes his head not knowing how to continue.

“use your words,” Yeonjun pushed after Kai trails off, “You both get nowhere without asking, again we've been over this. kai you know what you're doing and she likes it, loves it, hell we both know she likes your fingers over mine,” 

“junnie,” your blush is all down your chest now made to look worse by your white tank, your nipples are straining against the fabric. you don’t know why you always felt so shy around Kai, maybe it was because he was so much bigger than you even if you were a little older. he stood over you, took up space in the doorframe, and completely wrapped himself around you when you hugged, that added with the fact he too was shy only worsened the effect you had on each other. even after knowing each other for most of your lives. 

Kai had already made it to the bed sitting right on the edge close enough to hear the phone better. “Pick yourself up, use your words, and ask for what you want. if I can’t even see you and I know exactly what it is you want then it should be easy for the two of you to grasp,” 

“But what if…” Kai starts and you know he wants to bring up the one time he didn’t make you finish. It was years ago in high school when the three of us were still new to sex. Yeonjun was there to make you cum but it made Kai scared ever since and it only worsened his fear of repeating that night when Yeonjun wasn’t here to make up for him. 

“huening that was like six years ago and I’ve seen you make her cum so hard she couldn’t form words before. Do you need me to walk you through it?” 

Kai placed a hand around your ankle at the question sending a bolt to your core. your knee jerking in response sending the phone flying from your knee and onto your stomach still face up. “could you?”

“What's she wearing?” 

Kai drags his hand up your calf and you clamp your knees together. “hardly anything,” his voice is throaty, his pupils blown. “the blush pink panties and a spaghetti strap tank,” 

Yeonjun hums over the phone approvingly. “Summer always makes her dress so slutty,” he groans, “not fair I don’t get to see,” 

“facetime?” Kai asks leaning over to place a feather-light kiss on your knee. 

“you guys won’t be able to hold the phone the way I want to see,” he shuffles again in bed. “is she wet?” 

you whimper at the question keeping your knees pinned together but Kai already knows the answer, “soaked even though she’s trying to hide it,”

“am not,” and Kai raises his brows but doesn’t push it, only lays another stomach-fluttering kiss on your knee. 

“always wants to deny deny deny,” and Kai chuckles,” Pull her legs open I’m sure you will have to hold her thighs down,” 

Kai follows his instructions, butterflying your legs to either side, hands eating up your thighs. Kai pulls himself onto the bed fully laying down to be level with your clothes core. you can feel his breath through the wet fabric and you try to wiggle away. 

Kai squeezes the meat of your thigh again in warning. “take your time before taking her panties off,” 

kai blows cool air onto your clothed wet center making you buck your hips so sensitive from the strain of the day. Kai keeps you pinned before leaning in to rub his nose over the sodden fabric, the tip brushing your clit sending a chill up your spine. He gives a little smile at your reaction, your teeth digging into your lip. 

“I want to hear you baby,” Yeonjun took the words right from his mouth. Kai needs to hear your moans now with your tears drying on your cheeks, your desperate whines turning into desperate pleas. 

Kai gives the smallest kiss to your clit and you try to chase the sensation. “Kai,” your pout is unheard as he lifts a finger to pull back your panties to reveal you to him. 

and no matter how many times he’s faced your pussy it will forever be his favorite sight. your puffy lips begging to be sucked, clit swollen, and you never fail to be drenched and glistening. He licks his lips, you had mentioned him needing to eat and now he’s faced with his favorite meal. 

“slow huening you always give her what she wants so fast let her wait,”

“junnie please, I’ve been waiting all day,” you try to roll your hips to meet Kai’s face but he pulls away keeping his finger hooked in your panties. it’s hard to completely move with his chest on your feet but it doesn’t stop you from trying when he latches onto your thigh leaving a trail of kisses and bites. 

“Please,” you breathe and the chorus of both of them moaning makes your stomach flutter, they always make the prettiest noises. 

Kai quits his teasing and gives you one last clit kiss before suddenly licking a path from your entrance to your clit where he latches on and gives a harsh suck. the sensation makes your knees jerk up and you reach a hand out to tangle in his hair, tugging hard. “oh fuck,” are the only coherent words Yeonjun can make out over the phone. 

in Chicago, he’s spread out on his bed phone in one hand and his cock in the other. gripping the base to relieve some pressure but not jerking off just yet. 

kai works your clit just the way you like and you can feel your impending orgasm building with how close you’ve been all night. kai let’s go of your thigh with one hand before gathering up your slick and prodding your entrance. your back arches giving him better access and you moan as he slips a finger in and then another. 

“She's close,” Yeonjun breathes. He and Kai both know the change in your whimpering. 

kai nips at your clit and you cry out as he presses the sweet gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. you cum hard enough to have tears leaking again, your hand pulling Kai down harder on your clit before it’s too much and you have to let him go. 

kai pulls away but not before licking you clean leaving you twitching. your pussy was swollen and he couldn’t wait to feel you strangling his cock the second he got it in you. 

“See I told you that you didn’t have to worry,” Yeonjuns light laugh from the phone is followed by a weak moan. “legs up, fold her in half,” 

Kai doesn't follow his orders first, picking up the phone and placing it on your chest. you were already spilling out of your tank so he took the opportunity to tug the straps down and reveal your tits to him. Kai bites his lip before leaning down to give you soft pecks all along your chest. “I didn’t even kiss you first I'm so sorry baby,” he mutters into your neck kissing up your jaw and to your mouth. 

before you can say anything in return his mouth is in yours and you can taste yourself on his tongue. Now with him hovering over you your legs are free to wrap around him. tugging his sweatpants-covered cock closer to your entrance. He moans into your mouth before his large hand takes hold of your breast tweaking your nipple. “huening,” you moan, throwing your head back when he ruts into you. He leans down to latch his lips around your untouched breast, nipping you as he rolls his hips forward again. 

the phone is close to Kai’s mouth and Yeonjuns breathing is labored on the other end. “I can’t wait any longer,” Yeonjun spits into his palm giving himself one loose tug, “I want to hear her cum again,” 

Kai nods even if he can’t be seen over the phone and he pulls away from you tugging off his shirt by the back collar and throwing it behind him. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats, a wet spot where he has been rubbing against you, tugging them down to let his cock slap his stomach. The release makes him moan, knowing just like Yeonjun he couldn’t wait and he needed to hear you moaning again. he wastes no time in tugging your ruined panties down your legs before placing his hands in the pit of your knees and bending you in half like Yeonjun suggested. your ankles are on Kai’s shoulders and he has the perfect view. 

your hair all over the pillows, eyes half-lidded, you had taken over with tugging on your nipples, your tank top now a makeshift belt around your center, phone stuck to your chest from the sheen of sweat you now had. 

you watched Kai drag a hand over his cock, hard and red waiting for you. He almost buckled at the feeling, his free hand wrapping around your thigh to pull you open. “Look at you,” he whispers, taking the tip and dragging it through your wet folds. the sound is loud and Yeonjun chuckles “She sounds ready,” 

but Kai’s not moving to slide into you he’s now back to teasing, running the head of his cock back and forth from your entrance to your clit without enough pressure. you roll your hips whining, “Hyuka please,” he shudders at the nickname before notching the mushroom tip of his cock inside you. it always amazed you how he could fit all of himself in you when before you had always believed you would never be able to take all of him. but he proves you wrong again as he pushes in inch by inch both of you moaning loud enough for Yeonjun to buckle all the way in Chicago. “fuck fuck fuck you sound so good,” he’s trying to go slow with the rhythm he tugs but he can’t keep himself in check the way you do for him. 

kai bottoms out leaning forward and bending you properly in half before burying his nose into your neck to try and catch his breath. 

you can feel him so deep you can’t think straight. his arms hugging your legs to him as he places an open palm over your ribs, the heat of his skin on yours letting you sink into the mattress. kai kisses the swell of your collarbone before pulling out an inch and pushing back in. You whimper at the sensation, weaving your fingers in his dark hair and pulling the strands. both of your boys loved their hair to be played with during sex or just resting next to each other. 

kai pushes himself up placing his free hand next to your head for leverage, holding you still by your side with the other. he pulls out almost all the way and you try to chase him making him giggle, “Patience love I’ll give you more,” he slowly inches in and you hum arching into him. “look at you, how did I get so lucky? hum?” the praise makes you preen and Yeonjun approves, “so willing for us,” he grunts the soft sound of his hand slapping heard. 

kai picks up the pace to match the sound, he's knocking the cradle of your legs, heavy balls matching the beat on your skin. ”deeper,” it’s a throaty ask from your lips but Kai hears you and sinks his hips, elbow bending slightly as his other hand tugs on your tank top using it like a handle. and he goes deeper and you swear you can feel him in your throat, your moan not even sounding like you anymore. kai is now pounding into you finding the heady rhythm Yeonjun set with ease, fucking into you so well that the phone slips from your chest into the crook of your neck pressing the speaker into your ear. Yeonjuns moans are louder making your toes curl your second orgasm building heavy in your stomach. “I want it hyuka please cum in me,” 

Kai’s movements falter at your plea, his arm holding him up buckling from his stutter. “Beg,” Yeonjun mutters knowing exactly what Kai needs, if anything Yeonjun thinks huening has a thing for hearing you beg and whimper and that’s why he holds out so long when it comes to you after you both have overcome your shyness. but jun knows that when you both get to this point in the night Kai needs you to beg for him. 

“Please I can take it,” Kai’s head falls to your ear, his moans in one and Yeonjuns in the other, “please I’ve been good,” 

“no she hasn’t,” Yeonjun groans, “she was looking at dirty pictures in class,” 

Kai almost can’t take the accusation, the trembling in his arm traveling down his spine, he wants to cum, knows it’s going to happen at any moment but he wants you there with him. “p-pictures?” He can hardly get any words out. 

“I wasn’t,” you shake your head before crying out as Kai delivers a powerful thrust. 

“she was and I don’t think she should cum now since she’s denying it,” 

“Yeonjun please,” you have tears threatening to spill. your hand in Kai’s hair pushing him closer to your throat your other one scratching at the back of his neck, “please hyuka I wasn’t, please I want to cum please please pl-“Kai takes his thumb and shoves it into your mouth to quiet you, your tank top now forgotten as you suck his finger. “promise to take it all,” he’s breathless hot air fanning over your skin. 

“I want it please hyuka,” you whine when he takes his thumb back to wedge between the two of you to press on your clit. you jolt at the contact and somehow he sinks deeper between your legs, both of you trying to chase the feeling again. 

you can feel him twitch inside you, the sign he’s about to cum. “junnie?” 

“I’m right there baby,” his breathy moans growing louder by the second. 

Kai presses down on your clit stilling inside you as he cums. his moans pressed into your ear. The heat of him as he gives weak strokes to ride out his high triggers your orgasm right after your head falls back into the pillows, legs shaking as your pussy flutters around Kai. Yeonjun follows right after, his curses stained. 

the room is silent as Kai finally lets his arm go, letting his full weight lay on you. your legs are numb as you feel Kai's light kisses behind your ear. “you did so well,” your happy sigh is enough to make Kai grin against your skin. 

“I made a mess,” Yeonjun mutters, “I wish I had my girl to come lick me clean,” 

“junnie,” the image making you pulse around Kai’s softening cock, it wouldn't be the first time Yeonjun had made you follow the trail he left up his stomach. 

kai finally rises back up letting your legs fall as he pulls out. the steady leak of your combined cum warm and staining the sheets. 

you’re completely limp in the bed as huening moves to grab a wet rag to wipe you up. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow night,” Yeonjuns smile heard over the line. 

“I can’t believe you told Kai I was looking at dirty pictures,” your hand falls over your eyes as you feel huening spread your legs, the warm rag soothing to your heated flesh. 

“you did look at my dirty photo”, 

“It was like a flash bang i wasn’t expecting it while in class,” 

“So you were looking at dirty pictures in class,” Kai laughs, kissing your inner thigh before guiding your legs into a new pair of clean panties. He had already put on new briefs himself before tugging off the soiled comforter to toss in the wash later. He was always so meticulous in picking up after sex where Yeonjun could easily have snuggled in dirty sheets and all. 

“not really,” you sit up to tug your tank top back into place pulling your phone along with you. “just hurry back already, and let’s not bring it up again,”

Kai pulls the spare blanket from the closet before pulling himself under with you. “yeah hyung hurry back the bed feels empty with only the two of us in it,” 

[pinkchrissysposts]

☆LAST POST,THE FINAL ADVICE☆

(Basically answers to asks I got)

Ok first thing first there is no one here to help you manifest,not the bloggers,not me, no one,if reading multiple post on same topic can't help you then why do expect bloggers to help you who are gonna give you same advice,they have been mentioning on their posts. It's not like they are writing about different things,every bloggers are telling you the same thing YOUR 4D/imagination is the true reality,you just have to PERSIST and be CONSISTENT. No like seriously I really feel like you guys are just lazy,why are you depend on bloggers,Im not saying that you can't ask for help and by help i mean understanding certain concept or doubts but you straight up ask to help you manifest or coaching don't do that until and unless they themself mention about being a coach,because see we have a life of our own too,we are God but also human who are busy in their life. Bloggers post this amazing posts talking about law and how beautiful it is. But y'all are so into the victim mindset,as if you are the only one suffering,which is correct YOU are the reason you are seeing the person taking away your sp,you are so into imagining yourself in a broke state and dwell in it,because you feel comfort in it,get a bit uncomfortable dear,you'll endup being comfortable.

You cannot just get comfortable when you are transfered in a new school,new class and the new environment,you first adjust,you go to the school everyday and get used to the new environment then you get comfortable isn't it guys. Manifesting is exactly like this you get in the state of having the desire,it feels uncomfortable,fake,delusional but the more you persist the more you get used to this feeling of knowing. It's not even necessary to be in the state a 24/7,because we are in different state all the time,just when you remember about the desire get in the state or do whatever fulfills you.

No amount of methods won't be useful if you are not even persisting and keep look for 3d validation. To sum up everything all you have to to is persist. Bloggers won't be there for you all the damn time,most of you want to manifest being independent but with a mindset of a dependent person,who are depend on other's for method and doesn't even persist in it then cries,and trauma dump on other's dm.

There is no use of DMing us too you know,we as bloggers are the one end up getting bored or annoyed,because I'm telling y'all legit leave another method and come up with a new one,I have about 50+ dms and asks asking me how to manifest or trauma dumping telling me how they aren't able to manifest,dear of course you won't be able to manifest if you keep looking for validation. I'm not saying that your circumstances aren't that bad,it's probably really hard for you but darling,everyone had faced this challenge,it's hard but learn to ignore the 3D even if it was right on your face. Be stubborn when it comes to manifesting,it took me alot of time as well to adapt that mindset,so I read alot of fanfics where reader gets whatever they want this really got me into the brat mindset,you can also find methods or ways that you help you feel fulfill,I don't care what method you are using JUST DO WHAT FULFILLS YOU NOT ME,I've got alot of asking if they should do or this,you know honey do what you believe is gonna work for you,I'm not the one using that method,i purposely don't even reply because I want you guys to try it out yourselves. That's what every bloggers did too,they learn to trust themselves and their imagination.

OK here, since most of you ask me to help manifest I'm challenging you,for the next two weeks,affirm robotically for your desire,lazy to affirm? You shouldn't be,because majority of you complain about not being able to get in a state and endup saying you'll affirm,then do exactly that.

Wavering? Keep affirming and persist.

Don't believe the affirmations? Keep affirming and persist.

Seeing the opposite? Keep affirming and persist.

Make those affirmation your dominant thought,you will know when it will become your dominant thought when it come up on it's own and you don't get effected by the negative thoughts.

But Chrissy some say affirmation don't work. SO? Keep affirming don't be a weakling just because it didn't work for them doesn't mean it will not work for you,you are not them,you are YOU ,they probably didn't even affirm enough or probably checked their 3D,there are many successful people who affirm Jennifer Lopez,Ice Spice and my fav Taylor Tookes despite being petite she still become a model and even walk on runway and now in cover magazines,if they can do it why can't you,they also affirmed right? Not gonna lie majority of the successful people who are into manifestation are into affirming.

Also log out of X and Tumblr,yes it can be motivating to see success stories or reading motivation but they are of no use,you might see a new post talking about a new method and end up leaving affirming and start following that method. Instead you should've scroll on tiktok,or youtube or making vision board while affirming,it's way easier to then wasting your time here reading posts on same topic written in different ways or perspective. So instead just log out and affirm and PERSIST.

If you are so stubborn about the fact that you can't manifest,then start being stubborn about the fact that you can manifest.

This is now my last post I will be logging out might come to check in sometimes happy manifesting🪷.

[sinisterexaggerator]

John Hancock - NSFW Alphabet

Only out to have a little fun! Enjoy (or not)! This is just my take on his character.

3.8k words (oops).

---

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

No matter how you decide to do the deed, Hancock has your best interest at heart, as long as you stay in his good graces. He wouldn’t necessarily baby you after sex, but he’ll make sure you’re all right, as you may wind up participating in several experimental or unusual scenarios. But in the end, John wants to make sure his little ray of sunshine is well-rested for round two.

