#I really need to come up with a plot for her

[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[starktonyx]

Have you ever tried this one?

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

Pairing: John Walker x reader. Word count: 5.2k

Note: Another one inspired by a Sabrina Carpenter song, this time it’s Juno. If you know, you know😉 enjoy 🫶🏼

Description: John had been away on a long mission. A month of nothing but his fist and filthy thoughts of you, edging himself to save it all for you. Every last drop. So when he catches you singing some dirty song about needing it deep? You get exactly what you asked for.

Tags/Warnings: Smut, fem!reader, John gets freaky with his super strength, oral f!rec, only the tip, piv sex, cum play, cum kink (srlsy a lot🙂‍↕️), overstimulation (he just keeps going), so much dirty talk, literally just 5k words of filth with plot.

Happens in the same universe as “Come right on me … I mean camaraderie” but can be read as a stand alone.

Masterlist / archive

It wasn't John's fault. Not really.

It wasn't his fault Bucky had sent him on a month long mission to a place so remote it didn't even show up on a map. It wasn't his fault the signal was garbage, barely enough to send a text, much less hear your voice to at least let you know just how badly he needed you.

By the second week, he was already losing his mind.

Because waking up soaked in sweat with a cock so hard it hurt wasn't the problem, it was waking up alone. Reaching out blindly for the soft heat of your body only to find cold sheets and a cruel reminder that you were only in his dreams. Nothing more than a fucking fantasy. That the version of you riding him, moaning his name in that perfect, ruined little voice of yours, was nothing but a sick joke his head kept playing on loop.

It was maddening.

So no, it wasn't his fault that the tension inside him just kept building up like he was some horny teenager. And no matter how many times his hand drifted down to try to relieve some, anything, he never let himself finish. Not once.

Because coming without you felt wrong.

He told himself the same thing every time, between gritted teeth and sweat dripping from his brow: save it for her.

Every. Single. Drop.

He wrapped up his assignment three days earlier. Fueled by the image of you on your knees, of your pretty little mouth open for him, of that wet heaven between your legs he hadn't tasted in weeks.

He barely acknowledged Yelena when she passed him in the hallway that night he arrived. She raised a brow, opening her mouth to speak.

"Not now," John snapped, already walking past her.

Yelena didn't press further, just raised an eyebrow at the direction John was headed to. Your room.

Yeah, not exactly a shock. 

It wasn't a secret you two were having ... something. The compound's walls weren't that thick, and no one here was blind either. You'd both been caught sneaking out of each other's rooms enough times that it barely qualified as "sneaking" anymore.

The whole damn compound probably had a scorecard by now.

At this point, it was honestly ridiculous you still had separate rooms at all. Maybe you liked the thrill of it ... or maybe you were just idiots.

Either way, Yelena knew one thing for sure, she'd probably end up crashing in the living room with the others from that floor, if they wanted to get some sleep that night.

But when John finally reached your door, you weren't there.

He groaned in frustration, eyes narrowing. Maybe you were in the kitchen. Maybe you'd just stepped out, the warm lamp illuminating your messed bedsheets told him so.

Fine. He could wait ... barely.

He dropped his duffel and shield in the his room and headed straight for your shower, too tense to sit still. He scrubbed off the mission, the restraint, all while ignoring the throbbing between his legs he'd been carrying for weeks now. He told himself just a little longer, just a few more minutes and he could finally bury himself in you again, where he belonged.

He was mid drying his body when he heard the door of the room open. He tracked the sound of your footsteps across the room, the gentle bounce of the mattress as you hummed a song.

"Wanna try out some freaky positions ... have you ever tried this one?"

He paused with the towel in hand, half grinning to himself. What on earth were you singing now?

It wasn't the first time he'd caught you in your room with headphones on, humming to yourself like no one else existed. He loved it, loved the way you sang so freely when you thought you were alone. It was always cute. Except this time the lyrics were far away from being “cute”.

He opened the bathroom door with anticipation, hoping to catch your surprised face when you saw him standing in your bathroom with just a towel covering his lower half. But you couldn't see him.

You were sitting cross legged on the bed, facing the headboard. Wearing nothing but one of his huge old shirts, the hem barely covering your thighs, and those noise canceling headphones Yelena and Bob gave you for your birthday.

You were swaying softly, completely oblivious to his presence. The music was loud enough that he could hear the faint echo of a girl's voice through the headphones. Your head bobbed to the beat, eyes glued to your phone.

"One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love," you sang softly, scrolling absentmindedly.

John leaned against the doorframe, one hand holding the towel around his hips, tilted head and a smirk on his face. He lost interest on the music you were humming for a moment, his gaze dropped lower.

Was there anything under that shirt?

He needed to know. He had to.

The hem of the shirt shifted with your movement, offering teasing little flashes of your bare thighs. He tried, really tried to shake those thoughts away. It was a sweet moment. He could hear the playfulness in your voice, maybe you were even thinking about him.

But then the lyrics hit again.

"Adore me, hold me and explore me

Mark your territory

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, one"

He didn't know why the words hit him like that. Maybe it was the anticipation of it all. Maybe it was because they echoed every filthy thought he'd tried to bottle up over the past month. Maybe because he barely held himself together anymore.

He hadn't even touched himself in the last few days ... hadn't dared. Just drowned in the pent up need to be inside you, so thoroughly you'd be dripping with him for days.

"Adore me, hold me and explore me

I'm so fucking horny."

The words came out of your mouth in that same casual, airy tone, like you didn't even realize you were saying them. It was almost innocent. But he shook his head, because he knew you.

Always that mouth. That filthy, sweet, open mouth.

"Jesus Christ..." he muttered to himself.

"Tell me I'm the only, only, only one"

You sighed this time, flopping back on the bed with a dramatic groan, closing your eyes while you held your phone against your chest. The movement of your legs caused the hem of his shirt to ride up your thighs just enough to answer his question.

No panties.

That was it.

He crossed the room in three strides, eyes locked on the picture of you laid out beneath him, upside down from his angle, completely unaware of his gaze fixed on you.

What a treat.

He reached for your headphones, but your eyes flew open before he could pull them off. You yelped, gasping at the sight of him looming over you.

"John?!" you gasped, scrambling upright so fast your phone bounced off the bed, headphones following.

You weren't expecting to see him there at all, at least not yet, he was supposed to arrive by the end of the week. Not that you could ever complain though, the image in front of you was something you'd been dreaming all those weeks he was gone.

His body still damp from the shower, towel barely hanging onto his hips, wet blond hair dripping all over his shoulders … and that devilishly charming grin on his face.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, nonchalantly, like he didnt almost give you a heart attack.

You blinked a few times, with a breath caught on your throat. "Did you ... did you just come out of my bathroom?"

But you didn't even wait for an answer. Your body just launched forward, wrapping around him like you needed to prove he was real. He caught you instantly with a faint laugh, one arm curling tight around your waist, the other gripping his towel.

His nose brushed your temple as he whispered, "Got back early, couldn't wait to see you."

You smiled, and couldn't wait any longer either, so you crashed your lips against his. There was no hesitation from him, his hands gripped your waist hard, like he needed to anchor himself. Your fingers clawed his chest, his shoulders, dragging him closer by the back of his neck, needing more.

Needing everything.

His body pressed into yours with no space left between, large hands roaming all over your waist, your back, you ass. It wasn't slow, it wasn't sweet. It was tongues and fingers digging into skin. His rough beard scratching against your soft skin.

You pulled back just long enough to breathe, but he chased your mouth, biting at your bottom lip, not letting you go far.

"Fuck, I missed you," you muttered against his mouth, chest heaving. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He chuckled, raising his brow, his chest vibrating against yours. "Didn't want to interrupt the show."

Your face burned. You tried to hide in his chest, but he grabbed your chin so you wouldn't.

"You gonna tell me the rest of those lyrics?" he asked, looking down at you.

You just cursed lowly, because of course he heard all that.

In one smooth motion, he spun you around so your knees hit the bed and your was back pressed to his damp chest. His arm hooked across your shoulders, keeping you upright as his mouth dragged slow, wet kisses along the side of your neck.

"Don’t be shy … I liked that little song of yours," he mumbled against your skin. "But I think I misheard the best part honey ... you said you were what?"

Your breath hitched, you knew he heard you damn right the first time. And he knew you knew. His arm gripped your hip, guiding your ass to grind against him, and that's when you felt it. Felt him. The thick press of his bulge through the towel, hot and painfully hard, in a way that made you drool in anticipation.

"I said ... you were fucking what baby? What was it again?" he growled, pressing your hip harder when you didn't reply.

Your knees suddenly felt weak. God, you had missed him so much, even if he was about to fuck every single line out of you.

"So fucking h-horny," you blurted out the lyrics, dropping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

He hummed, satisfied, slipping a hand down your shirt until he reached the mess between your thighs.

"Jesus, baby..." he rasped, your body jolting when his fingers barely brushed the slick already pooling there. "You're soaking just from that? tsk tsk tsk.”

"You were gone for so long John," you whined, instinctively pushing back against him, "can you really blame me?"

He laughed, lowly, like you've just told him something absurd.

"You think you’re horny?" he groaned, shaking his head. "I've been jerking off like some goddamn teenager for weeks, and the worst part? I couldn't even finish honey … thinking how you should be the one wringing it out of me."

You bit your lip, whimpering at the image.

"You know how fucking hard that was?" he continued. "Sleeping in a cold bed, not even being able to hear your voice while I had my cock in my hand, trying not to cum 'cause I wanted it all to be yours. Wanted to fill you up the second I got back."

He loosened his grip on you only enough to let go of the towel covering his body. He dragged your shirt higher and then he pressed his bare cock against your ass.

"Feel that, baby?" he growled in your ear. "This is what I've been carrying ... just for you."

"Then give it to me," you begged, squirming in his hold. "John, please, it's been too long..."

"Oh, I will." He chuckled darkly. “But you gotta run that dirty mouth a little bit longer.”

You whined, this is exactly where he wanted you.

"Imagine the first thing I hear when I come back is that filthy little mouth of yours ... what was it you were singin' about? some freaky positions?"

Shit.

"Hold on to me."

Before you could even process it, his arms were under your thighs. You let out a squeal as he took you off the bed, carrying you to the wall. He turned you around midair, and without even a sign of discomfort, lifted your body up until your legs instinctively wrapped around his neck.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized what was happening.

He was standing, fully upright. Holding you high in the air with your legs hooked over his shoulders, his hands locked under your ass. His face aligned perfectly with your dripping pussy.

"John," you gasped, gripping his wet hair when you realized your head was close to the ceiling now. "What the fuck ..."

He looked up grinning like a devil.

"What?" he asked innocently, smug as hell. "Have you ever tried this one?"

You nervously laughed, shaking your head incredulously.

"Don't worry, baby," he winked, bunching the shirt around your waist, exposing you completely to his greedy eyes. "I got you."

You gasped when his mouth latched on your pussy like he'd been dying of thirst. Obscene sounds filled the room, from your wetness, from the mess he was painting all over his beard, from your pleads. His grip was unshakable, anchoring you in place while his mouth worked like he was trying to make up for every second he'd been gone.

Your chest began rising up and down quickly, one hand desperately tugging his hair while the other traveled up for some sort of leverage, slapping blindly at the ceiling above you as your body trembled.

"John ... fuck–yes," you panted, vision blurring from the intensity.

He groaned against your pussy, the vibration shooting up your spine. It was too much. The strength in his arms, the way he held you there without even faltering, while dragging his tongue through every slick inch of you.

It felt worshipful.

"You're doing it so good, baby," You praised, tugging his hair harder.

He hummed against your pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth in a way only he knew how to make you see stars, and then looked up at you with those unfair baby blue eyes.

You almost came at the sight of him under you, beard all soaked, looking at you like he was getting drunk from your taste alone.

It wasn't long until your whole body began shaking, legs trembling where they were draped over his shoulders, the heels of your feet digging into his back like it would somehow ground you. But nothing could.

You were so high up the wall, so completely suspended by him, only your back touching anything solid, that your vision started to white out.

"J-John I can't ... I'm gonna–“

"Yeah?" he grunted. "Go on then, sweetheart ... mark your territory."

His fingers dug deeper into your ass, holding you in place as he moaned against your cunt, the vibrations sent you crashing over the edge.

Your thighs clenched around his head, body trembling as you reached your high. He didn't stop, not when you came, not when your back arched off the wall, not even when you whimpered his name.

He kept eating, drinking down every twitch of your orgasm, tongue flicking your clit until your thighs shook violently and you tried to push him away.

Your hands ran all over his hair, desperate.

"Too much ... John, baby, please–"

That's when he finally pulled back.

You blinked a few times at him, your juices glistening on his lips, running down his bearded chin. He looked wrecked. His wet hair all wild, jaw flexing, chest rising and falling like he'd been the one coming.

You twitched one more time, and he grinned satisfied.

"You taste even better than I remembered." His voice was raspy, so fucking sexy.

You barely had time to recover before he lowered you just enough to cradle you in his arms, still against the wall, but now your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms locked behind his neck.

He was the one you kissed you this time, making sure you tasted every drop of yourself on his lips. You could feel his hard cock trapped between you, hot and slick, leaking against your stomach.

"Still singin' that song in your head, sweetheart?" he asked as soon as you came apart, in that devilishly teasing tone.

"Huh?" You blurted out, dizzy from the haze.

He shook his head amused, he was barely getting started with you.

He adjusted his grip on you, before taking you off the wall. Your arms tightened around his neck, eyes wide as he carried you through the room, toward the bed. He lowered you on the mattress, spreading your legs with his knees as he hovered over you.

He didn't have patience for you to be covered anymore, even if seeing you in his shirt drove him insane. But he just needed you naked when he came all over you. So he easily ripped his shirt off from you, throwing it somewhere in the room. His eyes dragged down your body, pausing at the mess between your thighs, at the way your chest heaved, at the way your eyes pleaded.

"You look like a fuckin' dream," he muttered, voice rough. This is all he'd been waiting for, all he’d been fantasizing about.

Before you could say anything, hell, before you could even breathe, he grabbed his cock in his hand, slapping the fat head of it against your soaked pussy.

Once. Twice. Again.

You jolt with each wet hit, little shocked gasps slipping from your lips as your sensitive clit twitched under the weight of his cock.

"Too much?" he asked, grinning as he slapped your folds again, harder this time. "You're twitching so pretty for me, sweetheart."

"John ... fuck–please," you whined, head rolling back on the mattress.

He just grinned, treating himself to a few more heavy wet slaps. You looked so pretty when you shivered, when you begged.

You gasped when you felt him pressing in your entrance with no warning. Head shooting up, eyes going wide just in time to see how he only pushed the tip in. Just that goddamn massive tip, splitting you open with a stretch that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You couldn’t help but throw your head back again.

"I know, baby," he groaned at the feeling of your pussy around him. "You're so tight and so full already … look at you, it's not even halfway in," he praised, breath coming short.

He didn't go deeper. Just pushed the head of his cock against your entrance, in and out. Driving you wild.

And my god, he was so vocal. The grunting, the low growling. The slow movement of his hips like he was holding himself back from slamming balls deep inside you. You knew he has.

You whimpered, clutching the sheets, your hips rolled up to chase more, deeper, but he pinned you down, his chest tensing as he held himself back with a growl.

"Just the tip for now, baby."

He wanted to take his time. Make you go as many rounds as he'd saved his cum for the time he was away. But when you clenched your pussy around the head of his cock, he almost almost bursted right there. He kept pressing in, just the swollen crown stretching you wide.

“God … John,” you whimper, grabbing the sheets. “I love the way you fit.”

“I know,” he hisses, eyes glued to where your bodies met. “Feels so fucking good like this.”

He didn’t thrust deep, just moved in short, devastating rolls of his hips that drove that thick tip over your sweetest spot again and again, attempting to drag another orgasm right back out of you.

“You gonna cum again, baby? tip’s too much for you already?”

That cockiness, that smug grin on his face, the way he keep pushing just a part of himself in that teasing pace, made you unravel, his name came out between gasps, body spasming with the pressure.

“Just like that baby, taking me so well, and I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

No he hadn’t, still made you see white as you rode your second high on the night. He groaned at the sight, feeling himself closer and closer.

"You want me to cum like this?" he gritted, hips grinding. "Been saving it, my sweet fucking cum ...all yours. You want it?"

You just nodded, eyes still seeing stars, breathless.

"Then sing it for me.”

Your brows furrowed. "W-What?"

"Sing the fuckin' lyric." He growled this time, leaning closer. "The part that got you all worked up. Let's hear it again sweetheart, just the good part"

Your cheeks flushed, brain fuzzing. "John—"

He slammed forward, just an inch deeper, but so hard it knocked a cry out of your throat. You swallowed hard, while he waited expectantly without moving, making you ache for the friction.

"...Adore me..." you mumbled, barely singing.

“Louder."

“Adore me... hold me... and explore me..."

You noticed the way he was becoming undone to your shaky voice, breathing caught in his throat as he began fucking you again his leaking tip, exploring your entire body with his hands. His eyes glistened with anticipation. He needed you to say it, he was so close.

"Go on, what’s next?” He growled between gritted teeth, hips dragging faster his tip in and out of your entrance, hands pinching your nipples.

"...Mark your territory..." you whispered, nearly choking on your words.

"Yeah," he breathed, voice feral. "That's the one."

He let out a guttural sound, hips slamming forward, his body locking up as he finally let himself spill into you, tip buried, grinding into your clenching pussy while his cum rushed out desperate, like it's been waiting to drip out of you.

"Fuck– ugh baby, fuck..."

You felt it before you even saw it. The first hot pulses inside you, so thick and warm. But he’d dreamed about you covered in him, so he pulled out, his cum leaking out behind him in thick drips as he poured the rest of himself on you. You felt it spill all over your body, one spurt. Then another. And another.

And another.

"Oh my –shit, baby," you gasped , eyes flying wide as he poured into you. "That's so much, John ... holy fuck–"

He kept going while he grunted, kept spilling, holding the base of his cock tight as he came all over you. Your clenching walls pushed what was left inside you out, dripping down your pussy, pooling on the sheets.

"Shit–can't stop," he panted, all flushed, watching with hooded eyes as his cum kept painting your body. "Fuck, look at you ... you're soaked."

You glanced down, and your jaw dropped.

It was everywhere. Your belly, your thighs, the curve of your hips. Sticky, thick white streaks all over your chest, a faint drop on your neck. And even more dripping out your pussy like he never pulled out.

And it had been just with the tip.

"John... it’s so much..." you panted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Told you I was saving it up, honey," he grinned, breathless yet still smug, proud ... asshole.

He leaned down, dragging two fingers through the mess on your belly, gathering a thick strand of it, and then smearing it right back onto your skin, lazier, messier, spreading it even more.

"You're not getting cleaned up," he mumbled, voice rough. "Not yet. I want you to feel it. I want you to lie here soaking in it."

You whimpered as his fingers trailed lower, collecting more where it was pooling between your thighs. He spread it around your folds, deliberately pushing it over your sensitive clit, and you jolted, hips twitching.

"Still twitchy," he smirked, loving the way you squirmed. "So damn pretty when you're sensitive."

Then he dragged his fingers back up and smeared more of it across your chest, rubbing his release into your skin like he wanted it to stay there.

His territory marked. Owned.

You were trying to catch your breath, your limbs heavy, skin flushed and sticky, brain barely holding onto thoughts.

But then, the weight of him moved over you again. His hand gripped your wet thigh hard, pushing it up and out. His cock, hard again, sliding right through the mess between your legs, thick and wet from your arousal and his white paint.

Your eyes flew open. "John ... just give me a minute–"

"It's okay baby, I got you."

He grabbed your limp body and flipped it over, chest against the mattress, ass low, while he crossed your arms behind your back so he could raise your back to him. His cock pressed against your ass, and you suddenly needed him more than before.

"Need you ... all of it … please"

This time he didn't say anything, he just thrusted. He buried himself deep, all the way this time, no more teasing with the tip. The sudden stretch made your whole body arch, back curling away from him but he tightened his grip on your arms, as a helpless cry ripped from your throat.

"Shit, you're so tight," he growled, voice rough with need.

He set a brutal rhythm instantly, hips snapping against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy in the room. You were too sensitive, too full, too overstimulated, but you couldn't stop moaning. Your body could take it. Needed it.

One large hand gripped yours on your lower back, the other landing a smack in your ass as he fucked into you, panting, wild, relentless.

"You're so fucking perfect," he leaned down, teeth grazing your shoulder. "I'm gonna come inside this time. So deep you'll feel it for days."

Your mind was gone. Words were gone. You were just whimpering, relying on his grip to hold you up while he ruined you for the third time.

This is how he needed you. Overstimulated, a moaning mess, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you. You clenched around his whole length this time, tighter, he looked down at you and smirked.

"Cum on my cock, baby. That's what it's for, all yours."

His deep voice sent you over the edge. Your walls fluttered around his cock, your back arched as you came again while he fucked you through it, clenching around him with a strangled cry. He slammed in deeper, his cock twitching for release.

"Take it, baby … so pretty how your take it."

He growled seeing you become undone again, losing his last thread of restraint.

"Oh fuck..."

"Come on John, I know you still have more for me.”

You felt it the moment he started to lose control, his rhythm stuttering, jaw almost snapping, breath hot and shaky against your skin.

"Gonna fill you up again," he growled, hips slamming into you one last time.

And then he crashed again, deep inside you, seed thick and hot, spilling into your pussy in those long, creamy strings. Your body jolted under him, back arching, but he didn't pull out this time.

He kept himself buried balls deep, cock twitching inside you, his hands tight still holding your arms behind your back.

"Jesus," he groaned, dazed. "You're fuckin' milking me."

You hummed, overstimulated and trembling, feeling every drop of him, filling you up until it began leaking back out.

A slow, thick stream of cum slipped out around his cock, trickling between your thighs, dripping down your leg as John just watched. Mesmerized. Smirking.

He let his grip on you go, gently letting your chest fall back on the mattress, cock still inside you. He looked down.

"Look at that," he mumbled. "Can't even hold it all." He pulled his cock back a little, just enough to make it spill faster. "Fucked you so full I can feel it spilling out of you."

You moaned, all weak, breathless. "Saved all that sweet cum just for me Johnny."

"It's all I thought about baby," he gritted, dragging his thumb to smear the mess around.

He finally pulled out, a gasp escaping your mouth when you felt all his love dripping out of you.

"Look how pretty you are when you're leaking my cum..."

You thought he would give you a minute this time. A little break to remember how to breathe again, when he helped you turn around so you laid your back on the bed, facing him now.

You could feel it against your leg, he was hardening again. Like your whole body wasn't already covered in all of him.

You felt the weight of his cock, thick, flushed, and heavy against your overstimulated pussy, you whimpered when he pressed the head back to your folds.

"John," you breathed, head rolling back. "You already ... fuck, you came so much baby."

"I know," he growled, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath was hot against your cheek. "I know. But look at me, baby."

He grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed the tip through the slick, tender mess between your legs, your whole body reacting. "Still fuckin' hard."

It wasn't his fault. The serum had enhanced everything. Every fucking thing. And he'd been gone, for too damn long.

You barely had time to recover. You were still twitching, body too sensitive, soaked and overstimulated. But your hands still reached to his back, to push him into you one more time.

"Greedy little thing." He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t even hold yourself up but you keep reaching for more.”

So he complied, slow at first, like he could still tease after all he’d done to you by now. His hips rolled forward, pushing his previous loads deeper. You gasped, legs trembling, nails digging into his back as you shook your head and whimpered, "John, I can't–"

"Yes, you can," he growled. "You're gonna take every drop. Again."

Then he snaps his hips forward, hard.

Your whole body bounces as he fucked it into you one more time, his cock slamming through the mess he already left inside, making it gush out in slick, tiny splashes with every thrust.

"Fuck, listen to that," he snarled, going feral at the obscene sounds. "So messy for me. You love this."

And the worst part? He was right.

Because even through the overstimulation, the ache, the stretch, you were clenching around him again, your body greedy, desperate, obeying every filthy command he made without question.

He was relentless. Gripping your hips, fucked into you like he was trying to imprint himself into your core, cock pounding the mess deeper while more of it leaked out down your ass and thighs.

"Still sensitive, sweetheart?" He was smug as sin, one hand spreading you open while the other pressed your lower belly. "You can take it … just a little more."

You didn’t take long to come again, nearly sobbing, legs shaking uncontrollably, and he groaned as you cried out his name, squeezing him tight.

He was there, almost there. But he wanted this one somewhere else.

He pulled out of your shaking pussy, and climbed over your body on the bed, straddling your chest as he guided his cock to your face.

"Open for me, sweetheart ... yeah that's it"

He shoved his cock in your mouth, and you gladly took it, all of it. In twitches it spilled down your throat. Salty, thick warmth overflowed your mouth as he grunted, coming all over your tongue.

You hit his thigh when you couldn't breathe anymore from how much it was, so he put a hand behind your neck to lift your head, and raised you to sit on the bed as he panted beside you, mesmerized by the view of you choking in it.

His hand ran comforting strokes down your back, as you tried to swallow as much as you could. Like you always did.

Like the good fucking girl you were for him.

"Look at you," he whistled in a growl. "Covered in me. Stuffed full of me. Choking on me … and I still see some untouched parts."

His thumb found your chin, smearing what had leaked out your mouth down your neck, and tilted your face toward his.

"How many times is that, baby?" he taunted, pushing the hair out of your sweaty face. "Two, three loads? … doesn't even matter, you always take ‘em all.”

You just whimpered to his praise, couldn't trust your voice when you still felt his warmth going down your throat.

You both go quiet.

The kind of quiet that only happened after John was finally satisfied with how many times you came on his cock, with the way you twitched from the sheer exhaustion, when you didn’t even know how to speak anymore.

He pressed kiss to your temple, his lips soft, lingering. The sharp edge of his voice from earlier was gone, replaced by a low raspy whisper as his fingers brushed over your spine.

“Hey… you still with me, baby?”

You nod weakly.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned. “You did so good for me. So damn good.”

As you regained your breath, he just held you for a moment with his hand on your back, and stared. At you. At the mess all over your body. At what he did.

At what you let him do.

“C’mere” He whispered, while he pulled you into his lap, and settled you down on his wet cock.

You moan out, body going limp and stuffed beyond reason as he held you there, not moving, just filling you up for the last time. You clung to him with the last bits of strength you had left, while he wiped the sweat and hair out of your face.

“Just sit here sweetheart, you’re okay” he breathed against your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your body. “Keep me warm while you recover baby, don’t spill another drop.”

He wrapped his arms around you, possessive, smug but with tenderness now, he kissed your shoulder like it was the softest thing in the world. He could feel the stickiness of your body on him, a sweet reminder that you were in fact, the only only only one for him.

“We’ll cleanup later, baby” He cooed and you just nodded weakly, placing a kiss on his pec.

He leaned slightly to see your face, to catch a glimpse of that blissed out, weak smile on your lips. He smiled adoringly, with that softness that only came after he wrecked you.

But then, without even a doubt, a harsh chuckle left his throat.

“Have I marked my territory enough?”

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

comments and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you so much for reading 🖤

[windownextdoor]

RENOVATIONS

sfw + nsfw + plot + simon riley x fem!reader wc: 1.3k wanting independence, you buy a home. yes, it was a fixer-upper. but, who said your neighbor couldn't help? pt. 2

home depot was...

something else, you described it.

could barely look around without a man coming up and seeing if you needed help or wanted to ask you what you were doing that you needed such tools; just a sander and a bauer drill.

"sugar, what are you doing with such tools? your man ain't here to help ya out?" the employee said condescendingly.

fucking men and trying to mansplain shit.

you were trying to be polite, "uh, sir, i'm fine. just trying to look around-"

"how about you come back with your man? he'll know what to get for whatever you're doing, alright sugar?"

you just stared at him. stared at him because who has the audacity to be misogynstic in the 21st century?

see, you were about to tell him off, shout loudly that he should go fuck off and stick his fist somewhere where it doesn't shine.

until a very familiar, a very deep voice was directly behind you.

