#I was letting it rot for a while before I came to fix some of the dumb stuff

[swampybogg]

[marblehazel]

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Part One | Part Two: Deeper

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway.  “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish. 

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa. 

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired.  “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

[myownwholewildworld]

THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG ― dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune

“Ugh, not again, c’mon!”

Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.

The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.

“You stupid car!”, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. “I’m broke, you cannot die on me like this!”

You were on the parking lot of a café. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree ― it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.

Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, dad. I’m at Betty’s. The fucking light has come on again?!”

“Watch your mouth!”, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. “I think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.”

“You know I can’t afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. I’ll just have to get it fixed for now.”

“Take it to Joel’s then. See what he thinks.”

“But it’s a Sunday, you think he’ll be open?”

“That man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.”

“Alright, you reckon he’ll do it for free?”

“For free?” He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. “I doubt it, but maybe he’ll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. I’ll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.” He mocked you.

“Ha, ha… So funny. Talk to you later.” And you hung up.

The drive to Joel’s garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joel’s repair shop.

You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.

When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.

Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.

There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driver’s door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.

His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.

“Hey, Joel!” You waved at him with a smile.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, y’know.” You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.

“Oh, I know”, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that “know”? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.

“Uh, uhmm”, you laughed nervously. “The engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?”

“Sure thing, lemme see.” He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.

You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driver’s side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.

As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.

Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.

Then Joel turned around to look at you.

“When was the last time you changed the timing belt?”

“The... what now?” Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldn’t have known what he was talking about.

“The timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?” He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.

Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.

“Are you even speaking English?”, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.

“I’ll take that as a ‘never’ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like that’s your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while you’re driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after it’s broken will cost you even more.”

“So… will I need to break the bank?” You asked, already flinching at the idea.

Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passenger’s door and scratching his scruffy beard.

“It’ll be $800.”

Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.

“Eight fucking hundred?” He nodded. “Well, can I― Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?” You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.

With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.

“I’m already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. You’re already getting a bargain.”

“Well, what about $300?” You counteroffered.

Joel’s brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.

“What? You think I’m a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and that’s it. If I go any lower, I’d be losing money. Got a business to run here.”

You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either ― not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.

You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.

For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?

“Joel, pl―please?”, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.

Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down ― slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.

Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.

That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit ― your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.

Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.

Joel sucked in his breath ― he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.

Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.

An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate ― desperate enough to him at least.

Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.

“Well. I do have an idea.” His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.

“You do? I’m all ears!” You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.

His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read “Hand Car Wash”.

“If you help out all summer handwashing cars, I’ll consider part of your debt paid”, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.

“In full?” You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.

“I said part of it, kiddo. I’ll leave it at $300.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?

“Anything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?”

“I’ll think about it”, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. “Be here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.”

You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.

“I’ll be here! Thanks, Joel.”

Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.

And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.

“You’ll need to leave your car here, don’t want you driving back in that junk. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift back”, he offered. “Lemme close first and I’ll be right back in five minutes.”

“No probs, take your time.” You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.

Soon you were on the passenger’s seat of Joel’s pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldn’t get blinded by the sun.

“So how’s college going?” His attempt at small talk made you smile.

“It’s good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didn’t know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.” You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.

“I’m sure you had no problems making friends”, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.

You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.

“How are you so sure?” You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.

“You’re so vivacious and talkative. You’re not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, weren’t you?” You nodded, but he didn’t see you, all focused on the road ahead. “Bet’cha you have all the boys running after you.”

Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldn’t have missed it.

Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dad’s best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?

Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach ― they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.

You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.

You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.

“I actually do, but none of them seem good enough, y’know? I want a man, not a boy”, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.

You saw Joel sucking in his breath ― and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.

“Do you now, kiddo?” He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.

His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.

“Yeah. I’m sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lack― well, you know.” You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.

You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy ― wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.

“Your dad’s there.” He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.

You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joel’s truck’s exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.

You suppressed a pouting grimace ― you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.

Your father knocked on the passenger’s window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. How’s the car?”

“Well…” You looked at Joel ― you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.

“The timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but she’s gotta come work on the hand-wash business”, he explained, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.” Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.

“I’d love to get a taste.” You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.

His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.

“Hey, Joel. There’s a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social media”, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.

Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.

Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.

“Yeah, why not?”

Famous last words. That was Joel’s only thought as soon as he entered his best friend’s home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.

You had come to work with some very short jeans ― every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the car’s bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.

And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.

After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.

“Hi, Joel, come in!” You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.

He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.

Nope, hadn’t worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.

He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.

Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.

“Hey, Joel. Let me get that from you”, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.

Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Want one?” he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.

You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

“Eww, nah. I hate beer”, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.

“‘Course you do”, said your father before he could reply. “You only drink― What’s that crap again?”

“Gin and tonic, dad. It’s literally gin and tonic mixed. It’s not that fancy.” You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.

“This youth mixing everything because they can’t have proper alcohol. What’s next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?”

“Well, that’s actually a thing. It’s called a shandy. Don’t be so old.”

Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.

“What?! You listening to this, Joel?” You father exclaimed with a joking tone. “Is Sarah like this too?”

“Yeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.” He jested, sipping from the tin can.

“How’s she doing?” His friend asked.

“She’s fine. She’s turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.” He couldn’t help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. “She’s supposed to be here for her birthday, but we’ll see. She’s always so busy, don’t really know with what.”

“Aren’t they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.”

You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.

“Sorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.”

“So you ain’t staying tonight then?” Your dad asked.

Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?

“Of course I’m stayin’. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?” And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.

God have mercy.

Joel’s muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.

He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didn’t. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.

Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.

His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.

I’m already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.

“So who do you reckon is going to win tonight?” Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.

Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.

“Not sure, but I’d like for the Longhorns to win”, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.

“Yeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this season”, your father continued with the small talk.

Joel’s thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.

As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.

“Right, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everything’s properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?” He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.

You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah”, he said with a coarse voice. “Need to go to the bathroom first.”

Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.

Joel’s cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.

Until he heard you.

“Gonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!”

Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.

“What’cha doing?”, he questioned you.

You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.

“I came to finish what I started.”

You didn’t give him time to think ― if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy ― you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.

So you threw yourself into Joel’s chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adam’s apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.

Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.

 “We shouldn’t, your father is right there―”

You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.

Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.

“You were saying?” You asked before briefly pecking his glans.

“Fuck”, was the only thing he managed to mumble.

That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.

Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joel’s eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.

You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldn’t drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.

At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.

“Stay still”, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.

His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.

He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.

Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“Can tell you’ve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Well, I―” He didn’t let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.

“I actually don’t wanna hear it.”

Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though ― you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.

Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly ― his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.

“Sweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?” Your father’s question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.

You two froze in place, Joel’s cock still in your mouth.

“Or I can come get it.” Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.

In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.

“No! Don’t worry! I’m coming!” You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.

The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. “Thank you, sweetie!”

You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.

“Joel, I’m sorry, b―”

“Just go before he changes his mind and comes looking for you”, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.

But he was right. You couldn’t risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.

Fucking torture that was.

Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away ― and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didn’t pay attention to the TV’s commentary either.

From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly ― and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didn’t pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.

So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truck’s cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off ― fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.

With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.

The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.

Your eyes locked on each other’s through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.

The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.

But you couldn’t blame him ― you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.

It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.

So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up ― it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didn’t fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.

You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.

When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didn’t ― maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.

Joel didn’t say a word though, didn’t come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasn’t funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.

Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.

“Joel? Can you help me with this, please?” You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.

You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.

“Shit”, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.

He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.” He reprimanded you, tutting.

“Something hurts and it’s not my back, Joel.” You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.

You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.

“Hurts right here.” The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.

Joel’s eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.

Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldn’t help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, haven’t you?” You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. “Of course you have, you’re so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didn’t you?”

You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.

“Joel, please.” You begged for mercy, for relief, for something ― anything he could give you, you would take.

“You want me to fuck you, kiddo?” His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. “Hm? You want me to destroy your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, YES.” You were already gushing at his dirty talk.

With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.

Joel’s hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldn’t resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.

Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.

His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.

Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.

Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.

You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.

He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.

“You want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?” He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. “Your pussy? That’s where?”

Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.

“You’re soaking, kiddo. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. “You hear that?” He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.

You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.

“C’mon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you are”, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.

You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.

What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.

Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truck’s cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.

“Now I’m gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.” His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. “Is that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? ‘S she gonna like it?”

“Joel, please, just― Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.” You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.

And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times ― fucking you with his tongue.

You were not able to take it for much longer ― with Joel’s tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.

His turn to find relief.

Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.

Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.

Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.

“Spread your legs, kiddo.”

And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.

“So needy, isn’t she? Aren’t you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, you’re just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dad’s best friend.” His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.

Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.

You were so cockstruck you didn’t even reply.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.” He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.

You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didn’t let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.

You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.

Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldn’t restraint himself for much longer.

He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.

“Where?”, was the only word that he managed to whisper.

Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.

“In my mouth.” Your reply was almost his undoing.

Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.

“Open”, he husked, raspy and throaty.

Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you ― his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bed’s floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt ― his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.

He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.

With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.

Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.

“Eat it, kiddo.” He requested of you, towering above you.

From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.

“It’s $300 if I swallow”, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.

Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.

“Deal”, he agreed.

And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.

Joel’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

[beloveds-embrace]

When Konig returns, How do you think he will react when he realizes that reader is limping and has a prosthetic??

Would he blame himself? would blame and fight with others??

-🍒anon

It’d be a mix of both, but he largely (and understandably) blames them the most. There is disliking your spouse, and then there is the cruelty that has been inflicted on you.

König didn’t even notice it at first- not until you stood at last.

The faint click against the marble floors froze him. His eyes dropped, breath hitching at the gleam of metal where your foot should have been. Cold and foreign, it should have never been on you. He’s only seen it on soldiers.

Your grip on the cane now in your hand- how did he not notice it?- tightened. “Don’t.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a warning.

But König couldn’t stop staring. His eyes traced the straps digging into your thigh, the unevenness of your gait. He imagined the pain you must have endured, the surgeries, the adjustments, the raw skin and bruising. He imagined you lying in some cold room, scared and alone, with no one there to hold your hand.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was low and guttural, barely human.

“They all did,” you said quietly. “You. Them. All of you.”

The words hit harder than any blade could.

König staggered back a step, the breath knocked from him. Shame clawed up his throat, but it couldn’t overpower the guilt. You’re right, he wanted to say. You’re right, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness.

Instead, he knelt again.

Slowly, deliberately, he sank to one knee before you, lowering himself as if in supplication. “Mylady,” he rasped, voice raw. “I have failed you.”

You flinched, your fingers tightening on the cane again, but you didn’t pull away.

“I failed you when I left,” he continued, head bowed. “And I failed you by leaving you in their care. I will never forgive myself for it.”

“You think kneeling will fix this?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I won’t leave you again. Not unless you send me away.”

You faltered. For not the first time, König saw something- grief, fire, exhaustion—flicker in your eyes. But then you turned.