He'd offer you chems for a bit of a pick-me-up, a cigarette precariously hanging from the corner of his mouth—he needs a smoke after. It just “feels right.”

He would pat his shoulder as a place for you to rest your head, then pull you in nice and tight before sharing a drag with you, going insofar as to place the filter against your lips, held loosely between two fingers. No uncomfortable post-coital silence—unless you’re into that.

Hancock might even get all philosophical on you now that his head’s clear. I can see him being into pillow talk regardless—we know he loves to run his mouth—nothing a romp in the sack with you won’t cure.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

I have a feeling Hancock isn’t picky, as long as your heart is in the right place. There is more to him than being a “drug addict.” I’d say he’s well-read, even though he acts on instinct—he may be pretty well fond of your brain.

Hancock puts a lot of stock into how people think or speak versus their actions. He’s not a pushover, doesn’t take any bullshit, and if your belief system matches up with his—if he, “likes the way you operate”— you don’t have much to worry about.

Still, I see him favoring something warm and supple to grab onto, something soft to kiss. And he’ll take his time when he’s in the mood, dishing out compliments as he explores every inch of your body.

Maybe with being a Ghoul, it’s a real treat when you get to knock boots with a human. I can see him missing out on what that feels like from time to time.

As far as his own body, I see this man as a bit self-conscious, though he doesn’t let onto that fact quite often. Comments about his “ugly mug” are made in jest, but there is some truth to that within his own thought process and how he perceives himself, most likely, despite the whole “King of the Zombies” vibe he says the ladies love.

Personally, I think his confidence is partially a façade.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person:

Hancock always makes sure you get yours. Multiple orgasms are in the cards, as he knows exactly how to make your toes curl, and he’s not above using that information to his advantage.

You’re the wettest thing in the Wasteland when Hancock’s around, and you can bet your ass he’s going to comment on it every chance he gets. Otherwise, he loves to play in it; to spread the sheen between his fingers; to lick it clean off while you watch, or to smear it over his withered skin, lubricating his cock with it.

All in all, it’s a stroke to his ego to know he’s the one responsible for making you cum that hard that often. You can be damn sure he’s out to fuck you every chance he gets. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

I mentioned this in another post, but Hancock likes it when you’re addicted to chems because he’s the one providing. As long as he’s supplying the drugs for you to get your fix, you’re not going to leave him high and dry.

Maybe he fears being, “skipped out on,” thinkin’ it’s just another reason for you to stick around. It ties into him being insecure—call it insurance. He’s not proud of it, but you don’t seem to mind, and there’s no one around to call him on it.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?):

Based on comments we hear throughout the game, Hancock was known to be a looker before being a Ghoul. He’s still a looker even after his transformation, and he is well-aware his physical appearance garners the attention of the ladies, or so he says. From this we can infer Hancock has no trouble in finding someone to fuck. I’m sure he has been around the block more than a few times, but it would be the appearance of someone special in his life that might make him rethink his whorish lifestyle.

Despite being a bit of a promiscuous rascal who most likely participates in a lot of meaningless sex, when he finds the right person, I am sure he is more than happy to be monogamous. But overall, I would say he definitely knows what the hell he’s doing—why else would Bobbi make that comment about everyone being in love with him?

Hancock’s a catch, contrary to whether or not he believes it himself, and for more than one reason, me thinks. And it is common for even those people who are “good-looking” to be self-conscious and worried about how others perceive them, so that doesn’t change the idea of him still being insecure despite his charm and charisma, though him saying he’s charming could be him playing at being facetious.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual):

The Couch Surfer*

Hancock loves to bend you over the arm of the couch in the Old State House with you face down in the cushions as he plows into you from behind. It allows for deeper penetration and more thrusting power, with your feet either on the floor, or with your knees pulled in toward your own body as your legs hover off the ground.

This also makes it so neither of you have to get entirely undressed if you don’t want to, or if there is simply no time for anything but a quickie. With both of you pulling down your trousers, or with you hiking up your dress, it makes for easy access, and the angle is just right for hitting that sweet spot.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc):

Hancock is a switch in more ways than one. This can go either way, as he’s not afraid to get weird or try anything once. At the same time, if you’re his special person, he may be inclined to take things a bit more serious. Think body worship in this case, or copious amounts of praise, romantic notions in your ear—that sort of thing.

This doesn’t account for if you’ve pissed him off, as all bets are off, and I’m sure he can think of more than one way to set you straight, even if that involves being more condescending than usual, or withholding sex all together because he’s just “not feeling it after the way you’ve been actin’.”  

In fact, he may be able to home in on if he’s frightening you—that in and of itself can be a turn on. Oh, you’ve been misbehaving lately? Get ready to meet No More Mister Nice Ghoul. Although, you’d have to fuck up royally for him to take any of that so serious.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.):

No hair, don’t care (obviously)! But Hancock may enjoy running his fingers through yours, and he does so gently, not afraid to brush that stray strand out of your eyes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…):

This can also go either way, depending on Hancock’s mood. One minute he’s treating you like the filthy whore you are, and the next minute he’s spewing off the most romantic things you’ve ever heard. He’s not afraid to speak his mind, no matter the topic of conversation. He’ll tell you to suck his cock like a good little slut, but then don’t put it past him to confess how much you mean to him in the same breath.

In other words, you can simultaneously be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, while also receiving an earful of the dirtiest, raunchiest trash talk to have ever been uttered by man. He knows you’re going to come undone regardless—he just has that effect on you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon):

Hancock loves to force you to watch him masturbate when it’s impossible for you to touch him. That American flag at his waist serves well in a pinch, able to tie your hands up so he can sit back and pleasure himself without you interfering.

Long, languid strokes drive you mad, Hancock not skimping on the heady eye contact, enjoying it when you come unraveled at the seams. You’re begging to join in, to please him yourself, but this is where the fun begins—cry for him all you want to, those handcuffs aren’t coming off, not until he says so.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

Oh, man. OK, here we go!

Praise kink – Hancock gives Golden Retriever boyfriend energy. Maybe it’s the fact he follows you around in-game, but he would take so well to you praising him. “Mn, yeah? You like that? Let me show you what else I can do…”

Role-play – I can see this man being into role-play scenarios. He already basically cosplays as a historical figure— it gives him the freedom to mess around with you knowing he doesn’t mean any of it in the end. You can be sure he’d have a safe word if that’s something you’re wanting. He’d take on new roles himself, or play along with yours. “Big bad Mayor” comes to mind for those of you who want a little more bossing around.

Sensation play - Hancock is big on touch. He loves to trace your skin with his fingers, or for you to touch him. I can also see him being into sensory deprivation, blindfolding himself so his sole focus remains on the feel of your hands smoothing over his callous flesh. I’m sure besides a lot of one-night stands, he barely gets anything in the way of attention. It’s always quick and easy— to really be close to someone? That takes guts.

Brat taming – This is a given. Maybe it’s not a game, you’re just really a brat. He doesn’t mess around when it’s time to get serious, so if you’re in his way, or if you’re rubbing him wrong, expect to hear about it. Think daddy/little girl vibes in most cases, but this can spill over into the role-play arena as well. But it’s not all negative—if you’ve been a good girl or boy, he’s willing to praise you for a job well done.

Degradation – Shit-talking him to the point of degradation is a thing he’s into. Not that he believes everything you’re saying, but he’s able to take a few verbal punches without psychic damage. The more sarcastic and ruthless you are, the more he respects you, and the more it may turn him on. He enjoys someone who isn’t afraid to stand up to him, but he also enjoys being put in his place, if you have the balls to try.

Bondage – Tie him up and have your way with him, or he’s liable to do the same to you. He loves a strong, take-charge woman, and a go get ‘em kinda man. He has the most fun when you’re the one who’s “powerless.” He’ll drive you wild before he finally gives in—the best part is watching you squirm and beg for him.

Exhibitionism – He will fuck you anywhere and everywhere; he doesn’t care who watches, but watching’s all their going to do. Hancock’s always down for a quickie, or something a little more intimate, but it doesn’t matter if it’s in the privacy of his suite at the Old State House, or the backroom of the Third Rail. Sex is sex, and there is no one he rather have it more with than you—anytime, anyplace.

Knife play/ Gun play – This Ghoul will use any and all means with which to get his rocks off, and he has a special place in his heart for knives. He’ll draw blood, or not, running the blade across your skin, not afraid to use the hilt to fuck you. The same goes for guns of all sorts, shells or bullets removed. Expect them to be put into places – like your mouth, or cunt. He’s not shy about it.

*I should add he is a total switch. He can play at top or bottom. IMO he plays bottom more frequently for male partners, and tops for female partners, but again, he loves a woman who knows how to take charge – he wouldn’t mind if you stepped on him.

Overall, he has a lot of sadistic qualities, but he’s also a bit of a masochist— he knows when and where to draw the line. He would never hurt you or do anything without your consent, UNLESS you’ve done something to get on his bad side, then there is no telling what might happen.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do):

As I mentioned earlier, this man is an exhibitionist, so he would settle for fucking you anywhere he could. However, the riskier, the better, as he’s not afraid of getting caught—it’s part of the thrill. But if he’s feeling romantic, maybe he takes you to the roof of the Old State House, out under the stars.

Afterward, he lays with you there, pointing out the various constellations he’s read about in books. Maybe he even dragged an old mattress up there—no one will miss it—as it’s a place you frequently rendezvous.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going):

Violence and compassion, LOL. Allow me to explain:

Put simply, you putting down assholes for all the right reasons gets him hard. Hancock’s all about dispensing justice, about helping out the little guy, so if he gets to watch you kill evil fucking people while doing just that? Talk about a bonus— a really attractive one.

“Mn, the way you cut that guy’s head clean off—I wanted to fuck you right then and there. You should have seen his eyes bug out—bastard knew what was coming.”

Also, you doing a lot of chems and lowering your inhibitions for him? You willing to get freaky with him? That just makes you soulmates.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs:

Cannibalism, which is self-explanatory considering his comments in the game in regard to Sole if you have/use that perk. Hey, at least he’s not too judgmental.

I also do not assume he’s into torture, or blood and gore. A quick, merciless death is more his style, but considering his thoughts on Pickman and his “artistic flair,” plus not wanting to go anywhere near the gallery to see for himself, makes me think he’s adverse to that kind of thing. He doesn’t necessarily like hurting people or causing pain, only when the situation truly calls for it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc):

I see him as preferring to give, though he won’t turn down a blowjob. It is a high all its own to get you off so easy with his mouth.

All those delicious little sounds; the way you writhe beneath him; the way you hold the back of his head; the way you say his name… It’s addicting, almost more so than chems. And I should say he’s not above eating ass.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.):

Again, both—depending on what his mood dictates. He’s not afraid to fuck you hard and fast, but he can also slow down and make love to you when he’s feeling soft. He’s a moody Ghoul, but it is a part of his charm. Time spent with him is never boring.

Sometimes, pure, unbridled lust wins out, or maybe he’s feeling sadistic for whatever reason—in this case, you may find yourself unable to walk the next morning.

But he can also be sensual, taking his time to please you proper while sending you to heaven on a cloud of fluffy, romantic words. He’s multifaceted, and so is your love for each other.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc):

I don’t think I am alone when I say that Hancock commenting offhand about, “you just say the word if you wanna take a little, uh, chem break” is most likely a euphemism for sex and very suggestive.

He sure as hell has nothing bad to say about quickies. Getting down and dirty at a moment’s notice is in his wheelhouse, so don’t be afraid to tell him when you’re in the mood, no matter where you might be or what you might be doing.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.):

Bears repeating, I guess. He’s up for almost anything and everything, minus the eating human flesh part. He’s not afraid to take risks in any aspect of his life, always out to do the right thing, even if there are consequences.

In relation to sex, he’s not shy, and doesn’t expect for you to be either. Feel free to open up to him about your deepest, darkest desires—he would be thrilled to help you out in that department.

Expect him to offer chems beforehand, or to check in with you if it’s something a little more high-risk. Safety first and all that nonsense—he truly cares about your well-being, but it’s also nice to know he’s met his match. That’s not to say he wouldn’t have fun corrupting you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…):

I’m going to say that the regenerative effect that Ghouls possess also allows them to recuperate quickly after sex. Hancock has a stamina stockpile; he could go for hours, or for multiple rounds.

Of course, he also doesn’t mind just holding you, slowing down to bask for a little while in your amiable company.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?):

Back to the knife-play, gun-play kink, I suspect he not only uses various, dangerous tools to pleasure you, but also rope, or handcuffs. Everyday items that can he repurposed into something new and fucked up—alligator clamps for your nipples, or an Institute shock baton as a cattle prod—if you’re into that sort of thing. In other words, he’s not afraid to experiment.

As it’s the “end of the world,” I am not sure he has access to expensive, exotic toys, but if he did, he would be sure to use them. Maybe there’s an old sex shop with a few top of the line products still on the shelves. He’d nab anything for shits and giggles, trying various things out on you and on himself. Not like he has anything better to do.

But even so, he probably prefers it just being you and him, nothing fancy. He doesn’t need it— you’re all he needs to have a good time.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Hancock often plays unfair. He loves to tease you to the point of edging. He’ll take you as far as the cusp of an orgasm, then let the feeling dissipate, driving you toward insanity a little more each time.

And he’s so good at what he does; you’ll cum when he allows it. Lucky for you, this time he’s feeling generous—but if you pout? He’s done for.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make):

Hancock may make you scream his name, but he’s more of a subdued moan, heavy breaths in your ear kind of Ghoul. He’ll whisper sweet sentiments or speak all the filthy, filthy things he’s going to do you, but may be a bit of a pillow biter when roles are reversed.

He’d still take it like a champ, though, chomping down to keep from “embarrassing” himself. I also bet he’s a bit of a whimperer, or a whiner, fingers digging into the sheets as he buckles down under you like a common whore.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice):

I’ve got two:

1) Hancock is an over-protective boyfriend who is always out to “watch your back,” whether that be keeping his eye out for creeps, or intervening in a conversation on your behalf. I can also see him as the slightly jealous type, though he would bring it up only due to his own insecurities. Otherwise, he quietly stews until it eats away at him enough he feels the need to say what’s on his mind.

“Hey, if you’re getting bored of me, just say the word—I’ll go.” I don’t think he wants to stick around where he’s not wanted.

2) Hancock is into PDA maybe more than he should be. He’d let you sit in his lap in public while his hands travel your body. He’d caress your waist and thighs, and whisper jokes in your ear that are only meant for you to hear— Hancock loves making you giggle. He’s also up for dragging you into dark corners for steamy make-out sessions, or just wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. Let ‘em stare, he gives no fucks who sees you together.

Of course, he’s also OK with just gazing at you lovingly when no one’s looking— not even you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words):

Hancock’s cock is just as scarred and damaged as the rest of his body, but he can still get it up, and the striations and respective bits of raised tissue are basically just another way of saying “ribbed for your pleasure.”

It’s variegated in color, or various shades—pale, deathly white, intermingled with dark, almost cadaverous-like patches. If you’re into necrosis, this is the man for you, though nothing is falling off or anything like that—he’s 100% intact, willing and able.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

I imagine he has a pretty high sex-drive, but sex isn’t everything to him by any means. He’s always down for a quick romp in the hay, but he’s also not opposed to cuddles.

Yes, he’s a cuddler. With the sappy, over the top romantic lines he says in game, how can this man NOT want to bury himself in your arms every chance he gets? And don’t put it past him to be clingy, either. That’s not always what he’s about, but it can happen with the right combination of brain chemicals and fluffy feelings.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

I see Hancock as waiting for you to fall asleep first, or at least being cognizant enough to know what is going on in the event he has to keep you safe from whatever’s lurking in the dark, whether you’re hiding in the ruins, or walled up somewhere in Goodneighbor—can never be too careful.

In addition, I peg him as someone who may be a bit of an insomniac. He’s a bit hyper in game, and with the fact he pumps himself full of chems just to try to get high, I imagine even as a Ghoul it could fuck up your sleep cycle.

Still, when he falls asleep he sleeps hard—but don’t mind waking him. He’s ready to go when you are, just give him a minute.

--

If you enjoyed this, be on the lookout for my John Hancock x Fem! Reader fic in the next day or so! 6.8k+ words of porn with plot. :D

P.S.: if you have a specific request, or just want to talk about Hancock in my inbox, feel free!!

****

Edit: Here’s the fic!

[cy-cyborg]

I'm getting a little tierd of the idea because amputees get more representation in media, it means rep for our disability is better and we "have enough"

People are right, we do have way more rep than really any other disability, im not going to deny that, and ive joked before about how often people write amputees without even realising it. So you would think, by sheer numbers, we should have at least some good representation, but by-and-large that is not the case. Legitimatly, the closest example I can think of to point to of good amputee rep is Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood and even that uses multiple tropes I hate (the miracle cure/quest for the miracle cure, the almost perfect prosthetic replacement/forgetting the chatacter is an amputee until it breaks or needs repairs, refusal to call prosthetics, "prosthetics" (automail), the amputee who can't do anything without a prosthetic) and they call Ed a slur for another disability (m*dget) CONSTANTLY. I love fmab deeply, it legitimatly helped me feel seen and represented as a childhood amputee in a way no other show has even come close to, and when it gets it right, it gets it really right, but it's also very far from great and should not be the best example I can think of. Especially nearly 15 years after it released...