"honey, you find what you needed?"

simon.

you turned around to find him, a little too close for people who just met the day before. shoulders directly in front of your face and his eyes on the employee who just wouldn't leave you the fuck alone.

also, honey?

your mouth was slightly ajar, but you closed it and nodded your head. "yeah...i did." you said, looking back at the employee.

the employee who was as stupid as ever, decided to start talking again. "you must be her husband! see, i told her to wait for you to make sure you got the right tools and whatnot, but-"

"now why the fuck would you do that?" simon's voice was dangerous, but oh-so tranquil. like he knew the employee wouldn't think about doing this again.

the employee just blinked and stuttered his next words a little.

"what was that? because the next words out of your mouth better be an apology to my wife."

my wife. goddamn did that sound good coming from his mouth.

"a-ah, yes, i'm so sorry ma'am. very sorry, my apologies." that apology was quick and certain as he walked away from both of you.

a breath you hadn't known you'd been holding left you as you turned around to your neighbor. "god- thank you so much for that. he would not leave me alone."

"just being a misogynistic prick." simon rasped, his eyes went to the two tools in your hands.

"drill and sander? fixing that porch o'yours?"

you smiled up at him, "yes sir, that i am. i know we only exchanged a few words but you were right. i am really excited to fix this house." his eyes darkened ever-so-slightly at the 'sir'. you didn't know what that was about.

you looked at his hands; empty. "what are you here for, then?" you asked.

"nosy neighbor." he said gruffly, but there was an upturn in his lips. "just here for trash bags. out of them."

you nodded, the silence filled the isle. a comfortable one. until- an idea struck you.

"want to help me out a little, simon?" you asked, a pleading tone in your voice.

"oh lord." was all simon said before getting swept up in your home depot shopping spree.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

he helped you put the planks of new wood into your small car, along with the two tools and nails you'd purchased.

"i'll meet you back at your house." simon said, closing your trunk.

you raised an eyebrow.

"you wanna help with this home renovation?" you say, perplexed at his assertion.

"wouldn't be good neighbor if i didn't help, would i, love?"

jesus fuckin' christ, his accent and rough voice could probably make you come on the spot-

you just laughed a little, "whatever you say, simon. i'll make us some coffee, because lord knows we are going to need it."

he gave you a look, his eyes. they say a lot. they're pretty, and tell a story. you just don't know what story.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

back at your house, you stepped through the door with simon trailing behind you. you both got home at about the the same time, since his car was basically following yours.

the sigh that left his mouth was disgruntled.

"jesus christ, woman, are you sure you're livin' 'ere?"

you planted your hand at your chest, a mocking shock of offensiveness. "don't be mean to my house! it's a work in progress. she just...isn't furnished yet."

he opened your fridge. "nor stocked with food yet." he said, closing it and looking at you with a look as he tilted his head.

you tilted your head back at him, hands on your hips. giving him the same look.

"don't get bratty with me, honey." he said, using the nickname from earlier on you, the way he said it was rough. "get some food in here." he said before walking around your island to sit on one of chairs you did have.

you rolled your eyes and started making coffee.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

music played from your speaker sat on your driveway as you and him pulled the old, rotten boards up and threw them in a pile.

after that, the real work started. fresh, new wooden boards, nails and your drill and hammer. sweat dripped down the sides of your temple as you and simon worked hand in hand, surprisingly. he needed nails, you knew which ones. you needed a piece of wood, he was already handing you one.

you and him were about seventy-five percent done, when you went into the house to wet two rags and came back out with them, handing one to simon. "i underestimated how fucking hot it would be out here." you swore, putting the cold, wet rag on your forehead, which felt absolutely heavenly.

simon laughed. a small, but full laugh, as he put the wet washcloth also on his forehead, standing up to see the progression. "oh, look at that. almost done, aren't we?"

you smiled at him then looked at the porch, yes, the porch was almost done. first home change and it looked pretty fucking nice.

you spoke, "20 bucks says we get this done today."

simon immediately retorted, "how about a beer says we get this done today? cause i ain't takin' your money, love." he says with a small smirk.

"but, i was going to pay you for helping me-"

"and tha' money would end up back in your hands. not taking money from you. today was nice, and i offered." simon said with a tilt of his head.

you sighed, your shoulders shrugging a little. "okay, if that's fine with you." you stretched and put the washcloth back on your forehead, letting it rest there for a moment before pulling it off. "let's get this porch done, then." you said with a small, tired smile.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

the sun was setting before simons and yours eyes. what a pretty view. you and him shared one last beer of yours as you promised to get more at the store later on in the week.

you and him sat on the two steps that lead up to your new porch. you gave the last of the beer over to him, "thanks for your help today, simon. it was really fun. very neighborly of you."

he laughed and shook his head as he downed the rest of the beer, "no need for thanks, just happy to help. don't do much, so it was a nice change of routine for an old man like me."

you rolled your eyes, and shoved his shoulder lightly, "bee-keeping age." you reminded him.

as he gruffly chuckled at your statement, your phone pinged. you grabbed your phone out of your pocket and saw it was from one of your friend from college, ava. a simple text of 'how's that house doing?'

you smiled at your phone and opened the camera app. without asking him, you took a picture of you and him with the new porch in the background, you smiling and simon holding the empty beer bottle as his forearms rested on his knees. catching simon off-guard.

"thanks." you said before sending the picture to your friend, a small brazen smile on your face.

simon just laughed, mumbling the words, "cheeky girl."

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

pt. 3 (soon!)

[moesthoughts]

hear me out... smut with post!crash nat who sees her ex girlfriend at a club with her new bf and nat doesn't like that at all, and takes it upon herself to show up on readers doorstep later that night and remind her who she "belongs to" so to say

(this may or may not have been heavily influenced by like i would by zayn LMAOO)

ೃ࿔ one way or another

After getting rescued from the crash you wanted a new life, a blank slate. You distanced yourself from everyone, moved to the city, and even got a new boyfriend. One year after you were rescued, you and your boyfriend went to the club, you would never guess your ex girlfriend would be paying you a visit after.

pairing 𝜗𝜚 natalie scatorccio x fem reader

warnings 𝜗𝜚 angst, stalker nat lowk, addiction, drug mentions, cheating, smut with plot, fingering, cunnilingus r! receiving, overstimulation, praise kink

The club has always been overwhelming, the strobe lights that give you the biggest headache, the music that drummed against your ears, the heat from the amount of bodies, it sucks. Which is why Nat is sat at the bar, sipping on a cold glass of gin. She came alone, just how she likes it. Small talk with the bartender is all she needs, other than that she enjoys her alone time. Tonight feels different though, the alcohol doesn’t taste the same and the music isn’t as annoying as she remembers. A new DJ? Maybe that is for the better. Nat sets the glass down at the table and pushes it towards the bartender, muttering “put it on my tab”, for the fifth time this week, a broken promise, she won’t pay it till they personally knock at her door.

Nat is planning on leaving, well, she was. Until her eyes land on a familiar figure, she recognizes that body shape from anywhere. That hair, even if it’s grown a little different overtime, that style of clothing you never can seem to let go of, the shape of your nose, the dark red lipstick you wore to every party before that stupid crash, and most importantly that smile that kept her sane during the time in the wilderness. She stops in her tracks, it’s like time froze around her. Everyone around you is moving slow, all the colorful lights illuminate you, and some man beside you. Nat instantly clutches her hands into fists as she watches his hands grab your waist as you grind on him, he could just be some random guy at the club, and you’re really drunk. Her hopes are false once again as you turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, your lips interlocking with his. She swears she reads “i love you”, from your lips.

It makes her sick, but she can’t stop watching. You look so fucking beautiful with your makeup and hair done, that short dress that hugs your ass so well. You’re her ex girlfriend, you broke things off with her in the hospital after the crash, she still feels that sting in her heart every time you come across her mind. Now she has to watch you kiss this random dude with a big smile on your face. Nat presses her lips together, and finally pushes herself to leave. But she doesn’t, she sits in her car, lighting a blunt and smoking it, waiting for you and your boy toy to leave. She sinks into her seat once she spots you and your boyfriend get into a car, and leave. She starts up hers and follows soon after.

You live surprisingly close to the club, Nat wonders if you’ve been there at the same time and she didn’t notice your presence. Her eyes follow you as you walk to your apartment, open the door and enter it. She curses under her breath and presses her forehead against the steering wheel, contemplating her decisions. She’s already getting high, and stalked you all the way home. She figures she should finish the blunt, you’ll notice right away anyway. That same dizzy feeling graces her as she smokes, her brain becoming foggy, and her worries disappearing like her dignity. She opens her car door and drops the blunt on the ground, stomping it out. She stumbles over to your door, and knocks on it without hesitation.

You open the door, unknowing of who’s waiting on the other side to meet you. Nat relishes the sight of your eyes widening, the cute gasp that falls out of those pretty lips. She also observes how you aren’t slamming the door in her face, your eyes glued on her face, with that same thick eyeliner, lined lips, just with different hair. A sort of twisted smile plays on her face. She’s obviously under some influence, she’s swaying side to side when she’s standing still, her eyes look irritated and red. You sigh and grip the edge of your wooden door.

“Hey, pretty.”

Nat breathes the nickname that used to make you weak in the knees. She gawks at the sight of you up close, that tight dress, those familiar hips, your makeup that she wants to remove using her lips, she takes a small breath to compose herself. Unlike you, about to throw up at the sight of Natalie fucking Scatorccio, even if you made such a great effort to disappear from the rest of the survivors. Though, somewhere inside of you, you’re happy that it’s her and not anyone else. You take a glance into your apartment and step out, closing the door slightly.

“Nat— I.. how did you find me?”

Nat rolls her eyes and peeks into the small opening into your apartment, she doesn’t see any movement, she ponders if your boyfriend is even home. You seem so nervous, like you’re about to throw up at any moment. Some sick feeling inside of her likes that, she enjoys seeing you shrink because of her presence, akin to how she felt after that day in the hospital. You’re sweaty, nervous, you feel like you’re about to puke. The gut wrenching anxiety doesn’t leave you at all, you can only stare at her in awe, somewhere inside of you knows she won’t give you a straight answer.

“What? ‘Your boyfriend home, or something?”

She sneers, a toothy smile coming on her face, the dimples that you loved so much adorning her. You can only glimpse away, not wanting to melt at the sight. Nat takes a step towards you, and you don’t make an effort to move. Something comforts you about her presence here, like she is a missing piece to the puzzle you’ve been meaning to solve for over a year. She’s so familiar, unlike your boyfriend. He’s new, not the same as her.

“I— No. I’m alone.”

You stammer, embarrassingly. Nat chuckles lowly, causing you to sink even more into yourself. Her mood slowly changes as she watches you become more nervous, and detached. She softens up, feels bad for dumping herself on your doorstep all of a sudden, it has to be late, at least 2 am in the morning. She reeks of weed, blabbering drunkenly, she drags a hand over her face and averts eye contact.

“Listen— I’m here because of that guy, are you even happy? I mean— A dude? I thought you were into girls.”

She hits a weak point in your heart, and she was dead right with her words. You don’t even like your boyfriend, maybe only the thought of having someone that enjoys you. You purse your lips, trying not to let those pesky tears roll down your cheeks. Nat’s hand rests on your hip, you can only stare at it. She continues when you don’t pull away from her touch. Her other hand travels to your hips as well, pressing you against the door, making it creak slightly open.

“I don’t even know— Nat. I’m gonna be honest with you.”

“It’s okay baby, you remember who can actually make you feel good, right? Let me take care of you..”

You push the door open and drag Nat into your apartment, bringing her into a desperate kiss. She returns it instantly, kicking the door shut with her heavy boot. She paws at your waist like she’s trying to remember how you feel against her hands, that smooth fabric rubbing against her palms encourages her. Your fingers already tangle themselves in that familiar hair texture, the color darker than you recall it being. She moans into your mouth as you pull on her roots, your tongue plunges into her mouth, not bothering to explore, you already know your way around. You guide her towards your couch and fall onto it, taking her down with you. Nat breaks the kiss to catch her breath. She cherishes the sight of you being disheveled, your smeared lipstick that stains your chin now, your eyeliner slightly running down your pink cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful.. just how I remember.”

Nat’s voice is husky, you whimper as she bites down on your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. You both missed this, each other’s lips, hands, everything. Your fingers hook under her shirt, she pulls away from you so you can slide it off with ease. She’s wearing a red bra, not the same one, but a lacey one that shaped her chest so well it has you drooling. Nat smirks and unclips her bra, before you can speak she attaches herself back onto your neck. Your grope her, relishing the whimper that vibrates through your neck. She wants to devour you, keep you in her grasp forever. She won’t let you worm out of her life again, she’ll give you a reason to stay and leave that boyfriend of yours.

“Such a pretty girl, I want you all to myself.”

Nat murmurs against your skin as she works your dress down your body. You don’t even have a bra on, small black underwear is all that covers you after she discards your dress somewhere in the room. Her teeth graze your chest while her hands smooth over your now exposed skin, nails digging into the softest parts. She worships your body, she missed how you feel against her palms, how you shiver whenever she caresses you. You realize how much you’ve needed Nat, how your boyfriend couldn’t compare to how she appreciates you as a whole. No boy has made you feel this good, or paid any mind to your pleasure but his own. She rolls your nipple around with her tongue and hikes down your panties, you’re already so wet and she hasn’t even touched near your core. You feel her gasp against your skin as she touches your soaked cunt, she pushes herself up to see you fully. A muttered “fuck” falls out of her lips as she circles your clit with her finger, obsessing over the way you’re already rolling your hips into her touch.

“Shit, you’re so wet.”

She barely speaks over a whisper, you arch your back into her fingers as she pushes them inside of you. Nat’s lips part, she forgot how good you feel around her. Slowly she starts pumping her fingers, moans spill from your mouth shamelessly. She remembers those nights in her hut, her fingers drowning in your pussy, how you’d cover your mouth so nobody could hear you both, she’d whimper like she was actually fucking you. She never got rid of that habit, panting like a dog while she ruins you. She curls her digits in the right spots that make you mewl, how she presses her thumb on your clit makes your toes curl.

“Such a good girl for me, just like that pretty.”

That nickname almost sends you over the edge, your hand wraps around her arm, you almost feel bad for your neighbors, you both have never been this noisy. You missed each other, you want Nat to know how much you’ve been needing her, and she can’t help herself from the noises that come from her mouth. You start approaching your high, that knot in your stomach tightening, threatening to burst. She notices instantly, and picks up her pace, rolling her thumb around your clit and pumping in and out of you relentlessly. It doesn’t take long for you to cum around her fingers, stammering out her name in pure bliss. What you don’t expect is her lowering herself down to your sensitive cunt, and licking up the juices, rolling her tongue around your clit instead.

“Wait— Nat.. Not yet—“

“Please, just one more for me, that’s all.”

And you can’t say know to her, all you can do is whimper as she laps your wetness up. It stings, but feels so good. You grind into her mouth, already feeling like you’ll burst again. Nat wastes no time and slides her tongue into your cunt, fucking you with a pace that gradually brings you over the edge. Her nails dig into your thighs, her tongue working on undoing you. You cum instantly, whining from the overstimulation. She cleans you up with her tongue as best as she can, but she stops when your voice starts getting shaky. Nat wipes her mouth while looking at you, tears stinging your eyes. You slowly sit up and bring her into a kiss, it’s hungry, still that same desperation you two had at the beginning. Your fingers graze her jawline in a way that has her melting under your touch.

“God, I missed you.”

You murmur into her lips, your hand putting the right amount of pressure on her back. She pulls away from you and presses her forehead against yours. Memories from the crash flood your mind, but they’re nice ones, the ones that remind you that Nat is someone you can rely on.

“Why don’t we run you a bath?”

“Only if you join me.”

Okay so i’ve been wanting to write for post crash nat for SO LOMG thank you anon🤍🤍🤍 HEARING U OUT ANYDAY

req me!

masterlist

[jeeonks]

eternal obsession | jjk 18+

genre : obsessive, angst, dark romance [ one shot ]

warnings : description of slight gore scenes but nothing bad at all, obsessive stalker plot ( koo is not the stalker, he's her boyfriend ) , passionate sex.

sypnosis : Jungkook is everything Y/N ever wanted — tender, protective, utterly devoted. But behind his love lies a trail of secrets, blood, and bodies no one was ever meant to find. As the truth begins to unravel, Y/N is forced to confront a terrifying question... What if the man who would kill for her… already has? And worse — what if she doesn’t want to stop him? Because if there’s no heaven for people like them, They’ll rule hell, hand in hand.

The city outside blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, every passing car smearing red and gold across the glass. Inside the little bookstore café, it was warm—almost too warm. The scent of old pages and cinnamon steeped the air, and Y/N’s cup of lavender tea steamed gently beneath her fingers.

“God, it’s pouring,” Mina said, brushing rain from her coat as she slid into the seat across from her. “I swear the sky’s been crying all week.”

Y/N smiled faintly, swirling her tea. “Maybe the city needed a cleanse.”

Mina scoffed. “Or maybe it’s just cursed.” She leaned in. “So… are you seeing him tonight?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered toward the window, where shadows moved past in soft blurs. “Probably. He said he might come by to walk me home.”

“‘Might’? Girl, that man would burn the world to walk you across the street.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “He’s just… attentive.”

“Attentive?” Mina raised an eyebrow. “You told me he showed up outside your work at midnight. You weren’t even on shift.”

Y/N shrugged, feeling a sudden warmth rise to her cheeks. “He said he just wanted to make sure I got home safe. He’s sweet, Mina. Intense, yeah—but sweet.”

“Sweet is flowers. A little clingy. Not ‘I tracked your phone just to see your smile’ sweet.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but something shifted behind the glass.

Mina stopped talking.

He was already inside.

Dressed in black from collar to cuff, damp hair curling softly where it brushed his cheekbones. Jungkook walked with quiet purpose, like the world moved for him. His eyes, impossibly dark, locked on Y/N like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.

He didn’t even glance at Mina.

“You’re late,” Y/N teased gently as he reached their table.

“I’m never late to you,” Jungkook said, voice low and warm, wrapping around her like silk. He leaned down, brushing his lips over her temple. “You looked so pretty sitting here, I almost didn’t want to interrupt.”

Y/N smiled. “It’s okay. We were just talking—”

He finally looked at Mina. The smile in his eyes vanished.

Mina shifted under his stare. “Hey.”

Jungkook nodded once. Nothing more.

“I should go,” Mina muttered, grabbing her umbrella. “Call me later, okay?”

Y/N blinked. “You just got here—”

“I forgot I had something. Sorry.” She was already walking away.

Jungkook watched her go until the door swung closed behind her. Then, like a switch flipped, he turned back to Y/N with a softness that made her chest ache.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He took her hand across the table, fingers cold from the rain. “Now that I’m here, yeah. Everything’s perfect.”

Y/N took another sip of tea, trying not to let the awkwardness with Mina settle in her chest. “Today was kind of slow,” she said, gently twirling the spoon between her fingers. “We had this customer come in and ask if we sold perfume. At a bookstore. Can you believe that?”

Jungkook gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you talk to him for long?”

She blinked. “The customer?”

“Yeah.” His thumb rubbed small circles into the back of her hand, perfectly casual if not for the slight pressure behind it.

“Not really,” she said with a little frown. “I just pointed him to the shop down the street. Why?”

“No reason.” He smiled, that dimpled grin that always made her stomach flip. “I just like hearing about your day.”

“Well, I also alphabetized the horror section again,” she continued, trying to lighten the mood. “Someone keeps putting Stephen King under ‘S.’ I think it’s an act of rebellion at this point.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Maybe they’re just trying to get your attention.”

“Good luck to them, then,” she said, grinning. “My attention span ends at the letter ‘H’.”

His smile lingered, but his grip on her hand didn’t loosen.

“Did anyone else try to get your attention today?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “You mean like… flirt with me?”

“Maybe.”

She snorted. “Jungkook, I’m wearing a cardigan with moths on it. I think I’m safe.”

“You’re not,” he said so softly it was almost lost under the hum of the café.

“What?”

“You’re never safe,” he repeated, eyes darkening slightly as he leaned in. “Not out there. Not without me.”

The words should have chilled her. But the way he said them—with such devotion, such certainty—it sent a strange heat curling down her spine.

“I’m fine, though,” she said gently. “I made it here on my own, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t see the man who followed you three blocks.”

She froze.

“…What?”

Jungkook’s smile returned, slow and calm. “He stopped when I got close. I don't think he’ll be a problem anymore.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Would I let anyone hurt you?”

His voice was low. Intimate. Possessive.

Something about the way he said it made her breath catch—somewhere between fear and fascination.

“…Jungkook, how do you even know he was following me?”

He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“I always know where you are."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook had always had eyes on his girl. He refused to let her out of his sight even when she wasn't physically with him.

Camera. Bugs. Wires. Location trackers. Anything so he knew she was safe.

He was watching. Her chest rose and fell softly beneath his sheets, one hand curled by her face like she was protecting a secret even in her dreams. She didn’t know, of course. She never stirred when he slipped out of bed and stood there, bare-chested in the dark, just… watching.

Whenever a man dared to look at her in the wrong way, he'd take action.

He moved to the window and opened it an inch. Cold air slipped in, but he liked it that way. It helped him think. Helped him stay in control.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, eyes flicking to the building across the street. Fourth floor. Left window. Lights off now.

Good.

That bastard had finally learned.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he exhaled. Just two nights ago, he’d seen the man watching her—watching her from that window like he had the right.

Jungkook had knocked on his door half an hour later. Calm. Smiling. Friendly.

The man hadn’t answered at first.

So Jungkook waited. And waited.

When the door creaked open, he hadn’t said a word.

Just smiled.

And then he’d stepped inside.

He’d returned to Y/N’s apartment an hour later, hands clean, smile easy. She was asleep by then, soft music playing from her phone. She’d left a blanket out for him.

She always did. Even when she didn’t know where he went.

That was love. Trust.

And he would do anything to protect it.

Earlier that day, she had smiled at a cashier. Nothing unusual. Just a polite, passing smile.

But Jungkook had memorized the way the boy’s eyes followed her as she left. He always memorized the faces. The gestures. The threats, even if they never knew they were one.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not really. But they didn’t stop. They never stopped.

Once, she had brushed past a man in the subway. Her bare shoulder had touched his jacket. The man had turned, seen her face, and smiled.

It had taken Jungkook six hours to find out who he was. His address. His routine.

He hadn’t hurt him. Not then.

He’d just… waited outside his building the next morning.

One glimpse of Jungkook’s face, and the man never looked at Y/N again.

He didn’t always need violence. Just presence. Just pressure. Like a hand around a throat that hadn’t started squeezing yet.

But some people needed to be reminded what pain felt like.

Jungkook looked down at his knuckles, the skin still pink from the last time.

A man at the bar last week had grabbed her arm. Just playfully. Just drunk.

Y/N had laughed it off, pulled away.

Jungkook hadn’t.

He’d smiled the rest of the night. Held her like she was glass. Kissed her like nothing was wrong.

The man’s teeth were still scattered in the alley behind the bar.

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and turned back to her.

She murmured something in her sleep, soft and delicate. His chest ached.

He loved her so much it made his hands shake sometimes. She didn’t understand what it cost to keep her safe. What kind of world she really lived in.

But that was fine.

He would carry the weight. He would do the ugly things. The things that made her world beautiful.

Even if she never thanked him.

Even if she never knew.

As long as she was his.

Forever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain had returned, misting the windows in soft gray streaks, but inside the apartment, it was all warmth and comfort. The overhead lights were off—only the low flicker of candles lit the room, casting a golden glow over blankets, pillows, and tangled limbs on the couch.

Y/N was curled into Jungkook’s lap like she belonged there.

Which she did.

Her head rested against his chest, ear pressed right over his heartbeat. The rhythm was steady, comforting, and so very his. She wore one of his old hoodies—oversized and worn soft, smelling like detergent and something darker, something undeniably him. Her bare legs tangled with his as she reached blindly for a piece of popcorn from the bowl resting near his thigh.

“You keep eating all the caramel ones,” Jungkook murmured against her hair.

She smiled without looking up. “Maybe you’re too slow.”

“I’m just letting you win.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he agreed, amused. “I’m not.”

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling from the TV’s glow, and tilted her face toward his. “You love me anyway, though.”

His hand slid up her thigh in a lazy, lingering caress. “I do,” he said, voice low and rough. “More than anything. You know that.”

Y/N shifted, climbing into his lap more fully now, straddling him. She pressed her forehead against his, her smile softening. “Sometimes I think you love me too much.”

His fingers dug gently into her hips. “Impossible.”

She kissed him then—slow and unhurried. Familiar. Addictive.

He responded in kind, arms winding around her waist, pulling her tighter. Her hands found his jaw, then slid into his hair, curling into the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

His lips parted for hers, deepening the kiss, tongue meeting hers with a hunger that always lingered just below the surface of him. He tasted like cinnamon and need. She felt his fingers flex on her thighs, holding her still even as she shifted closer, needing more, needing all of him.

The movie kept playing in the background, forgotten.

Her breath hitched when he tilted her back slightly, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw, then down her neck, grazing just above her collarbone. His voice, breathless now, came in a murmur against her skin: “Tell me what you want, angel.”

She opened her mouth—but then—

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Y/N stilled.

The phone on the coffee table lit up again.

Ding.

Jungkook sighed, pulling back slightly, visibly irritated by the interruption. Y/N blinked herself out of the haze and reached for her phone.

Her brow furrowed. “…That’s weird.”

He watched her carefully. “What is it?”

She opened her messages.

Unknown number:

You looked so pretty tonight. That hoodie doesn’t hide much. I saw you laughing. He doesn’t deserve you. Why don’t you smile like that when you’re alone?

Her stomach dropped.

She froze, reading each line again like it would change the meaning. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice was sharper now, on edge. He sat up straighter beneath her. “What is it?”

She slowly handed him the phone, fingers shaking. “I—I don’t know who that is. I’ve never—Jungkook, someone’s watching me.”

His eyes scanned the messages. Stillness overtook him, a terrifying, glacial kind. His hand tightened around the phone.

“How long has this been happening?” he asked, too calm.

“This is the first time. I swear. I don’t—how would they know I was wearing your hoodie? We didn’t even go out today, I just—” Her voice cracked. She looked around, suddenly paranoid. The windows. The blinds. “Is someone outside? Is someone watching right now?”

Jungkook gently lifted her off his lap, stood, and set the phone down.

“Jungkook—wait, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer.

He crossed the room in three long strides, closed the blinds, and checked the front door’s lock—twice. Then he moved to the bedroom, returned with something she couldn’t see in his hand, and walked quietly to the kitchen window.

Y/N stood there, frozen, arms hugging herself tightly.

When he finally came back, he didn’t speak right away. He walked straight to her and wrapped her in his arms.

His heart was racing. Really racing now.

She pressed her face into his chest. “Who would—why would someone—?”

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t cry, angel. I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“But they saw me,” she whispered. “They said you don’t deserve me. They’ve been watching.”

“They’re wrong.” His voice was steel now. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this. They know it. That’s why they’re hiding.”

“What if they come here?”

“They won’t.” A pause. Then he murmured so quietly, she almost didn’t hear it: “They wouldn’t dare.”

She looked up at him, eyes wet. “How can you be so sure?”

Jungkook held her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Gentle. Reassuring.

“I know how to make people disappear,” he said, smiling softly.

She blinked.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and she didn’t ask what he meant.

She didn’t want to.

She just held onto him tighter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning after didn’t feel like morning.

It was gray and muted, the kind of day that dragged like wet clothes—heavy, slow, and cold beneath the skin. The candles had long since burned out. The half-watched movie still sat paused on the screen.

Y/N hadn’t touched her phone again.

She sat curled on the edge of the couch, sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes staring blankly at nothing. Jungkook stood across the room, his broad back to her as he adjusted something beneath the kitchen sink. The apartment felt too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

She hated it.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly.