And when you stumbled, he was there.

He steadied you without a word, and though you flinched, you didn’t pull away.

The days after König’s return were heavy with tension.

He didn’t leave your side- not when you struggled with the prosthetic, not when your cane trembled, not when your breaths came shallow and pained.

And you let him.

You let him carry the books you’d occasionally read, adjust the chairs, and brace you when the steps proved too much. It wasn’t spoken. There were no apologies. Just König- silent, patient, and steady.

And the others saw it.

“She lets you help her.” Kyle said once, disbelieving. But König ignored him and continued on his path to your room, carrying a tray of tea he made himself.

I do not force it, König thought, focused on adjusting the padding of your prosthetic. The straps had rubbed you raw again. He fixed them without asking.

Price bristled at him another day, and König focused especially hard to ignore him. “You weren’t here. You left her.”

I did not let her rot, if anyone were to listen to König’s thoughts, they would immediately sense his utter disdain and disgust. You did.

Johnny tried to step in once while König waited for the tea to boil. “We tried—”

“When it was too late.” König spoke at last, lip curling under his mask. “You watched her shatter and did nothing. And now you ask why she won’t let you put her back together?”

Johnny had no answer.

None of them had an answer.

And König didn’t wait for one.

He returned to you, and looped a tiny little flower he picked on the way into your hair. “Better, mylady?”

You nodded, hesitant. “… better.”

It was not as if you forgave him- you didn’t.

But König didn’t ask. He didn’t demand or beg, or force himself into your space. He didn’t push you for it, didn’t demand it like a starving man clawing for scraps.

He stayed.

He noticed every wince, every tremor, and fixed what he could- polished the cane, adjusted the straps, moved the chairs- without asking for permission or praise.

And when you wept in the conservatory late at night, when the pain in your leg and the ache in your heart became too much, he didn’t try to hush you. He didn’t tell you to be strong or remind you of how far you’d come.

He simply sat there, guarding the door, letting you cry until the exhaustion dragged you under.

And then, when you woke the next morning, the cane would already be waiting by your bedside, polished and steady.

Just like him.

[ybklix]

marshmallow world

⭒˚‧ ✧ pairing: bang chan x fem!reader ☆ synopsis: a little lesson before christmas to continue your good girl streak and save yourself from the naughty list. ϑℓ genre ─ warnings: mdni, smut, tiny angst, daddy kink, dom!chan, jealousy & possessiveness, kinda toxic chan, spanking, slapping, dirty talk, pet names (some dreg), teasing, edging, orgasm denial, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie ׄ 　۪｡ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ word count: 7k

masterlist ♡ taglist

wen's note: mini winter/holiday special, i'm sooo back, winter's here, enjoy :3 edit: I was writing this before #those selfies, woofwoof, he fed my delusions more yasss, also my beloved friend said no more dirty sex and i came back w more dirty sex, sorry:( just dom chan brain rot rn, edit2: bro railway teaserrr anywaysss

Chan was the sweetest boyfriend of all, it was an absolute dream to have him, he was attentive, took care of you, spoiled you, knew the smallest detail about you, and always paid attention to you despite his demanding job in a very competitive and hard industry which he worked hard to get there, you knew his story and you both completed each other.

But he only had one tiny detail, not everything was perfect, he had a small flaw that you let it go of because everything good made up for it… but the big damn problem with Chan was always his jealousy and possessiveness. To be honest, jealousy was never something you liked, it seemed absurd, toxic, like the person distrusted you… but coming from someone like Chan, you couldn’t help that sometimes you liked it, only sometimes, because sometimes he was too serious about it and it annoyed you, and other times you got sexual pleasure, but no matter how long you had been dating him, you never knew what to expect because it was always the same: his obvious annoyed expression.

You arrived home, you and Chan had been living together for a long time, it was late and the snowstorm almost caught you on the road, slightly delaying you a little, torturing you every second you spent locked in that car with your own boyfriend… because you just had a very nice night… to suddenly be ruined by Chan’s clear and very expressive face of disgust and anger. The ride was tense, you knew something was wrong with him, but particularly tonight you didn’t have the energy to confront him, so you’d let him go to bed upset if that was the right thing to do.

It had been the ‘Christmas’/holiday event for Chan’s entertainment company, of which he worked as an excellent and well-respected producer. So far, so good, before leaving your home, Chan laughingly hurried you, sweetly, telling you that you would be late while you fixed your lipstick and put on perfume; you were wearing a very nice short red dress, Chan was dressed in his black suit that made him look dreamy. You arrived at the event, some knew who you were, some didn’t, but everyone knew that Chan had a girlfriend. You enjoyed a very good time, had dinner, and danced, and then slightly each of you started to radiate your own charisma, being friendly and socializing with more people… all good, until halfway through the night you made a friend, Seo Changbin, another producer of the company since Chan left your side for a second to talk to his social circle or even expanding it, Changbin didn’t leave your side the rest of the night, you got along well, you thought it was nice to meet a new person.

But as soon as Chan saw you there the trouble started. He couldn’t believe such an atrocity his eyes had to witness. His girl, his, his, his, you would always be his property; talking and laughing with another guy while you gently touched his shoulder and leaned your body towards him as you giggled.

You were about to let it go, not be blinded by his jealousy… but it all went to hell as soon as he saw Lee Minho approach you, your ex-boyfriend, a choreographer for the company. And then there you were, like a little slut —so he thought— in the middle of two men, smiling, not knowing their intentions.

But Chan could not change. He was like that because he wanted you all to himself. And you never stopped him.

You sighed, avoiding looking at Chan and leaving him behind, as you took off your heels and he closed the main door. You were physically exhausted, cold, and emotionally unprepared to be exhausted if you faced Chan.

You ignored him, sucking air between your teeth from the sudden cold that shivered your whole body and the first thing you did was turn on the heat in the entire house, you turned on the lights of the pine tree and your Christmas decoration pretending to be fine, still, you were not calm, you felt his heavy gaze on your back, his ponderous breathing, not a single word had been spoken since he told you in a stern tone, “We’re leaving now.” You were so sober, your muscles stiff, about to remember this whole tense night the next morning.

You were about to go upstairs, about to cry because you hated ignoring Chan, because your pride was so great, and all you wanted from him was to be around his arms, feeling his warmth as it snowed outside, but no, you had done nothing wrong but talk to men other than him. You hoped he would think and come to his senses so he could apologize in a few hours at dawn.

But it wasn’t like that, Chan had his jaw tense, he was not just annoyed, but furious for some particular reason. He took off his long coat and watched you walk through the house, while he was lighting it up as he went by, he had so much to tell you, but his intentions were a bit diverted as he watched you walk up four steps while he was still standing on the first floor and had a very nice view of your bare legs in that short dress, arousing another feeling other than anger. In the end it was him taking you home, to bed, where you lived together and shared, he calmed down a bit, but he was still upset and wanted to claim you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he mentioned, his voice low and commanding. “We need to talk.”

Your hand was resting gently on the stair railing. You froze at the sound of his gravelly voice, stopped your steps, and looked toward nothing in particular, just with your eyes straight ahead. He was upset, you knew it, you could hear it in every word he said that made your skin flinch. You stood there for a second, sighing softly, whether to just ignore him, continue up the stairs, or confess to him that you didn’t want to talk, either option had fatal consequences anyway.

“I’m talking to you, Y/n” he said again.

“There’s nothing to talk about today, Chan. I’m going to sleep” you replied, unwillingly, turning your back to him.

He ran his tongue across his mouth, annoyed and in disbelief that you responded to him such a thing, like a spoiled little brat, unwilling to even look him in the eye, those were not the manners he had taught you. He always taught you to be a good little girl for him.

“Well, you may not have anything to say but I do and I want you to listen to me properly” he spat annoyed, his ears red in anger and a tingle in his body at having to just watch your back silhouette, he hated that. “And look me in the eyes when I talk to you. Turn around and come over here. Now.”

What was once a pent-up sadness in your being, turned to anger. You took a breath, annoyed, you hated it when he spoke to you like that, demanding orders in a despot manner, without affection and knowing the undertone of the reason for his tone: once again a pathetic scene of jealousy, you were tired of them. And the worst thing was that you hated to listen to him in situations like that; you turned and watched him take off his black leather winter gloves and looked at him closely for the first time in the evening since he had spoken to you harshly. You could tell he was expressionless, his eyes relaxed, his mouth closed… but you knew him so fucking well, and watching him slide his gloves down his long fingers didn’t have the right to look that attractive. You stood half bravely in front of his commanding complexion illuminated by the hallway light. You looked into his eyes, into his dark, piercing gaze, just the way he wanted it.

He moved even closer to you, almost brushing against your face, and began to speak in a false soft, slow speech, as if you had to understand every word he said:

“You’re going to tell me exactly what you talked about with Seo Changbin and what had you so entertained for an hour and a half… and then you’re going to tell me why your bastard ex-boyfriend dared to approach you. I’m listening.”

You analyzed every part of his face, from his soft dark curly hair falling down his forehead, slightly parted, his sharp eyes, his nose tipped with a soft red from the cold weather, and his full pale pink lips. He was so cute, you loved him, but you missed a few hours ago when he was sweet Chan. You wanted to kiss him, to feel his soft cool lips, but he was just a jerk sometimes. So you let out a mocking, incredulous giggle right in front of his face as you backed up a step while rolling your eyes childishly annoyed. Chan wanted to give you a good spanking for your immature response.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe it. Are you listening to yourself? Why would I have to tell you every word I say to anyone whenever I meet someone new, huh?”

Chan was ready to calm down, but your mocking chuckle greatly upset him.

“Why would you keep it from me?”

“Chan… because…” his gaze darkened, you looked him straight in the eyes, he hated you calling him Chan while arguing, he hated you calling him by his name while talking seriously without any affection, “I could have told you properly, we could have talked about this, telling you I met someone new on the way home, being us, but you always have to do the same old shit and come angrily towards m…”

“Watch your language and tone when you’re talking to me,” he interrupted you, domineering, clenching his teeth, almost piercing you with his gaze, leaving you speechless.

You swallowed dryly and looked at him again. You didn’t want to argue. Not tonight or tomorrow. Because his sister was coming to visit you tomorrow afternoon for the month of the holidays and you wanted to have more love than contempt for him now. You barely took the courage to speak up, to communicate and express everything, and if you were upset about it then it would be reflected in your speech… but him. Either you were leaving… or you were still there.

“Why?” you said calmer but still direct and sharp, still as if your body and mind obeyed him automatically, having a lot of impact on you, “Are you the only one who has the right to be angry now?”

He nodded softly, with a calm expression, leaving you like a small bomb about to explode. Why? You hated his level-headed expression, always being right apparently, always having the last word and winning the fight.