A big part of the reason why I don't read many books anymore is because of the sheer amount of books with downright offensively bad amputee rep, some of which were touted as good by people with other disabilities and were recommended to me as good examples. others times, I wasn't even looking for books with amputee/disability rep, it just popped up. It has ruined one of my childhood hobbies for me. Ive tried to get back into reading again as an adult but it hasn't gotten better in that time i was away. I was kicked out of 3 different scifi writing groups on facebook and reddit for asking people to remember "cybernetic enhancement" users are amputees - a real group of people, and maybe debating weather or not we're less human isnt great, and for pointing out seeing those discussions every day was making me feel pretty unwelcome in that space (yes i know, "real" cyberpunk isnt trying to say that, i had to turn notifications off on my post about the topic, it doesnt change the fact that newer creators in the genre dont seem to get that bit, that ive seen cyberpunk writers in these spaces say that debating weather people who loose more parts of their body were less human was, in fact, their intent but they hadnt even considered the fact this made their chatacters amputees, it doesnt change the fact that these tropes, intentionally or not, help make those spaces hostile for disabled fans/creators, especially amputees).

But yeah, I should be thankful I get more rep than other disabilities, no matter the quality, right?

It doesn't just stop at being me being made uncomfortable, though. The sheer, overwhelming amount of amputee chatacters with "perfect prosthetics" has had a noticeable impact on how we are perceived irl. In my lifetime, the general idea people have about multi-limbed amputees in particular has gone from "literally the worst thing that can happen to a person and the worst disability to have" to "is it even a disability? The prosthetic fixes it". These are both wildly untrue and harmful ideas about my disability that were both perpetuated by media, but now that the second one is taking root, it's causing real problems. I have not been shy in talking about how I have to fight to maintain my NDIS funding every time I get something done with my prosthetics, and had to get my prosthetist to sign off, twice, that my fancy prosthetic knee that costs the same as a higher-end new car ($125,000 AUD) is not, in fact a cure and I still need help with other things. It took me nearly 2 years to get a new wheelchair because they didn't understand why I needed it if I had the prosthetics - which to be honest, is not comfortable for me to wear, let alone use all day every day. Guys this isn't just assholes on the street or on twitter saying dumb shit, it's the people in the government body who decide how much funding I get to help with my disability who beleive it. People who have very real control over my life. It's not entirely the media's fault, but when the sheer, overwhelming majority of representation for people like me confirms that belief, it's hard to ignore the possibility that these portrayals are contributing to it, you know?

Which makes it so frustrating when I come on here and see other disability writing advice blogs saying to not write amputees because they have so much representation already. We do, I can acknowledge that, but the vast, vast majority of it is shit, and no one, not even other disabled people, are listening to us about it. And what makes it even worse, is the people they're advising to not writing amputees are the creators who care enough to be doing the research. They're the ones willing to listen, to ask questions. They could be the start of the positive change. But instead they're advised to not even bother with us.

And don't get me wrong, other disabilities ARE under-represented. There are so many disabilities, including some I have myself, that I've never seen represented as anything other than the butt of a joke. There does need to be more reprentation of disabilities other than amputation and limb differences. 100%! but can you please talk about that without saying "amputees have enough"

This isn't even touching on how amputees/people with limb differences who dont/cant use prosthetics, or even folks who use prosthetics sometimes but not others, are almost never represented unless it's for pitty-porn, or how the non-fictional media's (news outlets, etc) portrayal of amputees in particular is used to justify hurting very real, very vunderable people but this rant is long enough and honestly, ive got enough thoughts to make whole other posts on those subjects. That second one in particular deserves its own (more thought-out) spotlight and shouldn't be a footnote in a frustrated rant post lol.

[authormars]

Molting

Since people liked my last headcanon, here's another one. What happens when it's molting season?

I want to make one thing clear and that is that I did no research for this so if how they molt isn’t accurate to the animal they resemble, sorry, but I am stubborn and refuse to do research right now.

Lucifer

Absolute bitch. His feathers hurt, his body hurts, he is shedding everywhere, fuck you.

There's a reason the brothers and Diavolo call it his "Angelic Period"

The first day, he's just slightly uncomfortable because his feathers are crowded, but whatever. He'd just preen them tonight.

Every day after that for a literal week, he is uncomfortable and wants to fight everyone. He has threatened to punch Diavolo multiple times.

After that week, don't ask him about it, he'll pretend it didn't happen.

His lasts a week and is pretty bad, probably one of the worse ones out of everyone, and consistently happens every other month.

Leviathan

His skin either comes off in little amounts or all at once. There's a reason Mammon has a full Levi skin in the corner of his room.

The second least uncomfortable brother when he's molting, due to it mainly just being he has to take off old skin and scales.

His is over in maybe three days and isn't as consistent as Lucifer's.

Satan

Real quick, I have to clarify. In my headcanon, my universe, whatever you want to call it, Satan isn’t a unicorn. Based on his demon form in game, I’ve decided he’s a basilisk lizard — which is the Jesus lizard by the way — so he does legitimately shed.

His skin doesn’t normally come off all in one day. He has to take it off himself.

He isn’t bitchy like Lucifer because it’s not painful, but he is a bit more irritable because it is slightly uncomfortable. Like tight clothes, but for your skin.

His molting lasts three to four days and happens around once every four months or so

Asmodeus

Asmo’s molting is few and far between. Maybe once every year. He normally just stays in his room for the three to five days it lasts to take care of himself.

It doesn’t hurt, that same tight clothes feel, but he takes it as an opportunity to be rude because he has an excuse.

Belphegor

He doesn’t mold like his lizard brothers, but sheds like Lucifer. Everywhere. You walk into a room while he’s shedding and its covered in fur and hair.

His occurs every spring, since he has to shed his winter coat for summer. The least uncomfortable brother due to it just being fur coming off, but the most inconvenient because it gets everywhere.

Lasts a week or two and then nothing until the next year

Mammon and Beel don’t shed/molt since Mammon’s feathers burned off in the fall, leaving the weird bony wings he has now and Beel is a beetle so he doesn’t molt.

I finished this surprisingly quickly, but I'm also procrastinating on my Valentine's Day fic that I have to finish so...

Also, thank you to everyone who commented on the last post I made, you are all so sweet and make my day so much better <3

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Could I get a Hc for how the M6 would react to an Mc that has regeneration like an axolotl due to it being the fools body?

Like during the ending of the route or during a fight post route Mc loses a finger or an arm and as their recovering they notice it growing back and like a few weeks or a month later it's like they never lost it to begin with. Due to how they view themselves and the fools body making them look like how they ses themselves.

Similarly to how Lucio lost his arm so long ago his metal arm is just a part of him so when he took the fools body it come with the metal arm.

(Let me know if it's not a good Hc idea and I'll change it for a different one.)

The Arcana HCs: When MC can regenerate their limbs

Julian

His first thought is "I have to keep them away from Valdemar"

His second thought is more along the lines of a very intrigued medical scholar. He's dying to figure out exactly how this works - how does your body know what to form and where??

His third thought definitely bears his younger sister's influence, because it's the sleep-deprived, melodramatic theatre kid version of "twinsies!!!"

Yes, twinsies! Because now you're one of the only other people in the world who knows what it's like to have crazy regenerative abilities! (though, he gave his up, but still -)

Will chart the growth of the limb and regularly ask you if you got any new injuries that day (obviously he hopes the answer is no, but if it's yes he has multiple reasons to want to know now)

Occasionally thinks himself into an anxiety spiral worrying that he's treating you too much like a medical phenomenon and not enough like his beloved partner. A round of smooches will take care of that

Asra

Honestly? They're more relieved, than anything

He is uncomfortably aware of the level of responsibility he has for yoinking you back to this plane of existence and knowing that you have this safety net for physical injuries is very reassuring

That said, they're still very curious about just how far it goes (not that they'd ever try to find out)

May or may not add "lizard" to his list of pet names for you, because lizards are also cute and known for losing limbs and then regenerating them for self preservation reasons

May or may not study just enough of the magic involved to suggest trying to grow said limb to be ... different than the previous one. You could grow an arm of neon tentacles!

May or may not regularly use body paint to turn your slowly regenerating limb into some kind of illusion, like a large, funky looking hamster hanging onto your shoulder (with your permission)

They love you regardless of how many limbs you have

Nadia

To say that she is intrigued is an understatement. She is borderline obsessed with your slowly reappearing limb

Much of that has to do with her desire to provide for you and the duty she's given herself of making sure that you are taken care of

Plenty of that has to do with what an excellent excuse it is to initiate touch and general affection

But a good portion of that is because, while she can tell you're a unique case, it's the kind of ability that would do so much good if she could find a way to recreate it even a little bit

She's not going to ask you to do anything unreasonable, but she might suggest allowing lead researchers in the medical field to chart your progress and study it in case they find anything

On another note, she does love to make you feel and look your best. If you've lost an arm and your outfit has gloves, you'd best believe she's ordering a mini one for your tiny hand

Pulls out old baby jewelry to try on it while it's small

Muriel

He's not going to lie, he does find it just a little disturbing

He's not going to go as far as saying that it's unnatural (he knows of plenty of creatures who can do the same thing) but it's definitely not a normal thing for humans to do

It's far outweighed by his gratitude that you're able to heal from such difficult injuries to this extent. He likes your limbs :)

He's also terrified of accidentally ruining whatever unforeseen magical force is allowing your body to manifest itself back together

You're clearly already very good at losing limbs! He doesn't want to make you lose another one! What if it's like one of those budding flowers that's really sensitive to touch?

He doesn't want to find that out the hard way! What's he going to do if he reaches for your mini-hand and the rest of your mini-arm comes with it? Stick it back on??

The above freakout is happening on the inside. On the outside, he's avoiding that area of your body and being very protective of it

Portia

It goes without saying that she thinks this is pretty cool

First off, you lost a limb, which is badass by default, and now you're completely regrowing it on accident - that's amazing!

She does casually mention that she is curious about just how far your body can regenerate itself at one point, but that's just idle wondering unless it's something you want to look into too

Fascinated by your mini-limb while it's growing back

Comes up with a whole list of pet names for it (squishy, tiny, silly, mr peach, miss millie, The Growth ...) but she mostly sticks to referring to it as your baby

"Good morning MC! And good morning squishy! How's your baby growing?" (all this is said while she hands you your preferred morning beverage and rubs the affected limb like it's a belly)

Overall she's so adaptable that she kind of ... forgets that it's weird. At least, until someone else sees it for the first time

Then she'll tell them it's because her shrink ray missed

Lucio

Seriously?

No no no no no -- SERIOUSLY?!?!?

He's been living with a prosthetic limb (albeit a really cool one) for TWENTY YEARS NOW, and you just randomly start growing yours back just like that? JUST LIKE THAT?! NO!!!

He's not mad because he thinks you don't deserve it! You do deserve it! You saved the world without having to make a life full of criminal oopsies first, and you did it while you rehabilitated him!!

He's mad because even if he doesn't deserve it more than you do, he wants it more than you do! WHY DIDN'T THE ARCANA OFFER HIM HIS ARM BACK, HUH?!

(This is a very good point at which to tell him that you think the metal arm is attractive. He will quickly switch gears into crooning and flirting at you and rarely bring it up again)

He does often comment on its growth patterns, and has definitely made an innuendo or two about it for funsies

[gejo333]

A Misunderstanding

Father Miguel O’Hara x Mother Spider Reader

—> pt. 2

Summary: Your relationship with Miguel was doing amazing. But when you find out your pregnant Miguel begins to close himself off . You decide it’s best not to tell him and end things. But what happens when you see him again after five years and learns that he is a father?

There is a sensual scene, if you feel uncomfortable just scroll past it.

I was going to write it all in one post but I decided to do a part two. Part 2 will be posted tomorrow. I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Hope you enjoy🤗

Wc: 3.2k

____________________________________________

A heavy breath leaves your lungs; sitting on a piece of rubble, you stare at the anomaly being taken away by another spider back to HQ. On a mission like this one, an anomaly of this low stature wouldn’t make you sweat. But for some reason, you had a hard time defeating it.

Peter B comes up to you, lending you a hand. You gladly take it rising from your makeshift seat. After walking through the portal back to HQ, Peter puts his hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/n?” Peter looked concerned about your tired complexion.

“I’m fine. I must not have slept well last night. But thanks for checking in and for your help with the mission.”

“No problem. Are you reporting back to Miguel?”

“Yeah. I should tell him about the mission getting out of hand. I’ll see you around.” You wave goodbye before making your way to Miguel’s office. When reporting missions that didn’t go exactly to plan, spiders asked you to report to Miguel.

Before you began dating him 6 months ago, you still had a close relationship with him. Ever since he recruited you, he’s had a soft spot for you, never once getting mad with you.

Walking into his “lair,” as most spiders called it, you tried to shoot up a web to him, but your web shooter malfunctioned.

Miguel jumped down from the platform, walking towards you. His gaze crossed your entire body, checking to see if you were hurt.

“I heard the mission went a bit south.” Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. He lifted your chin and leaned down to kiss your lips lovingly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, lifting your toes to press deeper into the kiss. Breaking apart, you caress his cheek as he leans into your touch.

“Yeah, I needed to call backup. The anomaly was more to handle than I thought. I’m not sure why. I just don’t feel my best today.”

“How about we get some delicious empanadas near my apartment and watch a movie. How does that sound? We can leave right now if you want?” A smile graces his lips as he gazes at you with so much love waiting for your response. You smile back at him as your e/c meets his mahogany eyes. You were the only person to see his true eye color.

“That sounds perfect.”

Pressing a few buttons on his watch, Miguel opens the portal back to his universe. The two of you walk through, entering an ally a block away from Miguel’s place. Both of your suits dissolve underneath casual clothing hiding underneath.

The two of you walked into the little store that sold the best empanadas in all of Nueva York, as Miguel had told you multiple times.

“Miguel! Mi cliente favorito. Cómo te va?” An older woman walked around the counter, hugging Miguel, which he gladly accepted.

“Estoy bien. Y usted?” Miguel said as he led you fully into the store. You loved seeing this side of Miguel. He only revealed his true warm side when he was back in his world or alone with you on missions or at HQ.

“I’m doing good. Business is good. And who is this gorgeous woman by your side Miguel?” The woman looks at you with a bright smile. You look up at Miguel as he looks down at you with a smile.

“This is Y/n. My girlfriend.” Miguel’s response made the woman beam with joy as she hugged you.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n. It’s so nice for Miguel to find such a nice woman as you. The usual order Miguel?” The woman returns behind the counter, grabs a box, and puts in empanadas.

“Sí, plus a few extra.”

“Of course!” She adds a few more before handing them to you. Miguel pays her before adding $500 to the tip jar. The woman looks astounded and takes the money out, trying to return it to him. He closes her hand, pushing gently back towards her.

“Miguel, this is too much.”

“Nonsense. You make the best empanadas in all of Nueva York.” The woman hugs Miguel again as tears brim her eyes.

“Thank you so much. You truly are a good man Miguel.”

“Until next time!” He waved goodbye before leading you out of the store.

Miguel opened the door, letting you go first before making your way to the kitchen, setting the empanadas down on the counter. Miguel places both arms at your sides, trapping you against the counter. You turn to face him, leaning back a bit against the counter. Hands run up his chest and wrap around his neck. You run your hands through his hair as he leans his back, enjoying the sensation of your hands through his hair.

He leaned down, lips centimeters from yours. His gaze goes to your lips, his eyes starving for your touch. You give him a quick kiss.

“Let’s choose something to watch.”

“Yeah.” Miguel calms down his breathing before letting you go. The two of you grab an empanada and head to the living room as you get comfy on the couch, putting a blanket over the both of you. You rest your head against him.

Almost halfway into the movie, your gaze is directed toward Miguel as he stares ahead. He shifts slightly, uncomfortable. Your gaze falls down to his lap, where a tent appears. Sliding a hand to his lap, you pull down his sweats, setting him free as you give him a handjob.

Miguel’s head leans back, a groan escaping his lips.

“Y/n” You continue your movements as you feel your hand getting covered in precum.

“You like that?” You lean towards him as you kiss his neck towards his lips, where he hungrily captures yours.

“I need more of you, mi vida.” He groaned before removing the blanket. He grabbed you by the waist, sitting you on his lap as he ripped your panties off, thrusting himself fully into your wet folds.

“Those were my favorite.” You moaned out. A pout was on your face before Miguel captured your lips.

“I’ll buy you all the new pairs you want,” Miguel whispered into your ear as he thrust his hips into you.

“Miggy!” Your moans grew louder as his pace quickened, sending you into euphoria.

You awake from your bed in a sweaty state, your breath uneven. Sitting up from your bed, you place your head against your knee as you calm your heart. Why that memory again? You’ve had that same memory plague your dreams for the past week.