Jungkook turned immediately. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed rest too.”

He crossed the space and knelt in front of her. His hands found hers, gently tugging the sleeves down. “Angel,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. “You don’t need to be brave right now.”

Y/N looked down. “I keep thinking someone’s out there. Watching. I keep checking the windows and listening for things. I—I know it sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You believe me?”

“I always believe you.”

He kissed her knuckles, holding them to his lips for a long moment.

She closed her eyes. Breathed him in.

But something in his posture had shifted. His shoulders were tighter today. His eyes sharper, more alert. He was still her Jungkook—warm, loving—but a colder energy hummed beneath the surface.

“I have to go out for a few hours,” he said, too casually.

Y/N’s eyes shot open. “What? No.”

“I just need to take care of a few things, baby. I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

Her fingers curled around his tighter. “No. Please, don’t. Not now.”

He hesitated.

She reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, holding on like he might disappear if she let go. “Jungkook, please don’t leave me alone. I can’t—what if they come back? What if they’re watching again?”

He cupped her cheek. “They won’t get to you. I promise.”

“That’s not enough,” she whispered. “You’re the only reason I feel safe.”

His throat worked, jaw tight.

Then he exhaled. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Relief bloomed in her chest, and she practically melted into his arms. He caught her easily, pulling her into his lap as she pressed her face into his neck. His hands roamed her back in slow, calming circles.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

She nodded against him, body sinking deeper into the comfort only he could offer.

The hours passed in a haze. She tried to eat, tried to watch something with him—but her mind wandered constantly. The blinds stayed shut. The door remained bolted. Every little sound outside made her jump.

Eventually, Jungkook coaxed her into the bedroom.

“You need rest,” he said softly, brushing her hair from her face as she lay beneath the sheets. “Just a little. I’ll be right here, okay?”

“You promise?”

“Of course,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Sleep, angel.”

She fell asleep with her hand wrapped around his wrist.

He waited until her breathing evened out—then stayed still a little longer, just watching her. Listening. Letting himself feel everything.

Then, slowly, carefully, he slid his hand free.

In the dark, he moved like a ghost.

First: the front door. He knelt, installing a reinforced deadbolt he’d brought from his apartment. Not the basic kind. This one required biometric input. No one would open it from the outside.

Second: the windows. He reinforced the latches. Taped the blinds shut with black electrical tape. Not a sliver of light—or vision—would leak in or out.

He checked the fire escape. Quietly unscrewed a vital rung from the ladder.

Just in case.

He moved like this for nearly an hour, careful not to make a sound. Methodical. Obsessive. Every lock was tested. Every blind double-checked.

When he was satisfied, he returned to the bedroom.

Y/N hadn’t moved.

She looked so small in his bed. So trusting.

He crouched beside her, watching her sleep the way he always did—like she was his favorite sin. His most fragile treasure. A candle flame he’d kill to keep burning.

He pressed one last kiss to her temple.

Then slipped out the door without a sound.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The warehouse smelled like rust and oil and old violence.

Rain hammered the tin roof above, and fluorescent lights flickered across a long table cluttered with screens. Grainy surveillance footage looped across the monitors—angles from traffic cams, store security, and footage pulled from obscure forums. Some showed city sidewalks. Others, darker and closer, showed her.

The same ones Jungkook had already seen. The ones that had made his jaw lock and his vision go red.

Jimin leaned against the table, arms crossed, mouth set in a hard line. Taehyung was seated nearby, tapping a switchblade against his thigh in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

They looked up the moment Jungkook entered.

He said nothing at first. Just stepped into the room like a storm given shape, black hoodie soaked through, eyes darker than night.

Jimin handed him a tablet. “That’s him. Name’s Ryu. Mid-thirties. Tech background. Obsessive online presence. Started tracking her a few months ago through her social profiles.”

“Worked at a security firm,” Taehyung added, gaze sharp and lazy at once. “Had access to CCTV networks. Wired her apartment building, probably planted something physical too.”

Jungkook stared at the image on the screen—an unremarkable man with pale skin, dark circles, and a faint smirk. One of those forgettable types who passed through crowds unnoticed.

“Where is he now?” Jungkook asked, voice dead calm.

“Southside,” Jimin said. “Abandoned unit near the freight line. We traced his last login through a burner.”

Jungkook handed back the tablet and rolled up his sleeves. His hands were steady.

Taehyung watched him with a knowing grin. “You want him alive, or...?”

“Alive for now.”

“Copy that.”

Twenty minutes later.

The door crashed open with the force of a thunderclap.

Ryu didn’t even have time to scream before he was hauled from his chair, the desk and monitors toppling beside him. Jungkook didn’t say a word. Just dragged him by the collar into the concrete room beyond, flanked by Jimin and Taehyung like wolves on either side.

They tied him to a chair. Fastened the rope tight.

Blood from a split lip already trickled down Ryu’s chin. His breath stuttered when Jungkook knelt in front of him.

“Do you know who she is to me?”

Ryu didn’t answer.

Jungkook backhanded him hard enough to send spit flying.

“Answer.”

“I—I didn’t touch her, I swear—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I just watched. I was just watching. I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just—just curious—”

Jungkook smiled.

It was worse than a snarl.

“Let me tell you what I see,” he whispered, leaning closer. “You watched her like she was prey. You messaged her, tried to scare her. You thought she was alone. You thought she was yours to study. Like she wasn’t mine.”

“Please—”

“But she’s not alone,” Jungkook continued, tone so gentle it sent chills down Jimin’s spine. “She has me. And I will tear the world apart before I let someone like you breathe in her direction again.”

Ryu began to cry.

It didn’t matter.

Jungkook stood. “Break his fingers.”

Taehyung obeyed.

The scream echoed loud and long across the empty corridors of the building.

Two hours later.

Ryu was no longer crying. He wasn’t speaking at all. Just slumped in the chair, breathing shallowly, broken in a dozen places.

Jungkook stood in the center of the room, hands bloodstained, eyes unreadable.

“He’s not going to walk out of here, is he?” Jimin asked quietly, watching his friend with measured calm.

Jungkook shook his head once. “No.”

“Want us to finish it?”

“No,” Jungkook said. He walked to the far wall, picked up a small flash drive from the desk, and pocketed it. “Make it look like an overdose. Clean. Quiet. No noise.”

Taehyung cracked his neck. “I’ll handle it.”

Jungkook turned to the door but paused. “I don’t want this traced. Not a whisper. Not a rumor. If anyone else so much as thinks about her—”

“They won’t,” Jimin said firmly. “We’ll make sure of it.”

There was no satisfaction on Jungkook’s face. Just cold, lethal calm.

“She can’t know,” he said finally.

“She won’t,” Jimin promised.

Jungkook left without another word.

The rain was still falling when he stepped out into the night—but the storm behind him was already over.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing she noticed was the cold.

Not just the sheets — but the air. The emptiness.

Y/N sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing.

The other side of the bed was empty. Flattened, but cooling fast. No warmth. No sign he’d only just stepped out. She scanned the room, eyes wide, breath catching in her throat.

“Jungkook?”

Nothing.

She threw the blankets back and stumbled out of bed, toes hitting the cold floor. Her fingers trembled as she pulled open the bedroom door and stepped into the living room.

It was silent. Still. Wrong.

The curtains — taped shut.

A new lock glinting on the door.

Her stomach flipped.

“Jungkook,” she called again, louder this time. Her voice cracked.

Still no answer.

She checked the kitchen. The bathroom. The hallway.

Nothing.

Panic gripped her chest like a fist. She picked up her phone — hands shaking — and dialed his number.

Voicemail.

Again. Straight to voicemail.

Her knees hit the couch and she clutched the throw pillow like a life raft. Her thoughts spiraled fast and brutal.

What if he left? What if he lied? What if he’s not who you think he is?

Tears pricked her eyes. Her body was tight with anxiety, breath shallow, heart galloping.

He’d promised.

You’re not alone. I’ll be right here. Sleep, angel.

She curled into herself, breath hitching, waiting, hoping—

Until—

The lock turned.

Her head shot up.

The door opened with a slow, soft creak.

And there he was.

Jungkook stepped inside, hoodie damp with morning drizzle, dark hair curled at the edges, his expression calm — like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just been breaking in his absence.

“Y/N?” he blinked, clearly surprised. “You’re up.”

She was already off the couch and running into his arms.

“Where the hell were you?!” she cried, voice shaking as she collided with him. “You said you wouldn’t leave—I woke up and you were just—gone!”

Jungkook staggered slightly at the force of her, but his arms wrapped around her immediately, protectively, pulling her tight against his chest.

“Hey, hey, angel, shhh—” he murmured, one hand stroking her hair, the other clutching her back. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’m sorry.”

She gripped his hoodie like it was all that tethered her to the ground.

“I thought—I thought something happened. Or—or that you—” she couldn’t even say it. Her voice cracked and crumpled against him.

Jungkook held her tighter, rocking her slightly. “I just stepped out to grab breakfast. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you. I didn’t think you’d panic like that—I’m sorry, baby.”

She buried her face in his chest. The scent of rain clung to him, earthy and clean. Familiar. Reassuring.

And yet…

Her tears slowed. Her breathing evened. But her mind didn’t quiet.

She pulled back slightly and looked up at him — eyes still glassy but sharp now. Searching.

“You taped the blinds.”

His hand stilled on her back.

“I noticed them gapping last night,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t want you waking up anxious again. Figured this would help.”

“And the lock?”

“Extra precaution. Just something to help you sleep better.” He smiled softly. “I want you to feel safe, that’s all.”

Her brow furrowed. “But… you didn’t mention it before.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said gently, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I had the tools with me. It took five minutes.”

It all made sense. His voice was soft. Steady. He looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

So why did her skin still prickle?

Why did her gut whisper, He’s hiding something?

She didn’t pull away from him.

She clung tighter.

Because love and fear were tangled things. Because despite the doubt, she needed him.

Needed him so badly it made her bones ache.

“I was really scared,” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied, lips brushing her temple. “And I’ll never let you feel that way again. Ever.”

She nodded slowly. Let herself believe him.

But as he kissed her cheek and guided her gently to sit down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment she’d woken up alone… the world had shifted slightly off-center.

And nothing had quite clicked back into place.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day by day passed. And by each day, the atmosphere turned more intense. Y/n had already developed a suspicion, but the acts done by the day only made them grow more.

Day One She wakes with him beside her.

His arm is tight around her waist, his face buried in her neck. He smells like sleep and sugar. His grip doesn’t loosen — not even when she tries to roll over.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into her skin. “I won’t let anyone near you.”

She smiles, but her chest tightens. The apartment is spotless again, unnaturally so. Like no one actually lives here.

The front door has three new locks.

Day Two She texts her best friend. Twice.

No reply.

She checks again. The messages show as sent, but… not delivered?

“Something’s wrong with my phone,” she says absently at breakfast.

Jungkook doesn’t look up from the stove. “I can check it later for you.”

That night, her phone sits charging on the kitchen counter.

She finds it off.

Day Three He insists she stays inside.

“Just until the police sort out the stalker thing,” he says, brushing her hair. “You know I’m just being careful.”

She nods.

But when she cracks open the window for air, she finds bars installed on the frame.

They weren’t there yesterday.

Day Four He draws her a bath. Candles. Her favorite bath salts. Music.

“I don’t deserve you,” she says softly, leaning back into his hands as he massages shampoo into her scalp.

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “You deserve everything.”

She melts under his touch — but when she looks up at the ceiling, she spots a tiny black speck behind the smoke detector’s cover. A red light blinking once. Then gone.

Day Five She wakes in the middle of the night.

Thirsty.

The apartment is dark and silent, but as she walks to the kitchen, she notices the guest room door — usually closed — is cracked open.

She pushes it gently.

Inside: a computer setup she’s never seen before. Monitors. Files. Surveillance footage.

And photos of her.

Hundreds. Candid. Some from years ago. Some from last week.

She hears a sound — and freezes.

“Baby?” Jungkook’s voice calls from behind her. Sleepy. Innocent.

She turns, heart jackhammering in her chest.

“I thought I heard something,” she lies.

He tilts his head. Then smiles softly. “Come back to bed.”

She does.

But she doesn’t sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting, but she hadn’t noticed.

She’d been sitting in the living room for hours, curled into a blanket with her legs tucked to her chest, a cup of untouched tea in her hands. The silence felt different now—no longer safe. Just... loud.

Her eyes kept drifting toward the guest room door. Closed again. Locked.

She knew what she saw.

She wasn’t crazy.

All day, she’d been quietly piecing it together. The missed messages. The camera. The triple locks. The lies spun gently between soft kisses and sugar-sweet reassurances.

And those photos. Her face. Over and over again. His private shrine.

Her fingers tightened around the mug.

The door creaked open behind her.

“Hey, angel,” Jungkook’s voice was soft, like velvet behind her. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

She swallowed. Her pulse spiked.

He walked into the room and sat beside her on the couch. His warmth bled into her immediately.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing hair behind her ear. “Still shaken from the other night?”

Y/N turned to face him slowly. Her expression wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t blind either.

She set the mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands. “I want to ask you something.”

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t blink. “Okay.”

“I’m not… accusing you. I’m not upset. I just…” Her voice dropped. “I need you to tell me the truth. Please.”

He stared at her for a beat too long. Then smiled—gently. Like she’d told a joke. “The truth about what, baby?”

She hesitated. Her throat felt tight. “About… everything. The locks. The cameras. The guest room. My phone not working. Jungkook—why are you watching me?”

His smile faded, just slightly.

Her heart beat faster. She pressed on, soft and shaking. “If something’s wrong… If there’s something you’re protecting me from… I deserve to know. I’m not mad. I just—” she inhaled shakily. “I love you. And I’m scared. I want you to talk to me.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached for her hand, lifting it slowly and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“You’re scared?” he murmured, dark lashes lowering. “Of me?”

Her breath caught. “I’m scared because I don’t understand. And I want to.”

He turned her hand in his, studying the shape of her fingers like they were scripture.

“You said you love me,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “I do.”

“Then trust me.”

She tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m trying. That’s why I’m asking.”

Jungkook finally looked up. His eyes were deep and unreadable. “You don’t need to worry about what’s in the guest room. Or the cameras. Or anything else.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve taken care of it.”

She froze. “Taken care of what?”

“The man who was texting you. The one who thought he could follow you home. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Her lips parted. “Jungkook…”

“I told you,” he said, quiet and firm, “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

She was trembling now. But not pulling away.

“And the cameras?” she asked. “The locks? The phone?”

His thumb stroked her palm. “I need to protect you.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“Because you’d be scared. Like you are now.”

There was no apology in his voice. Just calm certainty.

“You don’t need to know everything, Y/N,” he said gently. “You just need to be safe. And with me? You always will be.”

Silence.

She stared at him, heart breaking open in her chest.

Because somewhere deep down… she believed him.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

-------

Y/N sat curled on the bedroom floor, her back against the bedframe, knees hugged tight to her chest. The lights were off. Just the amber glow from the hallway leaking in beneath the door.

She wasn’t crying. Not really.

But her eyes burned.

Her thoughts looped endlessly: He did it for you. He lied to protect you. He’d kill for you. He already has.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Maybe an hour. Maybe three.

The house was silent. But she felt him on the other side of the door.

Waiting.

When it finally opened, she didn’t flinch.

Jungkook stood there, barefoot, shirtless, drenched in moonlight. He looked like a sinner at confession. Or a boy trying not to lose the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked.

She looked up at him, eyes rimmed red but dry.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “The silence. The waiting. I need to tell you everything. No more half-truths. No more keeping you in the dark.”

She didn’t speak.

So he sank to his knees in front of her.

His hands found hers, gently, like she might vanish if he moved too fast.

“I love you.” His voice trembled. “I know that sounds twisted coming from me right now, but I swear—I have never loved anyone like I love you.”

She kept staring. Listening.

“When we met, I thought I was just lucky. That somehow, I’d stumbled into something pure. But the more I got to know you, the more I realized—I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t let the world touch you. Not the way it touched me.”

A breath.

“I watched you. I memorized you. And yeah—maybe that was wrong. I know it was wrong. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt like devotion.”

She blinked slowly.

“You didn’t see the messages he sent you. You didn’t see the photos he took of you from across the street. I did. I saw it all. And I handled it. Because no one—no one—gets to make you feel unsafe. Not while I’m breathing.”

Her lip quivered slightly.

“I never meant to scare you,” he whispered. “But I’d burn the world to the ground if it meant you’d never have to be afraid again.”

Silence bloomed between them.

He looked at her like he was preparing to be shattered.

And then—

She leaned forward.

Pressed her mouth to his.

It wasn’t rushed. Or messy. It was quiet and soft and aching.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was barely a whisper. “I understand.”

His eyes widened.

“I don’t agree with everything,” she continued, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “And I need time to figure out what this means for us. But right now... all I feel is how much I love you.”

Jungkook let out a breath like he’d been drowning.

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

“I’ve always been yours.”

That broke something in him.

And then he kissed her like he’d been starved for centuries.

Their bodies tangled fast—his hands roaming her waist, lifting her into his lap as he pressed her back against the edge of the bed. Her breath hitched, soft moans escaping between kisses. Fingers tugging hair, skin burning where their mouths touched, their clothes pulled away slowly like reverent offerings.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered against her throat. “So fucking perfect.”

“Then show me,” she whispered back.

And he did.

All night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was supposed to be a simple outing.

Their first time outside together in days. Y/N had insisted—something small, something normal. Just the two of them. No secrets, no cameras. Just breathing the same air as the rest of the world for a few hours.

So they went to a corner bookstore tucked off a sleepy street. It smelled like old paper and vanilla beans, and the shelves were taller than her head. Jungkook had barely let go of her hand since they left the apartment. His thumb rubbed circles against her palm like he needed to feel her pulse—needed to know she was real.

And Y/N… she was watching him just as closely.

He wasn’t smiling. Not really. His eyes scanned everything. Everyone. Every movement in the corner of the shop. Every man who even glanced her way. His jaw flexed each time someone walked too close.

But for a while, things felt peaceful.

Until they weren’t.

It happened in seconds.

They were leaving the store, her clutching a poetry book to her chest, his hand warm on her lower back. The sidewalk was tight with people. A man in a grey jacket brushed past—too fast, too close.

His arm smacked against her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasped.

Jungkook caught her instantly.

And then he was gone from her side.

She turned in confusion—just in time to see him slam the man back against the brick wall of the alley beside the bookstore.

“You think you can touch her?” Jungkook’s voice was low. Dangerous. “You even know who she is?”

The man struggled, cursing. “Back off, psycho—!”

Jungkook’s fist connected with his jaw before he finished the sentence. Bone crunched. The man’s head hit the wall again, dazed.

Y/N stood frozen, heart thundering. Her book slipped from her hand.

Blood.

Not much, but enough to stain the man’s collar.

“Jungkook—” she whispered, stepping forward.

He didn’t turn.

He pressed his forearm to the man’s throat. “If you ever touch her again—if you breathe near her—I will gut you like a pig.”

Y/N swallowed hard. She should’ve pulled him off. She should’ve screamed. She should’ve done something.

But instead...

She stepped closer.

Her hand slid onto his arm. Gentle.

“Baby,” she said softly. “It’s enough.”

His breathing was ragged. His pulse throbbed beneath her fingers.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then slowly—slowly—he stepped back.

The man collapsed, coughing, blood dripping from his lip.

Jungkook turned to her, eyes wild.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

She nodded, numb. “Yes.”

A pause.

Police sirens whined faintly in the distance—someone must’ve called it in.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, grabbed her hand. “We need to go.”

They ducked into a back alley. She clutched his jacket like a lifeline. Her mind was spinning—but not in fear. In something hotter. Darker.

She’d never seen anyone look at her like that before.

Like she was his entire reason for breathing.

Like he’d destroy the universe just to keep her from flinching.

And when the police finally found them five minutes later, she stepped in before Jungkook could even speak.

“He saved me,” she said, voice steady. “That man grabbed me. Jungkook only defended me. It was self-defense.”

The officer raised a brow. “Did you see him attack you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was scared. I still am.”

Jungkook stared at her like she’d hung the moon.

—

Back home, the apartment was quiet again.

Y/N sat on the kitchen counter, still in the clothes from earlier, hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Jungkook stood across from her, leaning against the wall like he didn’t trust himself to get too close.

“You didn’t have to lie for me,” he murmured.

She tilted her head. “I didn’t lie.”

He laughed under his breath. “He barely touched you.”

“He made you angry,” she replied, gaze unwavering. “That’s enough for me.”

His eyes darkened.

She slipped down from the counter and crossed the room slowly.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, pressing a hand to his chest. “You think I don’t see you? I do. I see the way you look at me. The way you shake when someone else even tries to be near me.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “Y/N…”

“I should be scared,” she said, leaning in until her lips ghosted over his jaw. “But I’m not. Because I feel the same way.”

He froze.

Her voice dropped. “I want you obsessed. I want you burning for me. Because I’m burning for you too.”

That was all it took.

"Fuck."

His hands gripped her waist hard, lips crashing into hers with the kind of desperation that had nothing to do with control—just need. She moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted her back onto the counter, teeth scraping, fingers tugging her shirt up and over.

“Mine,” he breathed against her throat. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasped. “Always.”

"Yeah? Let me prove it to you, my love."

And when they came together again—skin to skin, breath tangled—it wasn’t just sex. It was surrender.

It was destruction disguised as love.

And neither of them wanted to be saved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook lay half-sprawled on the couch, his arm lazily curled around Y/N’s shoulders. She was curled against his chest, her fingertips tracing faint patterns across the black ink running up his forearm. The apartment smelled like sandalwood and mint. Soft movie light flickered against the walls, casting slow-moving shadows.

Her body was draped over his like she belonged there.

Because she did.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, cheek pressed to his shirt. “And distracting. I can’t even follow the movie.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his lips against the crown of her head. “Wasn’t watching it anyway.”

His phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

A pause.

Jungkook shifted slightly and reached for it with a grunt, but didn’t move Y/N. He kept her on top of him, screen tilted toward the arm of the couch as he checked the notifications.

Y/N didn’t even look up—at first.

Until she felt the subtle shift in his breathing.

“Who is it?” she asked casually.

“Mm,” he replied, distracted. “Some girl. Liked a bunch of my old posts. Commented too.”

Y/N’s fingers stopped their lazy trail. She lifted her head slightly, gaze dipping to the edge of the screen.

The girl’s profile picture was visible. Pretty. Flawless makeup. A bit too smiley.

Her comment sat under a photo from nearly a year ago—Jungkook on a rooftop, messy hair, lip ring, eyes like sin.

"God you’re unreal 😍"

Y/N’s body tensed ever so slightly.

Jungkook didn’t react. He barely blinked.

But Y/N tilted her head, eyes still on the phone.

“Is she someone you know?” she asked lightly.

Jungkook’s arm squeezed her just a little tighter. “No. Just some random girl. Probably saw the post from Explore or something.”

“She liked a lot of your photos.”

His thumb moved over the screen — slow, casual. Then, without hesitation, he tapped Block.

Y/N blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “I don’t want her looking at me like that. Especially not when I’ve already found everything I need.”

She turned slightly, just enough to look at him over her shoulder.

His eyes were warm but dark. Focused completely on her.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” he said. “Not when I have you like this.”

Y/N felt something strange stir in her chest.

Relief. Satisfaction. Something sharp, but beautiful.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t madness.

But it was a new kind of knowing.

That she wanted him like this forever.

Wanted his attention like oxygen. His devotion like a promise tattooed into bone.

“I didn’t like her comment,” Y/N admitted softly, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Didn’t like her calling you hot. Not when you’re mine.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened just slightly.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmured.

“I’m not jealous,” she said, but her fingers were curling around his shirt now, tugging him closer. “I just don’t want to share.”

His hand slid along her waist, gripping her tighter, pulling her back into his chest.

“Good,” he breathed. “Don’t.”

She turned fully now, straddling his lap in one smooth motion, hands cupping his jaw. Their noses brushed. His hands slid instinctively down to her hips.

“I don’t need to be reminded who you belong to,” she whispered. “But sometimes… I think I like doing it anyway.”

He groaned softly as she leaned in, lips brushing his, not quite kissing yet.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he murmured.

Y/N smiled. “I know.”

Her lips finally met his. Slow. Hot. The kind of kiss that built in heat, not fire — smoldering in soft whimpers and tongue, fingers threading into hair, clothing shifting as their bodies pressed tighter. Jungkook tilted his head and deepened it, one hand splayed on her lower back, the other curling possessively around her thigh.

The movie flickered.

Rain tapped.

The rest of the world blurred into silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The world outside their apartment was a slow blur of gold and grey.

Rain still clung to the windows, but the storm had softened overnight, retreating into a lazy drizzle that made the light spill gentle and slow into the room.

Y/N stirred first.

She blinked up at the ceiling, breath still slow, body warm under the weight of the duvet — and him.

Jungkook’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand resting protectively against her stomach. His legs were tangled with hers, face pressed to the crook of her neck. His breath was warm and even. Still asleep.

Y/N didn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

Instead, she turned just enough to look at him.

He looked... different in the morning.

Younger. Softer. As if sleep peeled back the armor he wore in the daylight and left her with the raw, boyish version of him. Tousled hair. Lips parted just slightly. Thick lashes resting on skin still flushed from last night.

And God — he was beautiful.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them, reaching to trace the edge of his jaw. She felt the faint scrape of stubble. The delicate slope of his cheekbone. The tattooed vines that wrapped around his arm, stark against her bare skin.

She remembered the way he had looked at her.

The way he had blocked that girl without blinking.

The way he had said, “I don’t want her looking at me like that. Not when I’ve already found everything I need.”

Y/N bit her lip.

Her heart ached — not from pain.

From possession.

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t dramatic.

It was quiet.

A pulse under her skin. A whisper at the back of her mind.

Mine.

She kissed his forehead gently, nose brushing his temple.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered. “I won’t let you.”

And then—

A smile.

Jungkook’s.

His voice, still rough from sleep: “Didn’t plan to.”

Y/N jumped a little. “You’re awake?”

“Wasn’t,” he said, blinking open one eye. “But your voice... kinda made it hard to stay asleep.”

She flushed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He stretched, groaning softly, before dragging her closer.

“Best way to wake up,” he murmured. “With you right here. Watching me like I’m your favorite thing in the world.”

Y/N swallowed.

“Maybe you are.”

He paused at that — just for a second. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not shock. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something hungry.

“You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She smiled. “You like it.”

“I do.”

Their foreheads pressed together.

“Stay with me today?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said instantly. “You don’t even have to ask.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Softly. Deeply. Like a man completely smitten, completely ruined.

And as the rain whispered against the glass and the sun bled in between the blinds, Jungkook realized something he hadn’t before:

She wasn’t just falling for him.

She was beginning to mirror him.

Not in cruelty. Not yet.

But in devotion.

And that?

That was more dangerous than anything.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen was filled with soft sounds — the clink of mugs, the low hum of the coffee machine, the rustle of Y/N’s oversized sweater as she padded barefoot across the tiles.

She liked mornings like this.

The kind that felt domestic. Soft. Intimate.

Jungkook had gone into the bedroom a few minutes ago, muttering something about changing into a clean shirt. She hadn’t followed — mostly because she loved watching the rain from the window, fingers curled around warm ceramic, his scent still lingering on her skin.

But when she walked past the half-open bedroom door a moment later, she paused.

A drawer was pulled out from the dresser — not wide, but just enough.

She shouldn’t have looked.

She knew she shouldn’t have looked.

But her eyes flicked down anyway.

Black gloves. A sleek folding knife. A phone — not his regular one — face down, scratched at the edges. And something else. A photo. Just the corner of it peeking out from beneath a black hoodie.

It was her face.

Y/N froze.

Only for a breath.

Only for a second.

Then she took a slow step back. Reached for the edge of the drawer. And gently — without a sound — pushed it shut.

When Jungkook came back, towel slung around his neck, she was leaning against the kitchen counter with two mugs waiting.