Your eyes glistened, stinging and burning with the sensation of hateful tears building up in your eyes and the painful knot stuck in your throat. You wanted to tell him so many things. He was the love of your life but you wanted to tell him to fuck off, to claim to him exactly the same things he was telling you. But you stopped, your heart raced and you took a deep breath. You were in an internal battle… thinking if this was a small fight, a small scene of jealousy, and if you continued you would make the problem bigger…. but it wasn’t the first time it had happened and you had no idea why this particular time it was weighing on you more than the other times. You hated not knowing how to decipher what this was all about.

“I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

You just said that, tired, defeated, like someone helpless and abandoned, unwilling to sleep in the same bed with him if you were going to be like this, conflicted, tense, not getting his sweet kisses before bed and snuggling into his body. You’d rather sleep alone than coldly turn your back on him.

You turned, ready to go back upstairs when his hand stopped you by abruptly grabbing your wrist.

“You don’t have to sleep in the guest room when this is also your home and you have your room to sleep in, with me. We just need to talk. I know you and Changbin exchanged numbers, I want you to delete his contact, and block him, now.”

You watched him. You swallowed the lump in your throat and Chan tightened his grip on you.

“What? I won’t do it. Let go of me. I don’t want to see you tonight.”

That hurt. Chan thought you were taking it a little far, dragging it out, as he inwardly recanted after seeing your pretty, sweet face about to break down in tears. He just wanted you to know that you were his and no one else’s, that if another guy wants to be your friend then he must know him first and boy did he know Changbin, quite the playboy, womanizer, party boy, Chan was shocked that you got along with a guy like him. Chan just wanted to teach you a lesson tonight. But you had other ideas. You were including the emotional, he felt bad, but he couldn’t stop himself, if he was going to hurt you a little to let you know very well how much he loves you and cares about you, then he would make the sacrifice.

“Why do I have to do it, huh? Why always me? I never tell you anything when all those little doll idols would touch your arm and lean their skinny bodies towards you calling you their oppa or all that shit with their irritating voices while inviting you to their apartments right in front of me and expressing how muuuuuch they want to work with you again. You’re a fucking asshole” you snapped.

Chan released you and looked at you sternly for a few seconds. You frowned and looked at him with confusion as it seemed he was about to say or do something else and you felt a hint of curiosity to know what it was, but he just broke into a loud and mocking chuckle, changing his face to serious completely, narrowing his eyes and showing his teeth.

You were completely confused now. What had been so funny? Now you were annoyed to hear his mocking laughter. It was as if Chan was waiting for you to explode. His body relaxed and so did his mind, thinking you looked adorable when you were angry. When he finished laughing and only a smile remained on his face, you could notice the glow and tenderness in his gaze at the sight of you. You scoffed in disbelief, thinking he was a fucking lunatic, switching from one emotion to another.

Once again, you were about to walk away and leave him there, you were confused and slightly annoyed, but he stopped you again, taking a step towards you and putting his hands on your waist.

“Aw my love, did you always mean that? Complain about the other girls?” he spoke, cocky, and leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Why didn’t you ever say anything, huh? Why… you’ve never claimed what’s yours…”

You shuddered. Because I’m not crazy and I don't distrust you. You thought but didn’t say it. His grip became harder and he pressed his body against yours, making you nervous in seconds, his hair was still soft despite the cold weather he was exposed to for a few moments, he still had his manly cologne and his body was warm, you adored being close to him. You didn’t respond, you stood transfixed in your place, uneasy but comfortable with his closeness. You wanted to know what he would say next… Chan whispered in your ear again, sultry voice, his cheek brushing against your skin.

“Because… I’m about to do so, claim what’s mine. Someone tonight spent the night showing you off, standing next to you… someone who wasn’t me and you? You stood by his side like a fucking obedient whore. Oh… you don’t know how fucking pissed off you’ve made me. Being such a bad girl for daddy.”

You were building your arousal slowly at every word that came out of his mouth, as if it was the most erotic and filthy thing, because Chan got you too worked up, his domineering build clinging to you and his rough voice whispering in your ear sent shivers down your spine. Until you heard that word, that word he likes to refer to himself in and he likes you to call him that from time to time during sex and you understood it all. All this time he wanted to play that. You thought that if he wanted to fuck, he should have told you from the beginning and he could have spared you all the drama and the series of disastrous emotions he put you through. You wanted to tell him to fuck off once again… but your heart was beating fast now for other intentions as you quickly thought of the beautiful, pleasurable sex your boyfriend gives you and that you adore so much… plus the possibility of a good fuck with some hateful, angry, after your little argument, shit, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Bad girls deserve their lesson. Come on, I’m going to give you your punishment in front of the Christmas tree so you can see the pretty lights while daddy teaches you how to be a good little girl again.”

Chan picked you up before you could respond or react, taking you by surprise.

“Cha-chan” you protested vaguely.

He led you into the main living room, just as he said, where you both decorated happily and sweetly days ago, putting the Christmas tree and the stockings with your initials hanging on the fireplace.

Chan left his gloves on the little table and took your bag on your shoulder to leave it there too.

“What did you just call me?” he said, serious as he pulled you down from his arms, raising his eyebrows as he looked at you testing you as if you had said something wrong and he was waiting for you to correct yourself.

You looked him in the eyes, he was getting more and more dauntingly close to you, you didn’t want to say it, it was so unnecessary… and so hot, Chan was particularly hotter when he got into that mode, so dominant as if something about it possessed him.

You opened your mouth, looking at him submissively. He thought you were about to give in and listen to him; however, you only provoked him more for fun.

“Chan.”

You noticed his eyes widen slightly, annoyed, surprised, you almost smiled, the corner of your lips quivering at the complicit and huge smile you want to put on your face, you know how very angry it makes him that you behave somewhat spoiled, but you know deep down how much he loves to correct you, how much he loves his dirty little game where you get uneasy and are hopeless until he fucks you dumb. You know exactly what was waiting for you and you were uncontrollably aroused under your calm demeanor and naughty look; your pussy was throbbing and tingling, you could feel the wetness in your folds, and the most pathetic thing was that you had provoked it on yourself… by thinking and thinking, by remembering exactly the precise measure of your boyfriend’s big cock tight and choking in your cunt. It was pathetic because Chan had done absolutely nothing but gently tease you with his words, calling you a bad girl and calling himself daddy. The good thing was that you were good at pretending, but as soon as he dared to undress you, to really touch you, he would find out how very wet you were for absolutely nothing. Just for being him, wearing his suit, and looking at you like helpless prey.

“You’re going to keep behaving like this, huh? Are you gonna be a difficult slut?” he mumbled, finally putting his hands on you, stealing your breath, “You really want to disobey Daddy and get your punishment, don’t you? I won’t be gentle at all, baby girl.”

You stood still, but excitedly restless, almost letting out a shuddering sigh as you felt his big hands on you. You were ready for him to touch you, to let you do with your body whatever he wanted, you needed him, you wanted him, and you were giving in completely. You watched him, your eyes shining straight up at him submissively, asking for action, passion, and sex, hungry for lust in the only great way that only Chan can achieve in you.

You half opened your mouth, softly sighing, it was getting harder and harder for you to breathe, your heart was pounding and your sensitive pussy wouldn’t leave you alone, everything was happening sizzling in slow motion; his heavy gaze on you and his slightly icy hands on your waist. Again, you wanted to kiss him.

But suddenly everything happened so fast, leaving you surprised and unable to react almost. Chan seemed to be acting slow, watching you with desire and teasing you with his closeness that he knew how much it drove you crazy… but suddenly, he nimbly slipped his hands under your dress, caressing your thighs briefly until he tugged at your safety shorts and panties, making you sigh and leaving you with the strange sensation of your pussy exposed, your warm folds and pussy lips abandoning the comfort of the fabric of your panties. Chan left your garments by your knees, looking almost humiliated the way they were merely there, your underwear stuck on your thighs. He smiled arrogantly, getting a small glimpse of the fabric of your wet panties. You watched his hands make the sudden movement, you were surprised to see his noticeably large bulge in his pants and then you saw him, confused and surprised, but excited, your clit throbbing as you discovered he was already getting hard too, just at the thought of the sexual act that awaited you and the tension that was building up.

“Are you going to undress yourself or shall I? Huh?” he tilted his face towards you, waiting for an answer, toying with you, “Are you going to cooperate with daddy? Because if I take it off, I’m going to rip that whole tiny red dress you’re wearing, you fucking whore.”

His words were harsh. You didn’t answer and just watched him with your heavy breathing. You were speechless, you were so aroused that if you started talking you would moan and begin to stutter, you didn’t want to look this helpless in front of him, at least not now. But deep down… you wanted him to be the one to take absolute control.

“You’re not going to answer? Are you going to remain like this? Fine” he sentenced somewhat annoyed.

He reached down on his knees to slide your shorts and panties off your legs, stood up again, and in quick, sharp movements he tried to remove your dress and finally got rid of your bra. You let him do it and in a few seconds you were completely naked in front of him, with your hardened nipples resenting a little change of weather, even so, it did not compare with the intense fire you had inside, you wanted to be touched and satisfied, you wanted pleasure in any way provided by your boyfriend.

Chan watched you for a few seconds, your frail body exposed and naked for him made to carry that bubbling sensation move through his crotch on his pumping erect rigid cock. He licked his lips, memorizing every part of your body, your coy movements as you pressed your legs together, which he knew was a habit of yours because you were so adorable and incredibly turned on that it was hard for you to control your very cute and needy pussy, he memorized how you bit your lip nervously and the shimmer in the eye shadow, your makeup intact, just before he’s about to ruin it, making you gasp and whimper.

He roughly grabbed your wrist, squeezing it tightly, forcing you to walk and taking you a few steps to the front of the couch. He stood in front of you, and for the first time that night, he gently touched your face in his hands, but then squeezed your cheeks as if he was enforcing authority by making you look at him.

“You’ve been a very very bad girl and you know the consequences for that” he whispered, released your face, sat down on the couch and ordered you roughly. “In four, now. Hands and knees on the floor and from now on I want you to respond to everything I tell you, understand?”

Chan ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, getting no response, he bent his body and reached up to your ass, quickly and unexpectedly giving it a hard spank, repeating, “I said, did you understand?”

His hand burned into your soft, unprepared skin, which finally, you fulfilled his fantasy, and yours, leaving your pride and games aside, as you responded between in a surprised gasp and needy tone:

“Yes, Daddy.”

That was music to Chan’s ears, a delight to all his senses, your adored voice, the one he loved so much, as sweet as honey and soft as velvet, submissively saying exactly what he wants to hear, your little mouth struggling against the obscenities by which you will be subjected... but nothing will compare to the sound of your skin breaking and your whimpering, combining with the squirt of her soaking wet pussy being used by him as he wished.

He leaned back against the coach quietly and you looked at him, his erection was bigger in his pants and all you could think about was how much you wanted to ride his cock, at your pace, lovingly, but you listened to him as you knew you were in for something else, you still would enjoyed it.

Your hands and knees on the floor. Your eyes to the Christmas tree—just as he said, and your body submissive and exposed for Chan. He bent down again, you almost recoiled at the sound of his body on the couch, moving closer to you. Chan caressed your exposed ass and ran his fingers gently across your pussy making you moan softly, you were again restless and aroused.