Looking at your phone, it was 8 am. You get up from your bed and go to the room next to you. Opening the door, you walk up to the small race car bed. Leaning down, you brush the dark brown hair from your son’s face and press a kiss to his forehead.

You watch his eyes flutter open, his big brown eyes tiredly staring at you.

“Good morning.” You say, gazing at your five-year-old as he wakes up. He jumps into your arms as you pick him up.

“Are you excited for today? It’s your first day of kindergarten!”

“Yes!” His arms went up in excitement. You set him down as you grab the outfit you prepared for him today. After the both of you got dressed, you went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

“What would you like?”

“Pancakes! With chocolate chips!”

“How about pancakes with blueberries? Make it a bit healthier.” You suggest as you already begin making the batter.

“I love blueberries!” He cheered.

You place the small pancakes in front of him as you finish getting ready in your room. After you finish putting on your makeup, you see your son walk in with a face covered with syrup. You chuckle at the cute site as you get up and bring her to the bathroom to wipe her face and hands.

“Mommy, can you do my hair how I like it?”

“Of course!”

You set her on the bathroom counter as you brush his hair. You combed your fingers through his hair. You look at him through the mirror. Distinct brown hair and eyes. Warm honey-toned skin. He was the spitting image of his father.

It’s been almost six years since you last saw him. Ever since that fateful day, you wonder if you made the right decision. But he made it clear to you.

“Mommy?” You’re brought out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, sweetie.” You finish the combing his hair. You grab your purse and his brand-new fire truck backpack. Grabbing his hand, you walk out the door and towards the school.

Arriving at the school, you walk through the front doors to his classroom. You see the other 5-year-olds entering the classroom or clinging to their parents. Arriving at the door, you see the teacher come out.

“Hi! My name is Ms. Williams. And who might this be?”

“This is Mateo (L/n). Say hi, Mateo.” You say to your son, who clings to you. Hiding his face behind your leg.

“Hi.” Mateo slowly waves to the teacher. Ms. Williams holds out her hand toward Mateo. Mateo looks up to you as you smile.

“It’s ok, Mateo. Go make some friends. Mommy will be here to pick you up in a few hours.”

“Promise?” He holds his pinky out to you, which you hook with yours.

“Promise.” Mateo smiles at you before taking his teacher’s hand, walking him into the room. He turned to wave goodbye before disappearing into the room.

A tear escapes you as you wipe it away. You couldn’t believe he was already 5. It went by so fast.

After drying your tears, you make it back to your apartment. Sitting at your desk in your bedroom, you stare at the drafted article before you. Since you quit Spider Society, you got your job back as a journalist.

Your mind drifts off from the work before you.

Sitting on the edge of the toilet seat, you stare down at the small object in your hands.

Two lines. These two lines answer the question that was in the back of your mind all day.

You were pregnant. Your body jumps up when you hear someone walk into the bathroom. Unlocking the door to the stall, you quickly wash your hands and clean off the stick before hiding it in a secret pocket of your spider suit.

A beep from your watch tells you to go to Miguel’s office. Miguel… what would he think? You rush out of the bathroom and towards his office.

Ben Reilly and Jess are talking with Miguel about a mission. Standing next to Miguel as he continues talking. However, everything he said was unheard as your thoughts raced.

“Y/n?” You came back to reality as Miguel placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Yep! Understood.” You say, hoping he didn’t notice you drifting off into space. Miguel dismisses Ben and Jess as he turns to face you.

“Is everything ok?” His eyes grew concerned as you weren’t your usual happy self. You decided not to tell him yet. You were too nervous to tell him. Since movie night, Miguel has been nonstop busy and stressed from work. You didn’t feel you should stress him out more with your news.

And it’s only been 6 months since you started dating. You didn’t know if he wanted children, especially after what happened to his daughter.

“Yeah! I’m good. Just tired. So my mind is a bit off.”

“How about you go home and rest. I’ll do the mission with Jess and Ben.”

“It’s ok. I can still go on the mission.” You try to reason with him.

“No mi amor. Go home and rest. I don’t want you getting hurt on the mission if you’re tired.” You decided to listen to him as he would not change his mind.

“Ok, fine. See you later tonight.�� You give him a kiss before saying goodbye.

…

“You’re 2 months pregnant.”

The doctor’s words shocked you. You didn’t think you were that far along. It’s only been two weeks since you found out you were pregnant.

After leaving the doctor’s office, you head back to HQ. Going to the doctor at HQ was free, but you knew word would get back to Miguel, as everyone knew you two were in a relationship.

Spider HQ felt off today as barely anyone was here. You go to Miguel’s office but find all the lights turned off except one of his monitors.

Miguel sat in his chair, his head resting in his hand. He looked so sad. You never had seen him this way before.

“Miguel?” You walk closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. You look at the monitor. It was a video of him and his daughter.

“Y/n? I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

“I wasn’t. But I’ve barely seen you for the past two weeks. I wanted to just check in on you.” He moved his chair to face you. As he opens his arms to you, you sit in his lap. Wrapping his arms tight around you, he nestled his head in your neck. You comb your fingers through his hair to help comfort him.

“Today’s her birthday.” He mumbled against your skin. His words clenched at your heart.

“Miguel…” You lifted his chin to look at you as you softly caressed his cheek. He leans into your hand, looking at you with red eyes. Not his normal ruby red, but red from tears.

“She would have been ten this year.” A tear slipped from his eye, trailing down his cheek, which you gently wiped away. You never have seen him in such a vulnerable state before. It made your heart break seeing him like this.

Would it be ok to tell him now about the pregnancy? To try and lift his spirits? Maybe it was too sudden. It was Gabriella’s birthday, after all.

“The thought of having another child is unbearable. I couldn’t handle the pain again if something happened.”

His words shattered you. He didn’t want to have more kids. You placed a hand on your stomach. It would be pointless to tell him. He didn’t want to be a father again.

His watch suddenly beeped, indicating that there was an anomaly he needed to deal with.

“Maybe you should let someone else do the mission.” You got up from his lap as he continued to sit in the chair.

“No, I’ll do it. He stands from his chair as he opens the portal. Before he leaves, you gently grab his arm.

“I can go with you.” He smiles at you as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m going to do this one myself, Hermosa.”

“Oh, ok. Be safe.” You say before he walks into the portal.

…

You gaze at the surroundings of HQ, seeing various spiders interacting with one another. Ever since Gabriella’s birthday, you’ve barely seen Miguel. He buried himself in work. You tried several times to see him, but he was so distant from you that you decided to stop visiting him.

That was a month ago. Now 3 months pregnant, you have a baby bump, so when you came into HQ today, you decided to wear casual clothes that hid your bump. For what you’re about to do. You didn’t want anyone to know, especially Miguel.

Anxiety blossomed at the bottom of your stomach as you walked to his office. Were you being selfish? Maybe you should wait until he’s better. But time would run out in 6 months, and you didn’t want to face the truth of him rejecting his child. You wouldn’t be able to bear it.

You reach his office, where he talks to Peter B. and Jess about past missions. The three turn when they notice your presence.

“Y/n! It’s been so long! You’ve barely been to HQ this past month!” Said Peter as he went to hug you. You quickly give him a side hug so he wouldn’t find out your little secret. Peter gave you a confused look at your gesture but decided to ignore it.

Your gaze shifts to Miguel as he looks back at you. He’s barely seen you this month. Longer even.

“Jess, Peter. Is it ok if I talk privately with Miguel for a few minutes?” Your serious tone makes the two briefly look at Miguel and back at you before leaving his office.

Miguel walks up to you and places his hands around your waist.

“Is everything alright, cariño?” His gaze turned serious when you didn’t wrap your arms around him like you used to. Bile felt like it was threatening to come out of your throat. Not from the pregnancy. But what you were dreading telling him the past few days.

“I’m quitting Spider Society.” His eyes widened slightly before worry and confusion replaced them.

“What for?”

“Other life commitments need my attention back in my universe.”

“Like what?” He pushed you to tell him.

“Just other things.” You can see hurt in his eyes by your answer.

“You don’t have to quit. You can take a break if you need it.” He suggested.

“No, I’m sure of my decision.”

“Fine. But we’ll talk about it later. I don’t think you should quit. You’re an amazing Spiderwoman. I’ll come over after work with some food.” He wasn’t happy about your answer, but he let it slide.

“Miguel…” His heart dropped when you moved out of his arms.

“I have loved every second we’ve spent together…”

“Y/n?” You held up your hand to stop him from talking to let you finish. Tears began to threaten to spill out.

“But our lives are starting to go in different directions. I think we should stop seeing each other.” Tears spilled down your cheeks as you saw how hurt he looked. You felt terrible.

“Mi amor…” He tries to caress your cheek, but you move your face away, breaking him further.

“It’s for the best, Miguel. I hope you find someone who brings you happiness and love.” You turn away from him. But he grabs you by the arm and pulls you into an embrace. He kisses gently up your neck.

“You brought me that. I’ve never been happier in my life when I’m with you. Please don’t leave me.”

You wanted to melt into his arms and forget everything you said. But you couldn’t let your guard down. Removing his arms from your waist, you walk away from him. You turn to look at him one more time.

“Goodbye, Miguel.”

Tears fall onto your computer as you relive those memories. Even after five years, the look in his eyes broke you. Your heart still aches for him. There were times when you thought of reaching out. But you remembered he never came to your universe to fight for you both. To say he wouldn’t accept you breaking up with him.

You knew you told him it was over. But you still hoped he would run after you. Looking at the time on your computer, you realize you need to pick up Mateo.

You wipe your tears before grabbing your wallet, phone, and keys. As you were about to open the door, you heard a knock. Your spider-sense was going off, which you didn’t know why.

Slowly you open the door. The air from your lungs briefly left you as you dropped everything in your hand.

“Miguel?”

____________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed it.🥰

[lakesbian]

@simurghed ok here are some miscellaneous nothing thoughts ive had about undersiders team vacation for you. this is my purest form of autism theres literally nothing interesting under this post just a lot of words of me sticking undersiders into situations. thats not intended as self deprecation just fair warning

if they went in a cave where the tour guide is like "DO NOT TOUCH ANY CAVE FORMATIONS or they will BE DESTROYED, FOREVER, after THOUSANDS OF YEARS OF BEAUTIFUL EXISTENCE" brian would immediately proceed to spend the entire tour staring at aisha and alec instead of looking at the rocks and shit and preparing to grab them if either of them attempts to touch a cave formation. alec would accidentally set his hand on one w/o realizing while huffing and puffing his way up stairs or a steep incline but he would be walking behind the rest of the team so no one would notice and he would pretend it didn't happen

brian accidentally slams his forehead into top of low tunnel everyone is walking through and swears for like 20 continuous seconds and then has to go sit somewhere with an ice pack and the entire time hes like I bet aisha and alec are touching so many fucking cave formations right now.

if the undersiders went on a hike or something where there were like. Ledges. over Long Drops. aisha would without doubt go stand on them and dick around in a spry 13yo manner and it would freak brian out so much he would yell Aisha Middle Name Laborn Get Your Ass The FUCK Down From There!!!!! and then she would pretend to be startled like she was about to fall off for a moment and he would almost have a heart attack and he would be so mad for the entire rest of the day and not let her off the trail at all and keep glaring at her

if they went to a beach they could all wear cute little swimsuits...taylor would have a full bodysuit (dark gray) but mostly just spend time sitting in a chair reading. rachie wouldnt wear a swimsuit but she would just take her dogs up and down the beach on walks in normal clothes and maybe get a bit damp anyway. brian would wear swim trunks and a long-sleeved top because he also feels uncomfortable having too much skin exposed but, like, more quietly. aisha is wearing a purple tankini with one of brians giant t-shirts over top. voluntarily, to be clear, ifeel like someone might misinterpret this as "brian made her" but shes doing that on purpose. i also think she has at least one "nightgown" that is fully a massive shirt stolen from brian but thats besides the point. lisa is wearing a purple bikini with one of those like. flowy half-skirts tied around the bottom. and alec is wearing girls swim shorts and one of those sheer white swim cover tops youre supposed to take off before you get in the water except he's not taking it off

aisha keeps pestering alec to go swimming with her and he's like sure ok and lets her drag him in. and then almost drowns because he doesn't know how to swim and figured he could just "wing it." brian has to dredge him out and he spends several minutes coughing up seawater sopping wet style while brian takes the opportunity to lecture about how he's stupid. and then he spends the next half hour after that complaining about how there is Sand up his Buttcrack.

aisha and alec spend literally like over half an hour just standing next to taylors chair pestering her to make a crab rave happen. she tries to ask lisa for back-up but lisa says she also wants to see the crab rave. so it happens. very clandestinely with only a few crabs.

aisha demands a ride on brian's shoulders into the ocean. he obliges. alec demands to get to go next. he is denied, because brian thinks it would be kind of gay. he doesn't say that, but it's what he's thinking.

i think they should get to have the most miserable time on the planet all waiting for their turns to shower off in the hotel room after going swimming. reasonably they would have multiple rooms but i like to envision theres only one and everyone is shivering and holding malicious intent towards whoever is actively in the shower. they make alec go last because they know how he is with long showers and he just kind of sits tragically on the entry tile in a slowly collecting puddle of sandy water and stares into space looking haunted and intermittently shivering

undersiders trip to history museum. undersiders trip to preserved historical building. undersiders trip to preserved fancy mansion. ive posted about this one before but both alec and brian are enjoying it (for different reasons) while aisha HATES it and it's freaking all three of them out a little. alec is performatively trying to pretend he also thinks it's lame because he's (largely platonically) whipped but then he turns around and asks the tour guide an actual question and he and aisha both know that in this moment he has betrayed and abandoned her. they reconcile via shared advocacy for ice cream afterwards

alec vasil hot and tired of walking frow up incident, no deaths, intense injury to one boy's pride and also his shoes

brian laborns intense and immense joy over getting to organize and use the contents of his cargo shorts

the incredible drama of brian laborn trying to parallel park the van in a really tight spot while lisa and taylor both play unwanted spotter for him and he's like Please. just Let me Concentr-. Just let me do what i need to do just be quiet for a minute . they do stop talking for a minute, during which aisha takes the opportunity to start making fart noises

rachel lindt is fitting so many ouppie dogs in the van and theyre just kind of ferreting between everyones legs and climbing onto laps to stick their heads out the windows and shit. this starts off as something everyone but rachel is mad about but settles into a more amenable cuddle pile situation

undersiders go to aquarium or zoo....zoo would be more fun to witness because alec would complain about it being hot + smelling bad the whole time. lisa has the intelligent idea to quiet him with a blue raspberry slushie

speaking of lisa you know shes going into this entire thing like Taylor Specifically has to have the most funnest specialest time ever. shes always like "ok ill read some dinner options off the phone :)" and then all 5 of them are things taylor specifically would love. and so on and so forth.

alec vasil spotted wandering lost and ghostlike in the modern art gallery

i could go on

[nyimasu]

─── WISTERIA, LUST, BLACK DRAGON

🀦. BLOSSOMS OF INK, INDEX

SYNOPSIS — Getо̄ and Gojо̄ are business partners and opened a studio together in the middle of Tokyo. You are one of their most loyal clients, especially since Shoko is a friend in common. One day, you finally decide on getting a tattoo, and that's where the magic happens: under Suguru's more than capable hands.

The rest is history.

CONTENT WARNING! — tattoo artist!getо̄ au, afab!reader (female anatomy and long, curly hair + tattoos), you're smitten with him as he is with you, mutual pining, gojо̄ is his own warning -> nipple piercing, toji is wearing a maid dress due to a bet he lost, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), multiple positions, cock piercing (getо̄), hair pulling, lots of pet names | WORD COUNT — 8.7k ( ao3 link )

ANYA'S CORNER—this series is my creature and I'm so proud of it that I want to post all three parts on tumblr again aw there's lots more for you to find out about this slice of universe I created from scratches, so stick around if you want to ehe Hope you like this and see you soon!

The needles penetrating your skin didn’t hurt at all.

They went back and forth on your body without being too invasive, even though you were getting a tattoo in one of the most sensible spots of the human body.

The lack of pain was all thanks to the delicate touch of the young man who was holding the little machine, his face half covered by a black mask.

Your best friend had already taken her leave the moment she realised her presence was unnecessary (much to your complaint): according to what she had whispered before waving bye, she really thought the artist was into you since the first moment you walked into the studio to discuss with him about the tattoo.

Now that you were all alone with him, you could totally understand Shoko's words. And they rang in the back of your head whenever you locked eyes with the long-haired boy, the intensity in its gaze as sharp as the edge of a knife. As if it wasn’t enough, you assumed the girl set up a sort of blind date with him, since you and the boy had her as a common friend.

You even found yourself gulping several times.

Oh heart of mine, be still you repeated in your head every time he looked at you.

«How’s going?» he asked while wiping the excess ink off the expanse of skin he was working on, «I noticed you tensed a bit when I got close to the back.»

«It’s going great! Oh, it's because my back has always been sensitive but don't worry. I thought I’d be in much more pain than I actually am, so thank you for everything.»

«No problem. Working on someone as stunning as you is never a bother, petal.»