He paused, taking her in. “You okay?”

Y/N smiled softly. “Yeah. Just missed you.”

She handed him the coffee. Their fingers brushed. He watched her for a moment — too long.

Something in his gaze darkened, flickered.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“Mhm.” She sipped her drink. “Why?”

He shook his head. Smiled.

“No reason.”

But his eyes lingered on her lips. Her throat. Her pulse.

Because he knew.

She had seen. She had definitely seen.

And she hadn’t said a word.

Later, when they curled back into the couch, Jungkook couldn’t stop touching her.

Not out of lust — not just.

Out of awe.

Because she didn’t scream. Didn’t demand answers. Didn’t even ask who the phone belonged to, or why he had a drawer full of things that didn’t belong in the life they pretended to lead.

Instead, she reached for him.

And he realized:

She had chosen him.

Not in spite of the shadows — but because of them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, palms resting on his knees. He hadn’t looked at her in ten minutes.

Y/N stood across the room, barefoot in one of his shirts, watching him silently. The storm outside flickered lightning through the blinds, flashing across the lines of his body, the tattoos that wrapped around his arms like smoke.

“I need to tell you something,” he said finally, voice rough.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded once.

His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“I didn’t fall in love with you when we met.” A breath. “I already loved you. Before that. Long before.”

Her breath caught — not from surprise. From the weight of it.

“I saw you on the train,” he said. “You were smiling at someone. Just a stranger. And it ruined me.”

He looked up, slowly. There was a storm in his eyes — deeper than the one outside.

“I followed you. Watched you. Found where you worked, where you lived. I memorized the way you walked, the way you laughed, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused.”

Y/N’s heart thundered in her chest. Still, she didn’t move.

“I thought it would fade,” he whispered. “But it didn’t. It only got worse. I started getting rid of anything that could hurt you. Anyone.”

She swallowed. “Who?”

Jungkook hesitated — then exhaled like it hurt.

“Mark.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “From my job?”

He nodded once. “I saw the way he looked at you. Touched your arm when you passed. You didn’t see it — but I did. Every time.”

A long pause.

“I waited outside his building. He never made it home.”

Y/N’s lips parted. Her hands curled into the hem of his shirt. Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“You killed him… for me?”

Jungkook stood then. Slowly. Like a man coming undone.

“I would do it again,” he said. “I would burn down cities for you. Cut through the world just to make sure you never had to flinch. I know it’s sick. I know it’s twisted. But I can’t help it. I love you in a way that doesn’t have brakes.”

He stepped closer.

“I love you in a way that ruins things.”

She let the silence hang for a beat.

Then two.

Then, with eyes glassy, voice trembling, she said:

“Then ruin me.”

Jungkook froze.

Her eyes burned into his.

“I don’t care what you’ve done,” she whispered. “I don’t care how it started. I just care that you’re mine.”

She walked to him — slowly, deliberately — until their chests touched. Her hands slid to his jaw. Her voice was breathless, desperate.

“I want you. All of you. I want to be tangled in your mess. Your violence. Your obsession. I want you to lose your mind over me. Because I’m already losing mine over you.”

He groaned softly — then kissed her.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He kissed her like a man at the edge of a cliff, like he’d die if he didn’t take her with him.

"Youre driving me crazy." He groaned into her mouth.

Y/N clung to him, moaning into his mouth, fingers tugging his shirt over his head. His hands were already at her thighs, lifting her, gripping like he needed bruises as proof she was real.

She wrapped her legs around him, and he carried her to the bed like she weighed nothing.

His body against hers, his mouth trailing over her neck, her chest, her stomach — worshipping like she was holy. Her fingers tangled in his hair, back arching as he slid down and took his time, tasting, devouring her like she was the only salvation he knew.

She cried out his name — desperate, broken — and he murmured, “That’s it, baby. Let me have all of it.”

When he finally moved over her again, kissing her like he’d never tasted air before, he whispered,

“You’re mine. Every part. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “No one else. Only you.”

When he pushed inside, she felt everything — the way his hands trembled, the way his breath stuttered against her skin, the way his eyes locked onto hers like she was the last light in the world.

They moved together, slow at first — then faster, harder, more desperate.

"No one else gets to have you like this, no one gets to look, touch, breathe or fuck you like I do"

"F-uck, koo please."

It wasn’t just sex.

It was claiming.

It was obsession turned sacred.

“You ruin me,” he groaned into her mouth.

“Then let me,” she moaned back, kissing him until their lungs burned.

"Let go, cum for me." He groans.

They came together in a tangle of limbs and cries, hearts pounding against each other’s ribs, lips still clinging, hands still gripping — like even in release, they couldn’t let go.

When it was over, he held her tight, face buried in her neck, chest rising and falling like he’d survived war.

“I’m scared of how much I love you,” he whispered.

Y/N pulled his face up, kissed his lips softly.

“Then don’t fight it,” she whispered. “Let it consume us.”

He smiled — dazed, wrecked.

And she smiled back.

Because there was no going back now.

They were each other’s poison.

And neither wanted the cure.

-----------

A few months later.

An abandoned church just outside the city. Overgrown. Forgotten. There are no guests. No music. Just crumbling stone, shattered stained glass, and a full moon pouring through broken beams.

Y/N stood in front of the cracked mirror in the chapel’s apse, brushing a finger down the curve of her lip.

The reflection looking back at her didn’t belong to the girl who once flinched at shadows.

She wore white — not pure white, but off-cream silk, frayed slightly at the hem. Her hair was pinned back with gold pins. Her skin still bore faint bruises from Jungkook’s hands — not marks of pain, but proof. That she was wanted. Loved. Claimed.

Behind her, footsteps echoed softly against the stone.

Jungkook appeared in the mirror, dressed in black from collar to boots. A knife was strapped to his thigh. His hand carried a simple ring — thin, silver, elegant. She didn’t know where he got it. She didn’t ask.

He stopped behind her.

Neither of them spoke.

Instead, he reached around her waist and pulled her back against him. His chin rested on her shoulder, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“You look like mine,” he whispered.

Y/N smiled faintly at their reflection.

“I’ve always been yours.”

His eyes — dark, endless — stared into hers in the glass. His hands, steady and reverent, slipped the ring onto her finger. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“No priest. No vows. Just this,” he murmured. “You. Me. Until the end.

Y/N turned in his arms. Her palms found his chest. His heart beat hard beneath her touch.

“Until the end,” she echoed.

And then she kissed him.

Not soft.

Not restrained.

But hungry.

Jungkook groaned into her mouth, backing her into the altar like it was sacred — like she was sacred. Her hands clawed at his jacket, his fingers tugged the silk off her shoulders, and the air thickened between them like heat.

There, in a ruined chapel lit only by moonlight, they made love like sinners pretending to be saints.

She moaned his name like a prayer. He whispered hers like a curse. Their bodies moved in rhythm with something older than forgiveness, something more powerful than absolution.

When it was over, they lay together in silence.

Her cheek rested against his chest. His fingers played with the ring now circling her finger — the only thing left between them and the world.

Jungkook spoke first.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, barely audible.

Y/N smiled. She didn’t even open her eyes.

“No,” she breathed. “I’ve never felt more like myself.”

A long silence.

Then she added, softer

“I used to be afraid of turning into someone unrecognizable.”

He looked down at her.

“And now?”

Y/N turned her face toward the broken mirror beside them.

The girl she used to be was gone.

But in her place was a woman forged from obsession and devotion. And in his arms, she had never felt more alive.

She stared at her reflection.

“I recognize her now,” she whispered. “And she loves you more than her own soul.”

Jungkook kissed her again. This time, not with urgency. But with certainty.

"Koo?"

"Yes, princess."

“Promise me this never ends.” She whispers.

“It can’t. You’re carved into me.”

She smiled, part of her knows nothing will go back to the way it was. But she was okay with it, as long as she had him.

“There’s no heaven waiting for people like us, you know?” she said.

“I don’t need heaven,” he replied. “I have you.”

“Even if we go to hell?” “Then we’ll rule it—hand in hand.”

[taeyongdoyoung]

treat you better

summary: getting invited to your ex's wedding sucks. but going there with your fake boyfriend makes it so much better... pairing: dino x reader genre: angst, best friends+fake dating to lovers, fluff, smut warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, past relationship, cheating, shitty ex, confidence issues, dino is slightly younger than reader+calls her noona, confessions, kissing, consensual filming, female masturbation, praise, unprotected sex, cockwarming, choking author's note: the title is inspired by treat you better and the plot is influenced by my reading of the songs boyfriend and the only exception word count: 2.2k

You're gonna need another bottle of soju to process what you just heard.

"Let me do it for you," your best friend Dino suggests.

"What?" you gasp in shock.

"Let me be your fake boyfriend. Take me to your ex's wedding as your plus one. I bet he's gonna be sooo mad he missed out on you. You keep complaining that you're gonna feel pathetic to show up alone, so…" he keeps speaking and you are too stunned to react normally.

So, you just laugh.

"What's so funny?" Dino frowns.

"He's never gonna buy that," you shake your head.

"Why not?" your friend is genuinely confused.

"I never date younger guys. Literally everyone knows that. It's like…my rule."

"I'm not that much younger!" Dino argues. "And isn't that kinda prejudiced?"

"It's nothing personal," you explain. "I just had this really bad experience and…"

"You can't seriously swear off all younger guys just because of one shitty guy," he insists.

"Hey, why are you getting so riled up?" your brows furrow in suspicion. "It's not like we're dating for real."

"I just feel like I need to defend the honour of…younger guys," Dino huffs, avoiding your gaze.

Cute, you think to yourself.

"You are the only exception," you gently push his arm with your own.

"So, you'll do it? You'll introduce me as your boyfriend to your shitty ex's wedding?"

Oh, shit. You're probably gonna regret agreeing to this in the morning. But your pride can't take another hit. Being with your ex for five years only to find out he's been cheating and is now marrying the girl he cheated with a mere month after your break-up completely shattered any confidence you had. So, when Dino suggests that, as wild as it sounds, you can't resist but take him up on his offer. What do you have to lose?

The wedding sucks just as much as you thought. You get a couple of pitiful stares from the people who know you and the groom were a couple. You try to ignore them and their unwelcome comments. And do your best to focus on Dino who was so kind to suggest coming with you.

"Thanks for doing this," you whisper. "I know it can't be easy."

"Are you kidding? Free food and I get to be around the prettiest girl? What's easier than that?" Dino chuckles.

"I don't get it," you reply, "What's in it for you?"

Dino shrugs.

"Just want you to be happy. Although…these people don't deserve you in their lives."

"You're right," you admit with a sigh. "Although it's gonna take me some time to build up my confidence."

"I'll be with you for every step of the way," he promises calmly.

You are about to express your gratitude when you notice your ex walking up towards you two. What the fuck?

"What am I supposed to say?" you hiss in Dino's ear.

"I don't know, he's your ex, not mine," your fake boyfriend rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Y/N! Thanks for…uh, coming to my wedding," your ex blurts out awkwardly. "It can't be easy," he unknowingly repeats your words.

"On the contrary. It's the easiest thing in the world," you respond nonchalantly. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Um, thank you. I just didn't expect you to…"

"To bring a date?" you grin, the picture of innocence.

"Ah, yeah, that…Listen, can I have a word with you? In private?" your ex asks. Oh, the audacity of this fucker!

"Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my boyfriend," you smile politely. "We don't have any secrets from each other. Unlike some people…"

At those words, your ex freezes in place. The gears in his brain seem to start working and looking for a way out of this conversation. Well, he brought it upon himself.

"Totally, noona and I are always honest with each other," Dino chirps adorably. "Right, noona?"

Oh, God. What a sweetheart.

"Absolutely, Channie," you giggle, arm in arm with your best friend.

"It just seems odd," your ex still can't let this go. "How long have you been…seeing him?"

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," you reply coldly.

"I thought you didn't date younger guys," your ex points out.

"And I thought you weren't a lying piece of shit. I guess people change," you keep smiling despite it all. "Enjoy your wedding."

With that, you take Dino's hand and lead the way towards the door. You've had enough of this garbage. You realize you don't even care about what your ex or his friends think of you anymore. You just needed to do this…for yourself. And now, you feel free.

🦦🦦🦦

Back at your place, you are surprised by your resilience not to cry. So what if your shitty ex got married before you? So what if he cheated? At least you're a decent human being and you have a wonderful best friend who offered to come with you. It felt so good being honest about your feelings. And the fact Dino supported you through it all? You will never forget that.

"Thank you for being there for me," you tell Dino, as you make yourself comfortable on the couch with a glass of wine in your hand.

"You’re welcome. Just stop dating shitty guys, okay?" he winks.

"Easier said than done. If you know someone decent, you should introduce them," you joke.

"Why not me?" Dino says in a concerningly serious tone.

You start laughing again. Because he has to be kidding. Right?

"Why is it so funny to you?" he pouts, feeling offended. "Is it because I’m younger? That’s bullshit and you know it."

Oh, fuck. He actually means this?!?!

"It’s not that, Channie…"

"Then, what? I can treat you better than any guy you’ve ever dated. I would never cheat on you or hurt you. Why not me?" Dino repeats desperately.

The sincerity in his voice is so striking that you are tempted to give this a try.

"Because you’re too good for me. What if I fuck things up? I won’t just be losing a partner, but my best friend. I can’t…I can’t imagine my life without you in it."

Dino grabs your hands in his eagerly.

"And what if you don’t fuck anything up? What if we’re perfect for each other? Please, just consider this. I’m not asking you to respond rightaway. Just…try to think about it with an open mind."

There’s not much to think about. Dino is an amazing, gorgeous, ridiculously sweet guy. And in the past you’ve only dated assholes who hurt you. So, you’re afraid. In your gut, you know that Dino would never harm you. But you are worried that your previous relationships damaged you so bad that you’re now the one capable of doing the hurtful things. And yet…a bigger part of you is curious, desperate, hopeful even to give this a chance.

Because you can see how honest Dino is. And because your heart has been pushing down the crush you’ve had on your best friend for far too long...

"I don’t need time to think," you confess. "I really like you, Channie. But I’m petrified by the fear of harming you and losing you."

"You won’t," Dino insists. "You’re a good person, noona. You deserve good things."

You find that hard to believe but maybe this time it’s worth taking a leap of faith.

"Can I kiss you?" he inquires gently.

Oh, wow. No one has ever asked you that. They just took what they believed was expected. You feel a sudden, but brief pain in your chest at how thoughtful Dino is. And how you’ve been settling for less.

"Of course, you can," you agree with a smile and Dino wastes no time in connecting your lips together.

You busy your hands playing with his hair, as he places his palms on both sides of your face, the action so intimate and yet quite natural. The kissing goes on for a while. You are greedily craving more but you say nothing.

"Let me take you out on a date!" Dino suggests suddenly.

"Right now?" you ask, gasping for air.

"Or tomorrow!"

There’s no way in hell you can wait that long to see him again.

"Right now is good."

"Okay. Where do you want to go?"

Huh? Yet another thing you’ve never been asked. Most of your dates had been at restaurants and cinemas. Sometimes you heard the stereotype that guys were supposed to plan the dates. But honestly? You wished someone asked your preference at least once. And now that it is finally happening, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Do you want to go to the amusement park?" you make sure to ask Dino. Because if it isn't his cup of tea, you will feel awful about forcing your interests on him.

"That sounds fun!" he agrees, grabs your jackets and rushes outside.

Once at the amusement park, you feel like you’re living your childhood dream of an ideal first date. You go through the fast and scary rides first. After that, Dino wins an adorable otter plushie for you in one of those shooting games. Then, you have a quick break by eating hotdogs and cotton candy. And for the grand finale, you get on the Ferris wheel and enjoy the sunset view of the city.

"This was perfect," you murmur in awe, as you reach the highest point of the wheel.

Dino kisses you softly, holding your hands once more. You are in heaven.

"Now, it’s perfect," he adds.

And you can’t help but laugh again.

"What is it?" Dino wants to know.

"I’m just…happy."

"Well, get used to it. I’m planning on making you happy all the time."

🦦🦦🦦

"I don't know, Channie…" you mumble hesitantly upon hearing his surprising request.

It's been a while since you started dating and though you've already done many things to build up the trust between you two, filming something so personal is uncharted territory.

"I'd never show it to anyone," Dino vows.

"I believe you," you sigh. "But what if your phone gets stolen or something?"

"I'll password-protect it. And never, ever let someone steal my phone," his adorable eyes are so full of conviction you find yourself saying "yes".

"Should I take off my dress?" you ask nervously.

"Not yet," Dino responds as he sets up his phone. "Can you start by touching yourself for me?"

You didn't know you were so camera-shy until this moment.

"No one else is gonna see this," he promises you once again. "Just focus on me. Look into my eyes, not the camera."

You nod trustingly and open your legs for him. Spreading your folds slowly and teasing yourself with your hands, you quickly forget about the phone recording.

"You're doing so well for me, noona," Dino praises you sweetly. "Look so perfect."

"It feels so nice," you admit. "Need you, Channie."

"How do you need me?" he asks.

"Need your cock inside me," you beg. "Please?"

"Alright, sweetheart," Dino smiles and unzips his jeans with one hand, still holding the phone with the other. "Still good with this?" he makes sure.

"Yes, it's okay," you reassure him, fully confident in the fact he'd never use such footage against you.

Dino teases the tip of his cock against your pussy.

"My pretty girl," he mumbles and starts sliding in deliciously. "Fits so nicely."

"Channie…" you cry out as you watch him record each measured thrust. "Fuck me harder, I won't break."

"Oh, angel, I don't know…" Dino speaks tentatively. He's always been so kind to you, but you trust him enough to want him to lose his composure.

"I promise, I'll be fine," you hold his free hand and intertwine your fingers.

Giving you one last look of contemplation, Dino's face completely transforms. He starts taking you roughly but still delightfully. What. The. Fuck? Where has he been hiding this?

"You're taking my cock so well, noona," he grunts.

"You feel so good inside me," you gasp, overwhelmed by the sensations.

"Want to ruin you for anyone else. Wanna be with you forever," Dino admits emotionally.

Oh, sweetheart…

"Don't need anyone else, Channie. Promise, I'm all yours," you exclaim in euphoria as he paints your walls white.

Dino ends the recording and leaves the phone lying on the bed next to you.

He holds you close, still refusing to slip out, cockwarming you for a bit and sleepily playing with your hair.

"Talk me out of the toxic urge to send this to your ex," Dino mumbles into your neck.

"Don't you dare!" you scold him playfully, because you know he wouldn't do something like that.

"Just kidding. He'll never get to see you like this again. That video is for my eyes only," Dino wraps his hand around your throat lightly.

"Damn right," you agree and your eyes trail down his pretty hands. "Choke me?" you don't know where this comes from but…might as well try.

Dino chuckles and says nothing as he tightens his hold on your neck. Fuck. It feels addicting. Trusting someone that much. Knowing he has all this power over you but he would never use it to actually hurt you…

You can't help but grin, still looking into his eyes. Moments later, he loosens his grip and lifts your chin up, meeting you for a tender kiss.

"Told you I'd treat you better."

The End

[lvl109]

oh captain, my captain ✶ caleb xia

summary.ᐟ fem reader. wc: 6569. ( ?! ) belated birthday smut because the caleb demons were perched on my shoulders for almost three weeks. half plot half porn because here goes yappatron 3000.

teddy says.ᐟ this was originally supposed to be under 2k words, lmfao. i haven't written smut in a hot minute and didn't know how to end it so show grace. big big linkon sized thank u to my local caleb girlie @neigepomme for answering my silly characterization questions. i told u i was gonna site u as a source and i meant it. surrendering myself as a member of #applegirlnation now bc wdym this started as a joke. there is absolutely nothing funny about six thousand words for a man. sobbing hysterically what is this life. + idk who started writing mc as 'emcee' in fics but i thought it was cute so i used it too. :)

“avoiding the question isn't going to make me stop asking, you know.”

you've been at this for almost two hours now. following him around your apartment with narrowed eyes as he whistled cheerfully and avoided your budding frustration. the shared space is warm with the afterglow of a shared meal and lighthearted conversation. 

or at least, lighthearted until he started ducking your questions.

“i don't know what you're talking about.” his grin is easygoing when he turns to you, blinking innocently as your stare turns into one of comical disbelief. “i did answer your question.”

“answering a question with another question is not an answer—!”

caleb only smiles sheepishly in response. you swear—if not for the fact that he looked cute when he smiled, you'd punch him for his cheeky behavior.

“ow—okay, okay, i'm sorry!”

arms crossed in petulant expectation, you watch as he sighs dramatically and sags into the couch. his head leans back against the plush material, closing his eyes briefly before another smile, this time a bit resigned, crosses his lips.

“i meant it when i said what is there to ask for?, you know.” when his eyes open, his gaze is soft. “i've got everything i could ever ask for, and then some. the two most important people in my life are safe and cared for. i don't really need anything else.”

your expression immediately softens. you knew how selfless your boyfriend could be. it was practically hardwired into his brain to be someone of use to the people he cherished close to his heart. hearing what he and emcee went through from childhood was enough to make anyone give up several times over—and here he was choosing to use himself as a pillar to uplift her at the cost himself over and over again. selflessness seemed to be coded within him.

so when she was able to branch out and fall in love… it had made him wary. the two of them had been practically conjoined by the hip. it made sense he wouldn't have warmed up to the idea immediately. the two of you had actually met that way—an embarrassing moment in time that ended with dropped papers, several spilled coffees, and emcee and her hunter-partner-turned-boyfriend xavier staring at the both of you with varying degrees of concern and amusement.

(‘your first meet was cute!’ is what she always says when you recall the memory with a little bit of embarrassment. the only cute (and hilarious) part was how close caleb looked to exploding out of sheer despair.)

now coming on a year of dating, you'd like to think you know your boyfriend well enough. turns out caleb will never stop surprising you with soft and tender moments of sincerity. and with the way he looks at you when you fall silent, you nearly forget why you're even badgering him in the first place.

shifting over to kneel on the couch beside him, you take his face in your hands and gently brush the pad of your thumb against his cheek. he leans into the feeling as if starved, his eyes fluttering shut once more. long lashes settle over faintly freckled cheeks in a silent show of letting his walls down and bearing his weak side to you. and you appreciate it. you always will.

too bad it still wasn't an answer.

“caleb xia,” you murmur softly, the words hushed in the space between you both. his answering hum is just as light and a kiss is pressed to your fingertips. “i love you dearly, but if you don't answer me, i’m using your hard earned money to buy a robot to do our laundry.”

his eyes fly open immediately. shock, surprise, and—funnily enough—a hint of betrayal shine through his widened gaze. they then narrow as if to gauge how serious you were about a useless technological upgrade before ultimately sighing in defeat.

point to you. (emcee really wasn't lying about his aversion to robots.)

“i really just want to spend time with you,” he concedes, shaking his head when you narrow your eyes at his words. “is that a good enough answer? pips and co. are on an important mission that week, and i'm not going to ask her to cancel for me—”

you nod in agreement. as sad as it was, it was reasonable. sometimes plans couldn't be worked around.

“—even though i could, but—”

caleb makes an exaggerated punted sound when you shove his shoulder, his hands raising in mock surrender. “i won't. not because she won't let me, but because she'll make me see true hell if she finds out i'm the reason behind it.”

your exasperated expression makes him smile, leaning forward to caress your cheek. “so really. i don't want much. as long as you're here and she's safe, then i’m happy. so don't don't stress yourself out about it, okay?”

he pinches your cheek, already knowing you'd swat his hand away for it, intercepting and lacing your hands together. your heart flutters a bit.

“this isn't over,” you grumble, trying your best to stay mad at him. though with how bright his eyes shone when he looked at you, it was a difficult task to maintain. “watch your back.”

“aye, captain.”

you stress yourself out about it. naturally, of course.

could anyone blame you? you wanted his birthday to be perfect. it's the least you could do right by him, someone who refused your help mostly because he was stubborn, but mostly because he didn't want to feel like a burden. 

but you had plans. and you would see them through.

you ask him to meet you near the fleet’s landing pad a few hours in advance, wanting to surprise him right after work, complete with vague responses to his confused but otherwise curious inquiries. the sound of your shoes are muffled against the flooring. as you make your way into the headquarters, a little robot flits around your head in greeting.

“welcome to the farspace fleet’s headquarters, miss.”

once you finish signing in, you quickly make your way to the designated meeting spot. confused stares and murmurs waft over your head as you pass his fellow pilots and staff members alike, but you pay them no mind. you were only here for one person and one person alone–the very same who happened to have his back towards you, engrossed in a game on a small holographic screen. fondness coloring your expression for a few seconds, you quickly change it before clearing your throat.

“does the colonel usually spend his hours playing mini games all day? maybe you get a pass for today. it’s very special, after all.”

with the cold press of a drink against his cheek, caleb startles slightly before whirling around at the sound of your voice, the hologram swiped away with a quick movement of his hand. briefly surprised, his expression morphs into one of mirth, rubbing at his cheek where the soda previously touched skin.

“so that’s your first birthday surprise for me?” a scoff pairs itself with a teasing eye roll. “thank…”

his gaze drops lower, holding you at arms length, and his words trail off. your smile falters a bit nervously.

the outfit you were wearing wasn’t just any outfit. black boots, a collared shirt tucked into black pants, and a jacket bearing the insignia of the farspace fleet’s logo on its slightly padded shoulder revealed you dressed in a similar fashion to the man standing before you, even to the hat nestled comfortably atop your head. it had taken you a while to even round up most of the items you were wearing, down to the gloves that adorned your hands.

because every colonel needed their lieutenant, right?

caleb sputters out something akin to a laugh, frayed around the edges with disbelief. “where’d you even…”

“i had some help.” your voice trembles a bit, clearing your throat before grinning sheepishly. “not saying who. but, um. i wanted to get to know your world, too. so i hope this is okay.”

his prolonged silence makes you increasingly nervous. his expression is a bit unreadable underneath the brim of his hat, and the more he stares, the more you fidget. until he opens his mouth again.

“i don't like how everyone else is looking at you.”

the words make you freeze, watching in real time as the weight of his gaze intensifies. it's then do you tune in the rest of your surroundings again, hearing faint murmurs and parts of conversation. your eyes meet. his hands travel from your shoulders to take your hands in his.

“caleb—” you sputter out in disbelief, similar to his earlier reaction as a laugh lodges itself somewhere in your throat. of all things to say—

“you want to be second in command? you look the part, lieutenant.” for a brief moment a hint of amusement glints in his eyes. approval. a small shiver runs down your back. “doesn't mean i like people looking at what's mine.”

you blink and he's on your left, the palm of his right hand at your lower back warm even through your clothes. “you know i don't like to bring work home,” he drawls lowly as he begins to walk, causing you to walk as well. “seems home came to me instead. how do you figure.”

you peek at him as you approach his private plane. he looks so pleased. this is going far better than you thought it would, making you exhale quietly in relief.

“can't believe you're gonna make me fly on my birthday, though.” 

caleb pouts a bit as he leans into your space, adding on, “was looking forward getting home and burying my face between your —”

onlookers titter as you smack the farspace fleet’s colonel’s arm in shocked dismay with him grinning as he lets you. 

dinner in the skies wasn't an easy feat to plan. but with a boyfriend who loved you enough to go with your odd directions, after two hours of jetting over the skies of skyhaven, picking up orders from your favorite spots, and gaining access to an airborne movie theater, the private jet was nestled comfortably in the air.

“cruising altitude?”

“somethin’ comfortable,” caleb’s voice pipes up from the front of the plane.

“coordinates?”

“positioned exactly where you asked, baby.”

you look out of a window and come face to face with a beautiful sunset. yellow and orange bleed into pinks, blues, and sharp violets reminiscent of your lover’s eyes. the thought warms your heart with enough heat to rival the lowering sun.

arms encircle your waist from behind when you straighten up, squeezing gently before a weight presses himself against your back. his chin hooks over your shoulder like he'd always meant to be there. 