“My baby doll, you have a beautiful ass, too bad I’m going to leave it bruised.”

That said, you closed your eyes tightly and let out a groan of shock, almost like hiccups. Your first spanking. Hard, burning and rough. Chan continued mercilessly, keeping his word, hit after hit, echoing in the room your skin abused by his heavy hand. You arched your back, curled your toes and your hands clutched the floor as you whimpered and bit your lip in desperation seeking release, but you couldn’t help it, it was so dirty and painful but you loved it, you loved the sound of your ass being pounded and of the impact of his hand leaving your buttocks in searing pain.

“I want you to think about how bad you’ve been, little girl. About what you did that Daddy has to give you this punishment.”

“Yes, Daddy” you replied in a gasp.

You had done nothing wrong, but at this point you couldn’t reveal yourself or turn back time, you were surrendered and immersed in his lustful method of pleasure.

Your makeup began to smear, your eyes watered and just as you were painfully tired, he paused for a moment, finally turning his attention to your throbbing, wet sex. Chris’s cock twitched at the sensation of your pussy coating his fingers. He continued to caress your burning, red ass with one hand while teasing your entrance with the other, making a comment for it:

“Are you liking it, you fucking slut? Do you enjoy it when daddy puts you in your place and spanks you for your bad behavior? Look at that pretty pussy, god, you’re so soaking wet, making a mess for me.”

Another unexpected pair of spankings and his naughty fingers exploring your intimacy that altered every part of you.

You were obsessed with your boyfriend, both of you were of each other, which is why that detail led you to be in precisely the situation you were in now. You knew to perfection the shape, size and color of his fingers, long, pale with a pinkish undertone, veiny, you could visualize the obscene image of them caressing your soaked pussy, of the fingertips pinching your clit and rubbing wildly between your labia to be wrapped around them and, of his digits abusing your entrance, of getting lost in it leaving a mess every time he pushed them deeper and deeper into you.

He kept spanking you, playing with your entrance, going deeper and deeper into you and using your hole carelessly as if it were a toy. Once again he kept his word when he said he would not be gentle. You were a mess, you didn’t know what to concentrate on at all, you babbled and squealed daddy every time your ass hurt and you felt yourself dripping more and more on his fingers.

You were close, so close to reaching your orgasm that your entire lower body burned in sharp, intense pain, Chan gathered, from the irregularity and change of tone in your whimpers and your sweet, soft pussy muscles throbbing and tightening from an immediate release of your peak of sexual desire.

“Are you about to cum, princess? My baby girl wants to reach her orgasm?” he spoke with a certain teasing tone in his sentences.

You nodded, desperate. Tousling your hair, letting it fall over your face, humiliated and incredibly aroused, whimpering in pleasure and pain, losing all your pride as you clung to the cold floor as you responded:

“Yes-yes-yes-y, Daddy, I’m going to cum.”

He blurted out a chuckle, “Really? You’re going to cum while I pound your ass and treat your little pussy roughly? You like being treated like this?”

You whimpered, letting out a squeal as you received your last and most painful spanking, as Chan increased the speed of his fingers in your pussy, the obscene and humiliating sound of your fluids colliding with his digits being heard.

“Yes, Daddy, I-”

“You’re fucked up, baby girl” he mumbled, almost satisfied.

Satisfied to see your ass ruined and red and you still managed to squirm in pleasure.

But Chan stopped, right at the hottest and most exact moment, leaving you mad and in pieces.

“No…” you whispered, annoyed, crestfallen holding all the frustration and strength in your body.

“Well, you don’t deserve such a thing” he added, slapping your exposed vulva twice to which you squealed in surprise, “You don’t deserve to cum, not even if you beg for it you fucking whore. You’ll cum until I say so.”

Chan sighed audibly almost in a groan, getting up from the couch while you remained in the same position, feeling the real pain and burning in your buttocks now that Chan had removed his hands from there. It hurt so much, the tingling from the impact ran through your body that you even wanted to cry again, the worst thing was that even with that pain you couldn’t calm your intense desire to have him.

The next thing you heard was the sound of his clothes tugging, Chan taking off his suit jacket, he unbuttoned the first few of his shirt and the sound of a zipper pulling down and soft fabric falling gracefully rubbing something. You knew right away.

“Come here. I’ll let you get Daddy’s cock ready before I tear your fucking little cunt apart.”

You couldn’t move, your body hurt so much, still, with your own strength, you stood up, your ass red, your makeup smeared and your eyes teary. As soon as you turned around, he came back or to say:

“Get on your knees. You’re going to suck Daddy’s cock” you watched him, from his eyes, going down to meet his pressed cock in his boxers, in a bulge, hard and large. “I didn’t hear your answer.”

“Yes, Daddy!”

You almost responded immediately, almost shivering as if you were freezing to death but it was just the nature of your nervous and highly aroused body and mind, devoted and surrendered to him, making you get on your knees submissively in front of him, raising your gaze, your pain was hard to avoid, but so was your unsettling pleasure. Your hands were indecisive and restless, about to touch his stiff exposed erection that looked so tempting to your sore eyes. Chan was caressing his cock, so pumping, red, and stimulated, dripping in the pretty pink tip of his precum.

“Ah, ah, don't touch until I say so,” he warned you, his voice coming from deep inside him, sounding thicker, you knew he was extremely aroused at this point. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

You obeyed him and he, so lost in pleasure took a step towards you, seeing you from above with every noticeable vein in his body exposed to view, his vein in his neck, from his big hands, from his cock...

Chan stroked his cock gently, masturbating it a little then put a part of his cock and glans on your warm tongue, rubbing himself on you.

“Ff-fuck, oh yeah, taste that fucking precum, baby” he moaned, watching you with pleasure, smiling slightly then closing his eyes and gently throwing his head back for a moment.

That had caused more pleasure in you than his fingers and spanking had caused in you before, you loved blowing Chan because you could hear him moaning and your mouth was busy with his big cock in it, it felt so good that just the feel of his soft glans on your tongue and his thick white droplets, you were again a sea of bliss on your bottom, shivering in despair.

“Now I want you to lick it, lick my cock up and down, just like that, yes-yes, use your hands, baby girl.”

You were so happy to hear such quiet commands as licking his cock and you enjoyed every second, you felt it first, your hand cupping a fist to stroke it better, every part of his texture and every single detailed feature, just for you.

“Ff-fuck.”

Chan was close, he had resisted orgasm hard giving his best effort, but the submissive sight of his little girl on her knees for him running her tongue over his big, stiff cock like it was candy didn’t help matters.

You licked his entire length, just as he gently commanded you, reveling in his pumping sex on your tongue and lips, wishing for a moment that he was naked too so you could see his wonderful figure at that angle you were.

“Put it in your mouth” he whined and you quickly did it, “oh yeah, bobbing your head all over daddy’s cock, just like that, mmm. Good girl.”

You put his cock in your mouth, wrapping it around your lips and finally feeling his throbbing sex inside your cavity. It felt so good to have him like this, pleasuring him as he moaned and bit his lip. You wanted to touch yourself as your pussy had a life of its own down there, so throbbing, dripping, and needy, but you knew that touching yourself would lead to no good if Chan found you out. He stroked your hair as you held his cock with your right hand while with your left, awkwardly and nervously you gently caressed his clean, smooth pubic area, his balls from time to time, and his pronounced pelvis rising towards his exercised abdomen.

You let yourself get a little carried away from the feel and taste of Chan that without thinking you slowly wanted his cock a little down your throat, you wanted the feel of his thick member fucking every part of you, but Chan delicately tightened his grip on your hair, pulling it back to pull his cock out of your mouth, leaving his member bouncing gently in the air and brushing against your lips, his erection wet and stimulated and you dripping in your saliva and his precum, confused, looking into his eyes.

However, the next thing you felt you didn’t expect it at all, his large hand slapping moderately hard on your cheek leaving it red and sore.

“I never said to use your throat, huh. Did you want daddy’s cock so bad? Stand up, you’re going to get it now.”

You were still in shock from the slap, but you obeyed as you understood that it would finally happen. Chan grabbed you roughly by your forearm, putting you on your back to him, he forced you to bend over, as you clumsily held onto the couch, as he had put his body behind you. Chan began rubbing his glans on your wet, swollen, juicy vulva, pleasuring himself on your labia before shallowly positioning the head of his cock at your entrance.

You wanted to scream for him to do it, you wanted him to fuck you from the first instant your panties began to get wet for him.

“There will be no safe word, I am going to fuck you hard to remind you that you are mine and you are going to take Daddy’s cock whole like the slut you behaved like tonight, got it?”

You were about to answer, but a squeal came out of you as you felt his pumping deep throbbing penetration piercing your insides. You whimpered between pleasure and pain, Chan was opening your entrance, and inside, your pussy always struggling to accommodate his well-endowed penis.

He began to fuck you while holding on to your hips and touching your very sensitive ass from time to time, he caressed your whole body, your back, and your tits while keeping a deep, fast, and tearing rhythm that left you breathless. You started to see blurred, you were lost, with your pussy choking his cock, about to cum again when he came out of you; he took your body with ease and held you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. Chan wanted to see your tired, frustrated face as you struggled with his big cock in your pussy.

He smiled at the sight of you, your cheeks red and a little of his precum at the corner of your lips, your eyes bright and your whole face begging for sex. He re-entered you, holding your body from your ass which you whimpered at your sensitivity. Chan controlled your body, dropping your body so that his cock slid into you, making you both whimper, he was big, he didn’t fit all the way in, and his cock squeezed at your entrance and pushed your cervix every time he did that.

He continued to control your body, causing you to be a mess in search of your ultimate release in an orgasm.

“Tell me that you’re mine” he started to babble.

The idea of just owning and having you quickly went to his head, of being him and only him the only one who has you screaming with pleasure, the only one who loves you and knows how you like it. Chan always fucks you sweet and slow, gentle, just because his cock is big at your entrance, but sometimes he does it hard when you ask him to, but now he was destroying you beautifully, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I’m yours, daddy, fuck-”you were speaking haltingly and breathlessly.

“Daddy, please” you whimpered, his cock was being too much for you.

“Daddy, please” he mimicked you mockingly making a high-pitched tone of voice with a smug smile, “Please what, don’t you like how all your little pussy is being taken by daddy?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes.

You finally felt it, your orgasm, so close and there was something you always wanted.

“Can I kiss you, Daddy?”

He smiled, “Do it, baby girl” he replied breathlessly.

You began to squirt his cock and part of his thighs and the rest fell to the floor, finally, you felt his lips and cautiously unbuttoned his shirt to feel and appreciate his exercised chest.

“Daddy, can I cum?”

“Fuck, baby girl, yes do it.”

You whimpered again, louder, hugged him, brushing your breasts on his pecs, feeling his soft hair and the scent of his perfume on his neck and you cum shuddered, wanting to release every muscle in your body, leaving you trembling and pleasurably agonized.