You both froze at the same time. The pet name he’d just called you with should’ve made you uncomfortable, but it didn’t. Rather, you were sure your cheeks raised straightaway at that, and you cursed your shyness for showing your true colours so soon.

He has complimented you with ease, such a feeling that had never really belonged to you. And that was one of the reasons why you never had many relationships.

You’ve never been good at reading between the lines, either, but something in the way he said it suggested you to do so.

Maybe Geto Suguru wasn’t as subtle as Shoko declared him to be. That sleep-deprived fox really set you up.

«T-thanks, you’re too kind.»

«That’s not something I get to hear very often. I thank you for saying so» the low buzzing of the tattoo machine soothed your ears once again, «may I?»

Your eyes found him looking at your braid, asking for permission to move it aside. You nodded, shivering the moment his form came into frame and his gloved hand brushed against your abused skin. He gently pushed the braid away and you imagined his mischievous lips stretching into a smile behind the mask.

Damn, he really was handsome.

«There we go. If you wait a bit longer, your tattoo will be done and you can get up to stretch a bit.»

Since you were laying down on your right side, the tattoo artist had to lean over you, almost half resting his weight on you. The moment he took position again, you couldn't do anything else but take peaks at him now and then.

Yep, he still was horribly handsome and the fact he had prettier hair than yours aggravated your mood even more.

You deserved to have straight, long and healthy hair too. You got stuck with a long one, yes, but it was really curly and difficult to manage. Braids were one of the few methods to keep it at bay.

Suguru’s hair reflected the artificial light above him, strands of lush pitch-black silk akin to a panther's mantle possessively caressing his high cheekbones and then down, ending right in the middle of his broad back.

And his eyes… wow.

There was nothing to say about them but being careful not to lose every fragment of your psyche into their depth.

The sound of the tattoo machine prevailed over your thoughts and you finally raised your head to let it rest against your right arm. The professional bed you were laying on was very comfortable, so it was no big deal staying still while Geto's hands worked wonders on you.

The needles started to work on the rib cage some minutes later, and their sudden attack in such a soft spot had your muscles stiffening.

Nothing serious, but it took you off guard.

«I know it hurts like a bitch, but try to hang on tight, okay? You’ve been doing amazing so far. Actually, if I have to be honest with you, you’re one of the few clients I made tattoos for that never complained about the pain. You're a tough one.»

«I have a very high pain tolerance» you explained once your jaw unclenched, «and this is not the first tattoo I got in a sensible spot. I’m used to it.»

«Oh? Do you have others? Where?»

«You haven’t seen them yet? What a liar.»

Geto’s cheeks rose and you've never wanted to see his dimples as much as you did at that moment. Stupid mask.

Girl, what got into you today? Get a grip.

He was now staring right into your soul and you took advantage of the situation to get a better look at his half-hidden face. Despite the annoying obstacle, you could clearly see the contrast between the devilish and unbothered aura surrounding his form and the slightest hint of fatigue under his eyes. You thought it'd be so easy to stretch out a hand and caress that annoying nuance awa-

«I was too busy looking at your face, petal. I have a better look at a girl’s body after I've been on a few dates with her, but I can make an exception with you if you want.»

Now it was your turn to giggle and you couldn’t know it, but the way your nose scrunched and your eyes turned into a pair of half moons every time you laughed melted what was left of those thick ice barriers Suguru had erected around his heart, right after the ugly breakup he went through.

He also knew you had a habit of bringing a hand on your mouth to hide it but, given the circumstance you were currently in, he watched as you just inhaled to calm yourself.

The most beautiful creature his eyes ever had the privilege to lay on.

«I wouldn’t mind going on a date with you, you know.»

«You what-» the artist started but as soon as he put down the tattoo machine, your fingers chased after a strand of his hair.

It had been as natural as breathing.

Once they were wrapped around it, you tucked the strand behind his ear with such elegance that the boy was scared you might hear his heart skip a beat.

He acted all tough and badass around his friends/coworkers, but if pretty people touched him… well, he could fall apart right away.

The smile you put on after he got closer was self-explanatory.

You were the most clueless human being that ever walked on Earth. However, if you caught the signals at the right time, you turned into a completely different person.

Suguru was starting to see it with his own eyes.

You exuded charisma and eroticism with everything you did or said, especially when you stared at him through the fan of your lashes. Geto had always felt weak in the knees for gorgeous souls like you.

He loved it.

«Well, if you say so then I wouldn’t mind inviting you to my place for a drink tonight. Don’t look at me like that!» he shook his head after seeing the sceptical look on your face.

«I’m not that kind of person. Consent and respect are what I look for in everything, whether it is a nightstand or not. Think about it.»

And you did, even after you got up from the bed after six hours spent laying down in the tattoo studio right at the centre of Tokyo.

Suguru plopped on the chair close to the counter for a few minutes, cracking both his hands and neck to relieve some soreness accumulated during the day.

Without looking away from you, of course.

There was a hint of possessiveness in his eyes, maybe because the tattoo turned out to be even more beautiful than the draft you both created.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were only wearing a lace bra and high-waisted pants.

Whatever the reason was, he couldn’t bring himself to shift attention to other stuff.

You, on the other hand, were completely oblivious to his thoughts. How could you be when the complex design of the permanent masterpiece in the mirror was staring back at you?

Wisteria was blooming right under your breast, covering half of the rib cage just to end right at the end of the right elbow, its branches taking a huge portion of your skin in a warming and inspirational hug.

«This is beautiful!» you screamed in excitement, eyes meeting him through the mirror.

«I’m sorry I took away a day of work from you. I’ll make sure I make up for it tonight.»

His eyebrows flew upward and you winked.

I won this round, my dear tattoo artist.

«I thought I’d already told you not to worry about it. But I'm impressed: you went through a very long session and you’re not even remotely fazed by it.

And yes, the tattoo turned out pretty good. I’m glad you love it.

Oh» he grabbed the ointment on the counter and walked back to you, «sit here. Yes, perfect. Let me apply some lotion all over the tattoo before you go. We don’t want it to get infected, do we?»

You propped yourself on an elbow to help Geto out the best you could until he was done.

«Thank you again.»

«Thank you to you, petal.» he finally took off his gloves and mask and threw them in the trash can.

And only then you internally sighed.

Finally free of anything that might hide his beauty, his face caressed by the fading sun rays, he was even more beautiful.

He looked like an ethereal being with the same elegance of a hunting panther.

The aforementioned was patiently waiting for you to dress again, eventually proceeding to escort you outside.

You two were so close that his hot breath fanned over your face. As you handed him the money, he bent forward and your fingers touched for a brief moment.

Again, he had no business being the most perfect man you ever seen. And those fingers were a dangerous temptation. Only to think he'd been onto you but at the same time didn’t almost drove you crazy.

You wanted to feel him everywhere.

The sudden urge to thrust a hand in his hair helped you snap out of it, your digits still mid-air after he took the money.

«I can come back here tonight for closing time. Is that okay for you?»

«Absolutely yes. And by the way, I already found one of your other tattoos.»

Before you could even reply, his plump lips were on your neck. Specifically, behind your ear.

Right where the tattoo of a rose had taken its place three years prior.

Shook by the abrupt intimacy, you tried to step away, but one of his arms encircled your waist.

«Don’t.»

You were a breath away from drooling when his forehead crashed onto yours, his body taut under the soft fabric of the sweater he was wearing. Much to your displeasure, his tattoos were all hidden by it today, but the hair was in full display. Yet fascinated by it, you raised a hand to rub another strand when other thoughts got in the way.

«May I?»

The boy complied, even though he didn’t know what you had in mind. Escaping his grip, you took off one of the hairbands on your wrist and used it to tie his hair into a man bun, the front strands framing his high cheekbones.

Geto enjoyed how delicate your touch was, but his eyes rolled in the back of the head when you accidentally pulled his hair to fix it.

«Uhm.»

You looked over to see what happened... only to find his eyes half lidded, lips parted to let out a muffled groan. The sound went straight between your legs, but you quickly got a grip on yourself and pressed a kiss on his jawline.

«See you tonight, then.»

Retrieving your bag from the sofa, you turned around to see the artist resting his head against the wall, the glossiness of his hair enticing beyond words.

He didn’t say anything back, just placed a thumb over your lower lip when you were within reach again. Then, making little circles on it, he licked his own.

«I can’t wait to find where your other tattoos are, you naughty thing.»

Your tongue playfully touched the tip of his thumb and he smirked.

You eventually gave in and admitted that there was so much sexual tension you could feel it in every gesture that elapsed between you two.

What was wrong with finding out where that hunger could lead you to?

Of course you did forget about something while on your way back to the tattoo studio. You always lived in your own world, but that day you’d really outdone yourself.

«Damn it.» you muttered to yourself half kicking the street half punching the air.

You had spent the last four hours getting ready for the date, looking for the best outfit -only to end up wearing the same jeans you had before and a cute crop top- and what food you wanted to bring at Suguru’s place because let’s be honest: you didn’t want to get drunk on an empty stomach. You tended to be extremely clingy if super tipsy, so food was needed.

But your forgetful ass left it right on the table.

Carefully wrapped and all.

The neon lights of the modest sign outside Geto’s studio were still on. The boy seemed still in the middle of a session with another client, so you decided to both wait for him and kill some time by running towards the nearest convenience store.

Priorities first.

Food.

Ten minutes later you were walking out of there, zaru soba and onigiris in a bag and heart slamming against your chest. You knew for sure it was the artist’s favourite food because every time you stayed over at his studio to work on the tattoo, especially during meal time, he ordered zaru soba for both of you.

It was time for you to pay him back for everything, starting from that.

Feeling as if someone was watching you, your eyes searched for the source of your wariness and found it a few metres away.

The dark-haired boy was waiting for you, a shoulder leaned against the studio’s outside wall. Hair still tied in the manbun, he had looked up from his phone again to stare at you and bam, your mind collapsed onto itself.

He got more and more beautiful with every encounter of yours, and it hadn't even been five hours since the last one.

To say it wasn’t fair would’ve been an understatement.

«Hello, petal. I saw you coming, but you were already heading to the convenience store before I could tell you I was ready, so I waited here. What did you buy?»

«Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were still working so I left for a while.

But look!» you leaned forward to let him see what you had in the bag.

«Since I know you skip your meals if you’re hella busy, I thought it’d be nice to have something to eat after work.

Onigiri?»

Suguru’s smile grew into a much bigger one and accepted the rice ball. If he hadn’t already been head over heels for you, he definitely would've started from then.

After leaning closer to your outstretched hand, he bit the ball of rice still in your hand and a little sigh of pleasure graced his lips. He hadn’t eaten in hours, so he was glad you brought something to munch on while heading to his place.

Before Geto could do anything else, however, a high-pitched scream coming from inside the studio had both you and him almost jump out of your skin.

What the heck was happening there?

«Did someone hit their foot or something?» worried and bit out of your mind — Suguru just ate half onigiri off your hand with lust possessively caressing his pupils —, you welcomed that heaven-sent distraction and crooked your head towards the open front door.

And a startled laugh erupted from your chest right away.

Geto Suguru’s best friend and business partner Gojo Satoru was currently quarrelling with a man dressed in a maid dress, and you realised it was the latter who yelled. And rightfully so, because Satoru had had the brilliant idea to slap the other man’s ass as soon as he had crouched down to pick up a trash bag.

Mind you, the skirt did nothing to cover his flesh.

«Leave me the fuck alone, Gojo.»

«Why would I? You lost the bet with me and Megumi, so suck it up. Punishment fits the crime.

You’ll have to clean the studio with this cute outfit on for the rest of the week, and I can do whatever I want with you.»

The shorter man went to hit Gojo with the plastic bag across the head, but stopped when your giggles filled the air. The poisonous words he was about to spit on him died out in his throat, and he turned alongside Gojo to make out who you were.

It was Satoru that clapped his hands together, the faintest hint of jest mixed with masculine pride tilting his lips upward as he looked up and down at you.

«Good evening, beautiful. Do you have an appointment? I’ll be ready in a sec.»

«I’m sorry, I don’t have one. I-» what were you going to say, anyway? That you accidentally eavesdropped their conversation while the tattoo artist behind you was about to suck your fingers?

Luckily to you, the man with shreds of light in his eyes and snowy hair preceded you, his elbows resting against the counter close to Geto’s workplace as his front faced yours.

«No need to worry about Toji over here. He looks as if he hates me, but he doesn't. I’m actually convinced he fancies me one tiny bit.

Oi, is that a new tattoo? Did you get it today?»

The other man briefly waved at you, then flipped off Gojo and walked away. He couldn’t disappear in the back of the place faster than he did, sighing profusely that “he was going to have a looong conversation with both Megumi and Gojo once he returned the dress to Tsumiki.”

«What? Ah», you laughed again once you followed his eyes on your right arm. «I did. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?»

«Stunning.» for a moment you thought he wasn’t talking about the tattoo at all, but like you’ve already said, you weren’t that quick at taking hints when it came to flirting. Not if you were too shy to reciprocate.

And right now, your mind was set on another equally gorgeous and talented man.

So you brushed off the compliment with a polite smile as you stared at his pectorals. More specifically, the erected buds brushing against the thin fabric of the shirt.

Hold on, it wasn’t just nipples. Oh my God.

This time it was Satoru who figured out what you were looking at and smirked, the action highlighting the tiny metal bars hiding under the garment.

«Hey, wanna come in? Even if you don’t have an appointment it’s fine. I might even give you a discount.» he straightened his back and slowly made his way towards you. At that your feet moved backward on their own accord. Out of instinct.

For he was akin to a hungry predator ready to jump on his prey the moment he felt your blood rushing more and more to your racing heart.

«I think an orbital would suit your ears the best. Or a tongue piercing, maybe?»

Suddenly the smell of cigarettes hit your nostrils, soon followed by the curtain of white smoke spreading behind you.

«Back off, Satoru. She’s with me.»

The piercing artist halted before he could cup your face and met Suguru’s gaze above your head. Pouting as his eyes trailed down your body one last time, he stepped back and raised his hands in defeat. Feigning faux guilt, of course.

«I know. I could recognise your style everywhere and you only had one client who requested a tattoo of a wisteria on the right arm.

Just wanted to make sure she was more into you than me, and she is. Usually people fall at my feet in less than three seconds when I give them the bedroom eyes, but she didn’t bulge one bit. Congratulations.»

«You’re such a slut.»

You couldn’t help but grin at that, watching the two men coming back at one another’s throat with delight filling your mind. They were two peas in a pod.

«Okay petal, time to go.» firm was Suguru’s grip on you when he wrapped his arm around your waist, and you let him with a little yelp.

If he wanted, he could’ve lifted you off the ground with a single hand.

«Have fun guys. Oh!»

With one hand strategically placed on Geto’s face, distancing him enough to prevent him from hearing what Gojo was about to whisper in your ear.

And when he did, you were glad Geto was holding you.

Ten minutes later you were taking a walk with the tattoo artist because, according to the boy, his flat wasn’t that far from the studio. So you followed his lead, eating and talking about a lot of topics… except the one Gojo asked you to keep for yourself until you and Suguru were home. You still couldn’t believe what that flirty man had confessed.

However, now you were discussing fashion while a tuna onigiri stuffed your cheeks.

«You wear harnesses everyday and you’re coming for my style? Are you serious? You’re wearing one even now, the hell.»

«Of course I am. And for the record, I’m not the one here who wears revealing clothes 24/7.»

«I beg your pardon?»

You were getting all worked up over the crop top ‒ which wasn’t gauzy, bloody hell ‒ when he suddenly stopped. You were both facing the door of what you supposed was the boy’s place.

After he opened the door, you expected him to walk in and welcome you in the flat. Wrong, because he first looked at you, then a half-whispered confession escaped his lips that you heard anyway.

«But I’ve never said I was mad about it. I have a thing for see-through clothes.»

«I swear to God, if you don’t stop-»

His words cut through your rambling. «What? What do you want to do to me?»

He didn't give you time to prepare yourself because practised, long fingers rested behind your neck as he pulled you in for a sudden yet hasty kiss that soon turned your knees into jelly.

You soon obliged in consent to let him deepen the kiss, his tongue chasing yours as his fingers wrapped around the back of your thighs. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hadn’t even realised you were inside his apartment already until you saw a black couch behind his back.

Alas, his plans all went down the drain when a dark grey fluffy ball mewled against his leg to get his attention. You laughed in the kiss, seeing how desperate that cutie was acting to get some attention.

Suguru’s eyes locked with the Nebelung cat and groaned. «Nen, you little troublemaker. It’s half past midnight and you’re still up. Don’t you see we have a lady tonight? I have to take good care of her.»

Nen apparently wasn’t having any of it tonight because she mewled again at the owner and walked towards the bowl.

Oh, her Majesty was hungry.

«Go», you chuckled as you untangled your legs from his distressed form «I’m not going anywhere. And if I recall, you promised me a drink earlier.»

He rolled his eyes, scolding Nen for interrupting even after he had crouched down to feed the beautiful long-haired cat.

As the not-so-tough artist fetched two wine glasses and placed them onto the table to pour red wine, you came to stand next to him with a toothy smile and grabby hands.