“if i'm looking through the window and you're here, who's flying the plane?” you tease lightly, but make no effort to remove his arms. 

something around the lines of autopilot is muffled into your collar. looking through the reflection in the glass, you can just make out the sight of caleb with his eyes closed in momentary bliss.

“did you like the movie?” you ask softly. “i had some help with that, too. she sends her birthday wishes and her present is waiting for you at home.”

caleb squeezes you a bit tighter, nosing along the line of your shoulder before his eyes flutter shut. “you didn't have to do this all this for me,” he mumbles just as quietly. his brows furrow as an unreadable expression crosses his face. “but i love it. love you. thank you, baby.”

your own eyes flutter shut briefly when he kisses your cheek in thanks, the gesture sweet and loving. but his kisses move from your cheek to your jawline as his hands slowly begin to wander, a gasp leaving your throat when he gently tugs your tie loose to move your collar out of the way.

“can't believe you played dress up for my birthday. aren't i lucky?” your collar finally loosens enough for him to kiss right where your neck and shoulder meet, smiling against your skin when you shiver. “tell me who helped you put it together so i can fire them for insubordination.”

“wha—why?” you can barely think as his hands run through the buttons of your collared shirt, your jacket discarded somewhere on the aircraft. “don't fire anyone, shit—”

“it's my birthday.” his voice lowers with toying calmness to it as hands find skin, making you hiss upon contact. “i can wish for whatever i want for the next few hours. and the colonel,”

his lips brush just shy of your ear, nearly tipping the hat off your head. “wants his second in command out of her clothes. can she do that f’me?”

was the sky blue?

you don't remember how the two of you got home that night, let alone how caleb managed to land the plane without crashing into one of the city's many towering skyscrapers. all you can feel right now is the cold surface of the door through your shirt’s thin material before caleb surges forward to kiss you like he'd die if he spent another second away from you.

“you have no idea how much i wanted to rip this thing off you when i first saw it.” 

a hoarse laugh rips from his throat the second he pulls away from your lips, trembling hands sliding down the outline of your body. his gaze is reverent. hungry. you feel pinned to the surface and he's barely even touched you.

“really?”

“got hard immediately. that's why we left so soon.” and despite the heat between the both of you, he still makes you laugh, giggling as you push at his chest a bit. “what? honesty is the best policy ‘n all that.”

your tie comes off first, finally. the buttons you'd hastingly redone after just barely keeping his hands off of you aboard the plane fly off in different directions next as his frustrations build up. and when the material pools at your arms, he freezes again.

you duck your head shyly, the brim of your hat casting a shadow over your face. “surprise…”

black lace comes into view, sprawling over your chest and barely peeking underneath your pants. caleb stares.

“just one surprise after another.” he exhales through his nose, a gloved hand settling on your bare waist. “the perfect gift that keeps on giving. look at you.”

you can't discern whether or not he looks tormented from self preservation or the last fraying nerve desperately trying to hold itself together for his sanity’s sake. but the moment you shrug your shirt off and take a daring step forward into his space, you watch in real time as the last thread of his patience snaps in two.

with barely a grunt in sound, the floor gives as caleb hauls you over his shoulder to march towards your bedroom. pieces of your uniform lay discarded to form a path straight towards the plush mattress where caleb lays you down gently—but his eyes are anything but. darkened violet betrays the intense amount of arousal surely swirling through his head as he gets down on his knees before you.

“ah—wait, caleb—” your voice is already shot as he spreads your legs open, his nose brushing against the flimsy lace barely covering anything in between. his lips begin to part before he registers the calling of his name, his eyes flicking upwards. “i f-forgot to show you the cake–nghh—”

he licks a bold stripe against your covered core right as the last of your words tumble out of your mouth, large hands pressing your legs open as they begin to tremble. the sudden heat makes you flinch, reaching out to push at his shoulders with shaking fingers.

“you don't wanna eat the cake first—? we can—”

a faint snap! against your skin makes you jump, looking down to see his fingers toying with the band of your underwear. warmth spreads like fire across the surface of your skin. 

“can i take these off?”

huh? “caleb, the cake—”

“can i take these off?” he repeats slowly, his gaze dropping back down. “we’ll get to the cake later. wanna finish unwrapping my present.”

you lamely let your hand drop back to your side, nodding after a moment. “okay,” you mumble. “you… you can take them off.”

you lift your legs in preparation, fully expecting them to be slid down and tossed somewhere behind them. but a loud rip echoes in the room instead, and before you can even register what he'd done, his mouth finds your clit and latches on brazenly.

your trembling arms finally give out as you keen in surprise. the only thing preventing your thighs from framing his head is the strong grip keeping them apart. the mattress is soft against your back as your hands find purchase in the sheets and tug. small whimpers and moans leave your lips but it's nothing in comparison to how debauched he sounds. labored breathing and low moans paired with the growing wetness of his mouth against your most sensitive parts. 

you look down when a sharp feeling in your lower stomach begins to coil tightly, tears budding in the corner of your eyes as you part your lips to tell him such. but the sight you're met with sends yet another wave of heat down your back.

his face flushed red, his brows furrowed above eyes fluttered shut. the tips of his ears are bright red, and you know if you brush your fingers along the outer part, they'd be warm to the touch. what makes your heart stutter in your chest however, is the begging. and you barely even hear it at first.

“please… please, mmnnf please—” words slurred together between your legs, unintelligible and rushed. he tugs you further against his mouth, unwilling to let you go. all you hear is wet. “cum on m’face. please? pretty please? f’me?”

heat coils tighter and tighter until it becomes unbearable. your hands move from the rumpled sheets to his shoulder, momentary loss of mind making him forget to take his jacket off, but his shoulders don't budge against the sudden onslaught your hands bring. your voice pitches higher and higher, scrambling to grasp anything to hold until they push his hat off to find purchase in his hair and tug.

his answering moan, loud and unashamed, is your undoing. your orgasm crashing into you with the speed on a freight train, your back bowing taut and off the bed as your voice cracks on the near yell you let out. and caleb is unrelenting, slick sounds of him taking in every last drop of your essence dripping down your thighs and running down his chin. 

“that's it,” he breathes out, eyeing the way your thighs tremble as your hole clenches around nothing. without much hesitation, he licks another bold path on your thigh, grinning when you shriek in surprise. “what a sight for sore eyes. think you can sit on my face?”

you can barely lift your head up to stare at him in disbelief, your chest heaving as the toll of your orgasm rushes to your head. he blinks back almost innocently, his cheek pressed against your inner thigh. “pretty please?”

your head drops back down to the sheets. “you'll have to move me,” you say weakly. “i'm out of commission.”

his laugh is low in sound and it makes you shiver. he presses a kiss to your hip bone and immediately gets to work. mouth still wet, he pulls his gloves off with his teeth before gently maneuvering you to a dry spot before hauling himself atop the sheets as well. it takes a moment, limbs reduced to jelly, but before long your thighs frame his face once again.

you watch in real time as his gaze darkens at the angle change, his hands smoothing down your hips. “will never get tired of you looking at you,” he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to your knee. your body trembles in response, hands gripping at the headboard. “prettiest thing i've ever seen.”

“preparing for landing,” your voice cracks on the joke. caleb smiles, his thumbs smoothing shapes crossed your skin. up and down, almost v-shaped.

hearts. he was drawing hearts on your skin. your lower lip trembles when you realize.

oh how he loved you.

“least now i know you were really paying attention when i was talking.” his smile turns a bit sharp. hungry again. “land her on me. c’mon.”

slowly, with encouraging words and guiding hands, you lower yourself above his mouth. he releases a breath into the silence chalked tense with arousal once more. you look down to see his vision go hazy with want. and then he inhales sharply.

the sound makes you jolt, mortified at his sudden action, and before you can even choke out the first syllable of his name, he yanks your hips the rest of the way down. his tongue immediately gets to work swirling pointed circles around your clit, the pleasure skyrocketing high enough for you to immediately forget what you were about to say.

the first word you manage to blurt out is a curse, rolling your hips forward to chase the high you so desperately wanted now that shame had been discarded once again. “f-fuck—caleb, caleb—”

his nose catches on your clit and you scream, gripping the headboard so hard it hurts. he shows no sign of relenting, not even when your second orgasm ripples through your body. all he does is moan, the sound grateful.

two orgasms in less than ten minutes. at this rate, you'd be dead weight come morning.

trying to give his neck reprieve, you slowly begin to lift yourself up, clinging to the headboard. caleb immediately begins to complain, panting through slurred words. “where’re you goin’? ‘m not finished… ‘m not—fuck, come back? please?”

he blinks rapidly, adjusting back to the dim lighting. his hair is tugged in all sorts of directions from your frenzied grip, his face wet from the nose down and flushed red down to his neck. yet his brows remained furrowed with determination.

his hands reach for your hips again, gently trying to coax you back down. “i'll make you feel real good, y’know that right? prettiest present i've ever gotten. perfect… she's perfect, you're perfect, and you're all mine…”

you bite your lower lip, shifting above him. it draws his attention like a magnet and you let out another mortified sound, opting to move and sit on his lap instead.

big mistake.

caleb lets out a sharp hiss the moment you do, immediately tightening his grip on your waist. “don't move.” you take in his increasingly reddened appearance and pause, two things suddenly dawning on you.

one, caleb was still dressed. and two, the hard mass currently twitching underneath you was the reason why he'd tensed so quickly after you'd sat down. you rock your hips experimentally and get a slew of curses in response.

“or do,” he manages to wheeze out. he lowers his head for a moment. “jesus. don't wanna cum anywhere but inside of you, so if you would be so kind—”

your hips buck up once again and he whines. “you're playing dirty,” caleb hissed lowly, his expression pinched. it spurs you to action.

“can i let you in on a secret?” 

caleb eyes you with equal parts interest and weariness as the palms of your hands rest on his shoulders. “i've always thought you looked good in uniform,” you admit sheepishly, smiling faintly when he lets out a snort. “i’m serious! it's… i don't know. whatever they say about men in uniform.”

“that's real cute of you,” he drawls slowly, leaning back to look at all of you. “considering you're leaking all over it.”

the two of you look down to see a dark patch between your legs right where the outline of him is more than visible. the sight only heightens the arousal between the two of you, and that's when he decidedly has enough.

“here's what's going to happen.” 

he pats your side for you to lift your hips, groaning at the sight of slick sticking to the fabric. pearly whites sinking into his lower lip, the sound of his belt unbuckling masks the sound of your mingled breaths as his hand tugs and pulls at the material with budding annoyance.

“let me help.” your hands settle over his, tugging the leather out of the loop. the sound of his zipper is loud. his chest rises and falls the more your hands graze where he needs relief the most. “okay?”

“mhm.” his brows pinch together again, half-lidded gaze trained on your hands. “okay. okay. haah—just—mmnplease, take it out.” 

his rigid posture screams hurry. you slide your hand between skin and soft cotton and his head thunks against the headboard.

“caleb?!”

groaning, his hips buck into your hand. “‘m fine,” he sniffles, letting out a breath. “no, ‘m not. i dunno. can i fuck you already?”

you blink at him, taken aback as you sputter out, “are you concussed —?” your hand moves to pull out of his pants and he lets out a sound akin to a kicked puppy. “sorry—but that sounded pretty bad, i should look at—”

you're yanked back down, seated right on top of his cock again. it makes him curse once more. “can i make one last wish?” he doesn't wait for you to nod. “i'll let you in on a secret of my own. i've been dreaming about fucking you until either one of us cried.”

now you gape at him. he stares right back.

“with you on top, like this.” his breathing picks up, getting off on his own words. “ridin’ me. like you owned me. you do. you do. think about it all the time. and…”

he pats around for a moment, shushing your sound of confusion. his arms lift above your head and something a little bigger than form fitting settles on your head. when he pulls back, you swear his cock twitches a mile underneath you.

“yeah. yeah—even better than i imagined. fuck me.” 

he straightens the brim, tilting your head towards him. “my last wish,” he murmurs, “is watching you take my cock while wearin’ this. any objections, captain?”

oh.

a weird sense of exhilaration flows through you at his sudden address, emboldened by the slightest shift in power dynamic. your hand travels further into his pants, your grip unforgiving as his head falls back in faint relief. “no objections. but i do have one request.”

“ye–aah, baby?” breathless, he forces himself to watch through gritted teeth as you finally free his cock, letting out a sigh of relief. “what is it? what?”

“just something i wanted confirmation on from earlier.” your hand wraps around the girth of him, causing him to shudder. “i just think it's so interesting how much you know about planes. it's cute. but i don't remember if it was the f-22 or f-15 that was the fastest…”

you can tell he really wants to answer. but right as he opens his mouth, your grip tightens before slowly beginning to apply pressure as you stroke. caleb chokes, hips bucking up into your hand.

“it's the-the 15,” he answers quickly, groaning lowly. “it's b-built for mach 2.5 speed and—ohh fuck—designed for co–oh god, go faster, please.”

you stop instead and he flinches. “wha—no, nononono, c’mon—”

“designed for what? you didn't finish.”

caleb looks like he's about to burst, silently weighing his options before clearing his throat. “...designed primarily for air-to-air combat.”

“good to know.” the soft smile you give him gets you a weak one in return. “what else?”

his smile falls. your hand squeezes around him once more and he emits a broken sound. “fuck, okay, okay. c-compared to the f-22, which was designed for—shit, f-for stealth over aerodynamics and flies at—at mach 2.25 speed.”

his hips begin shifting again, chasing the warm heat of your palm, beginning to ramble and trip over his own words. “they both can, mnngh reach altitudes of over 60,000 feet or more making th-them perfect options for important operations. fuckfuckfuck—but they're not used for just combat, they can be used for training, search and rescue, and—god, that's so good.”

your fist is covered in precum, making it easier to slide over his cock at an increasing speed that makes him tremble. his mouth opens and closes over butchered attempts at words, face as red as his angry tip. 

“such a mess. not the only one leaking over your uniform anymore, right?”

“wanna cum.” he blurts out, his grips in the sheets white knuckled. “b-but inside. please? wanna fuck you so bad pleasepleaseee i—”

he groans when your fist works even faster, weak hands pushing at your own. “baby–baby no, fuck, inside—insi—oh fuck—”

caleb makes a sound between a disbelieving laugh and a moan as he resigns himself to your whims, chin dropping to his chest as his hips stutter once, twice, three times before coating your hand opaque white. stuttered breaths fill the air before an idea pops into your head.

you bring your stained hand up to his mouth. he blinks at first, surprise adding to the red flushing his face, but after a moment he leans forward to lick out of your hand painted white. desire strikes hot and heavy in your stomach as you maintain heavy eye contact, his tongue swirling over each individual finger. it doesn't take much for him to get hard again.

“did i pass?” he releases a breath, staring at the way your hips shift above him. “wanna be inside you now. you can keep quizzing me later. please.”

his eagerness spurs you into movement, letting out a small laugh of your own when his evol lifts you in the air as he searches for a condom. “been dreamin' about this for months and it's finally happening—you don't get to make fun of me if i cum in like three seconds when it's in all the way.”

your laughter grows in volume when you settle in his lap again, subject to his sudden onslaught of kisses. his nose bumps against yours in a silent moment of sweetness. his awkwardness with the condom eases your nerves a little bit, clumsily helping him stretch the latex over his cock. 

“would never.” your hand pushes his chest so his back is flat against the sheets, straightening up on your knees and using your free hand to position him right against your heat. “we take care of each other. it's okay if you do.”

caleb takes the hand placed near his heart and presses a kiss to your palm. an unspoken thank you resonates through the gentle action.

“ready?” he breathes out, his gaze trained on your face. “i know i've been… needy—”

“understatement.” the teasing lilt to your voice earns you a pinch to your side. it makes you bat at his hand with a grin, “sorry, continue.”

“but, if you want to back out, i don't mind going down on you again and we can do this another time. at the expense of heroically suffering through blue balls for however long it takes.”

you roll your eyes fondly, squeezing his hand. “you're very sweet, but i intend on fulfilling your birthday wish. besides… i want this, too.”

your hips lower as if to prove your point, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance before pushing in. caleb’s immediate moan makes you clench around him, his hands flying to your hips to help guide you down.

“all of it,” he murmurs as if entranced by the sight of you taking him in, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your skin. “takin’ me so well already.”

you don't expect to feel so full the more you slowly skin down, breathing through the stretch. whimpers fall from your lips without warning, biting your lower lip when he shifts his hips and you slip down even further. his praise is nonstop the entire time, more ramble than coherent words.

“feels so good around me. so pretty on top of me, yeah? doin’ so well, you're almost there. and then it'll feel so much better, okay?”

“caleb—”

“i know.” his voice is sweet. cooing, almost. “i know, baby. it's taking all me not to go all the way in just like that. but you can take it. i know you can. right?”

your head is nodding before you can even register his words, wiggling your hips before sliding down a bit more. “yeah. mhm—so big. can feel it in—”

you slide all the way down when he squeezes your hips, letting out a surprised squeak. ass flush against his thighs, caleb’s voice drops an octave lower when your walls flutter around him sporadically.

“see? you're—shit—doing so well. took it all just like you said you would. fuck.” his pupils dilate at the sight, sighing with pleasure as one hand moves to press against your stomach, long fingers spreading across your skin. “can feel me right… here.”

and as if a switch turns on in your brain, you begin to move in slow circles, breath catching at the fleeting sparks of pleasure. his hands settle on your hips to hold, fully letting you take control of both of your pleasures. with every sound you pull from him, every moan and sharp exhale of your name, your moves begin to grow bolder, walls clenching at each time you land back down in his lap.

“feels so good.” you pant lowly, the sound of skin slowly beginning to fill the room. the drag of his cock hitting deep inside you elicits a sweet sound from your throat that has him responding with a needier one of his own. “do you—does it feel—ohmygod—”

the sound between your legs is near sinful, wet squelches from the slippery glide turning easier the more you lift your hips. and all caleb can do is watch in awe as your head falls back with pleasure before you can even finish your sentence, committing the sight to memory as he begins to ramble once more.

“i'm the luckiest man to ever—ever walk the planet.” he begins to rub frantic circles on your clit, stuttering when you cry out and squeeze around his cock. “gettin’ to s-see this, to see you like this. fuck, thank you, thank you—take it, take it, it's yours. ‘m yours, always have been—”

unable to help himself, his hips start to meet your own in mindless thrusts, making you jolt and look down in surprise. “caleb—? ca—ahh, wait—”

his entire body trembles from the intense pleasure, his thrusts speeding up now that he's gotten to feel you. “can't—i can't, ‘m sorry, you're squeezin’ me so tight, feels like i can't breathe. gotta move, ‘msorrysosorry, angel—”

his hips slam against yours, wet and sticky with sweet and slick, his thumb still pressed firmly against your clit. the pressure makes you squeeze and flutter around him, drawing out more and more moans from your chest.

“your voice is so pretty, did you know? keep—fucking—singing for me. want everyone to know how good you're taking me.”

your entire body flushes with heat, skin prickling at his vulgar expression. but your body responds with short bursts of sounds pulled from your throat despite your best efforts, jolted whines and gasps filling the air. as a familiar heat coils in your stomach again, caleb’s thrusts also get sloppier.

“you're almost there—can feel it. sucking me in even more.” he sucks in a breath, brows furrowed slightly. “could stay buried in this pussy forever. and you'd let me, right? let me fuck load after load inside you, painting the prettiest picutre of you covered in my cum. full of me, about to burst. maybe even—maybe—”

your head lolls to one side, eyes half lidded as the brunt of caleb’s pussy drunk babbling and fantasies hit you full force. he'd made sure to use a condom before he fucked you, but the thought that maybe he… maybe one day, you'd let him fuck you raw. to really feel him inside of you without the protective barrier of latex. the thought makes your hips jerk, hands scrambling for anything to hold on to as the pleasure heightens.

caleb surges up to claim your lips in a bruising kiss, teeth clashing as your nails dig into his shoulders. his lips travel to your neck, the scrape of teeth causing the both of you to groan in unison. the sharp feeling of pain and pleasure mix into something indescribable, both of you hurtling towards a shared high.

“i love you,” he pants against your shoulder before whimpering low in his throat. “love you so much. best birthday ever. could die right now as the ha—ahh—ppiest i've ever been. ‘m gonna give it to you right now. say you love me and i'll let you cum.”

your lips part around a whine almost immediately. “i love you, i love you, pleasepleaseplease, caleb—!”

“sound so pretty when you say my name.” he presses a kiss to your jaw, nosing into your neck as his thumb doesn't let up on your clit. “go ahead and cum right… now.”

the pleasure is instantaneous. the coil snaps and heat rushes to your abdomen as your voice cracks on a hoarse moan, creaming all over his cock. your nails dig into his back, tears budding in the corner of your eyes as your orgasm rocks your entire body. 

caleb isn't too far behind, spurred on by the sharp tug of his hair when he nips at your shoulder. a sharp gasp is all you get in warning before he pulses inside of you, shuddering apart in your arms before he sags against your shoulder with a weak groan. 

closing your eyes to savor the haze post orgasm, you run your fingers through sweat slicked hair and press kisses to his forehead as he shivers and anchors your hips down.

“sensitive.” he mumbles against your shoulder. “don't move.”

“least you didn't cum early.” caleb lets out a low groan and you laugh, petting his head. “proud of you.”

“yeah, yeah.” he grouches through the brief showing of a smile, closing his eyes. “it's still my birthday so you're not allowed to make fun of me.”

“mm, is that right?”

caleb huffs, amping up the theatrics, refusing to calm down until you cup his face and silence him with a kiss. only then does he settle down enough for you to wish him a happy birthday with an even sweeter kiss, lifting your hips up to settle down in the rumpled sheets as he disposes of the condom. exhaustion hits your body even harder than after your first orgasm, nearly half asleep when he comes back with a damn cloth to wipe away the sweat and cum from your thighs.

“i love you,” he whispers against your skin when he settles back into bed besides you, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing you close. “we’ll get to the cake and presents tomorrow. thank you for everything you did today, baby. i loved it and i love you so, so much.”

three squeezes to your linked fingers is your response before you fall asleep in his arms. i love you, too.

[xmenloganx]

You Don’t Love Me Like You Used To

Plot: After a heated argument, Y/N is left feeling unwanted. But Logan is determined to prove her otherwise.

Set during the "Logan (2017)" era

Warnings: SMUT 18+, NSFW, MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV, Choking

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy! Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Summary:

Y/N and Logan had been together for over a decade. By then, it was just the two of them and Charles left from the X-men. Their relationship was strong, built on years of love and trust. Unfortunately, Charles’s health had been steadily declining, which took up most of their time. Y/N cared for him while Logan was out working, and when Logan returned, he would take over so she could rest.

Although the past few years had been challenging, Y/N’s love for Logan only deepened. But lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t returning that same affection. The late nights at work, the minimal conversations, the constant exhaustion…it all created a growing distance between them. And that distance left her feeling quite lonely.

Present Day: (Y/N’s POV)

It’s mine and Logan’s anniversary, and I was genuinely excited. I arranged for the nurse to take care of Charles for the night so I could focus on making something special for Logan. I planned a romantic dinner—shrimp linguine, a bottle of champagne, and for a playful touch, chocolate-covered strawberries as a little aphrodisiac.

It had been so long since Logan and I had been intimate and honestly…. I need to get railed. Like immediately.

Today was one of Logan’s rare early days off, so I wanted everything to be just right. I dressed up all cute, hoping to surprise him. I didn’t get to see him this morning he always leaves before I’m up so I wanted to make tonight feel special.

I decided to go all out. I slipped into a short, scandalous black dress with nothing underneath, curled my hair, and put on some light makeup with a red lip (Logan’s favourite). I also lit the candles, set the mood, and everything was finally ready.

*A few hours pass by*

It was getting later than usual, and Logan still wasn’t home. I was starting to feel a little worried. I had tried calling him, but to my luck there was no answer.

*Midnight*

The door suddenly swung open, and Logan stumbled in, startling me. I’d been waiting for him for hours. At first, I felt a wave of relief just seeing him, but that quickly turned into frustration… and then anger.

“Where the hell have you been?” I asked in an irritated tone

“Work. Bar” Logan responded coldly

“Bar? Don’t you realize what day it is today?

He scoffed, “It’s just like any other day.”

I couldn’t believe it…Logan actually forgot our anniversary.

“Wow. I can’t believe you forgot. It’s our anniversary, you jerk,” I said, my voice rising a little louder.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly realizing he’d completely forgotten. “Oh…” he muttered.

“Is that all you’ve got to say? ‘Oh’? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you? You usually get home around 5 p.m., and I’ve been here waiting for hours. And on top of that, you didn’t even answer your phone.”

“It was dead,” he sighed. “Listen, Y/N, I had a long day. It wasn’t great. Can we celebrate another day? I’m tired, not really in the mood right now, and I just want to go to bed.”

“Fine. Go to bed,” I replied coldly. But then my eyes caught sight of his hands and I noticed the bruises. Logan’s healing isn’t what it used to be; he bruises more easily now, and it takes days for those marks to fade.

“What are those bruises on your hands?” I asked, concern creeping into my voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied dismissively.

“Logan, did you get into a fight AGAIN?” I demanded, raising my voice in frustration.

“Listen, I said DON’T FUCKING WORRY ABOUT IT!” he snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, can’t I just come home without you standing there like a fucking cop, grilling me about where I’ve been and what the hell I’ve done? Get the fuck off my ass!”

I stayed silent, my heart aching. He’s never raised his voice at me like this.

“As you wish” I responded with my voice trembling and tears welling up in my eyes.

Logan sighed slowly walking away “I’m going to bed” he says quietly

(Logan’s POV)

I never wanted to treat her this way. Ever since I started aging, I’ve been feeling like absolute shit. I can’t function like I used to, and it’s really messing me up.

I love Y/N with all my heart, and it hurts knowing I can’t satisfy her or treat her the way I used to. We had an unbreakable bond, but I feel ashamed of how everything turned out. So, I decided to slowly push her away…because she deserves better.

It was 3 a.m., and Y/N still hadn’t come to bed. I got up to look for her and found her sitting on a kitchen stool, completely breaking down in tears. God, I felt like such an asshole. I never meant to hurt her…

“Y/N…” I called out softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to face me, her eyes swollen and red, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“Don’t… I don’t want to talk to you right now,” she responded with hurt.

“Y/N, I—” I started, but I didn’t even get the chance to finish. She quickly got up, stormed off to our bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it behind her.

I really fucked up.

I sat on the couch with my thoughts swirling through my head, when I suddenly heard Charles calling my name from his room.

“Logan….”

“I’m coming,” I called out, quickly rushing to his room.

“I’m here…” I responded walking in

“Sit down. I want to speak with you briefly,” he said, gesturing to the chair beside his bed. I pulled it up and sat down, giving him my full attention.

“Logan, do you know how many hours Y/N spent preparing your anniversary dinner?” he said disappointed.

I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. Shame washed over me.

“I….no I don’t”

Charles sighs. “Y/N has been waiting forever for the two of you to have some time alone. She even dipped into her savings to hire a nurse to take care of me for the night, for God’s sake.”

I shot him a quick glance. Nothing about this conversation made me feel any better, but I knew I deserved every bit of it.

“I didn’t know…” *sighs* “Fuck.”

“Logan, I know you’re tired. I know you’re working hard to provide for all of us, but don’t overlook what she’s doing. And excuse my French, but when was the last time you two were intimate? Have you seen what she wore tonight?”

I cleared my throat. Sure as hell didn’t expect Charles of all people to care about my sex life.

“No… I wasn’t really paying attention” I admitted

“You need to fix this, Logan. She craves your attention. You need each other—you’re good for each other. Don’t let her go to bed upset. Talk it out.“ he said softly.

“I know. You’re right. If only she’d let me back in the room. I think I really messed up this time,” I said, lowering my head in defeat.

Charles chuckled softly. “If there’s one thing I know for sure about Y/N, it’s that she loves you. And if you truly make the effort, she’ll forgive you.”

I nod and smiled. “Thanks Charles… really”

I stood up and walked to our bedroom, trying to talk to her through the door.