Chan enjoyed the disaster of your orgasm, sliding his cock inside you for a few more seconds until he hit your cervix with the spurt of his hot cum.

“Mmm” was all you could say as you caught your breath and felt his orgasm fill you completely still leaning on his shoulder near his neck.

Chan left you there, your body wracked and well satisfied, clinging to him.

He stroked your hair and whispered a sweet “I love you. Do you want to see the snow outside, princess?”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱

꒰ 𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @cherricola-star @lolareadsimagines @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @hyune-ssne @oddracha ꒱

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔉𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: Mike had always liked a challenge, but you were downright impossible. Reckless, sharp-tongued and way too eager to throw yourself into danger. Half the time, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you. But after one stunt too many, he decided he’d had enough. If you weren’t gonna listen to reason, maybe he’d just have to teach you some other way

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Enemies/Friends to lovers. Love confession. Lots of remarks. Make out session. Lots of dirty talk. Brat tamer Mike Munroe. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Dom Mike Munroe. Bottom male reader. Hate sex. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 5000 words

The sanatorium smelled of rot and blood, the air so thick with decay it felt like it could clog your throat. Every step echoed in the hollow corridors.

Mike Munroe had always thought he'd seen the worst of it with the mines and those wendigos clawing at the edges of his sanity but nothing compared to the sheer insanity of trying to keep you alive.

He knew you were reckless, borderline suicidal in your determination to protect him, and it pissed him off to no end, brown eyes fixed on you with a burning kind of anger that only came from sheer terror.

Mike stayed on your heels, his shotgun cradled in white-knuckled hands while you pushed forward even as caged wendigos rattled their bars and clawed at the air mere inches from your skin. That same reckless confidence Mike had come to admire and despise in equal measure.

"Jesus Christ, slow the fuck down," Mike hissed, his voice low but sharp. "You think those things can't get to you if you're strutting like that?"

"Relax," you shot back without turning to look at him, your voice dripping with that trademark sarcasm he'd grown to loathe in moments like this. "They're behind bars."

"Don't fucking tempt fate," he snapped, his teeth grinding. He hated how casually you brushed off danger. It was the kind of arrogance that made his blood boil and his stomach churn with worry all at once.

As if on cue, a skeletal arm shot through the bars to your right, claws slicing through the air with terrifying speed. You flinched, sidestepping the swipe with a quick motion.

Another wendigo near the end of the row lunged, its claws stretching impossibly far through the bars. Mike moved before you could react, slamming you against the opposite wall with one hand as the shotgun exploded in the other. The blast silenced the wendigo's screech, its emaciated body crumpling behind the cage.

"Stay the fuck behind me," he barked, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. His face was inches from yours, streaked with dirt and sweat, his eyes wild.

"Just once, could you do what I say without arguing?"

"You should try trusting me sometime and let me help you out." There was a sharp gleam in your eyes as you grinned despite the adrenaline tearing through your veins.

"Help?" He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the dark. "The only thing you've helped with is shaving years off my lifespan."

"Aw, you care." Your grin was maddening, a cocky tilt to your head that sent a jolt of something sharp and hot through his chest.

Mike let out a frustrated growl, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscles working beneath his skin.

Another wendigo lunged, this one on his blind side. Time seemed to slow as its claws arced toward his neck, the jagged edges glinting in the dim light.

Without thinking, you moved.

Your body slammed into his, shoving him out of the way as you raised your arm to block the swipe. Pain exploded across your forearm as the claws raked deep, hot blood spilling down your sleeve. Mike spun around, his voice a roar of panic before the shotgun fired again, the recoil jolting his entire body as the wendigo flew back into the cage with a sickening crunch. He caught you before you could hit the floor, his hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes scanned the deep gashes marring your arm.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled, his voice shaking with equal parts fury and fear.

You winced, blood seeping from the fresh gash in your side but the corner of your mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Saving your life. It worked, didn't it?"

"Saved my—" His voice broke off as his fingers tightened on your arms, his knuckles white. "You're bleeding all over the goddamn place!”

The wendigos in the cages shrieked louder, their skeletal bodies throwing themselves against the bars, the metal groaning under the weight of their emancipated bodies. Mike hauled you to your feet, his grip firm as he dragged you toward the end of the hall.

The door loomed ahead, heavy and rusted, the handle worn smooth by time. You threw your weight against it, your injured arm screaming in protest as Mike fired another shot behind you.

The door groaned and gave away with a metallic screech and you stumbled inside, turning just in time to see Mike fire point-blank into a wendigo lunging at him. You grabbed a rusted metal barrel and hurled it into the hall, the clang echoing ominously as it rolled toward the wendigos.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Mike yelled, his voice raw. He blasted the wendigo mid-lunge, the creature's body crumpling far away.

"Stop yelling at me and shoot it already!" you snapped back, your voice sharp and biting.

Mike's fury boiled over, his hands shaking as he leveled the shotgun at the barrel and fired. The explosion lit up the hallway, the shockwave knocking you both backward as flames roared through the air.

He grabbed you, pulling you against him as debris rained down, his body shielding yours from the worst of it. The door slammed shut behind you with a metallic clang.

Smoke was still thick in the air as you tore a piece of the blood-soaked fabric from your shirt, grimacing as you tied it around the gash on your arm. It wasn't clean, but it was tight, and that was good enough. You let out a hiss as you cinched the knot, the pain sharp but grounding.

Mike didn't wait, by the time you were done self-patching yourself, he was already halfway to the stairs, shoulders rigid as his boots pounded against the cracked stone.

He hadn't said a word or even looked at you yet.

And that bothered you.

Jogging after him, you couldn't help yourself, words tumbled out of your mouth before you could even think.

“You’ve got a weird way of showing gratitude. Most people would say, ‘Hey, thanks for saving me from getting my throat slit.’ But nah, you just throw me around like a ragdoll and storm off. Nice touch. Real alpha male energy.”

He didn't stop. He didn't even turn his head. But you caught the slight twitch of his jaw and the way his grip on the shotgun tightened. He exhaled sharply through his nose and started up the stairs without answering.

You fell into step behind him, your boots scuffing against the stone as you kept talking.

"I see," you said, following close behind. "The silent treatment. Classic. Very mature, Mike."

Still nothing. His boots struck the stone harder now, each step louder than the last. You weren't sure if he was trying to drown you out or if he just couldn't control his frustration anymore.

"I thought we were bonding," you added, your voice dripping with mock disappointment as you kept poking the bear. "You know, saving each other's asses, fighting off horrifying monsters, sharing life-and-death moments. I guess I misread the vibe."

His hand flexed on the shotgun, his knuckles pale, fingers twitching like he was imagining gripping something else entirely.

"You’re mad because I stole your big heroic moment? Is that it? Did I hurt your fragile ego, Munroe? Did I make you feel—"

"Shut the fuck up."

The words hit you like a freight train, his voice booming in the confined space of the stairwell and so heavy with barely-contained anger that it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The stairs creaked underfoot with each step. The weight of his silence grated against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"Great," you muttered under your breath, stepping into a small, dimly lit room of the hall.

The room was as lifeless as the rest of the sanatorium, its walls cracked and stained with years of neglect. A battered table sat in the corner, its surface cloaked in a thick layer of dust. On top of it, a chessboard lay abandoned, its pieces scattered and forgotten.

Drawn by a flicker of curiosity, you approached the table, running a finger over the dusty edge. The chessboard was frozen mid-game, the moves etched into time like a fossilized memory. You reached for a lone figure, its surface cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. A simple figure of a man that had nothing to do with chess.

You turned it over in your hand, your mind wandering as you considered the lives that had once filled this place before the experiments and the monstrous transformations.

Deliberate and slow footsteps broke through your thoughts. You glanced toward the doorway, catching sight of Mike as he stepped into the room. He didn't speak, didn't meet your eyes. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, shotgun dangling loosely in one hand.

You turned back to the figure, rolling it between your fingers. His childish suiking had stretched thin your patience. If he wanted to sulk, fine. You weren't about to beg for his attention. Two could play at the silent game.

You set the chess piece back down, brushing the dust from your fingers, and let out a quiet huff.

Hell of a place to get all broody.

The sudden, jarring clang of his shotgun landing on the corner of the table startled you, and you barely had time to turn before his hands were on you.

Strong, calloused fingers gripped your arms with bruising force and yanked you forward, forcing you against the edge of the table. Your palms slapped the surface, the chess piece clattering away as Mike's grip held you firmly in place. His chest pressed against your back and you could feel his hot, sharp, and furious breath tickling the shell of your ear.

"Mike, what the fuck?" you spat, twisting against his hold, but he didn't budge.

"What the fuck am I doing?" His voice was low, dangerous, trembling with barely contained fury. "No, the real question is what the fuck you think you're doing. Do you have any idea how done I am with your shit?"

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at the sound of his voice. "Oh, I don't know," you shot back, your tone sharp despite the position you were in. "Maybe you could enlighten me, since you've been sulking like a toddler for the past ten minutes."

Mike chuckled darkly, the sound devoid of humor. "Still got that smart mouth, huh? Not surprising. You never know when to shut the fuck up."

You bristled at his tone, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. "And you never know when to quit being an asshole. Guess we're even."

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your arms just enough to make you wince.

"No, we're not even," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "Not by a long shot. You've been pushing me all night, running your mouth and throwing yourself into danger like you've got a death wish. I've had enough."

"Yeah?" you snapped, your voice rising in defiance. "Maybe if you stopped treating me like I'm some helpless fucking kid, I wouldn't have to keep proving I can handle myself."

His laugh was sharp and bitter, and you could feel the tension in his body as he pressed you harder against the table. "You call that handling yourself? That's being a reckless, selfish little shit."

"Selfish?" You twisted in his grip, ignoring the ache in your arms. "I was trying to save you, you ungrateful asshole! Or did you forget about the fucking wendigo that was about to rip your head off?"

"Yeah, and you nearly got yourself killed in the process!" he shot back, his voice cracking with the force of his anger. "Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching you throw yourself in front of that thing, knowing I couldn't stop you? Knowing that if you got yourself killed, it'd be on me?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say.

You refused to let his words or presence get under your skin. He wasn’t going to win. Not like this.

"So that's what this is about?" you said, your voice laced with defiance. "You can't handle the fact that someone might actually give a shit about you?"

Mike's breath hitched and for a split second, you thought you'd gotten to him. But then he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"No," he said, his lips brushed against your ear, breath hot and heavy. "This is about you learning your fucking place. Right here," he murmured, his voice dark and commanding. "Under me. Doing what I say. Got it?"

The weight of Mike's chest pressed down on your back, his breath hot against the nape of your neck.

And then you felt it.

Thick, hard, and unmistakable, his bulge strained against the denim of his jeans, pressing firmly against your ass as he leaned in further.

Heat rushed through you, blood pumping straight to your dick, shame and arousal twisting into one unbearable, molten thing in your gut, your traitorous body reacting before your brain could catch up.