You were an instant boost of serotonin that kicked into his veins, and he couldn’t really wrap his head around the idea you could be both so hot and cute at the same time.

His thoughts exactly reflected yours, although you were quite sure he didn’t know how much his beauty, aura and personality impacted others. He was so, so gorgeous inside and outside, yet he still struggled to let his truest self emerge.

«You were planning on getting me drunk without eating anything first, didn’t you? But I read through your schemes, Geto Suguru.» a shiver ran down his spine when you said his name.

«I’m not that naive.»

«Ouch. What made you think so bad of me, petal?»

You giggled, the braid swinging against your spine and fingers on the black harness around his thigh. He hadn’t noticed it yet, your clueless and sexy tattoo artist.

Mine you repeated that single word to yourself like a mantra, jolts of confidence radiating through your entire system.

God, he really was a sight to see.

«I’m messing with you.» you took a sip of the thick liquid and leaned against the kitchen counter for support, «wow, this tastes amazing.»

«I’m sure you taste even better.»

For the first time in a while, butterflies fluttered in your stomach. Tilting your head up, you put down the glass behind you and locked eyes with him.

«You believe so?»

«Uhm-uhm.» his fingers were once again on you, but this time they were after the braid. When he finally undid and brought it forward, curls landed on your chest. A soft chuckle left his throat, fingertips playing with your curls as his eyes devoured yours.

Breath stuck in your throat, you watched as he finished the drink in his other hand and oh my God, wetness had pooled in your panties already.

And he did the bare minimum to turn you on.

You were whipped for this man and Geto could tell it as well by the way you bit your lower lip while staring at his plump ones.

«Shoko really set us up in the best way possible.»

«Well, as they say: the devil works hard, but she really works harde-

Ah.» you whimpered, bracing yourself on the counter with Suguru’s digits now tracing the wisteria on your arm with delicate touches. He then proceeded to go down, until his fingers tugged at the hem of your top… and that’s when you clicked your tongue.

«You’ve already seen me half-naked plenty of times. It’s about time I see you taking off your clothes first.»

With a snort he broke away, but stayed close enough for you to feel his thighs twitch against yours.

«Deal, but I haven’t seen all of your tattoos yet.»

«You will soon enough.» was your response before taking in how he impatiently got rid of the black sweater. It landed on the floor, close enough to land where Nen’s kennel was. However, the little girl was nowhere to be seen. You went to ask where she was when Geto motioned you to look behind your back.

And you saw her sleeping soundly on the couch.

«The queen is sleeping there. We might as well go to my bedroom, mmh?»

You nodded and for a moment you almost forgot about your partner’s semi-nudity. Or Gojo’s words.

Yeah, almost.

Because the sight of the monochromatic dragon adorning the entire left side of his body seared into your brain. You’ve always seen part of it before, but now it was displayed on his flawless skin for you to explore with your eyes, your fingers.

Your lips.

He walked past the counter and his bare back held other tattoos, such as the lotus flower behind the neck, or the complex design of a sleeve on his left arm. All while Satoru’s words boomed in your brain like thunder bolts just crossed the sky.

Oh man, you weren’t going to make it out alive tonight.

Feeling your eyes consuming him, Geto’s tongue licked yet again his lower lip, but you tore your eyes away from his bare chest out of sheer despair and left in a hurry. He caught up in no time, taking your hand and guiding you to the right room.

«I love that look on your face. You see my tattoos and get all flustered. It shows I got under your skin just as much as you got under mine.»

He didn’t want to let you catch a breath or see how nice or tidy the bedroom was, considering how eager he was. His prominent erection against your back and the way he subtly bucked his hips up to yours to edge you spoke volumes about what he wanted at the moment.

You, falling apart under him.

Somehow, you managed to stay on your own feet in spite of his fingers yanking your jeans past the hip bones and then down, right where you were already taking care of the shoes. It didn’t take long for him to help you discard them and, while you kicked the piece of fabric and the boots out of the way, your index and thumb unleashed his hair.

Silk strands grazing both your faces, you gave yourself no time to dwell on it: still with your back on him, you shoved one of your hands among his locks to pull at the roots and grinded on him.

Eye for an eye, angel.

He moaned in your ear, something that has never happened with any of the male partners you had before. They thought it was too “girly”.

Bullshit.

Boys who groaned in their lovers’ ears were fucking hot.

«Fuck. I’ve never said you could call the shots, though.»

«I-» he cut you off again, tilting your head up to let your lips meet again. This time the kiss was as rough as the man fondling your breast still embraced by the crop top. As if you shared one mind, Suguru grabbed it and almost tore both open.

Action that earned him another pull at his hair.

«Careful» he breathed in your mouth, «or I won’t be gentle.»

«I’ve never asked you to.»

“You’re his petal, are you? Then listen to me: there's more to this than meets the eye when Suguru is involved, ‘kay? Buuuut, you’re in for a very big surprise with him. You see…”

Before he could stop you, your knees hit the carpet with a thud. After spinning so that you were now facing the crotch of his black cargo pants, he shook his head.

«Is this your idea of ‘making up’, petal?»

«Complaining already? I thought all boys loved good head.» staring back at him, a pout already gracing your bruised lips, Geto sat at the edge of the bed. Then he watched as you crawled on the carpet on all fours, drinking in the view of your half-naked body.

«I'm not like any other man you've encountered.»

No, he really wasn't.

As you shrugged, he finally caught a glimpse of your other tattoos: leaving the rose aside, the outline of a black snake on your thigh captured his attention right away. It was beautiful, its design and realisation something only a skilled tattoo artist could pull off without ruining the final outcome. A woman had worked and executed the tattoo, there was no doubt about it. Generally speaking, women were more detail-centred than men were, and that was the case with the tattoo.

He wasn’t the type to judge girls for what they decided to get on their skin. How could he, when it was literally his job to please them in that way?

Many uncultured, hypocrite people -namely men hidden behind their fragile ego and toxic masculinity- would’ve considered your tattoos too “aggressive” or “the best way to turn off a dude”.

Someone had had the chance to put their hands on you before he did. Strangely to say or even think, jealousy swallowed him whole in the blink of an eye.

The boy was so engrossed in his task that he hadn’t felt your hands free him from the confines of his pants until your startled gasp reached him.

Gojo wasn’t lying.

Your fingers first brushed against his bare, tensed thighs and the long-haired tattoo artist sucked in another moan. Then you stared at his cock with such intensity Geto feared you had a change of heart. Still panting, he cupped your face with a hand and in doing so, his eyes wandered downward.

And saw where the head of the snake rested.

«Satoru told you, right? Of course he did» he didn’t sound angry or disappointed, just resigned, «he never misses the chance to say he’s seen my cock fir-»

«Ssh.» you stopped your partner’s reasoning with a kiss right on his happy trail, descending until you locked eyes with him and smirked.

And Gojo's words ricocheted in your mind.

“-he was the first person who trusted me enough to put his hands on. But you'll see for yourself how fitting and nice a dick piercing looks on him.”

What a pretty, pretty boy.

«He told me. But let me get you onto something real quick.» your index came across the tattoo of what you believed was a customised carnation. It was standing proud on his rib cage, some space apart from the huge tail of the dragon on the arm.

If he was taking his sweet time admiring your tattoos, nothing prevented you from doing the same.

«I don’t care. I like pretty jewellery on attractive men and you, angel, are exactly that.

And I fuck them really good.»

He was trying his best not to drag you onto the bed and show you how good he was going to fuck you after what you just said, but he preferred to let his fingers wander, reaching down to caress the head of the snake marked on your hip.

Its forked tongue ideally licked the hip bone, and it was the exact same thing you were doing on his inner thigh.

Suguru was far from being intimidated. He’d been the first one among his friends to fully embrace who he really was, starting from his physical appearance and preferences.

He’d come to terms with both his flaws and qualities a long time ago.

What mattered to him the most, after all those years spent trying to be someone the society wanted him to be, was authenticity. And you were giving him plenty of it tonight.

Just being there with him, physically and mentally naked, was enough for the artist to make him go.

«Lick it, petal.»

Your tongue was now roaming over the metallic bud whilst a ragged breath from his part caressed the back of your head. His muscles spasmed under the slightest touch, signalling you he was at his limit already.

Nonetheless, the moment you actually took him into your mouth, moaning because of the salty precum coating your mouth and hand covering the base of his cock, he couldn’t do anything else but sternly whip at your hair.

And a loud whimper left your lips.

«So I’m not the only one here with a thing for hair pulling, uh?» his cocky smile was the last thing you saw before he beckoned you closer to him.

You arched your back a bit so that your elbows rested on both thighs, pushing them aside to give you more space.

Expert fingers were yet again yanking at the roots when your lips embraced more of his girth and you almost gagged. It was no easy task, since the man was so aroused and girthy and- God, he sounded so breathless and whiny as he thrusted into your mouth.

«Just like that. Take more of me into that pretty mouth of yours» faux innocence dripped from every single syllable, «I can’t even imagine what being inside you feels like. Yet.»

That last sentence would’ve elicited a profuse string of whimpers, but you were too concentrated on making him moan again. So you simply hummed and slid your mouth further down on his cock, causing the boy to grip at the sheets and then fall on his elbows.

You patiently licked and kissed every inch of skin you could reach, stealing glances at him from time to time. Then eagerness got the best of you.

You took all of him in your mouth again in one, smooth move.

«A-ah.» Suguru’s voice cracked seeing your nails digging into his inner thighs, but what almost made him go insane was when you flattened your tongue against the prominent vein of his cock, dragging it along its entire length until you wrapped around his frenulum. And you rubbed your tongue on it, the cold and hard texture of the piercing sinking into the tender flesh of your wet muscle as Geto moaned again.

«Fuck.»

He was going to thank Satoru someday, of course.

However, he had no intention to come in your mouth when he hadn’t tasted you yet.

Before you could finish what you started, the long-haired boy tugged at your hair hard enough to make you sigh. Tumbling off of him, slick glistening on your lips, you watched as he plopped down on his back. He still was painfully hard, but Geto’s mind was drifting towards other directions.

«Come here», he motioned you to straddle him and when you did, his pads on your bottom lip gathered the mixed fluids on it. «We’ll continue this another time. Now, move forward.» «Did I hurt you?» «Not at all.»

Confused, you did as he said, and as soon as you felt him push you upward for your head to hit the headboard, a sudden yet pleasurable feeling there shook you to the core. You hadn’t realised it ‘till now, but you still had your panties on.

Well, what was left of it.

Saying that you were so wet that the fabric almost completely disappeared would’ve been a huge euphemism.

Suguru rose to his feet and, without you noticing, he stepped back and brought a hand to his mouth to hide his satisfied smile.

You were there, in his bed. Curls covered half of your back, including the section he so accurately marked for hours.

Before today, he'd never thought you’d accept going on a date with him in the first place, let alone ending up at his place.

In his bed.

But the moment you linked eyes with him almost two months before in his studio, Geto just knew he had to be with you.

One way or another.

Moans airily passing through your lips, you clenched around nothing when his digits brushed against your drenched sex. He was playing with you, just like a lover would’ve done on a passionate night with their significant other.

«G-Geto.»

His movements came to a halt altogether, and you mentally slapped yourself for speaking. You were really great at ruining the atmosphere.

«Yes, petal?»

«Did I do something wrong? I mean, I’m pretty sure I messed up something since I’m a bit rusty, so-»

The tattoo artist cut short what he was sure would’ve been a very long, unnecessary apology by placing his lips on your earshell. You leaned closer to have a better view of his body towering over you, but nothing could prepare you for what happened next.

Almost simultaneously, his hand pushed down your panties and whispered:

«Nothing of the sort. You’re too good at giving head, I almost came the second I felt your tongue dragging along my piercing» shivers of both embarrassment and pride harpooned you as he continued. «But I’m too impatient for that. All I want right now is to eat you out from behind like the starved man I am.

I need you on my tongue.»

That being said, he left hungry kisses on his way back to where you needed him the most.

Making sure you could reach the headboard anytime, you waited for your partner to finally get his way with you. And he did shortly after, kissing and then lapping up the wetness gathered between your thighs with his tongue.

A tongue that soon breached past your entrance in no time.

You mewled, lurching forward to get some kind of break from that intimate kiss.

Not on his watch, though.

One of his arms gripped your waist and pushed backward, right where he demanded you to be. It only took him a moment to convince you to spread your legs wider on the bed, so that he could better lick up into you.

«Just like I thought: you taste amazing.» he stated under his breath.

The implicit compliment had your cheeks burning, pretty lame in such a situation.

If he had been really close to cum when you touched him, you were literally shreds of seconds away from losing your mind.

Not only was he sucking on your clit like his life depended on it, but he used two digits to part your folds and then, just then, dug them so deep goosebumps spread all over your arched spine.

He was hitting each sweet spot of yours with disarming carelessness, further proven by the moment he hooked fingers into you: that way, it was impossible to snap your legs close.

Not that you wanted to push your luck.

«Please» you fell onto your elbows and hid your face in the pillow, «I-I can’t take it.»

Words fell on deaf ears because he wasn’t done with you. Nose bumping against your sensitive bundle of nerves, he scissored his fingers apart.

And all of a sudden, neither his fingers nor mouth were close to you.

The desperate cry for the abrupt lack of touch building up within you was promptly interrupted by Geto’s touch on your back. He felt you were close, so he decided to stop and eventually keep his promise to rail you.

«You can. That’s why you’re here.» kisses on your spinal cord. «Tonight.» maddening fingers on your breast. «With me.»

For God’s sake, girl, you better grow a pair.

Talk back.

There was so much you wished to tell him. Alas, your mind was so clouded by pleasure that you just bucked into his touch for more, completely unaware of the fact Suguru was fascinated by the way you appeared.

Sweat grazing both of you, foreheads sticky with it, he nibbled on the skin near the jaw to get your attention. You looked back at the black-haired man, expecting him to lift you up or shift position.

Nothing. Was he waiting for you to say something?

«Did the cat get your tongue?»

Somehow your voice came back alongside a fair share of bratness. «Nah, it’s still here. See?» you flicked it out to prove it. «Want me to say anything in particular, angel?»

The tattoo artist cackled in your ear. Pet names could work both ways, apparently.

«You tell me.» «What about a new necklace? Can you give it to me?»

For the first time in a while, Geto Suguru furrowed his eyebrows in utter confusion.

How the fuck was he supposed to buy a necklace right before going down on you?

The dark-haired boy’s eyes met yours, eyes blown dark with lust and a never ending hunger that only a few had had the gut to face.

Before he could understand what was going on, you lifted yourself up to let your soon-to-be abused hole caress his tip a few times, eliciting soft moans from the two of you.

The coldness of the jewellery had you freezing at first, but then its gradual warmth enhanced the crazy libido agitating itself within you.

Breathing each other in, you moved down until his shaft broke past your entrance. And realisation hit him as he was halfway through your pussy, pants falling past your lips. Without altering the pace set by you, the artist wrapped his fingers around your neck and moaned yet again in your ear.

«A ‘necklace’ it is. I got myself a kinky girl, didn’t I?

I’m flattered.»

You sighed in response. The feeling of his pulse strumming away at your insides was too overwhelming, almost addicting. You couldn’t blurt out any sort of coherent answer.

He took the lead soon after your body went in override against his, bottoming out and ramming himself back inside in a matter of seconds. He slammed down his mouth on your own to suffocate your shared moans when the piercing plonged at the apex of your walls.

«I’ll only wear it when you’re around.»

«As you should» his teeth latched into your throat, «you’re doing so well, petal.

It almost feels like you were made to take my cock only.»

Fingers you loved having on you pressed the zone around your windpipe, and that caused you to arch off while Suguru’s thrusts gained strength.

Pleasure occluded your senses just as the boy tugged back at your head to steal a kiss, his eyes almost rolling in the back of his head when your digits found harbour in his hair.

«It feels s-so good, S-Su-», you unladyously groaned «Sugu’.»

The sound of skin slapping against skin faded to the background of your mind, Geto’s fingers adding more pressure on your throat’s sides. Nonetheless, you felt him twitching inside you.

Was he into pet names that much?

«Say it again.» no amusement this time, just pure excitement filling his raspy voice. You went to speak again when breath got knocked out of your lungs.

He had flipped you over so that now you were facing a very excited Geto, his hand still on your neck and dick buried deep in you.

Okay, he definitely was.

You shrouded your eyes as he laid you down on the bed, but they were again on him when his thumb pinched the skin right where the tip of his cock was driving through into your core and up to the cervix. It almost hurt how full you felt at that moment.

«Don’t stop, Sugu’.» you pleaded. He shook his head, his other hand on your hip.

Your own enclosed his face to bring it closer to yours, initiating a kiss that convinced the man to continue what he was doing.

Alluring whimpers reached your ears, just what you needed to give in to the sensation of him filling you up to the brim.

Both you and him were so close to your releases. He especially was, his movements sloppy and hips stuttering with every thrust you desperately took in stride.

«Look at me.»

You hadn’t even noticed your eyes had wandered off from Suguru's’s face until he pointed it out. He was now pistoning into you slower, but he still was as perceptive and caring as he’d been at the start.