“Y/N?”

No response

“Y/N I know you’re awake. Open the door and talk to me”

Still no response. Maybe she was asleep I didn’t hear any movement inside. I decided to carefully use my claws to unlock the door.

*Click*

Once the door unlocked, I stepped inside—but she wasn’t on the bed. Strange. She wasn’t in the shower either.

I moved further into the room and there she was…leaning against the balcony railing, lost in her thoughts. She probably hadn’t even heard me come in.

It looked like she had changed out of her dinner outfit. Now she was in her pajamas. Those short shorts that hugged the curve of her ass and a tight tank top that barely left anything to the imagination. And it was driving me crazy.

Her back was to me, so I approached quietly, not wanting to startle her.

“Hey…” I said gently

She stayed still, not turning around “What do you want, Logan?”

“Listen… I’m sorry, okay? I really fucked up...I was an asshole and didn’t mean any of it.”

She remained facing away from me, completely still. The silence hung thick in the air, heavier with every passing second.

“Y/N, please… talk to me. Look at me. Yell at me. Hit me—anything,” I pleaded. “Just… say something.”

She turned around abruptly, with tears in her eyes.

“What do you want me to say, Logan?” she stammered with her voice shaking.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this. You’re always angry, always irritated, always late. You rush through every conversation with me like you can’t wait for it to end… and then you shut me out completely. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

I froze for a moment, her words hitting hard because she was right. I had been treating her like shit. Not because I stopped loving her, but because I’m ashamed of who I’ve become. Still… that’s no excuse.

“I know. And I’m sorry. I just…” I sighed deeply, struggling to find the words.

“You just what, Logan?” she choked out, her voice breaking. After a long pause, she whispered through tears, “Just admit it… you don’t love me like you used to. It’s slipping away. You’re bored of me.” Her sobs shook her as the tears streamed down her face.

My eyes widened in disbelief. “Do you honestly believe that? Y/N, I fucking love you. You’re the air I breathe, and I can’t imagine living without you.”

(Y/N’s POV)

Is he serious? This is what he calls “love”?

“Yeah, right. You sure as hell don’t act like it,” I replied with irritation.

I turned away from him, fed up. I was so sick and tired of his bullshit like he could just waltz back in, say sorry, and pretend none of it ever happened.

“Well then, let me make it up to you,” he said softly, stepping closer. My back remained turned to him, but I could feel his presence just behind me.

“Make it up to me how?” I asked firmly, as I stood frozen in place, refusing to turn around.

He stepped even closer. I can feel his chest make contact with my back and him slowly towering over me from behind.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, “Let me show you how much I love you… how much I truly mean it.”

Shit. If I wasn’t so goddamn turned on right now, I’d probably tell him to fuck off.

But I can’t let my guard down that easy can I? So I decided to play with fire

“You missed your chance earlier when I was actually dressed for the occasion,” I said with a teasing tone, still trying to sound upset, even if my voice betrayed me just a little.

Logan’s smirk deepened as his hand slowly traced up my forearm, teasing every inch until it finally cupped my breast. His fingers began to knead and caress them, while his other hand tightened its grip around me, pulling me closer and holding me firmly against him.

A sharp gasp escaped me as he took me by surprise.

“Sweetheart, you could be wearing a fucking trash bag and I’d still take you right here,” he whispered seductively, his hands still fondling my breasts with slow, deliberate pressure.

He began teasing my nipples through the fabric of my tank top, pinching and rolling them between his fingers which drew a soft moan from my lips.

“Logan…” I breathed out between gasps

“That’s it, baby… keep saying my name,” he groaned. “Fuck, I can’t believe it’s been this long since I’ve had my hands on you.”

“It’s your f-fault,” I managed to breathe out “I’ve been practically throwing myself at you for weeks.”

“I know… I’ve been a fucking idiot. A damn fool,” he growled. “But don’t worry Princess, I’m about to make up for every second of that missed time.”

Logan’s hand slid beneath the fabric of my shorts, pressing firmly against my soaked panties as his fingers circled teasingly. The heat of his touch sent shivers through me, and I couldn’t hold back the louder moan that escaped my lips.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” his voice was low and full of desire.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’m gonna take my time with you tonight”

“Logan… please…” I whined as his teasing drove me wild.

“Please what? Use your words Princess”

“T-take me… make me yours,” I whispered, my voice trembled with need.

Without hesitation, he spun me around, his hands gripped my ass as he lifted me with ease. I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist as he carried me straight to the bedroom.

Pressing me firmly against the wall, he crashed his lips onto mine in a deep, hungry kiss that sent a rush of heat to my core.

His tongue slipped past my lips, deepening the kiss as I moaned softly against his mouth, completely lost in the moment.

“I can’t wait to get these tight little clothes off you,”

His lips trailed soft, heated kisses from my mouth to my temple, then slowly down the side of my neck. He found my sweet spot in seconds, sucking and nibbling with just the right pressure, sending waves of pleasure through me.

“Oh my god-“ I moaned.

Logan smirked, his lips still pressing against my neck. He slid his hand up from my waist, gently setting me back on the ground before gripping my hair firmly. With a light pull, he tilted my head back, leaving me no choice but to lock eyes with him.

“You knew I was going to come back in here didn’t you?” He said in a sexy confronting tone

I stayed silent while heavily breathing, unable to think straight

He slid his leg between mine, slowly spreading them apart, pressing his knee gently against my wet pussy.

At the same time, his other hand grabbed both of my wrists, lifting and locking them above my head against the wall leaving me completely at his mercy

Jesus this man was strong

*gasps* “wha-“

“Shhh,” he murmured. “You knew I’d come back. You knew exactly what you were doing wearing those tight shorts and that shirt with no bra… you fucking tease,” he whispered into my ear.

I was honestly at a loss for words. My mind went blank, and unsure of what to say, I stayed silent.

He pressed his knee harder against my pussy “Admit it… you knew exactly what you were doing. Admit you’re teasing me because you want to be fucked.”

“Yes… I-I knew,” I breathed out, my voice barely above a whisper as I slowly nodded, giving in completely.

Logan chuckled “Good girl… now, strip for me,” he said. “Take off your shirt… and those shorts.”

I gave a small nod and followed his command. I lifted my tank top over my head, letting it fall to the side, then slowly slid my shorts down my hips and stepped out of them.

Now I stood in nothing but my panties, my chest rising and falling with every breath as he stared at me, eyes darkening, taking in every detail with an intense gaze.

“Fuck…you're perfect” he said under his breath. “Now get on the bed, baby. Lie down on your back for me.”

I hurried to the bed and lay down on my back, doing exactly as he asked. He followed close behind, climbing on top of me as he pulled off his shirt. Then, he unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down, leaving him only in his boxers.

I’ve seen Logan naked more times than I can count, but damn, his body never ceases to amaze me. His muscular chest, those veiny arms, and that perfectly shaped ass—he’s so damn hot I can barely keep myself together.

He grabbed his belt and then took hold of my wrists, pinning them above my head as he slowly tied them together.

“Tonight, it’s all about you. I’m going to take my time and fuck you so hard you won’t even remember your own name tomorrow. You got that princess?”

His words and voice turned me on so bad that I could barely contain myself

“Yes” was the only thing I managed to blurt out while biting my lip

“Good…” he smirked “now be a good girl and hold still”

He kissed my lips with burning passion, trailing down my body until he reached my chest. His mouth latched onto my nipple, sucking hard while his other hand kneaded the other breast. He left a trail of hot, wet kisses, making every touch set my skin on fire

“Logan… oh my god…” I moaned, breathless and overwhelmed. The fact that I couldn’t touch him made it so much harder

“Please… let me touch you” I pleaded

He looked up at me “No. Like I said. Tonight is about you. Forget about me. Just let me make you feel good baby”

He left my breast and began trailing soft kisses down my stomach, moving lower until he was between my thighs. His lips brushed against them as he kissed and gently tugged, taking his time and driving me wild with every touch.

I could feel the heat of his breath hovering over my soaked pussy

“You’re dripping, baby… I’ve been neglecting this cunt for far too long. But don’t worry I’m going to fix that”

With a swift motion, he tore my panties apart. He then proceeded to press a soft kiss to the top before trailing his tongue over my swollen clit, hitting every sensitive spot and sending me into uncontrollable moans.

My legs began to shake, so Logan grabbed ahold of them to steady me.

“If you keep moving like that, I might just have to tie your legs up too, baby,” he teased with a smirk.

“I can’t help it… it feels too good” I say breathless

“That’s exactly what I want to hear,” he murmured, deepening his kisses as his tongue and lips worked my clit relentlessly.

Then, without hesitation, he slipped a finger inside me, twisting and curling, sending waves of pleasure that tied my stomach in knots.

“Logan!” I screamed “I’m gonna-“

“That’s it, baby. Let go for me… come for me, princess,” he urged, his mouth working harder with every word.

“Ohhh, ohhh!” I gasped, my body trembling as I came, spilling all over him. My breaths grew heavy and ragged. Holy shit.

“Good job baby…” he said as he leaned in and gave me a soft kiss on my lips

“Logan… I want to touch you… please,” I whispered, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his neck, the only part of him I could reach.

He moaned and groaned under my kisses, clearly on the edge from my touch. Then, quickly, he untied the belt, and I immediately grabbed him, trailing kisses all over his body…from his neck to his chest, down his arms, and finally to the hard bulge pressing against me.

I slid his boxers down, revealing just how hard he was. Looking up at him with a teasing smile, I whispered,

“Now it’s my turn to take care of you… just like you did for me, Daddy.”

I leaned in and slowly ran my tongue over the tip of his cock, tasting him, teasing him. Inch by inch, I took him into my mouth, my movements slow and steady as I began to go deeper until it reached the back of my throat

“Fuck Y/N…. Yeah just like that” he moaned, his voice low and breathless as I kept sucking

“I’m so close… fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. It didn’t take long before he came into my mouth, some of it spilling onto my tits as he let out a deep, satisfied breath.

I attempted to get up, but he was faster by grabbing my neck and forcefully pushing me back onto the bed, pinning me flat beneath him as he towered over me.

“Going somewhere?” He said with a low voice “Oh no, sweetheart… I’m not done with you yet.”

“Do your worst” I responded back boldly

“Keep up that attitude and you’re getting punished, baby,” he warned.

He roughly turned me around, positioning me on all fours before lining himself up and sliding in slowly, making sure I felt every inch.

“Oh my god… Logan… Logan!” I moaned, my voice catching with every deep thrust as he moved inside me, slow at first, then faster, each motion making my ass press back into his rhythm, completely lost in the heat of it all.

“Fuck… You’re so fucking tight…” he groaned. That’s it, baby…say my name,” he urged, slamming into me even harder while slapping my ass

“Please…. Harder” I moaned

Logan maintained the pace and rhythm I craved for a while before suddenly changing things up.

He then gripped my waist and flipped me onto my back, locking eyes with me.

Without hesitation, he plunged back inside me, keeping the same pace he did before.

“I want to see the look on your face when you come, baby,” he whispered, his breath heavy as he thrust deeply into me.

He slid his hand to my throat, applying a gentle grip as he kept going sending waves of pleasure rippling through my body.

"This pussy’s mine, you got that? It belongs to me... no one else will ever fuck you the way I do," he growls.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes from the sheer pleasure. Nothing had ever felt this mind-blowingly good.

You’d think with Logan’s age his stamina would’ve faded, but damn, was I wrong. This man didn’t just know how to please me… he knew how to ruin me in all the right ways.

"Come on, pretty girl… I know you’re close," he smirks. "Be a good girl and cum for me.. you know you want to... don’t hold back now."

"F-Fuck... oh my god... I’m gonna— I’m— ahhh!" I cried out, gripping the sheets as my back arched off the bed.

The orgasm tore through me in waves, making my entire body shake uncontrollably — so hard it felt like the bed might come off the floor with me.

Logan collapsed beside me, both of us breathless and completely exhausted, lying there in silence as the aftershocks slowly faded.

After a few quiet moments, he turns to me.

“You know I love you, right? I’d never want to hurt you… not ever,” he says softly, his eyes full of sincerity.

I let out a quiet sigh. “Then why have you been pulling away these past few months?”

He sighed in frustration “because you deserve better than an old drunken limo driver with nothing to offer”

"If you think for one second that’s the way I see you, then you don’t truly know me, Logan. When you said I’m the air you breathe, I felt it deep in my soul because I feel the same. You own me. I belong to you, and only you," I said, my hand gently caressing his face.

“No… you own me,” he said with a cheeky grin while planting a soft kiss on my forehead.

I snuggled into his chest, feeling safe and warm in his embrace.

“But seriously… if you forget our anniversary one more time I’m chopping off your dick so you won’t be able to fuck me or anyone else again… understood?”

He chuckled, “Yes, ma’am… I swear I won’t forget. And honestly, how could I? can never get enough of those sounds you make when I’m deep inside you,” he said with a wink.

I playfully rolled my eyes…"Okay, bedtime! before we accidentally start round two. I don’t think Charles would appreciate that… pretty sure he heard more than enough tonight"

"Well… he kind of asked for it when he told me to come make things right with you," he smirked.

"Oh, give me a break," I giggled. "He knew how badly I needed to get laid. Did I ever mention I dropped my vibrator in front of him last week? The look on his face...poor guy's probably still recovering."

“Holy shit,” he burst out laughing. “Jesus… well, don’t worry because from now on, I’ll make sure you’ll never need that toy again.”

"We'll see about that" I winked back at him

THE END!!

[luvsvite]

Latch (S.R. x Reader)

18+ MDNI (I beg)

a/n: My first successfully finished attempt at a one shot :') I'm so nervous to post this so please be nice (note that english is not my first language)

Summary: After celebrating her boyfriend Spencer's birthday, reader has one last present left to give him.

Tags: sub!spencer x dom!reader, spencer is a munch & secretly has a mommy kink, afab reader, established relationship, mostly just cheesy stuff tbh but still porn w plot

w/c: 3.5k

With a stretch of your arms and a sigh dramatic enough to make your boyfriend chuckle behind you, you threw your purse somewhere on the fluffy rug of your room. It was dark but the moonlight bleeding through the curtains allowed for some illumination, you couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights. Instead you threw off your heels and jacket before letting yourself drop onto the bed, humming contentedly. Spencer was quick to join you, hovering above you as he smiled.

"Thank you for today, I had fun."

"Yeah?", you asked without opening your eyes, the exhaustion of being on foot all day now catching up to you.

"Yeah.", he reassured with a peck to your lips, fingers coming up to comb through your hair softly.

"And thank you for the gifts also, they were very thoughtful.", he mumbled against your neck, little pecks making their way down to your colorbone. With the little strength you had left, your arms locked around your boyfriend's neck. He smelled of the cologne you bought him.

"You're welcome, love."

Spencer's birthday now coming to an end, you remembered the day you just had. Dinner at his favourite restaurant, a screening of a movie he'd grown to love because of you, a trip around the museum, the tender look on his face when he unwrapped the books you bought him. Everything was perfect. And yet, for the past 24 hours, there had been one thing on your mind you'd been nervous to carry out.

Only having been dating for a few weeks, your and Spencer's relationship was relatively new. In that time, you had been considerate of the fact that Spencer had never slept with anyone, and of course, you would wait as long as he needed. Still, you had done some things. There was that time you were straddling him during a steamy make out session on the couch. You remember his heavy pants the subconscious movement of his very prominent bulge against your core. Tentatively, you'd moved against him, eliciting whines from him that would be burned into your mind for the next two weeks. He ended up coming in his pants, stuttering out apologies despite your countless attempts at reassuring him that no, he didn't need to be sorry, this might've been the hottest thing ever.

You thought about that time a lot. All the time, really.

Then, there was the time you'd come out of the shower in nothing but a towel wrapped around you when Spencer was still at your apartment, reading away sat on your bed. Admittedly, you'd purposely walked in to tease him. And sure enough, your flushed face and dripping, exposed skin created a literal wet dream for him. That time he found himself less capable of holding back as he pulled you onto him, ignoring the question What's gotten into you? But who were you to complain when he kissed you with such desperation, teeth biting at your lip tissue, hands tentatively scraping along your exposed legs as he choked out whines you hadn't heard in two weeks. That evening may or may not have ended with him coming undone, in your hand this time.

And that marks the end of your (very) brief sexual history.

The days leading up to his birthday, you had been toying with the idea of creating a scenario in which you'd get to hear those beautiful sounds fall from his lips again. And what better day to play it out than today.

"Although.. I have one more present for you!"

Spencer liftted his head to look at you, eyes comically lighting up like a puppy as sat up on the bed.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to need you to leave the room for a moment."

The excited look on his face turned into confusion, but you waved him off reassuring he'll love it. With that promise and another peck to his lips, he made his way out of the room. Once the door closed behind him you breathed out anxiously. In a swift movement you got up from the bed to slip out of your dress, letting it fall to the ground carelessly to expose the lingerie set you were wearing underneath- A lacy black two piece decorated with ruffles and little bows around the edges. When you'd picked it out you weren't sure what it would do for him, if he'd even like it. Truthfully, your goal was just to get a reaction out of him, any reaction.

"Can I come in yet?", you heard Spencer chuckle through the door, your nervousness growing more and more each second you dragged this out. You sat back down on the bed, struggling to find a position you felt comfortable enough in to let him see you like this. You settled for crossing your legs as you sat on the edge of the mattress, fingers nervously pulling at the straps of your panties.

"You can come in."

You watched as Spencer pushed the door open, visible confusion on his face that was immediately replaced by a look of shock the moment his eyes met your. It took everything in you to not look away as his eyes burned holes into you.

"Do you like it?"

His mouth opened, closed, opened and then closed again, unsure of what to say, how to put into words just how much he liked it. His eyes traced the way the set hugged your body, lingering on your heaving chest as he gulped nervously. He'd always loved the color black on you, how it fit your confident personality and reminded him of how you'd come into his life and consumed his entire being, like he'd been sucked into a black hole he couldn't get out of even if he tried. Most days you had him feeling like he was floating out in space, you enveloped him, numbed down his senses making it so the only thing he could ever truly see, smell, hear, feel, taste- was you.

Your glance shifted to his fidgeting hands and visible heavy breathing that was now making your own breath come quicker.

"I-", you began, but before you could say anything else Spencer had snapped himself out of his paralyzed state to kneel in front of you, a sight that had you weak in the knees unable to come up with a single thing to say to him. Though, you didn't need to because the next thing you knew, his hands were coming up to brush against your bare legs, fingers stroking along the skin as he scanned your figure.

"You uhm-", he cleared his throat, "You look beautiful."

"Yeah?"

He nodded frantically before you could doubt his words, "Darling girl, you bought this for me?"

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you nodded, warmth spreading along the area on your thighs that his hands were now exploring. You watched Spencer smile in admiration as fingered the the straps of your panties, sending a wave of your heat straight to your core.

"I wasn't sure you'd like this on me."

"I- are you crazy? Yes, I do. A lot."

You knew he was being genuine and still-

"How much?"

-you loved being a tease.

"Let me show you?"

The words had come out as more of a question when he really meant to say I want to show you how gorgeous you are, how I long for you every second of every day.

Yet, when you nodded at him, a look on your face that- if he wasn't mistaken- practically dripping with desire, he forgot all about his inability to articulate what he really meant. He let his actions speak for him instead, hands now coming up to your waist, the grip he had on you being tighter than he'd wanted it to be. His eyes locked with yours as his mouth found your skin. Slowly, he trailed kisses along your stomach, making goosebumps rise on the area.

"Feels good, Spence.", you smiled at him reassuringly.

Spencer grinned against your skin with new found confidence, determined to make you happy. He started to suck little marks along your abdomen, eliciting the tiniest noises from you as your back arched towards the sensation. You couldn't help but keep your eyes locked on him as he made his way down your body, heat spreading across your cheeks as you felt the wetness pool between your thighs.

And then, he stopped.

Breathlessly, your now half lidded eyes gave him a confused look as you combed your fingers through his hair in a reassuring manner. Was he uncomfortable? Had he changed his mind?

"Can I- um, kiss you?"

"You are kissing me.", you chuckled.

"Kiss you- uhm, here.", he confessed, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he shifted down to hover above your core, looking up to you through his eyelashes.

"Yes, please.", was all the reassurance he needed from you.

Anticipation bloomed in your stomach when Spencer pulled your panties to the side, a shuddered breath escaping him at the sight of your glistening wetness. Thanks to the moonlight that seeped in through the curtains you could see Spencer's cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red (if that was at all possible) when you spread your thighs open for him. His hands settled on either of them, letting out a whine as he licked a stripe along your pussy. He pecked your clit before tentatively taking it into his mouth as he started to suck. Oh. Oh.

"S-Spencer-", you started but when his gaze locked with yours again, all you could do was shut your eyes closed as if in pain. Having Spencer between your legs practically eye-fucking you was definitely something.

Given his inexperience, he was indecisive as to what to do exactly, so he switched between sucking and circular motions around your clit, occasionally moving down to lap up your juices before going back to making you see stars.

He'd never heard the term before but it was safe to say that, if you were to explain the term 'pussy-drunk' that's how he'd describe this feeling- complete and utter devotion and the yearning to satisfy as a million emotions cursed through his body at the taste of you.

"Who taught you to- fuck - do t-this?"

He released your clit with a pop, long fingers now coming up to resume the motions against you as he spoke.

"Believe it or not, I've read extensively on the subject of cunnalingus-", his thumb was now moving in circles against your clit, making your thighs shake around his neck from the overwhelming stimulation, "-I actually enjoy reading erotica a lot, ha. Ever since we- um. That day on the couch and uh- god-", he breathed out the last part, losing track of his own rambling as his eyes shifted back to his fingers against you. He was mesmerized by your wetness, how it coaxed his fingers and dripped down his hand, almost like tiny stars exploding against his skin, making him weak in the knees. He bent his head down again to lick along them, lapping up everything he could, moaning at the taste.

"Baby, can you finger me? Just-"

Spencer was sure his brain short circuited right then and there but his body quickly shifted to autopilot as he dragged his ring and middle finger down to your entrance, sliding into you with little resistance. The lewd sounds coming from the thrusting of his fingers had him rolling his eyes back as he went back to sucking on your clit, entirely focused on making you cum.

"Just like that, you're doing so good for me.", you moaned, having him speed up his thrusts at the praise.

You were so close already, sure anything could tip you over the edge, before Spencer spoke up again.

"Baby, can you come for me? Please.", he panted against you heavily, his free hand holding onto your shaking thigh as you came so hard you didn't even hear Spencer moaning in union with you, overwhelmed by the fact that he was the one making you feel this way.

After a moment, he slowed the pace of his fingers, helping you through your orgasm before he pulled out of you to kiss along your abdomen, trailing little pecks up to your flushed neck.

"Oh my god.", was all you could bring yourself to say, as you pulled him into an open mouthed kiss by his colar. You swallowed his whimpers as your fingers threated through his damp hair, your own sweat and release dripping down your thighs, making you shiver against him.

When you pulled away from Spencer, he was still panting heavily as he breathed against your lips, "Was I- um. Was that okay?"

"Yes. Spencer, yes. You're so- Jesus."

"I'm Jesus?"

"Stop.", you chuckled against him, giving him a peck on the lips before pulling yourself off of him to look down at the very prominent bulge against his pants. Before the redness could spread on his cheeks again (as if he hadn't just given you the most mind blowing orgasm in the history of orgasms), you pulled him onto the bed, hand lifting his face by his chin, your thumb settled on his swollen lip.

"Need some help with that?"

"No-I. I'm okay."

"Spencer."

He chuckled as he hid his face in your shoulder, ever so embarrassed. He kissed your shoulder blade, breathed against your skin, breathed in your scent- so familiar and safe it made him want to bathe in it, sit in it for hours. You were intoxicating.

"We can do whatever you feel ready to, baby. Just say the word."

"Wanna-", he lifted his head, kissing you again, pulling away, then pulling in again, pulling your lip between his teeth as he savored the taste of your lipgloss. He licked away at his own lips as he asked, "-I mean can I? Baby. My beautiful girl, I'm so-"

"I know, I know. Me too."

"Can I fuck you?"

Your stomach flipped at the way he worded his question, this probably being the first time you'd ever heard your boyfriend use lewd language. You couldn't be bothered to question what had gotten into him, so overwhelmed with the craving of having him inside of you.

"I would love that. But I want to make sure you're ready and absolutely sure you want to do this. It's okay if you were to change your mind."

"I don't- I mean, I won't change my mind. I love you, I'm so in love with you, darling girl. So yes, I'm sure.", he breathed as his hands ghosted along your hips, the cold radiating from his fingertips making goosebumps rise over your heated skin all over again.

His words of affirmation being all the reassurance you needed, you bit down a grin as you started pulling him with you onto the mountain of fluffy pillows behind you. Your hand went up to trace the lines of his face- Fingertips against his cheek, following his nosebridge down to his cupids bow, resting on where his lips were now parting.

"You're so gorgeous."

Spencer had never been good at taking compliments, so in situations like these he'd huff out a chuckle as he avoided your eyes, but you forced his face to look at you by gripping his jaw gently.

"T-thank you.", he wet his lips before he continued speaking.

"Uhm. Do I just.", he cleared his throat in an attempt to compose himself. "What do I do?"

"Tell you what, I can be on top if that would make you more comfortable?", you suggested, which had him nodding in a particularly eager way, drawing a giggle from you. You maneuvered yourself so you were straddling him, hands now unbuttoning his shirt painfully slow as you watched his eyes follow your every movement. With his shirt, you took off his pants, leaving him in his underwear.

"All for me?", you breathed as your fingers traced along the bulge in his boxers.

"Yes.", he chocked out at the feeling of having you touch him like this again. Your fingers were now actively stroking Spencer through his boxers, eliciting the whines from him you'd been dying to hear for the past few weeks, as he began to make the tiniest movements against your hand.

"Can I take your cock out, baby?"

Spencer nearly chocked on his on spit. You never failed to shock him with your blunt way of speaking. "Please."

Please.

You pulled down his boxers, leaving him bare. He looked so beautiful- Hair sticking to his forehead, lips red and swollen, parted as he breathed heavily in anticipation, fingers fidgeting against the bedsheets, cock hard and already dripping with precum.

In a moment of weakness, you found yourself unable to control the instinct of praising him, testing the waters as you longed to know what other reactions you could get out of him.

"Such a pretty cock, baby." , you mumbled, mesmerized as you watched his cock twitch, precum spurting out to pool on his stomach. Bingo.

"You like it when I tell you how pretty you are?", you teased. To your satisfaction, he huffed out another moan, licking his lips as he nodded his head yes.

"So cute.", your lips caught between your teeth , taking Spencer's cock into your hand, slowly pumping it a few times in a painfully slow pace. Selfishly, you wanted to prolong the ecstatic state the control over him had you in. Still, it got to a point where you couldn't ignore his silent pleas, so you began teasing his cock against your clit.

"O-oh-", Spencer's hips twitched upward at the sensation. Wordlessly, you pushed his hips back down shooting him a warning look to which he could only gulp, eyes glued to your hands against him. Something about the way you manhandled forced him to bite down a whine, he wanted to be good for you.

"Ready, baby?"

He could barely choke out a yes as you aligned his cock with your entrance before sinking down on him slowly, giving him and yourself time to adjust to this new sensation. The borderline pornographic moan Spencer let out at the feeling of you around him made you want to ignore the stinging of the stretch, as you sank down further on him until you were fully settled. You looked to your boyfriend for any form of discomfort but beneath you lied but a man lost in the pleasure of your heat around him, half lidded eyes focused on where you two were connected. Slowly, you began to move against him.

"O-oh- jesus.", Spencer moaned involuntarily, making you pick up your pace.

"Feels so good, Spencer.", you moaned as you  started a slow pace against him, hands gripping his sides tightly for support. His own hands rushed to grip hard at your waist.