Mike let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into your spine. "Where's all that attitude now? One little touch and you go quiet on me? Didn't think it'd take this little to shut you up." he muttered, his voice dropping to a rough, husky whisper.

You hissed through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly as the warmth of his words washed over you. "Fuck you," you spat, your voice cracking slightly as you twisted beneath him.

His laugh came again, rougher this time, edged with something darker. "Fuck me?" he repeated mockingly, pressing his hips forward to grind his bulge against you, the friction sending a jolt through your body. "That's not how this is gonna work, sweetheart. I'm the one calling the shots here."

He yanked you forward and slammed your face flush against the cold table, bending you down perfectly for him. One strong hand threading roughly through your hair, keeping your head pressed down while his other hand splayed firmly against the small of your back, holding you in place. Your legs were spread wide, his own body pressed hard against you, pinning you down with no room to squirm.

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But your silence only seemed to spur him on.

"Look at you,” he growled, voice dropping to a taunting whisper as he leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "All pinned down and squirming under me. Not so tough now, are you?"

"Fuck off," you managed, though the words came out weaker than you intended.

"You always have to fight, don't you? Ain't moving 'til I say so.”

Heat curled through you. Fucking traitorous heat, searing low in your gut, burning through your veins.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" His voice was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every word. "Always have. Right from the start."

Your jaw clenched. "Too bad I can't say the same—"

"Oh, bullshit. You think I don't see the way you look at me?" His voice was taunting now, fingers curling tighter around your wrists, his hips grinding forward to make you fucking feel him. "Always running your mouth, always pushing me, but I see the way your eyes linger when you think I'm not looking. Fuck if it didn't make me want you even more."

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your heart was pounding now from excitement as he yanked your pants down, breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he exposed you completely to him and you gave no struggle or resistance.

"Don't lie to me," he growled, his tone dangerous as he leaned in even closer, the firm press of his cock unmistakable through the rough fabric of his jeans. "I can feel how you’re getting hard while I've got you pinned to a fucking table. You've been dying for this, haven't you? I bet you love seeing me all worked up, ready to lose my goddamn mind over you."

His body pressed closer, his lips brushed just against your skin. "You never fucking stop. Never back down. Always have to prove you're the toughest son of a bitch in the room and I fucking love that about you."

You shivered beneath him, your resolve wavering as his hand slid lower, squeezing your ass.

A sharp slap landed across your ass, the sting of it sending a bolt of heat straight through you. You jerked against the table, your breath coming out ragged, but Mike just chuckled, dragging his hand back up to squeeze the reddening skin.

You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Every time you talked back to me and got in my face like you had something to prove, I wanted to shove you down on your knees and see just how mouthy you'd be with my dick filling that bratty little mouth of yours."

Your breath caught, fingers tightening against the table. "You talk a big game," you ground out, jaw tight despite the heat pulsing through you, "but I don't see you doing shit."

Mike's grip on your hair tightened, yanking your head back just enough to force a gasp from your lips.

"You wanna test me, sweetheart?" His voice was low and dangerous, burning with something feral. "You really wanna see what happens when you push me too far?"

You bit back a gasp, biting your lower lip so hard it nearly split, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your surrender.

"You can grit your teeth and keep that stubborn mouth shut, but your body's already telling me everything I need to know." His voice was a gravelly purr, rich with mockery as his lips skimmed the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You shivered involuntarily as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh of your throat, sharp enough to threaten but not to pierce.

Whatever snotty remark you have been about to spew vanished as he spits into his hand, the slick sound loud in the stillness of the room, followed by the warm, wet press of his fingers against your entrance. He didn't rush, didn't ease up; he worked his first finger in with a slow, steady pressure, curling it just enough to make you shudder.

"Shit," you hissed, your hands clawing at the edge of the table as he added a second finger, scissoring his fingers with a ruthless precision. Each twist and deliberate press of his fingers sent jolts of white-hot pleasure up your spine, your breath coming faster as you struggled to hold onto the last threads of your resistance.

"You feel that? That's what happens when you stop running your mouth and start letting me take care of things." Mike murmured, his voice a rough, husky growl as he watched you squirm.

"You're... such a cocky bastard," you bit out, though the breathlessness in your voice betrayed you.

"And you fucking love it," he shot back, his fingers curling and dragging a moan from your throat that you couldn't quite suppress. His smirk widened, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as he added a third finger, stretching you further. "There it is. Knew I'd get you to make those pretty sounds for me."

You gasped, your back arching involuntarily as he pressed deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. "Fuck—Mike—"

"Say it," he growled, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place as his fingers continued their relentless assault. "Say you need me. Say you want me to wreck you."

"Fuck you," you spat, though the tremor in your voice robbed the words of their intended bite.

He chuckled smugly, withdrawing his fingers abruptly, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. Mike's breath was a ragged growl against your shoulder, his weight pinning you flush against the weathered table as his hands worked deftly to undo his belt.

The sound of his zipper being undone was the only warning you got before you felt the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, circling it teasingly.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and commanding, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Do it," you growled, the desperation in your voice making him chuckle as he kept l the head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

"Not until you say it," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned over you, his lips brushing against your neck. "Tell me what you want."

Your breath hitched, your fingers digging into the table as he pressed forward just enough to make you gasp. "Fuck, Mike—just fuck me already."

"That's more like it," he said, his voice a rough growl as he thrust into you in one smooth motion, the head of his cock breaching you until he buried himself to the hilt. The stretch was overwhelming, a sharp, burning heat that stole the breath from your lungs, but the groan that tore from his throat was pure satisfaction.

"Jesus," he muttered, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he held you there, unmoving, his cock pulsing deep inside you.

You couldn't muster a response. Not when he started to move, his hips snapping against you in a slow, punishing rhythm that left you gasping for air. His grip on your hips was bruising as he set the pace, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure and pain crashing through you.

Mike wasn't one to let you off easy, his hand sliding around to grip your throat, pulling you upright as he drove into you harder, deeper.

"Admit you've been begging for this. Admit you fucking love it." He demanded, his voice a rough growl against your ear.

"Mike," you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder as he tightened his grip, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Fuck, I—“

He growled, his teeth sinking into the curve of your neck as his hand slid lower, wrapping around your cock and stroking you in time with his thrusts.

His rhythm growing erratic as he chased his release.

You were trembling, the peak of pleasure hanging just out of reach, so close it burned, and yet he had stopped abruptly.

The noise you made was involuntary, a ragged, guttural sound of frustration ripped from deep within you. It echoed off the room's peeling walls, cutting through the heavy air as Mike's hand stilled against your cock, robbing you of the release you were so desperately chasing. Your sweat-slicked body trembled with need as he brushed his fingers lazily over your cock, deliberately avoiding giving you anything substantial.

He fucking loved it.

He stood behind you, chest heaving, his cock still buried deep inside you as he tilted his head to watch you squirm. The smirk that spread across his face was infuriating, brimming with that maddening mix of smugness and satisfaction that only he could pull off. "Something wrong, sweetheart?" he drawled, his tone dripping with mock concern as he leaned over you, his breath brushing hot against your ear.

You didn't answer, didn't trust yourself to speak without giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead, you clenched your fists against the table, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you fought to suppress the whimper building in your throat.

He pulled out slowly, the drag of his cock enough to make your breath hitch. And then, he flipped you over. His hands snaked down, strong fingers sliding beneath your legs as he hoisted you up with ease. You barely had time to brace yourself before he slammed you back down onto the table, the impact making your body jolt.

The move left your legs spread wide, his hips slotting perfectly between them as he leaned down, his body pressing against yours. The heat of his cock dragged against yours as he shifted closer until there was no space left between you.

His gaze raked over your face. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, those sharp, defiant eyes still burning with the need to fight him. Christ, you were fucking perfect like this, all wrecked and ruined because of him.

"You look good like this," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his lips hovered just over yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. His fingers tightened their grip on your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "All this, just from me." His smirk widened. "And you still wanna act like you don't love it."

You opened your mouth to snap something back but before you could, Mike surged forward, his lips crashing against yours. The kiss was filthy, all tongue and teeth, his body pressing down against yours as he devoured you. His tongue pushed into your mouth, sweeping into your mouth with an eagerness that bordered on frantic while tilting our head to deepen the kiss even further.

He tasted like salt and sweat. Every time you tried to catch your breath, to regain some semblance of control, he pushed harder, pulling another whimper or gasp from your throat.

His cock pressed against yours, hot and slick with the mess of earlier, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. He moved his hips deliberately, grinding against you as his tongue slid against yours.

You couldn't stop the moan that slipped from your lips, muffled against his mouth and the sound made him groan, low and guttural, his fingers tightening against your skin.

His palms dragged over broad shoulders and down your torso, memorizing every inch of you as he kissed you, his touch firm and possessive.

The heat between you was unbearable now, a steady, relentless build that left you trembling against him. Mike pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and burning as they raked over your face. Your lips were swollen and shiny, your cheeks flushed, your chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

His hips rolled forward, dragging his cock against yours, the friction making you gasp. He swallowed the sound with another kiss, his hands gripping your thighs, lifting them just enough to shift you higher on the table and wrap them around his waist. He lined himself up almost immediately and sank back inside in one smooth thrust.

You choked on a moan, your back arching off the table as he bottomed out.

"Fuck, that's good," Mike groaned, his forehead dropping against yours for a second, his breath hot and uneven. "Goddamn, you feel—" He cut himself off with a sharp thrust, making you cry out, your nails digging into his back. "Yeah, that's what I wanna hear.”

He started moving again, dragging out every inch before stamming back in, making sure you felt every bit of him. His hands gripped your hips, forcing you to take it, to feel just how deep he was inside you.

His pace was brutal, each thrust sending you sliding up the table, the wood groaning under the force of it. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open as he fucked into you without mercy. The pleasure was overwhelming, hot and unbearable, coiling low in your stomach, threatening to snap at any second.

"You're mine," he growled, his teeth scraping against your jaw as he drove into you harder. "Say it."

You clenched your jaw, refusing.

Mike clicked his tongue, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand wrapped around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts, dragging you closer, closer, until you were right there, teetering on the edge just like minutes ago.

"Say it," he ordered again, his grip tightening, his pace relentless. "Tell me you're mine, or I swear to God, I'll stop right fucking now."

The threat sent a fresh wave of desperation through you, and you hated him for how easily he could break you down, how much you needed him to just keep fucking moving.

"I'm yours," you finally rasped, the words torn from your throat, raw and wrecked. "You fucking own me! Just don't fucking stop."

The words shattered something inside him. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips snapping against yours in an erratic, desperate rhythm as he buried himself deep.

With a strangled cry, you came undone, your body trembling as you spilled over his hand. Mike groaned, his pace faltering as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came with a guttural moan, his lips crashing against yours in a messy, desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world seemed to still, the only sound in the room, the ragged panting of your breaths as Mike held you close, his forehead resting against yours. And then, with a soft, breathless laugh, he leaned back just enough to look at you, his smirk returning in full force as he brushed a thumb over your flushed cheek.