«Yes, keep your eyes on me. God, you’re so fucking gorgeous» he pecked your nose as his voice lowered. «Can I come inside you?»

You went to compliment him back when he hit another spot of yours, causing you to scream in your hand and nod at his question. «Oh, my God. R-right there.»

After that he resumed hitting that spot until you tensed under him, your back arched off the mattress to meet his heavy chest.

You pushed one another over the edge into a kaleidoscope of fragmented lights, riding through your orgasms until the aftershocks rolled over you both.

Geto kissed you for a very long time for so long after you were done, lazily rocking his hips against yours to fuck both your releases back into your dripping hole. Actually, you weren’t even sure how much time had passed since he took you in his arms to get to the bathroom and back on the bed.

A core memory of yours, however, was him delicately wiping the sweat off your body, kissing your forehead before taking a quick shower to come back to you.

He really had fucked you stupid.

«A penny for your thoughts.»

His hand covered yours under the clean sheets you two had put on. The smell of sandal lulled you as your body went limp against his, indulging in his touch for a bit before replying.

«Shouldn’t it be ‘a tattoo for your thoughts’? I find it more fitting.»

«Just because you slept with a tattoo artist doesn’t imply you get free tattoos from now on, you little vixen.»

He narrowed his eyes and the view of him getting mad over something you made up on the spot had you laughing against his chest.

He was jealous, and for now that was more than enough to make you feel desired.

You hadn’t felt that way for so long.

«Kinky girl.» «Shut up.» He traced the form of your other tattoo in the inner part of the left arm. «Make me.»

And you shut him up for the rest of the night, exploring every inch of his skin until brushes of light orange and pastel yellow washed away the purple and deep blue nuances of the night.

«You’re lucky tomorr- I mean today, it’s my free day. Otherwise I didn’t know how to bring you there.»

Knowing where he was coming from, but unable to stop it, you sighed. You should’ve been prepared for the inevitable.

«Where?»

«To buy you a necklace, petal.» he leaned closer to kiss your pout away

«This lovely neck of yours needs a choker that does its job when I’m not around.»

«You’ll never let me go away with this, will you?»

Strands of silk brushed against your face as Suguru caressed your tattoo.

«Never. But I’ve marked you in other ways, don’t you think? Many ways, actually. By the way, you have some lovely tattoos.

Would you like to talk about them some day?»

«Absolutely. Give me some hours to recharge my batteries and I’ll be yours. Oh, and that harness you wore yesterday? I want two of them.»

«Fine. But if you’d like to wear it for lunch, for instance, you better ingrain in your brain that’ll be the only thing you'll be wearing for the rest of the day.»

Geto left a kiss at the corner of your lips as you processed what he just explicitly proposed.

And you surprised yourself even more when you got up and your hand clamped on the bone of contention five minutes after. God only knew how you managed to detect it among all those clothes scattered all over the floor.

«What if I wear it now? Would that intrigue you?»

«I’m very much intrigued by you already, my petal» Suguru watched you from across the room and tilted his head to the side, «but I might be damned if I try to stop you from doing such a thing.»

My petal you kept repeating those two words in your head, savouring them on your tongue.

Nope, never getting tired of how it sounded.

Once you were done with the leathery accessory, you caressed the material with a finger and walked towards your partner.

His gaze pierced through the window of your soul even after your legs had settled on the outside of his thighs. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding in as his lips closed around your hard nipple, gush of lust dripping down your legs all over again.

That time, though, he wasn’t the least interested in taking charge.

«Suddenly I’m not sleepy anymore.» he affirmed, amused yet turned on by the sight of you wearing nothing but one of his harnesses.

Henceforth, he’d let you wear it anytime you wanted if that made you happy.

«Good.» your whispers on his neck gave him goosebumps. «’Cause I want to ride your dick ‘till we both have enough. Told you I fuck attractive men real good.»

The statement stirred delight within the tattoo artist, his long hair untamed when his lips clashed against yours.

Amusement wasn’t the only thing that sprang out after that, though.

«Then do it, petal. I’m waiting.»

© nyimasu — do not copy, translate, repost and modify my works.

[deliciousdefendorinternet]

some Head Cannons about Bro zone inspired by the fact literally everyone else has been doing these posts lol.

I think Floyd and Clay would end up trying to live with Branch in the Bunker but would find it too hard for multiple reasons one being Branch actually has loud night terrors often. that no one knows about but its actually one of the reasons why he still chooses to live so far away from everyone else in the village and Floyd and Clay are kept awake at nights just hearing him loudly screaming and shouting.

and one on occasion when they did try to wake him it resulted in Branch springing up and attacking them throwing one of them to the ground and pulling a weapon out of his Hair and nearly hitting them with it until Branch finally snapped out of it and realised where he was.

kinda helping Floyd and Clay realise for the first time how deeply affected Branch is by his past to the point he's still on such High alert even in his own home.

2. whenever Bro zone have any sort of arguments even if their not 100 percent serous and just mostly petty sibling Banter Branch still gets visibly afraid.

and nervous maybe even trying to defuse the situation but his voice and body language making it clear he's genuinely nervous which actually stops the other bros in their tracks.

and they try to reassure him the family isn't breaking up and its just normal sibling banter but regardless Branch isn't able to tell the difference between serous family shattering arguments and just normal day to day sibling banter.

so the bros try and make it more clear in the future that their just mostly joking around as opposed to seriously fighting amongst each other.

3. John Dory used to be a pretty social party animal but after spending over 20 years traveling with just Rhonda for company he's actually a pretty anti social person now.

tho he doesn't like to admit it and he tries to put on the persona of the social party animal in front of his Brothers he actually finds big crowds and meeting new people to be super stressful.

4. Bruce gained most of his extra weight in the immediate aftermath of his and JDs big fight as he stress ate for quite a while afterwards tho in present day he tries to hide this fact to avoid making JD feel bad since he can tell he's genuinely changed since then.

5. Floyd would be the one to try and encourage his Brothers to actually talk about their more negative feelings towards each other meanwhile the others just want to leave it as they are seem to be doing fine in present day.

and they don't want to bring up the uncomfortable stuff from the past again but Floyd would think its healthy that they do so.

6. if/when Branch and Poppy do get engaged each of the Bros will be excitedly waiting in anticipation to see which of them Branch picks to be his best man and Teasing each other over it.

only for Branch to shatter their Dreams when he announces that he's chosen Gary to be his best man ( this HC assumes that Gary gets added to the movie cannon at some point ).

and his bros are all weirded out and confused and some of them even think its just a Joke at first but when it becomes clear he isn't Joking.

some of them even sorta angrily confront Branch on how he could choose a friggin Remote Control over any of them only for Branch to cut the none serous casual attitude he'd had up to this point and tell them.

that yes he knows Gary is an inanimate object but he's been a more consistent comfort in his life than any of them ever have and well its his wedding so if they can't accept that then he doesn't want them there.

7. Branch would be a little bit resentful about the fact that Bruce went off and started a new family forgetting all about him while he waited for all of them to come back over the years.

he wouldn't outright tell him this due to fear of stirring the pot amongst the family when they've only just gotten things back on track.

but it'd end up coming out one way or another and Bruce would show a bit of growth and actually be understanding of why Branch would feel this way Rather than judging him for it.

meanwhile JD would would say he also felt pretty hurt by this only for Bruce to casually brush it off since he really doesn't give a crap if it hurt John's ego 😂😂😂😂

[charcubed]

I NEEEED people—especially those with unfathomably large platforms???—to start doing just a tiny bit of internal evaluation before they log onto a blue website and say “I don’t want these queer characters to fuck in canon” or “I’d be fine if these characters never kissed again” or whatever.

This is a post about Good Omens and the prospect of Aziraphale and Crowley potentially having sex in season 3. It's a response to a tweet that I'm crossposting, but let it be known the above statement and this topic applies broadly across multiple fandoms too.

But anyway, in regards to Good Omens specifically:

I am seeing this take that essentially boils down to "Canon has now made it clear that these characters want to have sex with each other through subtext (i.e. Aziraphale and the ox), but I don’t want that to reach narrative completion because the idea of them having sex makes me uncomfortable or isn’t my personal preference” and it is, to put it mildly and delicately, A Very Bad Take.

This is rhetorical (and I do not expect or particularly want an answer), but: explain to me how and why queer characters who are unavoidably visibly queer (aka 2 "man-shaped beings") fucking on screen wouldn’t be a net positive, especially when you can indicate how canon has set it up.

Presumably, some people say things like this because ~they want to see them as visibly ace.~ Okay. But by some of these people’s own admission, there IS more evidence in canon now to indicate these characters crave sex with each other (vs arguing otherwise)... yet people would rather that be ignored/erased all for the sake of them feeling comfortable or feeling better about what canon shows or doesn’t show explicitly??

I’m sorry, but—speaking as an ace person, to be clear—your personal preferences for the story shouldn’t / don’t affect anything here. There’s too much in this.

Yeah, I understand on a personal level not having “representation.” I almost never see myself or my unique experiences and identity reflected in stories. And yet, I also understand that that doesn’t change any story or the world in which we live. Things like this are not said in a vacuum.

Any queer characters having sex on screen IS a net positive. It is rare and impactful, and openly calling for or hoping for otherwise when canon points to its potential is a detrimental alliance with purity culture, whether intentionally or accidentally. Because we live in a Goddamn society!

Who knows (other than Neil Gaiman) whether Aziraphale and Crowley ARE going to fuck on international TV. None of us do! But the subtext right now blatantly says they’re starving for it. And you don’t have to like the prospect of that, but honestly? We SHOULD get to see it play out. There’s no truly legitimate reason we shouldn’t ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Whether you "prefer" it or not.

And my ultimate hot take is… if someone balks at the idea of that or doesn’t understand the importance of it, despite even seeing the subtext… then they should perhaps unpack that? Just a thought.

Truly the way fandoms are managing to hit either “subtext doesn’t count :/ ” or “let’s keep it to subtext so it’s ‘open to interpretation’ :) ” nowadays depending on what corner one visits is MADDENING. Whiplash-inducing. Surreal. And so much nonsense you can’t pick where to start.

So! I do genuinely hope I'm not kicking off discourse but I felt this Needed To Be Said (and on more than one site). Because posts like “even if they never kiss again, we’ve won <3 “ make me want to be like…

These characters are YEARNING. Do not doom them and us to it. For once, we can reach for the stars and maybe–against all odds–pull them down. Embrace it!

---

[Update: after more discourse has occurred, I have somewhat elaborated on this further, from the POV of the significance of the queer themes in Good Omens and more specifically how they center illicit pleasure/desire]

[marvel-ousmondays]

Iron Man (2008)

As mentioned in last post, when I went to Iron Man I literally had no idea that such a superhero existed. (I thought Sherlock Holmes with RDJ came out first but apparently not so I had essentially no knowledge of the actor either.) My friends and I decided to spend the day out at the nearest town big enough to have a book store, craft stores, and a Target, as well as a Drive-In movie theater. I was now a college student and enjoying the freedom of no curfew, rebel that I was. I'm pretty sure the movie prior to Iron Man was the Narnia: Prince Caspian movie. I mention this because I hated that movie. It bastardized the book something awful and after the first movie was so faithful an adaptation, this was incredibly disappointing. However, this meant I was doubly primed to appreciate the awesomeness that Iron Man ended up being. I've watched it a few times since then, but usually as background to something else. I decided for this challenge I did REALLY want to watch the movies/shows. No other distractions- just it. I can take breaks (it took me 3 days to finish Iron Man due to various constraints last week) but when I'm watching, I'm JUST watching.

Here were my takeaways this time

The differences in Terrence Howard's Rhodey and Cheadle's Rhodey are always a bit mind boggling and part of what makes Iron Man feel really different from the later films. We're also just starting MCU so while they aren't LACKING budget, it's not the level it would be later. This doesn't hurt the movie at all for the record, if anything I think it meant the story had to be more well-developed and the actors better.

But this first film has a seriousness and a somberness that most of the other films only flirt with (notable exception being Infinity War of course).

The scene where Tony goes back to help Gulmira, Yinsen's home, and we see the 13 year old boy screaming and crying as his father is pried away from their family, the soldiers clearly planning to execute him and all the other grown men. The young boy tears himself away from his mother to his father, determined to keep him, to save him. His father, begging his son to go, so that he will live even though he knows- he KNOWS he will not. This moment of utter terror made personal just before Tony shows up is incredible and all the more so when put into historical context. The U.S. was still in Afghanistan and Iraq at this time and it was easy for citizens here to paint everyone in those areas with the same brush. But in this moment you CAN'T. You HAVE to see the family ripped apart right alongside the terrorists and be forced to realize that race, ethnicity, language don't make terrible people- actions do.

A common criticism of Marvel movies is they don't let a moment sit- that they always break a serious moment with a joke. But this one doesn't do that. There are multiple heavy moments- after Yinsen's death for one and when Pepper nearly quits (because she can't watch Tony self-sabotage and possibly die) and he tells her:

"I shouldn't be alive... unless it was for a reason. I'm not crazy, Pepper. I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it's right."

This moment sits between them so clearly, so starkly and it is not ended with a joke, but with Pepper grabbing the flashdrive and asking what to do. (Thinking back, I'm wondering how many of those MCU "broken" moments are by Tony. He's the one uncomfortable with emotion. Him breaking those moments with humor is actually 100% in character. Something to pay attention to as I watch.)

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, some of the key themes of this movie just strike to the heart.

Death from a distance is easy to ignore or even be complicit in, but death up close rips us apart. Tony sold weapons that he knew took lives for years but it wasn't until he watched Yinsen die that I think he really understands what that means. Yes, his parents had died before but he wasn't THERE, he didn't SEE it. This death, this is the one that makes him really know what it means.

You don't have to change everything to be a better person. Tony is still self-centered. He still likes attention. He's still arrogant and as we will see next movie, open to playing the field as Pepper and him haven't committed. But not only has he stopped being complicit in the deaths of the innocent, he's taken on the mantle of protecting them.

Lastly, who the good guys are is largely a matter of perspective. This obviously gets hit harder again in Ultron (oh that glorious train wreck- I'm looking forward to writing about you), but it matters here. Tony was fine manufacturing weapons because he assumed he was supporting the "good guys", the 'Muricans. But not only was Obadiah dirty dealing, he is forced to learn the good guys aren't always as discriminatory with their weapon use as they purport to be. That it's easy to start painting with broad brushstrokes in areas where precision is actually called for.

Overall I'm really glad I PAID attention to this one this round. The grittiness and the depth really hit the way they did the first time or even more so. Onward to The Incredible Hulk, even though it's only semi-canon now.

Note for me:

Directed by: Jon Favreau

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc — 14k synopsis — what's a reunion without some groveling?

note — this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au — tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, reader’s wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger??? 

Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time. 

Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far you’ve come until it pinches you.

You’ve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as you’re a different person than you were three years ago. 

Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldn’t believe it’d one day feel too small. You can’t fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.

But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too. 

Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting. 

The drive between your new life and your old one hadn’t been too bad, but that’s probably because you didn’t do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand. 

“This is so weird,” JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.

As you survey the crowd, you nod. 

He didn’t need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. You’re well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you don’t think you’re all that different, but everything still feels foreign.

All the right pieces are there, and you’re sure you’ve put them in their proper places, but the image won’t behave.

You quickly realize the only thing that’s misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket. 

“Look what the cat dragged in, boys!”

A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.

Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.

“Compher and the missus,” the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JT’s a quick pat but merely cups yours. 

His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would. 

“I was starting to think we’d have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.”

JT’s affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.

“A night, Landy. We’ve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,” your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabe’s flushed cheek, returning the favor. 

The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet it’s as well-trained as your firstborn.”

Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabe’s strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.

Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit. 

Free booze and a free show—lucky them!

Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you would’ve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.

Tyson’s loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.

You would like to say nothing’s changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That you’re just as close as you’d been in college, that distance hadn’t done as much damage as it has.

You'd be lying if you did. 

You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didn’t end up mattering much.

JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and you’ve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tyson’s sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriend’s head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.

Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JT’s respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.

After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. He’s yet to see it, still.

Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.

A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tyson’s insistence on you finally hooking up and “putting everyone out of their misery,” his smile didn’t meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasn’t a one-night thing.

Maybe his “little crush��� hadn’t been so little after all. 

If that’s the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.

Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You weren’t sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.

Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.

“Yikes,” Gabe drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. This—whatever it is —feels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.

JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed house—some remix you don’t remember learning the words to. “Trouble? Nah, Josty’d have to give us the time of day for that.” 

Gabe laughs, but you know JT isn’t trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. It’s impossible not to without an artificial buzz.

There’s no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck. 

Kate.

“Fuckin finally!” The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.

Definitely drunk. Or high—or both. 

“Don’t look at me,” you say, beaming when she pulls back. “I wasn’t driving.”

Kate swats JT’s chest with her open palm. “And this is why we don’t let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.”

The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and she’s probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.

The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, they’ve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. She’s more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.

“Well, we’re here now. Alive.”

Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.

“And now I’m stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do… whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.”