With half lidded eyes, Spencer caught glimpses of sweat slipping down your skin- Along your neck, past your tits where drops caught on your nipples and dripped down your torso. The moonlight was casting shadows on your body that had him believing you were but a dream he prayed never to wake up from. One of his hands came up to catch a droplet on your torso and he watched utterly entranced as your body twitched against his touch.

He wasn't thinking clearly when he took your breast into his hand, mesmerized by the glistening skin under his fingertips.

"Can I-", he chocked out.

Noticing the pleading in his eyes, you moved closer to him so he could take your nipple into his mouth, his other hand still holding you steady by your side. He nibbled on your nipple as muffled whimpers continued to spill out of him, sending waves of pleasure to your core.

"Fuck, such a good boy for me."

The words spilled out of you before you could even consider the fact that calling him a good boy could've been weird or uncomfortable for him. But with the way his hips stuttered up against you at your words, the worries vanished quickly.

With a pop, he released your nipple, a string of saliva still connecting you to his lips. The sight had you weak, your own hips losing rhythm as you fought back the urge to slide your thumb between his perfectly pink lips and having slick coax your fingers instead. Your mind began to wander to how gorgeous he'd look with his lips wrapped around you, pleading eyes looking up at you for release.

You were ripped from your fantasy as you felt Spencer's fingers working against your clit, aiming to make you cum. He was more than content with the way you nearly screamed at the overstimulating sensation. You looked down to find him biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, knowing he must be close too.

"I won't last long. I'm- god-"

"It's okay baby, I'm close.", you panted.

"Please- oh, mommy I'm gonna cum. I'm-"

At this, you lost any sense of self control, your hand came up to pull at his hair, forcing a whimper out of him, the pace of your movements now erratic as you watched his eyes roll back, his fingers still working against you.

"Gonna cum for mommy?", you played into the dynamik you were now sure he wanted between the two of you just as much as you did. You slid two fingers between his parted lips, watching as he obediently sucked them in, drool dripping down his chin.

"Yes, just- please-", he mumbled desperately around your fingers.

"It's okay, let go for me.", you gave your sort of permission as you watched his eyes roll back.

Spencer came so hard his back arched against you, making it so you lost your composure and fell on top of him, kissing him through the waves of his orgasms as your own release hit you shortly after.

***

"So... mommy kink, huh?", you laughed against Spencer's chest as you both lied on your bed, steadily breathing against each other as you were slowly drifting off to sleep.

Spencer rubbed his face in embarrassment, avoiding your penetrating gaze.

"Don't mention it, please."

"I won't- But noted!", you pecked him on the lips. You caught glimpses of the moon shining through your window as you hugged your boyfriend tightly against your body.

-

a/n: idk how to end fanfics for shit so excuse this mess :')

[angels-hideaway]

Anything

Summary: late day four of HCW with the prompt crime!

1.2k words

“Promise this one won’t be long?” Caitlyn adjusted her uniform collar and sighed. “Sadly I can’t. I won’t say much for your own safety, but an aggressive enemy has threatened war. I don’t want to send us into a conflict, but it looks like everyone is turning to me again.” Caitlyn brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Just do your best.” You kissed her one last time before she leaves.

Shouting. 

That was the only thing you could hear besides your own breathing. You couldn’t see at all. The room you’d been keep in was pitch dark. You couldn’t move at all either. Your wrists and ankles had been tightly bound for hours. 

It was a politically motivated stunt. You weren’t really involved, but you were the perfect target if they wanted to get under the skin of someone who was involved. Your wife, Caitlyn Kiramman. But hopefully, she wouldn’t do anything rash.

Maybe around twelve hours ago, you were at home alone, trying and failing to stay awake until Caitlyn came home. The last few weeks had been rough. Meetings and strategies had completely sucked away any free time. Things would be okay though. 

You gave up waiting when the clock struck midnight. After retiring to bed, you blacked out quickly. Then you woke up here. In a dark room, all alone, and restrained. This was definitely a plot to finally get Piltover to make a move. Holding the spouse of the Commander of Piltover hostage was practically taunting them. 

By this time, you had no clue if maybe they asked for ransom. If maybe they lied about your condition to the outside world. For now, you were unscathed save for the small cuts from the less than gentle transportation. Caitlyn would definitely be worried. You could only hope they would find you before something worse could happen. 

Another few hours passed. Your jaw was hurting. Your mouth was rendered useless by a rag muffling any sound you made. You were still scared for your life, but you were more afraid of how eerily quiet it had become so suddenly. 

That’s when the screaming started. You heard one shot, then two, then five, and then eight. Not fast enough to be a machine, but calculated and skilled. 

“It’s a sniper!”

“Get down!”

“Find them! now!” 

Your captors were scrambling outside. Your head was scrambling. It’s possible this was not your savior, but perhaps an even bigger threat. The screams died down, but you could still hear gunshots. Why were they still shooting? There’s no way anyone was still alive out there. Then they stopped. Now it was really quiet. You held your breath, praying to whoever was above that they had your best interest in mind. Another shot rang out, this time right outside the door of the shed you were in. You heard the lock and the bullet hit the ground. Shutting your eyes tightly, you heard the door creak open. 

Footsteps of a single person was all you heard. The clicking of boots. Then, they stopped. In an instant, the figure was knelt down, hugging you tightly. “Caitlyn?…” you tried to say through your gag. The familiar scent hit you like a train, and you began to cry. 

She pulled the rag from your mouth, and laid her hands on your shoulders firmly. She’s shaking. “Are you okay?” Her voice is empty. Cold. “Yes.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“Uhm- no.”

“Is there anything I need to know about?”

“I-I’m okay. Nothing happened by the time you came to save me. Thank you..”

After pulling away, Caitlyn quietly freed you. Something felt wrong. Why was she being so quiet? And why was it still quiet outside? 

She helped you to your feet, and walked you to the closed door of the dark shed. “Wait.” You stopped. “Is everything alright?… Did you arrest them?” She doesn’t respond. She’s right next to you too. 

Slowly, one of her arms goes behind your head to come around and cover your eyes. “What’s going on? I can manage on my-”

“Don’t say a word. Just do as I say.” She’s speaking low. Without another word, you allow her to keep her hand over your eyes. You can hear the door open, and step out in time with Caitlyn. The metallic scent of blood is overwhelming. You can’t help but gasp for fresh air that doesn’t come. “Caitlyn what’s-”

“They didn’t want to come for you.” She starts quietly, while guiding you through whatever horror she doesn’t want you to see. “They needed more time to think it over. Saving one person would risk the entire population.” Was she talking about you? “I didn’t like that answer, so I decided to come get you myself. Lucky me, though.” Your stomach is sinking. You can hear the smile on her lips. “They weren’t organized. They argued over what to do with you, and broke out into an argument. It got violent. They all thought they were the leader, so they killed each other. A shoot out. Result of infighting. I heard the screams of my precious wife, so I merely had to come and get her. That’s what happened. That’s our truth.” 

A lie. You know that’s not what happened, but the alternative made you want to vomit. “If I get in trouble for this, you’ve seen nothing, you’ve heard nothing.” She helps you into a vehicle, and removes her hand from your eyes. “Don’t turn around. Just look at me until I say it’s over.” Her eyes look distant and hollow. She keeps eye contact for maybe five minutes, before nodding. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.” She brings you in for another tight hug.

When you’re finally home that night, Caitlyn helps clean and patch you up. In bed, she holds you tight against her. “I’ll never let that happen again. Do you hear me? That will never happen to you ever again.” You’re still scared, but you never imagined that you’d be afraid of her. You knew she was a military official, but what she had done to get you back showed what she was capable of. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been out for so long. I should’ve known. Should’ve been there…” Caitlyn’s fingers twitch against your hair, like she’s pulling a trigger. “It’s okay. You’ve had a lot on your plate.” You mumbled into her shoulder. 

“No it’s not. Nothing I did could ever amount to the amount of pain I wanted them to feel. Not a death slow enough, not a bullet fast enough.” She’s gripping you tighter. “Cait? You’re scaring me a little…” It’s like she doesn’t hear you. She keeps going on about death, and making those kidnappers suffer. All the while, she’s beginning to grip your hair too tight, and you can feel her nails in your back. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again. I can’t- I cant loose anyone again. Not you.”

You make a pained sound that finally snaps Caitlyn out of her rage. “Oh, oh darling I’m so sorry… Forgive me please. When I got home, and the house was ransacked, you weren’t there, and I..” She’s crying. You try and comfort her as best you can. “Hey it’s okay! I don’t know what’s going to result from…whatever you did, but I’ll be with you the whole time.”

She moves so she can look you in the eyes, and places one hand on your cheek. “Even though you know what I did?”

“I saw nothing. I have no evidence of anything against you.” Caitlyn gasps quietly before pulling you close. “I’d do anything for you. I’d do that again if I had to.”  You stayed huddled like that all night. 

The next morning, you wake up to Caitlyn on the phone. “A camp of them found dead? Oh….yes, I see. Have you got any leads?…”  Caitlyn turns around and grins at you. An uncanny smile graces her lips.

“That’s too bad..”

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter twenty-five, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, training day 2&3, a peak at plutarch, plotting, a bit of rafe and y/n content, peeta !! all platonic btw

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous

later that night, your entire body aches. your shoulders pull like they’ve been strung too tight and used as weapons, and your knuckles are a little bruised.

the bathroom mirror’s foggy with the shower you just took, and you’re standing at the sink brushing your teeth while rafe sits on the counter next to you, legs hanging, arms braced behind him as he leans back and watches.

he doesn’t say much at first. he just listens as you ramble through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“so johanna, right—” you pause to spit, “—we go into it thinking it’s just a warm-up, but she’s like . . . elbowing me like we’re in a bar fight. and then finnick’s off to the side like, ‘use your hips, not your face’, which by the way, i didn’t even know he knew how to fight without his trident—”

you glance over, brush hanging from your mouth.

rafe just grins, head tilted as he watches your reflection in the mirror. he doesn’t get half of what you’re saying. the foam muffles most of it and your words come out tangled, but he likes the sound of your voice anyway.

you rinse, sigh, then lean forward to wipe your mouth on the towel.

“anyway. i nearly took her head off at one point. kind of proud of that.”

rafe laughs a little under his breath, but then he quiets, gaze dropping to the floor.

“we need to talk to katniss,” he says. “make her trust us. get her to think about an alliance.”

you pause, and your eyes flick to him in the mirror. he’s still looking at the ground, like he doesn’t want to look up yet.

“did you talk to her at all today?” he asks.

you think about it as you chew the inside of your cheek. “unless you count her trying to kill me and you in a simulation . . . then no, not really.”

rafe finally looks up, scrunches his face in that way he does when he’s frustrated but can’t argue with the facts. he scratches the back of his buzzed head, groaning softly.

you pull open the bathroom drawer, digging for something, and lean against the sink next to him. “we’ve still got two more training days. we can figure something out.”

“yeah, and she still hates the capitol and we look like their mutts,” rafe mutters, “i mean, i doubt she’s just gonna shake hands ‘n hug it out with us because we smiled at her.”

you glance at him. “what about peeta?”

rafe makes a face. “what about him?”

“i don’t know. maybe we talk to him, see if he can help. he’s clearly close to her.”

he narrows his eyes. “you think he’d go for that?”

you shrug, “maybe. if we play it right. not fake or anything. just . . be honest, ‘n careful.”

he watches you for a second, then nods once, “could work.”

“or it could blow up in our faces.”

“also true.”

you’re both quiet for a minute. and you don’t say it out loud, but you both know it’s your best shot.

she needs to trust you, at least enough to keep you alive. or at least long enough for the plan to work. and if she doesn’t, you’ll be dead before you get the chance to try.

“okay, but let’s say peeta’s not interested,” you continue, grabbing a hair tie off the counter and wrapping it around your wrist. “what’s our backup?”

rafe stretches his legs out a little, thinking. “we could impress them in training tomorrow, get katniss to see we’re not threats.”

you toss the towel you were holding into the laundry bin, brushing your hands off before stepping over to him. his eyes follow you with that little awareness he always has.

you move to stand between his legs and rest your hands gently on his sweatpants. your palms start to slide up and down slowly, grounding yourself in the feel of him, in the way his muscles shift slightly under your thumbs.

“so we need to give her a reason,” you say softly, looking up into his eyes. “not just to team up, but to trust us. us specifically. everyone else is gunning for her to be allies, too, whether they’re in on the plan or not.”

“so you want to tell her the truth?” he asks.

“no,” you say immediately. then you hesitate. “maybe . . . like not the plan, just enough about us to let her know we’re not capitol pets.”

rafe’s jaw ticks slightly, and his hand comes up to rest lightly on your waist, fingers curling there. “we’d have to be careful. say too much and it’s dangerous.”

“say too little and she won’t buy it.”

his eyes scan yours. “you think she’d really team up with us?”

“i think,” you say quietly, “she’s more like me than anyone else in that gym, i feel like.”

his thumb brushes absentmindedly at your side. “yeah?”

you nod. “and if that’s true then she’ll know we’re not lying. she’ll feel it.”

rafe leans down a little, forehead nearly touching yours, “guess we better make her feel it then.”

you smile’s small, but your eyes don’t lose that focus. you’re thinking a thousand moves ahead. you let your hands smooth along his thighs again, slower now.

you lean in just enough to whisper, “then tomorro—” you barely finish saying it before rafe leans in and kisses you, probably to get your mind off of all the plan-talk, just for the night.

it’s slow, the kind of kiss that doesn’t need a reason. his hands settle at your hips and your fingers curl gently into the fabric of his shirt. you just kiss him back without thinking, just breathing him in.

he pulls back slightly, not far, just enough to slide his hand behind him and bring something around between the two of you. your lotion.

you blink, “. . . seriously?”

he grins, holding it right in front of your face like it’s a trophy. “you always forget.”

you give him a look, but you still reach down, grab the hem of your shirt, and tug it over your head. your back faces him now, bare under the low lights of your bathroom.

your thorns have been healed for years, but they still press under your skin like a memory that doesn’t wanna go away.

you gather your hair and sweep it to one shoulder as you hear him hop down behind you. he untwists the containers lid and scoops some lotion into his hands, then sets it aside.

his palms smooth gently across your back slowly. you close your eyes and melt under his touch. his thumbs sweep in small circles along your lower back, around the curve of your spine, staying mindful of each thorn. you swear he maps them every night like it’s the first time.

he doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. and when he’s finished, you turn back around to face him again, letting your shirt hang loosely in your hand. rafe’s gaze flicks downward instinctively, but then he lifts his eyes again, meeting yours.

“we have to get out,” you murmur. “someday. right?”

his eyes linger on you. there’s so much in his silence. you step up on your toes and kiss him again, but it’s gentle, like a promise, then you pull your shirt back on.

you wake up the next morning feeling like death’s counting backward.

it’s day two. another tick off the clock. another step closer to the arena, but you try not to think about it.

rafe’s already up. you catch sight of his figure in the kitchen, mid-conversation with brutus. you don’t say anything. you just wash your face and tie your hair back, eat whatever they put in front of you. cassaline talks too chipper and you nod along until it’s over. you aren’t rude, you just keep your focus elsewhere. that’s how you survive mornings like this. by not really being in them.

when you make it to the training center, you don’t even wait for rafe. you split off early, deciding to duck into one of the side survival rooms, just to get away from the crowded floor for a while. you let your fingers run along the wall absentmindedly before entering a room, then you stop.

at the back of the room, crouched over a bench with a tray of paints beside him, is peeta mellark.

he doesn’t notice you right away. his focus is fixed on his arm, paint streaking across his skin in long strokes with different shades, muted tones of gray and green and brown that start blending against each other. he’s camouflaging himself. or practicing, anyway.

you rub your palms against your leggings. your heart flutters, not because you’re nervous, but because you recognize the opportunity. it’s peeta mellark, sweetheart of the capitol, katniss’s other half, and more importantly, your in.

he glances up when he hears someone come in, expecting maybe a trainer or someone from an outlying district like him. his face changes slightly when he sees you. not in shock, but more like surprise. like he didn’t expect you of all people to walk up to him.

“hi,” you say, stepping closer.

he gives you a small smile, “hey.”

you peer down at his arm. “that’s amazing.”

he glances down like he forgot he was even doing something. “thanks,” he says, brushing his thumb along the inside of his wrist to blend one of the darker patches.

“so you did this?” you ask, even though the answer’s obvious. peeta doesn’t comment on how dumb the question sounds. he just shrugs a little, nods.

you crouch beside the bench, angling yourself to see the tray of paints. “how’d you even figure out how to blend into your surroundings like that?”

peeta dips his brush into one of the colors. “my mom always wanted me to be a baker so i used to decorate cakes for customers,” he says. “you learn a lot about color and detail that way.”

you raise your eyebrows, impressed. “so if you wanted to, you could probably disappear in this room.”

“i could try,” he says, still not quite looking at you.

you nod, looking up at him, “show me.”

he tilts his head, amused by the challenge, and then moves without saying a word. he presses his arm against the table again and smears a bit more color onto his exposed skin, runs a few lines across his fingers and forearm, and angles it to follow the pattern on the marbled surface. you blink, and suddenly, it’s like he’s gone if you’re far enough.

he’s right there. but the color, the way he’s blended himself into the countertop, it’s nearly flawless.

you exhale through your nose, a smile tugging at your mouth. “you’re good at that.”

“yeah, well. it’s not much.”

you shake your head slowly. “i mean it. most of us just throw knives or punch things. you make it . . .” your voice softens, “quiet . . . in here.”

peeta peers at you now. there’s something a little hesitant in the way he looks, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking or not. you aren’t.

his cheeks flush the faintest bit. “guess someone has to balance it out.”

you smile. “someone like you, then?”

he chuckles, ducking his head a little. “i think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in here.”

you tilt your head, watching him. “you’d think more people would be saying nice things to the golden boy of twelve.”

“you’d be surprised.”

you don’t push it or try to steer the conversation, but when he sits back down and starts repainting another patch on his arm, you quietly lean against the table beside him, resting your elbows on the surface, staying close.

something about the quiet around you both makes him lean back a little against the table, brush still between his fingers as he glances sideways at you.

you tilt your head slightly and murmur, “katniss is lucky to have you, you know.”

his gaze drops immediately to the floor, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. it’s small, almost like he’s trying not to acknowledge it, but it’s there. you raise your brows.

“what?” you ask, amused. “did i say something wrong?”

“no,” he says, quietly, rubbing his thumb over a patch of dry paint on his wrist. “it’s just . . . weird hearing you say that. it’s kind of surreal.”

you blink, letting out a light laugh. “what?”

“i . . .” he starts, “i used to watch your interviews, back when you won ‘cause they’d play your highlight reels all the time on tv. it was hard not to.”

your eyebrows lift a little. “seriously?”

he nods, sheepish. “the closest i’d ever come to you was when you came to twelve on your victory tour. i was there, in middle of the square with my brothers. i think it was snowing that day.”

you pause, then narrow your eyes at him like you’re trying to remember. “that was, what, seven years ago?”

he chuckles. “yeah.”

you glance at him, doing the math in your head. “how old were you?”

“ten,” he says with a wince.

you laugh again, “so you had a crush on me.”

he throws you a playful look. “it was more like . . . admiration.”

“sure,” you drawl, teasing him. “i’m sure every ten-year-old bakes a loaf of bread and imagines handing it to their favorite victor in the cold.”

“i would’ve,” he says, matter-of-fact, and for a moment, it’s quiet. you’re still smiling, but something about the honesty in his voice makes your heart soften. not in a romantic way, this isn’t that, but it’s still sweet. and it’s real. it’s something that belongs to a version of peeta that isn’t shaped by war or reaping bowls or televised deaths.

you reach over and nudge his free arm with your own. “well,” you say, “i guess it’s nice to know i made an impression.”

he smirks and glances up at you, and you see it now, why katniss trusts him. why even the capitol leans into his smile. then you shift just a little.

“and katniss?” you ask, the tone of your voice dipping slightly. you try to sound more genuine.

he looks over, and you watch the change in his face, the way his smile doesn’t really fall, but it freezes.

you continue before he can answer. “i’m sorry,” you say. “about all of this. about the quell.” you aren’t totally sure if it’s gotten to a point where they do love each other but everyone around you has practically assumed it’s all for show. but soulmates or not, the story was forced, and maybe there’s a chance it isn’t as forced now.

peeta looks away for a beat. his jaw tightens slightly, but then he nods. “thanks,” he says quietly. “it’s . . . been a lot.”

you don't push or don’t ask for more. instead, you just sit with it. then you offer him a softer smile. “for what it’s worth,” you say, taking a few steps toward the exit, “i think you’re stronger than people realize.”

he meets your eyes.

you pause once you’re a few paces away, spinning around on your heel to face him again. peeta’s still sitting there, paint drying across his arm, his brush loosely gripped in one hand. you tilt your head at him.

“come with me, we can train together,” you ask, waving your hand toward you. “we could spar. i’ll show you the ropes in case you’ll need it.”

he blinks, eyebrows lifting slightly. “in case i’ll need it?”

“you never know when you’ll need it in there.” you nod toward the main gym. “come on, baker boy. it’s time to show me what you got.”

his smile grows, surprised but not unwilling. “i should probably wash this off first.”

you’re already walking backward. “i’ll be on the mat.”

peeta watches you go, then looks down at the paint on his hands. he stands, a quiet laugh to himself, before turning toward the sinks.

you’ve got him hooked so far. not just to the plan, but to you. this is good.

you turn from peeta with a grin still stretched across your face, your fingers tap lightly at your side. but just as you reach the mouth of the door that opens into the training center, your gaze lifts.

you don’t know why, maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s just a flicker of something in your periphery, but your eyes catch on the high glass window embedded in the gym wall. the gamemaker room, where they sit and analyze. your body stiffens before you can stop it.

they’re always watching, but there’s only one figure at the front right now.

plutarch heavensbee, who haymitch mentioned before is going to help you. finnick knows more about him than anyone though.

he’s seated with one elbow propped against the table, hand resting near his mouth like he’s thinking too hard for someone practically watching people play. but he’s not watching the room anymore. he’s watching you.

you freeze mid-step, just long enough to feel the tension in your shoulders. he doesn’t blink or flinch, but when you make eye contact, something shifts behind his gaze.

you narrow your eyes just a little. he looks normal, like not particularly threatening, like he could blend in anywhere. but you know better. haymitch’s words from days ago still echo in the back of your mind—we’re not the only ones. you didn’t know what to expect. but now here he is.

you give the smallest nod, just enough to acknowledge. it wouldn’t raise eyebrows to anyone else, but you watch how the corner of his mouth twitches in return. not a smile, exactly, but the shape of satisfaction. maybe even approval.

you turn again, breath steady, feet carrying you back into the main space. you're already scanning for rafe. you’ve got work to do. and now, you know someone else is watching your back.

your eyes scan quickly, searching for him. he’s usually standing at the maces like it’s his second home but he's not there. your steps start to slow as your gaze keeps moving, slipping toward the back of the gym, around the climbing structures and racks of knives. still nothing.

you press your hands to your hips, sighing under your breath. of course the one time you actually need to find him he’s decided to go rogue. you stay planted in the center for a second longer, eyes trailing across the room—

then a hand comes to your shoulder.

you whip around fast, already grabbing for whatever you don’t have on you, instincts kicking in before you even think, but the moment you see his face and his crooked smirk, that small arch of amusement in his brow, you exhale all at once.

rafe’s standing a little too close to be casual, but not enough to raise suspicion. you don’t realize you’re staring until he murmurs low under his breath, “relax. it’s just me.”

“you scared the shit out of me,” you say.

his smile deepens, then he leans in just a little closer, “i talked to her.”

you blink. “katniss?”

he nods, eyes flicking toward the rest of the gym before landing on yours again. “yeah. it wasn’t a long conversation. stubborn as hell, like haymitch said. i don’t think she likes eye contact, but . . . i think i got through to her a bit.”

you stare at him for a second, brows lifting in quiet shock before your hand instinctively reaches out, fingers curling around the sleeve of his arm.

“that’s perfect,” you say softly. “i literally just talked to peeta.”

his head tilts. “just now?”

“like— seconds ago. i’m gonna teach him hand-to-hand.”

you can see the shift in his expression instantly. he’s not annoyed or angry, but he’s amused. amused in that boyish, you’re mine sort of way that he doesn’t even try to hide. he tries to keep it subtle, keeps his lips pressed together like he’s thinking, but you see the corners turn up as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“oh,” he says slowly, “so you and lover boy are training together now?”

your head tilts with a grin already forming, and your grip on his arm drops only so you can place both palms against his chest and push him back half a step. “don’t start.”

he just laughs and grins wider now, his hands coming up briefly like he’s surrendering but it’s all in that teasing glint in his eyes. like i’m just saying. you shake your head but don’t say anything else.

then, over his shoulder, you catch sight of peeta stepping away from the camo station. he wipes his hands off against a towel slung over his shoulder, glancing around the gym before his gaze lands on you again.

your eyes flick back to rafe. “i’ll come find you after,” you promise.

he nods once, doesn’t stop looking at you, so you find his hand again, yours slipping into his naturally, fingers fitting between his for a few lingering seconds as you start to walk away.

“just try not to end up somewhere i can’t follow, a’right?” he says. “stay within reach today.”

you slide your arm across his until the tips of your fingers are the last thing touching. and still, you feel his eyes follow you.

you don’t look back until you’re almost to peeta. when you do, he’s still standing in the same spot, watching.

you smirk to yourself, then wink at him over your shoulder. peeta doesn’t notice. he’s already heading toward the mat. and just like that, you follow him.

by day three, you’ve found a rhythm. it’s not one you asked for, but one you’ve stopped resisting.

you walk into the gym before your escort or stylists can find something to fuss about, already tugging on your sleeve to fix where it’s twisted around your wrist again. rafe’s a few steps behind you, running a hand across his buzzed hair, yawning into his shoulder.

peeta’s easy to spot. he’s already got weights in his grip. you stop beside him, nodding toward the stack of plates.

“you wanna touch up on your fight skills again today?” you ask.

peeta grins as he reracks his bar. “thought i’d teach you something today.”

you raise a brow, shifting your weight onto one hip, curious. “oh yeah?”

he reaches over to grab a towel, swipes it across the back of his neck. “try sitting still for five minutes. we’ll start there.”

you snort. “i’d rather fight you again.”

he just nods toward one of the nearby survival rooms. “come on. you survived the arena, you can survive patience.”

your smirk widens, just slightly. you wave a lazy hand in the air, calling behind you, “i’ll be around,” to rafe without looking back. peeta glances at rafe too before following you.

across the gym, rafe’s gripping a barbell, his elbows flaring as he presses up again and again. he watches you go with peeta out of the corner of his eye, not really focusing on his own movement.

“that’s new,” finnick says behind him a few minutes later.

rafe exhales hard and racks the bar, turning to find finnick standing a few feet away, towel slung over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyes flickering toward the room you and peeta disappeared into.

“what?” rafe asks like he didn’t hear it even though he definitely did.

finnick doesn’t bother repeating himself. “you okay with that?”

rafe bends to grab his water bottle. “with what? peeta?”

finnick gives a half shrug, the kind that says you know exactly what i mean.

rafe unscrews the cap, drinks, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “it’s strategy.”

“sure it is.”

“it is.” rafe levels him with a look. “we need katniss. peeta’s our in. it’s working.”

finnick watches him, head tilted slightly, like he’s checking for cracks in a wall. “so you’re not bothered?”

rafe doesn’t answer right away. his hands stay gripping his water bottle, but his eyes have already drifted to the far end of the gym where you and peeta are.

you’re sitting now, elbows resting on your knees as you let peeta lean in, holding a small brush between his fingers. his hand comes up to your face without hesitation, and for once, you don’t flinch.

it surprises you. you can see it in the way your brows lift slightly, but you don’t move away. rafe’s watching all of it.

peeta smiles as he sweeps a faint streak of earthy green pigment under your jaw. “you’d be good at this if you slowed down,” he murmurs.

you snort softly. “sure. when have i ever done that?”

he leans back, expression amused, and offers you the brush which you take. your attempt is nothing like his. it’s messier, less thought-out. he doesn’t flinch either. he just blinks at you with that same easy gaze.

across the gym, rafe’s jaw flexes just once. he speaks without looking back at finnick, “if it means she gets out of this alive, i’ll let her charm every last person in this damn place.”

there’s a pause.