The scent of sweat and spent adrenaline thick between you. Mike was still inside you, pressed close with his breath ghosting over your lips in shallow, uneven pants. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb tracing absent patterns over the flushed skin.

Your body ached, the kind of deep, satisfied soreness that came from being well and thoroughly wrecked. Your fingers twitched against his shoulder, nails grazing over the thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

You let out a shaky breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. "Jesus, Mike..." Your voice was hoarse, wrecked, and your lips throbbed from how hard he'd kissed you.

Mike huffed out a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. "Yeah," he muttered. "Jesus."

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, filled only by the slowing rhythm of your breaths. Neither of you moved to untangle from the other, and you weren't sure if it was because of the exhaustion sinking into your bones or something else neither of you wanted to admit out loud.

Mike was the first to shift, his hands sliding down to your thighs before gripping the underside of your knees, pushing them wider as he slowly pulled out of you. A sharp gasp ripped from your throat at the overstimulation, your body protesting even as you shivered at the loss of him.

He stood there between your legs, his hands smoothing up your trembling thighs, fingers ghosting over bruises and marks he'd left.

A thick silence stretched between you before he finally lifted his gaze, his jaw tightening. "You good?"

You scoffed, though your voice was weak. "You asking 'cause you care, or 'cause you're wondering if I'm up for round two?"

Mike's smirk was slow, dangerous, his fingers flexed on your thighs, digging in just enough to make you squirm. "You're already that desperate for more?" His voice was husky, dripping with mockery, but the way his pupils dilated told you he wasn't opposed to the idea.

You grinned, reckless as ever, despite the exhaustion in your limbs. "Depends. You think you can keep up? I think I can still feel your pulse in my ass, Munroe."

Mike's smirk widened, but instead of answering, he surged forward, crashing his lips against yours with a force that nearly sent you sprawling back onto the table as he tilted your head back and took control, his tongue pushing past your lips with a filthy, hungry growl.

He licked deep, savoring the heat of you, the lingering taste of salt and adrenaline. The kiss was all messy and wet, his teeth scraping against your lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, nipping just hard enough to make you groan.

Your body was weak, barely able to keep up, and he knew it. He could feel the way your limbs trembled and fuck, he reveled in it.

His hand slid down to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you flush against him again, your spent body molding into his as he took everything he wanted.

His lips left yours only to trail down your throat again, his breath hot and heavy as he dragged his teeth along your skin, scraping over your pulse point before sucking a deep, bruising mark onto your skin.

Your head was spinning, your body burning, and all you could do was whimper as he pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his thumb swiping over your swollen bottom lip.

You exhaled heavily, trying to gather whatever strength you had left. But when you went to slide off the table, your legs nearly gave out beneath you, and Mike fucking laughed.

"Can't even stand up straight, huh?" He crossed his arms, watching you with pure, infuriating amusement as you clutched the table for support.

You shot him a glare, but your legs were shaking, your body still wrecked from earlier. "I can walk."

Mike cocked a brow, that shit-eating smirk still plastered on his face. "You sure? 'Cause it looks like I might have fucked you so good you forgot how."

"Shut the hell up.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to grab your arm.

As you limped beside him, Mike leaned in close, voice a low murmur against your ear. "Bet you'll be feelin' that for a while."

You clenched your jaw. "Don't flatter yourself."

Mike just laughed again, shaking his head. "Too late, sweetheart."

And as you made your way back into the darkened halls of the sanatorium, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren't getting rid of him anytime soon.

[blackcatplushie]

Yandere in an Apocalypse

warnings: gun, blood, some violence

male yandere x reader

You run as fast as you can into the forest night. It's so dark outside you can barely see what's in front of you. Your feet hurt so much but you can't stop running, not while he's not far behind. It's colder outside than you remember. Or maybe it's because you're only wearing your pajamas. You didn't have the time to worry about dressing appropriately. 

Your lungs burn from running so hard. It's been a while since you've been so active. Hope springs into your chest as you see the fence come up on the horizon. You quickly throw your bag over and climb over not being aware of the jagged rocks behind the fence. You slip and slam your leg hard against a sharp rock. 

Blood oozes out and spills over your leg like a curtain. It's a large cut, from the middle of your calf down to your ankle. You whimper in pain and sit on the ground for a moment, cursing at the world for being so unforgiving.

Panic starts to rise as you look around for signs of any ghouls nearby. Zade went out often to "clean" the area and look for supplies but you weren't so sure about that anymore. The familiar groaning and stench of rot grows near as you struggle to get up.

You quickly try to wipe the blood away with your shirt but it's too late. They wander towards you with lifeless eyes and their jaws unhinging unnaturally, ready to devour. 

Your legs move before you can think. You try to run, ignoring the burning pain in your leg and the gush of blood that comes every step you take. You have to get to the edge of the forest no matter what. You remember seeing a motorbike rental shop there when you and Zade first came to this forest. It wasn't the greatest plan but maybe you could take a bike and get away from here. 

As you run, the smell of rot doesn't seem to go away leaving you confused. You realize too late that you're being surrounded by ghouls. They had been coming from ahead and behind you. They crowd around you hungrily. A crooked and manged hand shoots out towards you. Before it can touch you, a bullet whizzes past, shooting the ghoul in the head. 

You tremble and look behind you to see the man you've been running from. "Get down!" Zade yells. You get down and cover your ears. Bullets rain down on the ghouls taking them down quickly. You shake in fear hearing the gunshots. When did this become so commonplace? You wish you could go back to life before all this mess. When things were normal and you didn't have to spend everyday on edge. 

The bullets stop and you look up slowly, still trembling in fear. Not because of the ghouls but because now Zade is here and you know he isn't happy with you. His footsteps trudge towards you and you can't help but look down again. He sighs deeply before crouching in front of you and yanking your injured leg towards him. 

You yelp in pain and surprise which he scoffs at. "So fucking stupid. You did all this just to need me to save you. Do you know how pathetic that looks?"

You look away, not able to say anything. If he notices your fear, he doesn't mention it. Or maybe, he just doesn't care anymore. His rough fingers trace the edges of your wound. "Shit... I think you might need stitches," his eyes soften and the edge in his tone lightens after seeing the look on your face. "Don't worry, I'll fix you up as soon as we get home."

He pulls out a cloth and wraps it tightly around your leg. It hurts but you try not to let it show. He notices anyways. "It needs to be tight so you don't lose too much blood."

"I-I know..."

"You're so clumsy, how could I ever let you out?" he mutters to himself. "You could've died."

"What's that?"

"...Why can't you just let me go?" you mutter bitterly. 

"Why do I have to live like this? E-everyday I'm stuck waiting for you that facility for you to come back like some sort of dog... Or even worse I have to play nice and sweet so that you don't get upset and punish me!" you begin to sob, the resentment overwhelming you. "I'd rather die, but that's not allowed either! I hate you... I hate you so much!"

A unfamiliar expression appears on his face. At first it looks like anger and then guilt. He sighs, getting up slowly. "... Let's just go home. If you want to throw a tantrum right now, do it at home where the ghouls can't get you," he says. 

There's a rustling sound to the side of you and Zade. A ghouls stands up among the pile of bodies. Zade reaches for his gun, about to shoot but stops and looks back at you with a strange expression. "Huh, I guess I left one alive..."

He steps away from you leaving you confused and scared as the ghoul creeps near you following the scent of fresh blood. 

"Z-Zade? W-what are you doing? Hurry! It's coming closer!"

"Hm? Yeah... So what?" he says blankly. He tilts his head to the side smiling. 

"Please..! I-I'm sorry, just please kill it already!"

Your mind races, thinking about what he wants to hear. There's no time to think about being shameful right now. You want to get away from Zade of course but getting mauled by a ghoul is a painful way to go. Your pleading eyes dart frantically between the ghoul and Zade. In the end you spit out whatever you could think of, "Please help me, Zade! I'm sorry for running away, I-I just—Please I-I love you!"

"Hmm, okay, but only if you say what I want you to hear. I'm feeling a bit petty. You were just so mean to me." He puts his hand over his heart with and looks at you with a deep frown while wiping his nonexistent tears. You can't believe how annoying he's being right now. You're about to be mauled by a ghoul and he's sitting there joking around. 

In a swift motion, Zade pulls out a pistol and shoots the ghoul in the mouth right before it could chomp down on you. Its blood splatters on your face. You shake and sob, feeling tired and miserable from this whole mess. Zade comes down next to you and wipes the ghoul blood off your face with his sleeve. He's smiling down on you, a warm and satisfied look in his eyes. 

"Oh, you poor thing," he says softly, "Let's get you home, yeah? Get you a nice warm bath and some rest."

He picks you up and holds you tight for a moment. His brown hair tickles against the crook of your neck. You can feel him trembling a little before kissing your cheek and making his way back home. "I love you too... more than anything."

You lift your head slightly and see that the sun is starting to rise. Trails of ghoul bodies are littered across the trail. Ignoring the bodies, the forest looks beautiful in the morning. "Am I going to be punished?" you ask Zade tearfully. 

You sniffle, your cries easing into shudders as he carries you home. You can't help but feel comforted as he holds you. He's the only one you have left after all. The people you loved and the world you knew before has withered away into nothingness. You wrap your arms around him and cry into his shoulder. He pats your head softly. 

He laughs softly, his dimples showing. "Of course you are."

[aetherraeys]

a sweet treat for a sweet tooth.

james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.1k

cw ⟢ sickeningly sweet fluff, james is the biggest tease, non-specified relationship, tension, pet-names, flustered!reader.

you've always had a sweet tooth, and your friends can't help but enable your little habits, one more than the rest.

Like most, you were shamefully unable to deny yourself the pleasure—the indulgence of a little sweet treat. And quite frankly it didn’t matter what the time, the place, if you had just eaten moments ago, or hadn’t even finished.

You found yourself fidgetting, itching for a dessert of some sort. It was a compulsion, a need that had settled into your bones, and everyone around you knew it well.

Like a notorious thief - you had built somewhat of a name for yourself, quite literally. One that followed you wherever you went, because you could rarely resist the temptation.

Bistowed apon you by none other than the person who indulged you the most, when you would habitually find you way into your friend’s cupboards, searching for something to satisfy the craving—It didn’t matter how stealthy you thought you were.

“She’s at it again!”

The familiar drawl would ring out from the living room the moment you disappeared. They found it endearing honestly.

“What’s the verdict, then?” he’d ask, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Anything worth pecking at?”

After the exposure of your oh so devious crimes, typically followed laughter, the rustling of wrappers, the clinking of jars.

Your friends did little to deter your habit, always having a few of your favourite snacks always stocked, or worse, when you poke around at the remaining savoury food on your plate. Watching you spare longing glances into the kitchen, they'd eventually cave, letting you have the dessert well before everyone else.

Cutting you a slice of her victoria sponge cake, while the rest of your friends remained in the living room—caught in a heated debate about something you honestly couldn’t remember. And when you tried to pinpoint what the conversation was about—the overlapping voices all merged into a single blur of laughter and excitement.