“Excellent idea, Madame President,” Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male ginger’s shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kate’s direction.

Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, “President’s bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.”

Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.

“Good girl.”

As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.

Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someone’s mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so it’s no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm. 

When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.

It’s not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so it’s going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.

“You, my dear, look thirsty,” Kate declares through a mischievous grin.

You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but she’s quick to show you off to whoever’s trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kate’s been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and it’s very… dizzying, to say the least.

“Kit-Kat!”

Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.

In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, you’re having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.

“Blake Meyers,” the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.

You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name. 

“Meyers?” you ask, attempting to work it out.

“Ava’s younger sister,” Kate interjects. “And one of our best steals this past recruitment.”

Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.

You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight,” the freshman tells you bashfully. “Kate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed like—I don’t know, a non-negotiable?”

Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldn’t have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldn’t physically be there for her.

You won’t be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. It’s basically a family tradition.

Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.

Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. You’re more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.

Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.

This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You can’t help but smile when you see her reach for the lock—your old lock.

Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.

“Wait, can you even drink?” Kate asks you from where she’s kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.

“Hilarious,” you reply with a playful glare. “And before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, don’t. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."

Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your “old age.” She shoves a ratty sweatshirt—an old favorite of Tyson’s—back into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.

“So, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?” you ask, brow cocked.

“Do you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?” Kate counters.

“Touché.”

Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. She’s going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when you’re the one doing the asking.

“Okay, so, d’you remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?”

You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.

Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, “Well, I was understandably pissed—Don’t give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldn’t have been that blasé that soon—so, I hatched a plan.”

You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.

“I wasn’t planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before… I don’t know; I just couldn’t resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyone’s getting a reaction, it’s Landy. I had to.”

“And?” you prod. 

“And…” she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. “…we might’ve done it in the backseat of his truck.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

She buries her face in your shoulder. “The venue’s parking lot.”

Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry they’ll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.

“And I didn’t tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,” Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. “You don’t, right?”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,” you giggle, and she’s quick to join you. Lowering your voice, “Especially the hottest of hot blondes.”

“I’m so telling JT you said that,” she teases, pulling away.

You shrug and take your first sip. “Go ahead. He’ll agree.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite couple,” she says, bumping her hip against yours. “The worst part is Tyson didn’t even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabe’s neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?”

“I wish I had an explanation for you, but I don’t. I’m starting to think I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast like there’s something super interesting between the floorboards. “I know he’s busy, and we’re busy, but he’s acting like our friendship meant nothing.”

“Not to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"

A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain what’d been weighing on your conscience. 

Then, your boyfriend looked clueless—because he was. JT didn’t remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Josty’s image of you.

After a scene or two, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JT’s permission, but you felt it wasn’t entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.

You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where there’s none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be. 

Something shifted that night. You’d known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t uncommon for his dejected expression—his forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalance—to visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.

But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down… You couldn’t get yourself to see it through. 

At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just plain, garden-variety sadness.

It was—is disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.

"In the moment, I was certain he didn’t. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,” you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I don’t know, say anything?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."

You snort despite your woes.

“Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one night. How’s my nephew?” Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.

It’s a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions you’re starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents you’ve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with you—it lasted all of a day in his over-excited grip—then gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.

By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, you’re feeling a bit better.

Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairs—alone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesn’t give you a hard time. To be honest, she’s just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.

Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Three’s the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

“What? No riddle this time?” you tease over your shoulder.

The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. “I was given strict instructions to ‘keep the shenanigans’ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.”

“JT?” you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. He’s the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.

“Landy, actually.”

Well, close enough.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JT’s more salacious antics.

As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kate’s. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal… while you were defiled on the balcony.

“Still doing his bidding, I see.”

He counters with that lopsided “Get Out of Jail Free” grin. “What can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.”

As if cued, Cale’s companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alex’s raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowen’s, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know he’ll misplace before he can polish it off.

“Jesus, how drunk is he?” you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.

Sure, the quality’s shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; it’s a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.

“Not drunk enough to not see you here with us.” Cale’s voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, “…and not up there with JTC.”

JTC — Talk about a blast from the past.

An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing he’s up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your “homecoming” that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.

As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but you’re finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.

Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, you’ve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, they’ve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.

However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agency—the ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involved—has you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.

Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, “Thank you for your service!” accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You don’t stick around to catch their responses, though.

As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for something—Something about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?—but it’s more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what you’re accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, who’d been JT’s vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancé out of your path by the shoulders.

You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.

Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You can’t help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who would’ve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That would’ve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy she’s happy.

Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.

As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the president’s suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.

JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. That’s a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.

And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?

Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. “I was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.”

The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isn’t a hard person to read—downright wolfish when he’s homing in on a target—but the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.

Your body thrums with anticipation.

“Never,” you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: “Is there a reason we’re in your old bedroom instead of, I don’t know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?”

Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.

“Y’know, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,” JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.

He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.

You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.

The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.

JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until he’s pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.

Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.

“There’s still one thing left on my college bucket list.”

He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desire—of who is in charge.

Message received. Loud and clear.

JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; you’ve never been able to hide from him and never will.

His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like he’s committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.

This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; it’s a primal instinct.

For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.

There isn’t enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge — and you’re glad for it. It’d be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.

JT’s chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. “You gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?”

His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didn’t realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.

The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous — your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like it’s the first.

“Hm, sweetheart? Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”

Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.

The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.

His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.

“P-please,” comes your pouted whimper.

“Focus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to — and you aren’t in a position to be difficult, are you?”

You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JT’s ultimately satisfied.

“Such a good listener I’ve got myself. But you’re always to eager to please, aren’t you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but it’s just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.”

His frankness sears your face.

You’ve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said “odds” being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. “Don’t l-let it go to waste, Compher.”

It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.

He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.

“I don’t think it matters, sweetheart. I know there’s no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.”

With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. “Is that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?”

Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remark’s undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.

His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. “Are you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?”

You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.

“Nothing to say now?” JT taunts. “Funny how that works.”

Fuckin’ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.

Your boyfriend’s smugness—and your subsequent annoyance—becomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.

Hips bucking forward—you just can’t help yourself—you're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. He’s made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like it’s already his to occupy.

Your surprise drips down his hand.

The bliss—the relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.

Before, you didn’t see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasn’t lost on you, of course, but that’s all you’d written it off as.

Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.

This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress you’ve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoons—this ostensibly clichéd moment is an amalgamation of it all.

One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?

Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?

The journey might’ve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.

Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride would’ve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.

His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad back—I’m feeling nostalgic, he’d said. In more ways than one, apparently.

“S’good—wanted this for so long, Compher—k-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.”

JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.

Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back. 

Away.

Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.

“I don’t ever want to hear another man’s name outta your mouth when it’s my fingers buried in your pussy.” His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like he’s been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "—'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.”

You’d grin if you weren’t so miserable.

That’d been your intention. It wasn’t anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTC’s hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason you’d been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.

Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, you’d of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JT’s buttons.

There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didn’t know that. If sitting in their chapter house’s kitchen at 5 o’clock the next morning didn’t raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.

Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didn’t have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.

You’d tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.

“Did you like what you heard?”

His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.

You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, “Did you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place… wishing it was my pussy instead?”

You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.

He squeezes until you’re no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close you’re getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit.” His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when it’s you yanking his chain. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste —Grapefruit, maybe?—and you suck it in like you haven’t had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.

He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.

“Don’t want him, never wanted him. Jus’ you—Always you.” It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.

JT’s cock isn’t immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, “Go on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly who’s fucking you this good.”

You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.

JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once you’ve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.

A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.

His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."

You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.

“What’re you doing?” Strained, barely above a whisper.

He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. “Come on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, can’t you?”

You aren’t an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JT’s… Well, anything—but definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your company’s holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.

It hasn’t lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.

Fuckin’ tease.

Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. “As long as you let me return the favor after—need to taste you so bad.”

“Deal,” he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.

His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you don’t miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because it’d normally be a tease-able offense.

But not tonight, not right now.

Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.

JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriend’s earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward to—

Something bangs against the door.

His face falls; your heart seizes.

“Occupied!” your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

A full, lilting sound barrels into the door—too-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. “It’s me, dickhead.”

Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JT’s reprimanding; you’re hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.

Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in time—good-humored, untouched. As if nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasn’t ignored you for months on end, like your and JT’s absence in his life wasn’t felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.

Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasé demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honest—too much.

The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isn’t capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.

Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. It’s difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when there’s no easy place to lay blame.

A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. You’re nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words you’ve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammable—your silence is probably for the best.

Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesn’t suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues you’ve never seen in him before.

The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.

Anxiously, you chew on time; you’re trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.

JT’s pulse races against your skin. He’s just as affected, just better at hiding it.

“Took you long enough,” is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.

All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces you’re missing.

JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. “Fuck now, talk later. Sound good?”

His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotions—lust overtaking the pack with ease.

Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. It’s as if you’re afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.

“Figured you’d be a little parched, baby.” Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”

You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy you’d become if he ever stood before you again.

Both men notice.

Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriend’s trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriend’s weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. “Filthy bastard.”

Charming as ever.

“She deserved it.” JT’s nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.

Wicked eyes twinkle. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.

He yelps and bats your hand away. “Got you good, didn’t he?”

You nod.

The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriend’s back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.

Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.

“Poor thing,” Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. “M'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.”

It’s something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but you’d never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. You’re too eager to impress them both to give in and react—to the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything you’re given.

Still, either by virtue of Tyson’s lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isn’t enough time to consider wiping it off; Josty’s mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.

“Would be a shame…” Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks he’s decided to spoil your décolletage with, “…to let it go to waste.”

JT’s begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. “Jesus, kid. Where’d you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking ‘who' you've been doing?"

Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of reaction only you’re close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever he’s implying.

You’re too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.

Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skin—your boyfriend a few paces away, watching. That’s more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesn’t take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tyson’s chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.

Happy.

“Somethin’ special, aren’t you?” Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.

“As sweet as this reunion’s been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we don’t have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.”

You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you weren’t the intended target.

JT’s dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JT’s thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. He’s conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.

Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadow’s fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.

“You’re scaring me, Josty.”

This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. “If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.

“I-I’ve been such an ass. I—I just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than ever—without me. It fucking sucked, and I didn’t cope well. Didn’t cope at all, really. Kate’ll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.”

You can’t help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.

Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. “But that’s no excuse for what I did—didn’t do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like you’re supposed to.”

He claims JT’s old spot knelt between your parted knees. “And I’m sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you—let me apologize properly.”

Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.

A silent pardon.

The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible content—of relief.

“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.

Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejection—and to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possible—to bother with words, you nod immediately.

“With how much she’s been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?” JT interjects, mood vastly improved.

Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.

The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.

A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything. Didn’t want to embarrass her.” He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; he’s that stupidly attractive. “ —was try t’be a gentleman.”

You’re a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.

Tyson wants to tease your body; it’s in his nature. But he won’t. Namely, because he can’t. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, he’s already on JT’s shit list as is.

Besides, he’s only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...

Your guttural scream—an appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clit—pumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadn’t thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.

“Pause.”

JT’s clipped command is a bucket of ice water.

Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tyson’s, but you both know how delicate a game you’re playing.

With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tyson’s inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, it’s swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriend’s firm hand.

You can’t even convey how hot you find JT’s fingers casually twisting in his friend’s curly mop—just the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JT’s self-assured manhandling.

Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.

“Have to make sure he does it right, don’t I, sweetheart?” JT’s voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; he’s enjoying the view as much as you are.

Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. “Controlling much?”

“I know what my woman needs.”

The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.

And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.

His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tyson’s breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the two’s eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.

JT licks his lips, triumphant. “Open her up for me, will ya?” Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriend’s lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. “Don’t screw around, ‘kay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we don’t have all night.”

Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where you’re most sensitive. 

You actually yelp.

Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his name—But who knows? And who fucking cares?—unable to control yourself while he’s finally touching you like this. Finally back.

Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.

“What d’ya think, baby? Think you’re wet enough to take another finger?” JT’s tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. “Please—c-can I? Can I have another?”

His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.

JT’s reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. “You heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.”

Kid—Tyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. There’s barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, he’s still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that won’t end.

He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.

He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all three—wide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)

Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.

JT’s hand retreats—only slightly—to make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriend’s chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.

During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tyson’s tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.

“Holy shit — Ty, I-I’m — I’m — “

The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.

Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesn’t hurt either.

Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.

“Just like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so good—doin’ so good for us.”

JT’s praise sends the brunette’s unoccupied hand right to his bulge.

This is the best he’s felt in months.

There’s the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.

He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.

Josty’s guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.

“Y’haven’t earned it, bud,” his mentor chides.

The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering there’s work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.

Tempting him to do something, to take it further…

He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about it—you can see the tape winding in his eyes.

JT can read Tyson’s mind through his skull, apparently. “Don’t even think about it, kid. Her last one’s mine, but you’re more than welcome to watch from right here.” —Your boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing it’ll be close quarters for you both— “Just remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.”

And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, he’s just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.

He’s always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.

Finally ready to play fearless.

JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.

Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck you’re graduated and gone. Otherwise, you’d never live this down—Kate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if she’s feeling particularly charitable, though.

Your boyfriend’s grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.

He wants you on display.

Your gasp is rivaled only by Tyson’s pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.

The ginger’s chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.

Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.

“Bend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl he’s been missing out on—what a filthy thing you’ve turned into.”

As soon as you’ve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. It’s fast and dirty; primal. He knows there’s no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.

You watch Josty’s mouth part like he’s about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.

Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriend’s bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; that’s what you’re now watching. He’s mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.

JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.

I’ll handle it.

At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo. 

“Fuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.”

Keep rubbing your clit.

Keep playing with you.

Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.

Be present.

Be here.

“Such a fucking mess, baby. Don’t know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.”

The two halves of Tyson’s demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.

Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering you’re doing.

A familiar palm shoots to your raw neck—tender, inside and out—lightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.

Still, he furthers their madcap banter. “I dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I think she’s tryna milk me dry for good.”

If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pants—post-pubescence, it would be now.

Like, right fucking now.

The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JT’s neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.

Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too much—it’s all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the last—half-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friend’s damp, tented lap.

“Not gonna last, sweetheart—y’feel too damn good, s’tight and warm, always strangling my cock—know you’re close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girl—need to feel your perfect pussy squeezin’ me dry.”

It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.

You’re a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JT’s arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.

For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; there’s simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enough—silence says it all.

Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.

JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the door—only as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; you’re too tired to take any initiative.

Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, that’s how much of this your boyfriend’s willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.

“Paging Mrs. Compher!” Gabe hollers over JT’s head. “Clean up on aisle ‘Kate.’”

Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.

You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. It’s pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn don’t exactly lend themselves to effective primping.

And it’s not like you’ve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either. 

Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.

Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.

As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriend’s irritation. “—and you’re sure there isn’t anyone else to hold her hair back? Why can’t you do it?”

The gears in Gabe’s skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your haven—he’s intoxicated, not stupid.

“CupKate wants her mommy.” The blonde winks at you over JT’s shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tyson’s equally disheveled state. “And what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weather’s hot and steamy this time of year.”

“Real mature, Landy, real mature,” JT scoffs.

The sound just revs him up. “Says the fucker who’s locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.”

“Can you two go measure your dicks, I don’t know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.” 

You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday. 

Years have passed, but you’re all still the same.

“Me-yeoh!” Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.

Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JT’s jaw tick.

The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. “Whoops?”

Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that you’re decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.

He juts his head in Landy’s direction with a sardonic eye-roll. “Go on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. I’ll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.”

“Meet you out front?” You ask, and he nods.

You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. It’s faint, but they instantly soften for you.

Before they know it, you’re slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accouterment—chivalry isn’t dead!

Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. “Nicely done, boys. Nicely done. Can’t say I thought we’d see the day—or that either of you had it in ya—but I feel like a proud father.” He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. “Makes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost ti—”

JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.

The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded. 

As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bell’s hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tyson’s stomach along with it.

The air shouldn’t, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.

“If—uh, wow.” A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.

JT doesn’t interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.

Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. “If I’d known this would be our swan song, I would’ve tried to enjoy it more. I don’t know—savored it, I guess?”

“This,” JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isn’t hanging fire. “— is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Before they got into it in the garage, before they’d been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.

They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.

JT’s alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.

Tyson balks. “Me?”

Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. He’s bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.

“I love her—and I know you do, too. I’m not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.”

Tyson’s head hangs lower, chagrined.

JT continues, “I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I didn’t want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure you’d be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.”

Tyson can’t help but snort at the sheer absurdity. “Left out… God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isn’t even mine.”

“Pathetic was going AWOL.”

Josty winces. He doesn’t argue because he has zero ground to stand on.

“But feeling something? Far from it.”

“I didn't—don’t want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.” The hurt’s been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.

JT’s smile is just as downy. “I do, and you’d be wasting time by trying.”

Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.

You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. He’s always been it for you. There’s never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.

“Thank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,” the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.

They’re side-by-side, as they should be.

“Why’s that?”

JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, “Something to remember tonight by.”

Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.

Your boyfriend grins.

“The best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, don’t you think?”

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