“she doesn’t even have to try,” finnick says finally. “that’s the thing.”

rafe exhales through his nose, but doesn’t say anything. then he picks the barbell back up.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @sukunasmuse @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[cripplecharacters]

I'm autistic and I've been wanting to write autistic characters for a long time, but, when I come up with a story/character idea, I don't really know how autism could fit into it.

I've written a story about time travel and thought of having one of the main characters as autistic, but I didn't end up doing it because I couldn't figure out what her special needs, difficulties and special interests were and when and how put that between the plot and I still can't really figure out how to incorporate autistic characters into a non-autism-centered plot and flesh out autistic characters. Do you have any advice on how to "fit autism into characters and plots", or more specifically, "how do I start having the subject of autism in mind while developing characters and the plot of my stories to apply it better?"

Hi asker,

The truth is you can't necessarily start with just autism in mind and develop a non-autism plot around it. I'm sure it's possible, but that doesn't seem super easy to me at all. You kind of need the plot and the characters to develop together. Only one at a time and it’ll fall apart, generally speaking.

What, overall, has been what hasn't worked? What about the time travel didn't work? What about your plot made it hard for you to incorporate an autistic character?

I can't tell you how to write A Plot, because this has to be your own thing. But I can tell you that pretty much any plot can have an autistic character. Here is a list of plots I’ve read, very summarized, with autistic characters as a protagonist or a large part of the plot:

slice of life where the general conflict comes from interpersonal relationships and the struggle of navigating these; characters are children and adults like

realistic fiction where the autistic protagonist’s best friend goes missing and she wants to find her

horror where four friends are stuck in a house in the woods, with a killer on the lose and one of the friends is autistic

romance (with all the romance conventions) where one or both people are autistic

realistic fiction where an autistic child may or may not be guilty of a crime (i think i've actually read like 3 of these?)

horror ocean expedition where the journalist brought on board is autistic

historical 1980s middle grade where the autistic nonverbal higher support needs protagonist is in foster care and special ed struggling with missing her missing sister as well as people underestimating her

historical 1930s books where the protagonist’s older sister is autistic and the plot is both normal slice of life stuff and living in Alcatraz stuff

neurodivergent utopia/dystopia with rock candy robots and lost children

middle grade books where the plot focuses on heavier themes like abuse, drugs, death, or whatnot

autistic woman learning to live by herself after the death of her mother

gothic horror where, after a marriage of convenience, the autistic protagonist discovers her husband is being haunted

These are just books that I personally have read (many are middle grade fiction because I just like reading middle grade), many years ago, and just off the top of my head. So there is a bias here of "books I personally know of and in genres I personally enjoy." But I wanted to include them to show you that there's a lot of things you can do, even if just from the perspective of "things this one person has read."

See how different they all can be from each other? You can basically stick an autistic character anywhere. You can think of a plot and then think, "how would my character act/react to this?"

Think about it this way: In real life, various autistic people lead incredibly different lives. And that's without even adding in the elements you can introduce in fiction that don't exist in real life, like time travel or mermaids or dragons or little gray aliens or telekinesis or whatever it is.

I know you're autistic as well, but I think you should research various different presentations of autism. Autism is pretty heterogenous, even with characteristics in common. That might help you get inspired on a particular path for a story, or a specific character path.

Something else that might help you is to create a plot, and then think about how you would react to it. Then tweak that reaction to something that better fits your story.

Honestly, genuinely, it can be difficult to think of this – but the only way out is through.

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

[adragonsfriend]

Hey serious talk for a second ok? some of you do this thing where you go “and yeah so the Jedi often take in kids from parents who are too poor to take care of them” as some kind of trump card against antis and I think your need to “defend” the Jedi has outweighed your good sense. Like I fully understand the urge, but you need to take a step back from that argument and think about what you are saying.

“They don’t kidnap kids they take in kids from parents in vulnerable, desperate situations” is not the argument you think it is.

Presenting a strategy and/or habit of taking in kids from desperate people in desperate situations as like some super high charitable trump card thing is some incredibly Christian missionary logic there ok. It is taking advantage of desperation and fear in order to acquire child.

There are so many alternative ways to write the Jedi dealing with situations of finding Force sensitive kids in desperate situations that do not suck!

Jedi who work with communities for an extended period of time, coming to know and be trusted by those communities before being offered a child born after their arrival

Jedi who encounter families with Force sensitive children work to improve the entire families’ circumstances to provide stability before offering to take in the children

Jedi encountering a desperate parent who was already trying to find a way to get a child out of their care before the Jedi arrived for some specific reason (maybe someone who always planned to give up the child for adoption but can’t trust either their family members or the system?)

Jedi actively delaying the guardians giving up a child to make sure they’ve fully considered why they’re doing it, if they’re really sure, to varying final results

In The Living Force, it’s emphasised that upon encountering a force sensitive child in a neglectful orphanage situation, a Jedi should have assessed the whole situation and helped all the children there, rather than just whisking away the Force-sensitive one (and thereby created a situation where the child had a reasonable choice about whether to go or not)

And if you’re thinking “but those seem soo lucky and too good to be true often enough to sustain the order’s population...” then it’s possible that what you actually belive is that the Jedi need to prey on desperation to acquire sufficient children, and if so, you should not be defending that as moral. That is the opposite of a defence of the Jedi.

Personally, I think the Jedi just stumble across and/or work to create the types of situations above—where the guardians actually do enter circumstances where they can consent out of something other than desperation—with greater than average frequency. It’s the will of the Force, destiny, whatever. Simple as that.

Even in the prequels with Anakin, while I do not think it goes far enough in the direction I’m pushing for here, we see Shmi be the one to ask if Qui-Gon can help Anakin after Qui-Gon leaves a conversational opening for it, and then we see Qui-Gon attempt to free Shmi at the same time as Anakin. Even after she implies she might accept Anakin becoming a Jedi if it will save him from the life in slavery, it is still important that she be helped and freed. In her language when Shmi finally sees Anakin again as she’s dying, “now I am complete,” I think it’s reasonable to assume she’s stating that she’s glad the gamble she took letting him go paid off—ergo, she knew she was taking a gamble, not that she was some pathetically grateful recipient of Jedi aid.

If Star Wars were capable of having scenes that intentionally did more than one thing at a time, maybe we could’ve had a scene that did a half decent job of making the improvement of Shmi’s situation essential to the whole interaction on a cultural level (literally just move the “Qui-Gon gave her a valuable object to sell with the understanding she would know what to do from there” plot line someone invented in a comic into the movie itself—use one of Padmé’s dresses lol) rather than using it as something to raise up Qui-Gon’s individual moral status without actually helping Shmi at all.

Helping everyone in the situation so they can actually consent to giving away care of a child has to be essential to the Jedi on a cultural level—not just individual—in order for this to work. I think it is essential to them, and so I try to write that into my stories.

Do you think about what Jedi could actually be, or do you just respond to antis’ talking points with the first idea you can grasp onto? Because the latter can apparently make you say shit like “poor people should give up their kids to other cultures when they can’t take care of them” rather than “everyone should have the resources to be able to take good care of their children.”

And that’s important.

(And just to get ahead of the curve, yes I know that what I’m saying is “some variation of Star Wars would be so good if it was good.” Star Wars fanfic/discourse would also be good if it was good, and unlike the movies, fandom is always in the process of remaking itself. So maybe we could make it good, sometime)

[aloneatpeace]

𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Brave or stupid

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.→✒️:★: ͜͡✿͜͡ →. Let me know what you guys think about this chapter i have a lot of ideas that i want to throw it into the plot that doesn't feel forced and also want to have the dynamic with character feel natural in the ocs nature i hope I can do that have a good reading ❤️

The next day you were alone in the bus to the school, Jun-tae had texted that he needed to something that he would be gone earlier than usual. You didn’t see him at the library either walking around the hallway you hear surprised whispers of your peers who all are rejoicing after receiving their lost phones.

That’s only makes you more paranoid, you know its Jun-tae and other guys are behind it they would steal the phones because of Hyo man makes them to do so. Jun-tae’s sudden invitation to eat lunch together and now this makes your theory true. He’s rebelling against Hyo-man but why suddenly? What made him or who made him change his mind to stand up against Hyo-man was really brave or stupid because his what he did comes with consequence that going ends with him getting hurt.

You hear rushed footsteps pass by the library loud enough for the librarian to grumble under her breath mutter how students have no discipline whatsoever. You hurriedly finish your work as well scrabbling to put the books that you took struggling to do under the watchful eyes of your librarian. You sprinted your class and place your notes in your table as you do your ear catches the girl’s words.

   “My boyfriend just texted me saying there is fight at their side.”

“Really? Between who?”

“Choi Hyo-man and the transferred boy”

One of the girl’s eyes widen “Oh, the pyscho boy?”

“I heard that he killed his fellow student that why he came here.”

Another girl scoff “He didn’t kill, he sends that boy into a coma.”

Not waiting to hear any further you tread towards the boy’s section of the building, running up the stairs you almost pumps into a boy making you stumble back a hand clasp itself on your wrist steadying you briefly so silently you almost didn’t feel the touch.

Si-eun round brown hues falls your frame standing too close to him, he let his hands fall limp beside him after steadying you. eyes scanning as you gulp wide warm eye staring up at his cold ones stepping aside muttering apology for bumping on to him almost, you seem to do that a lot.

Jun-tae looks surprised at your sudden appearance he uttering your name making you glance at him and your apologetic eyes turns into worried one seeing beaten up Jun-tae. “Oh my god. What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright. He saved me back there.” Jun-tae said with smile that reached his eye looking at si-eun with a grateful look.

You glance at Si-eun and back at him, Jun-tae turns and open the slide door “What are you doing?. We’re going to see the nurse.”

“We can’t go to the nurse’s office.” Jun-tae walks inside you follow him si-eun stands outside for minute before following after the both of you.

You and Jun-tae sits down the floor while si-eun stands in front you both, opening the first aid you sit straight taking it from Jun-tae’s hands as he and Si-eun talks.

“Whenever, we go there the nurse realize what’s happened, so Hyo-man gets called to the teacher’s office all the time and we just get beaten up again. Its an endless cycle.”

You take a cotton swabs, q tip and fucidin cream and hands one to Jun-tae and Si-eun “Fucidin cream is pretty much an antibiotic” Jun-tae says using the mirror to lay it over his bruised cheek, when Si-eun didn’t take it, you hesitantly dab it on his bleeding knuckle making him look down at as you do so.

“You have to use it because, Hyo-man’s fists are like balls of germs.” You chuckle at Jun-tae words he too smiles at his comment.

“Why did you do it?” Si-eun asks you and Jun-tae turns to him “Why did you return all the phones?”

You glance back Jun-tae wanting to know the answer only to be confused when he answers “Newton’s third law. For every good action a good reaction follows.”

“What?” you scrunch your nose puzzled at his reasoning you don’t remembering Newton’s third law like that and it seems like si-eun is on same boat with you as he also looked confused for minute.

“That’s not what it means.” He says the three of you look at each other before you sigh setting the cream down inside the box.

“He’s not gonna sit down and do nothing.” You speak up making Jun-tae and Si-eun glance at you. “You two should be careful, Hyo-man is cunning.” Standing up you dust your skirt.

Jun-tae calls your name making you turns to him “it will be fine, Baku’s going to come back sooner or later. Gotak was there too.” He stands up as well. “Let’s sit together at lunch.” Jun-tae eyes shift from you and Si-eun the last words directed towards both of you.

You glance at Si-eun expectedly wanting to know that he’s comfortable too with the invitation and your intrusion. Si-eun feels the weight of yours and Jun-tae gaze on him making him sigh and nod. You and Jun-tae smile at that “Well, I see you guys at lunch. Take care.” With that you leave.

When the lunch time rolled in Si-eun watches Jun-tae eyes scan the crowed searching for you and he too wounder where you had gone. Si-eun catches Jun-tae eyes trained group of girls who is on the other side laughing and chatting as they have their lunch, Jun-tae take his phone out his pocket pressing your chat he sends texts but gets no response he slums in his chair Si-eun sits straight setting his utensils down.

“What is it?she not coming?”

Jun-tae glance up his from his phone “I should just call her.” he dials your number and in on the second ring you pick up. “Where are you?

Are you coming to lunch.

Oh, alright.

Did you eat anything?

Mmhm. I see you tomorrow then.”

Jun-tae slumps in his chair before picking up his utensils and staring to eat Si-eun waits for him to say what you told him feeling his gaze on him Jun-tae looks up “Oh she said she has work to submit, so she and her friends can go out to the mall after class. she also said you to eat well”

Si-eun was doing the opposite truthfully, making him look down his food before he glances at Jun-tae and then to the other side where the group of girls sat “Friends?” 

Jun-tae nod sigh. After lunch they both walk towards their class Jun-tae steps rushed as he walks ahead reaching their classroom. He rummages through his bag while Si-eun’s eyes followed him, the break time isn’t over yet.

Jun-tae smile in relief after finding a chocolate bar he turns to Si-eun “I’ll be right back.” Si-eun nod knowing where he’s rushing to.

You sigh cracking your knuckles in satisfaction glancing at the assignment which is due today, “still got it.” you glance up hearing footsteps coming towards you fearing it’s the librarian who might have caught you taking Jun-tae’s call. But thankfully its Jun-tae himself who’s walking towards you.

“Jun-tae, what are you doing here?” he stands in front of you smiling he extend his hand offering a chocolate candy in palm.

“I’m sorry it all I have, and don’t say you have eaten. I know you didn’t.” Jun-tae places the candy in front of you, smiling warmly at his gesture you take it and opening the candy eat it one go.

“Sorry I couldn’t eat with lunch with you guys.” You stand gathering your material in your hands Jun-tae shake his head and walk along side.

“Are you really going to the mall after class?” Jun-tae ask carefully, eyes scanning your face he feels himself get flustered enthusiastically nodding heading bobbing with a wide smile.

“Yes, we are. And I’m thinking if I should get my nails done or buy something. It going to be fun they said we can try out dresses.” Your eyes lit up as you ramble about what you and your friends are going out.

 “Why not do both since you want both?” Jun-tae asks as you both round the hallway to the teacher office.

“I want to but since its planned suddenly I don’t have much money.” You set the assignment on the teacher’s table.

Jun-tae feels your hand clasping on his wrist before he can pull out his wallet you glare at him playfully “don’t even think about it. you need to buy bandage and proper medicine, it might swell.” With your hands still clasped on his wrist the both of you walkout the teacher’s office.

Jun-tae’s ear and neck turns red at touch of your hand “Oh, what happened why are you so red?” you tilt your head to side lowering your head to look at his face which he hides by looking down.

“I’m alr—alright.” Jun-tae stutter through his word avoiding your eye the shrilling sound bell ringing making you sigh.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

He nods walking back stumbling over his own foot making you look at him worried he just smiles walking away. Shrugging it off you walk towards your classroom already excited evening.

 When the evening arrived you, Yuri, mina and sara take the bus to the nearest mall.  Mina and sara sit across from you while you and Yuri sits together scrolling on her phone

You glance at her with a smile, eyes shining in excitement at the thought of sharing something with your friends “Should we all get like matching clips?”

“That is so basic and cliché you know.” she says without looking up from her phone her fingers rapidly typing on the screen and you hear Sara and mina laughing making you glance at them. you sigh nodding along.

When you reach the mall, they walk ahead you drag your feet slightly exhausted shoulders feeling heavy they walk into cloth store looking through you too follow going through racks of clothes all are slightly pricy but everything looks so beautiful that you lost yourself and find yourself picking up a flowy light purple dress with long bell sleeves and square neckline pulling out in rack you feel material and price is reasonable its such a pretty dress.

You walk to the counter where you can hear their voice chatting Mina look surprised to see you as if she forgot that you even were with them before her eyes falls on the dress on your hands “Oh I thought you left us all alone?” the two turns at her word to look at you they look surprised as well.

You shake your head with a smile “I found this dress, isn’t it pretty.?” Mina nods taking the dress from your hand.

“It is but I don’t think this is your color at all” she pouts “and I don’t think its gonna you know…. fit”

Your face fall but you shake your head “No its my size and my mom made my uniform bit loose. I think its gonna fit perfectly.” You glance at cashier women “Maybe I can try it on, I’ll just ask her.”

Mina gives the dress to Yuri “Did you want to buy hairclip; we can do that while they wait at the counter. They will ask for you right?” she glance at them they exchange a look before nodding.”

Mina hooks her arms on yours pulling you away from the store before you can answer, you look through various ones all look so pretty and cute, you pick one holding it up to show mina who’s busy typing away on her phone. “Should I get this” she glances up before nodding.

When the two of you walks back to them, they are already out of the store with bags in their hands “Oh you guys didn’t have to pay for that?”

Yuri looks at you with sigh “We didn’t buy, we left it the counter to try on our dress but someone else took it.”

“Yeah, we looked everywhere. We couldn’t find it.” Sara said “We should go it’s getting dark.” Mina nod taking the bag Yuri held out in her direction. They start walking you follow them with heavy heart you glance at the store one last time.

Your steps were heavy as you walk through the street to your home shoulder heavy as your back bag pulling you down along with exhaustion and sadness weighted swinging the small paper bag that has your hairclip in your hands your movement slow down when you hear a footsteps behind you turning back you see a guy from your neighborhood that weird one you always hated you quickly take your phone out thankfully you have enough battery left make phone call. You call your mom she answers on the second ring she isn’t home yet ask you if your reached home you mumble last part not wanting the guy to hear. The footsteps now closer making you feel angered and scared at the same time you want to turns to yell at him but at the same time you can’t.

The two boys sitting outside the store looks up at sudden footsteps rushing past them into the store, they recognizes the uniform your wearing they go back to what they were doing but that cut off by when they hear shuffling of feet they look up to see a guy standing at side of the street looking at the store they follow his line of sight and see you inside talking into your phone nodding into your phone you pick up a packet of chip and walks to the cashier not so subtlety glancing outside.

One hand gripping the snack along with a paper bag and other hand gripping on your phone you step out the store before starting speedwalking to your home not sparing glance to anywhere but ahead, you hear the footsteps behind you after few minutes then you almost breaking into a sprint you hear the footsteps coming up fast then there is some shuffling and then nothing you don’t look back and starts and break into a sprint dropping things in your hands you round  just as you round the corner you turn to look back all you see two guys their face hidden as one stands Infront of the other while other one crouched on the floor as he pick up the things you left behind with bloody knuckles.

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[chimpcaster]

Honestly, while calling Toriel abusive is a major stretch, I don't think it's a stretch at all to say that both she and Asgore have flaws in their parenting. They're not remotely abusive, and they do love their kids, but they're also not perfect parents either-and I think DR has been highlighting this pretty well.

(Like, I am not judging Toriel for having a fun time with Sans at the end of Chapter 4: she's had a rough time of it, and she has every right to have a fun night of partying with Sans. She should have fun with a friend and move on from Asgore! But it was also pretty irresponsible of her to not check up on Kris and let them know where she was.)

I mean...was it actually that irresponsible? As far as Toriel knows, Kris is spending the rest of the day with a close friend, who Kris (and by extension Toriel) trust enough to let stay over the previous night. She has no reason to think Kris will come looking for her at the church, and even if she did, their house is like a minute walk away.

Kris definitely seems to be mid-late teens, so them staying out slighty later (not even that late - Toriel remarks that Kris seems to be going to bed early) really isn't that strange or cause for concern. The town they live in is a small, close-knit community, too - Toriel goes to church and teaches so probably knows most people who live there. Verging on headcanon territory here but Kris definitely strikes me as someone who would have an established history of staying out.

The only cause for concern that we know Toriel knows about is the whole slashing tires thing, but like, she barely seems concerned about that in general. I had a friend have something similar happen to them recently and it really did turn out to be nbd, so when Toriel isn't shown to worry about that, I'm inclined to believe that that's fairly reasonable and doesn't mark any particular irresponsibility. Going back into 'headcanon that just makes logical sense based on the text', we can assume at least that she had a conversation with Undyne about it, and that this probably reassured her. I get why people wonder about this though.

I take particular problem (not from you anon just soapboxing) with interpretations that Toriel is an alcoholic because we had one scene of her drunk on a weekend night. The 'evidence' for this seems to be that Kris is particularly on edge in this scene because this has happened before, and not because of the stress associated with the Actual Plot of Deltarune, Which Kris is Being Forced Along.

I guess I just find people's chosen analyses on Toriel odd, because there are definitely more interesting things to talk about in Ch3/4 which are ACTUALLY in the text - like the effect of Toriel's/Asgore's arguing upon Kris. But doing this would also have to mean giving Toriel some props for putting an end to that unhealthy household dynamic (and recognising that Asgore's slightly invasive 🥺take me back🥺 routine is Good for Nobody)

Sidebar I dont hate asgore at all but thank god Toriel got the kids in the divorce LOL

One thing I definitely need people to keep in mind is that Toriel (and even Kris!) is NOT seeing things from the player's POV. When Kris and Susie get home, it's emotionally impactful to us because we know the two have had a stressful day and were worried about Toriel. Knowing this, it makes it harder to see Kris struggling to sleep. Keeping Kris up for an indeterminate amount of time isn't great - but it hits us and Kris harder than it otherwise probably would because of the shit they've been through, which Toriel can't possibly know about. When Kris gets home at all, we know a lot has happened that Toriel should be concerned about...again, should she know about it, which she literally can't. We the player are primed by what we know to be concerned about Kris, Toriel is primed by what she knows not to be. Toriel was protective in UT because there was an identified threat, in DR she is lax because she has identified a lack of threat. Her assessment is wrong, but only because she's not omniscient. If anything she strikes me as quite respectful of Kris' autonomy (unlike us the player lol)

To get back to your point, obviously Toriel isn't supposed to be perfect - because usually writing perfect people is pretty piss poor writing. In deconstructing the criticism being levied at her I (and I assume others) would never want to 'prove' she is perfect. I mean...obviously, right?

What I want to do is highlight these questions: Does the criticism of her seem fair and good faith? What assumptions are people making, and why? Even if there's something in the criticism you agree with, does the energy behind the criticism seem proportional to the 'crime'? Are other characters treated by the same standards? If not, what is making it disproportional? (its misogyny its literally just misogyny its so obvious but I'd be here for another hour if I dont just leave it here)

Which characters - in Deltarune, Undertale, or fiction in general - are allowed to be imperfect without it drawing this much critcism?

[armadillo-arts]

So, I'm gonna preface this ask by saying: the beautiful Pony!Calamity Trio art you did on the Amphibia shared-canvas-thing got me thinking A LOT about the finer details of the Trio as Ponies–

That being said, after spending far too long pondering the subject myself, I'm curious— do you have any ideas for what the Trio's names would be as Ponies?

— @knave-of-clubs

(doodles in question for those who weren’t on this aggie a while back)

thank you!! they were fun to design! i have colored fullbodies of their show-age designs in the works too (sasha’s is done, marcy’s is lined, anne’s is sketched), so i wanted to try out rough concepts for their future designs as well. i’m sure i’ll make fullbody refs for their timeskip designs too at some point, though these are just kind of a “whenever i feel like it” project more than something actually on my to-do list, so not sure when that’ll be. i HAVE to make a darcy design too tho, it just sounds like the coolest thing ever.

the designs were mostly just for fun, so i don’t have a lot of the details figured out about the au as a whole, except that their species were chosen to align the “hierarchy” of their respective amphibians with the “hierarchy” of the pony species. plus they just fit the vibes this way.

it seems like it would be pretty similar to the show, honestly. they would still look just as weird to the amphibians as they did as humans, and the plot and character arcs wouldn’t change much from thinking off the top of my head. andrias’ desire for human tech would be a moot point because ponies don’t rely on tech of the same kind/the same way, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t absolutely find use of the ponies’ magic, especially if he found a way to harness it. i can see him really being intrigued by it after befriending marcy and seeing the power she holds in her horn even while possessed by the core (especially since unicorn marcy is likely to be incredibly gifted in magic)

i don’t think anne would gain her wings and horn when using her partial powers throughout tc and s3, but i think it makes sense/would be cool for the calamity powers to grant all three of them temporary alicorn status when fully activated. “the powers must stack when used in tandem! classic synergy buff” as marcy would put it. but the power isn’t everything, of course, and anne’s heart and sacrifice are still the factors that ultimately win the war for them.

as for names, i’ve thought some about it but haven’t really gotten to any definitive conclusions. their warrior cat names came to me pretty instinctively but pony names feel much harder 😭

it would be really cool if each of them had something tying back their calamity trait ingrained in their names from the start, tying them to the prophecy long before they became remotely aware of it, but i’m not sure what words would make the names still sound natural and not obvious. ofc the prophecy’s not the only substantial thing about them and shouldn’t define them, it’s just cool in a “woooaahh it’s always been our destiny” kind of way. but not sold on it bc i can’t come up with any particular ideas lmao, plus i was already planning on incorporating the “three stars” part of it into each of their cutie marks so it’s not a concept i’ll likely likely end up sticking with. but as for specific thoughts for each girl, here’s where i’m at:

• i can see the “bright” from waybright being used as part of sasha’s name, and can see it suiting her. i feel like a fiery, warm, powerful feeling to her name in general suits her really well, both pre and post-redemption. she’s a protector at heart, it just takes her a while to learn to do it right, and that feels like it should reflect in her name. bright, wing, ember, blaze, flame, spark, etc. are all words i’ve considered for her, just haven’t settled on anything that really feels like her yet even though she’s the one i have the most ideas for

• anne is transfem to me in every universe, so her name needs to feel to me like something she would pick herself. pretty and feminine but not dainty. maybe floral. Lilypad Lotus is where i’m leaning. lotus like in my warrior name for her ties her back to her thai culture again which i’m also all for, and it just really suits her. i can also see her liking lilypad as part of her name, chosen before amphibia just because she thought it was pretty. her being kind of inexplicably drawn to it, only for the tangential relation to frogs to become such a massive part of her identity later. her “first name” being her own like in the show with her “last name” still being hers but also a draw back to her heritage, which would no doubt be different as a pony, but still could parallel the thai culture as much as possible

• marcy on the other hand has me completely stuck. she feels like she should be easy, but she isn’t. her character is too big to simplify her name down to her hobbies and interests like some pony names. the principles i used choosing her warrior name don’t really align here, because her warrior name is sparrowflight but she’s not a pegasus, so it doesn’t feel correct. i’d like some option where she can keep her plethora of nicknames (mar-mar, marbles, marshmallow, etc. having marble in her name somewhere might even be good), because that way she’d also have some tie back to her human name like if we were to use bright and lotus. some sort of name highlighting her intelligence feels right (i would probably say “bright” if it didn’t feel more right to give that to sasha), but it’s also not her only characteristic and shouldn’t be treated like all she’s good for, so it would have to be a healthy combination. a name highlighting her energy and hyperactivity as well makes sense pre-amphibia, but she definitely mellows out a lot after, so it would still need to be flexible enough to still feel like marcy at every period in her life. she’s still excitable and bouncy (eventually), but she’s an artist— she does Not have that kind of energy anymore 💀 we don’t know how connected to her culture she is, but we know she’s canonically fluent in mandarin at the very least, so there’s definitely a case to be made for choosing a taiwanese/chinese-inspired name somewhere in hers too, though i wouldn’t have any ideas without doing some more research first. and the whole thing gets even MORE complicated when you realize her name has to easily change to something else to become darcy’s name. there’s so many angles you could take marcy’s name in that there really doesn’t feel like an obvious answer

i’m definitely open to name suggestions for all three and cutie mark ideas for marcy and sasha (i already have one for anne. vague idea for sasha that i may just need to develop more, but once again stuck on marcy) if anyone has other ideas! i have a lot of fun making crossovers like this so i’m happy to receive more potential inspiration lmao