Mary turned to you, two small saucers in hand, decorated beautifully with some extra jam, fresh strawberries, cut into small stars and piped swirls of cream. She really went the extra mile.

”Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”, she teased with a grin. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, as if she knew exactly what kind of trouble she was encouraging.

“You’ll rot your teeth one day, though.” You just hummed, clinked your small forks and turned to walk back into the living room, triumphantly—mouths full.

You were only human after all, and everyone had their vices, yours being sugar.

James’ being you. It was quite simple really.

“I can see Sugars’ got her sugar fix,” James said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed casually.

Despite not being caught red-handed, it certainly felt like you had.

You shot him a playful glare, not even bothering to deny it. Instead, you took another bite of the sweet concoction Mary had made, “Don’t be jealous that I’m special, Jamie.”

Because for all his teasing, for all his theatrical exclamations about your insatiable sweet tooth, he was the worst of them all.

A terrible enabler.

While Mary spared no effort when it came to hosting gatherings, James would somehow always have something special in the oven just for you.

Whether it was the warm smell of cinnamon rolls or the soft, buttery sweetness of cookies that had somehow always been your favorite.

Or wordlessly sliding over half his chocolate bar, and, if he was feeling particularly generous, pluck a stolen treat from your hands only to feed it to you himself, shaking his head as if he wasn’t just as guilty.

James had outdone himself this time. Sitting close together on his couch, the comfortable familiarity of his living room surrounding you, the two of you indulged in the brownies he’d made just for you.

The rich, fudgy sweetness melted on your tongue, and you couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he’d fed you the first bite, his eyes watching you closely as you enjoyed it. Legs intertwined, you wanted to turn back to the TV, hoping to avoid his satisfied gaze—but you couldn’t tear your eyes from his.

"These are incredible," you said, taking another bite, your fingers brushing his as you reached for the spoon. James just grinned, looking pleased with himself as he shifted slightly closer to you, the tips of your ears challenging the temperature of the hot bowl on you lap.

“Glad you like them," he said with a wink, tossing a hot piece into his mouth. “I figured you’d need something sweet tonight.”

You snorted, a smirk playing on you lips, “You figured, did you now?”

"Only the best for you," he teased, his voice soft and playful.

“Hmmm, I think I might be a bad influence on you. You’re baking brownies for 'fun', athlete James Potter.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you settled in closer into the couch.

James raised an eyebrow, his gaze playful. “A bad influence?” He leaned in, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not complaining.”

Shying away from the ticklish feeling of his breath on your neck, your soft laughter rung melodically through his house, ‘You’re such a softie”. You spoke teasingly, nugging him—feeling you heart thump loudly in your ears when you looked to James, finding his gaze already apon you. A mischievous glint in his eyes that made your palms sweat.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, eyes locked as the heat spread up you neck, jumping to reside in your, now rather flushed, cheeks.

His expression softened, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of his lips, but it was the way he was looking at you—so intent, so focused—that made your chest tighten.

“Maybe I am,” James said, his voice low, just above a whisper, as he leaned in slightly closer. “But only for you.”

You lips parted, intent on responding with a quick remark, but as though you'd short-circuited, your mouth just opened and closed over and over—the start of several words leaving, not one successfully finished.

James threw his head back and barked out a laughed as whipped your head back towards the TV, suddenly desperate for a distraction.

His laughter echoed in the room, and for a moment, you could feel his gaze still on you, even though you pretended to focus on the flickering screen in front of you.

"Lost your words, huh?" James teased, his voice dripping with warmth and amusement. “Don’t worry, happens to the best of us, Sugar.”

You avoided his gaze, though the subtle, lingering tension between you was impossible to ignore. His teasing only made your heart beat faster. “Oh, shut it,” you muttered, pretending to focus on the TV, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite your best efforts to hide it.

[swiftyangx12]

When Kenji needed medical help…

[Y/N]: *Patching up Kenji after a late-night Kaiju battle* Oh no. I think you dislocated your shoulder.

Kenji: *Hisses from the injury* That’s not good, I can’t wait to heal. There has to be some way to recover this.

[Y/N]: Hmm...

Venom: *Speaking in their head* I know one way.

[Y/N]: Oh. There’s another way to heal fast, but it won’t be pretty. Mina, don’t let Emi or Professor Sato see this.

Mina: Understood, [Y/N].

Kenji: What are you doing?

[Y/N]: *Gets the Symbiote out of their body* Remember I explained while hosting Venom, he also benefited me with fast self-healing?

Kenji: *Hurriedly scoots away from them* No. Don’t even try, [Y/N].

[Y/N]: Come on, Ken. This will be quick and you won’t feel the pain anymore. *Lets go of the Symbiote as it leaps at Kenji*

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

[The Next Morning]

Kenji: *Stretching after waking up* My shoulder, it’s healed.

[Y/N]: You can thank Venom for that.

Kenji: Right. Forgot he’s inside of me, still.

[Y/N]: Which is why I’m taking him back before he does something stupid. Can’t have your beautiful face ruined.

Kenji: You called my face beautiful?

[Y/N]: Venom, come back to me~ We promise to try those chocolate parfaits.

Venom: *Emerges out from Kenji’s chest and returns back to [Y/N]*

[Y/N]: *Shivers after Venom returns back* Host, Sweet Host.

Kenji: *Relieved* Never again will you let Venom possess me.

[Y/N]: He didn’t possess you, Ken. Just fixed you up, that’s all.

Kenji: Yeah, well, thanks.

[Y/N]: You’re welcome.

[(A/N)]: …First of all, I’m still loyal to Miguel O’Hara. Second, this Sato brain-rotting scenario just came to mind.

[ttjisung]

back 2 u 𝜗𝜚

p. jisung x fem!reader smau - exes to lovers

in which jisung does his best to avoid you, his ex, until he realizes his mistake far too late cw: suggestive themes, bad angst, cheating, swearing

i'm not going back, back, back, back, back

masterlist

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chapter viii. (wc: 1.6k)

Your nails dug crescent shaped figures into your palms as you waited for Jaemin impatiently. For some reason, you were incredibly nervous and it wasn’t because you barely talked to the man. 

The nerves formed more-so due to the fact that this was, in your eyes, your last chance to get your point across to Jisung. Obviously, even if he did understand and apologized, your relationship would be stunted yet fixing it was better than leaving it to rot considering you truly loved the man, so you had devised a plan. It was simple really - Jaemin would apologize (even if it wasn’t heartfelt) to get Jisung on his good side, and then he’d show screenshots that Yangyang and Dejun failed to realize proved your innocence until the night before your cafe meetup. 

According to Jisung’s words, you had snuck out the night before he broke up with you and got with other men, yet the crucial fact that you were with your best friends at the time was proven true by a dumb Instagram story that Yangyang had posted on his account, making fun of your movie taste. Being forgetful, he hadn’t remembered he posted it until Dejun was stalking his highlights like most people sneakily do and checked the dates, immediately messaging your group chat with the screenshots.

For the first time in a while, the constant weight you felt on your back was lifted slightly, and was replaced by a blossoming hope in your chest. You had even unblocked Jisung in case he messaged you after to talk.

Deep into your own thoughts, you hadn’t realized Jaemin had arrived until he called out your name, wearing a friendly smile which he always did. You waved your hand timidly, responding with a small hi before nodding at the seat in front of you. 

“I’m glad you asked to talk, Y/n. I hadn’t realized until you messaged me that this is the first time we’ve hung out one-on-one properly which is kind of wild, you know, since we’ve known each other for a while.” Jaemin ranted, scooting closer over the small table. “That’s true, but we haven’t ever really been close. I don’t think it’s too odd.” You tried to shut down his words with a kind tone, not agreeing. “Maybe we can be?” “Yeah… Maybe. So, Yang found some screenshots that are pretty much undeniable, and I was hoping you could maybe show them to Jisung?” Your hands shot down towards your pocket to get your phone, quickly unlocking it.

“I really would love to, but actually I have something to show you too.” Jaemin paralleled your actions, getting his phone as well and opening up a chain of messages. He cringed, re-reading them before sliding the device across the table. “I was checking their texts in our group chat with all the guys and Hyuck was sort of dissing you last night, and Jisung said some messed up shit.” His face could only be described as pitying as he saw you take in the words being shared.

I honestly wish we never dated. 

She was always so anxious about everything.

I missed her and all but it made me think and maybe it’s for the best.

I don’t want to be with someone like her.

You hadn’t even realized tears were falling down your cheeks until you felt a hand grip your chin, Jaemin’s hand to be specific. His other held a napkin which he used to dab your tears. The touch was intimate, yet you were too upset to take notice or say anything. You just let them fall, shutting your eyes and sliding his phone back to him. 

“I… I don’t get it. He was always so happy with me. He seemed happy with me.” “I’m sorry, Y/n. You deserve better, you really do. They’re all jerks - that’s why I stopped texting in there.” Jaemin’s words came out in a comforting whisper, finally releasing your face yet quickly replacing it with your hands that were shaking on the small table. “Would you like me to send the screenshots still?” “I guess… it’d be nice to clear my name, but obviously they won’t have the same effect anymore…” Your face was sunken, your lips wobbly as you responded. For the first time since your break up, you didn’t only feel sadness towards Jisung. You felt anger. Your whole pursuit for proof ended up useless, as he claimed to be unhappy regardless of your supposed cheating. It was truly as if his personality had switched completely, being rude and insulting instead of his usual lovesick self. 

“It’s up to you,” Jaemin stated, rubbing his thumb over yours affectionately, “I’ll do it, but I still think you could do better.” You nodded, although you felt yourself dissociating and not truly grasping his words. What you hadn’t realized through your teary, squinted eyes was the fact that he seemed concerningly happy at the news that you didn’t want to talk to Jisung anymore. In fact, his eyes quickly widened in pleasure and returned to normal when he heard resentment in your voice. 

You honestly made it too easy. Any other person would show clear suspicion as soon as they’d receive a text from a friend of their ex ‘siding’ with them. Yet you were too nice, not believing Jaemin was capable of lying. 

The first time you two had met was the definition of love at first sight, in his eyes. You didn’t even know Jisung back then - only Renjun, who unknowingly led Jaemin to you. You had visited your friend’s house, being invited to a small get together at his pool. It was only a handful of you, including Mark and Donghyuck as well as Kim Minjeong and Ning Yizhuo, who accompanied said friends. 

You had excused yourself to Renjun’s bathroom, going to change into your bathing suit, and as you walked out you accidentally crashed into Jaemin, causing him to spill the lemonade he was carrying outside all over you. In an embarrassed rush, he dragged you back into the bathroom and grabbed the nearest towel, wiping down the top of your two-piece bikini. The red on his face grew as he realized he was touching you too intimately, making him apologize and finally look up at you. 

Jaemin felt entranced, never having seen a face quite like yours. You shared the same blush as him, which he mistook as mutual attraction. Unknowingly to him, you simply blushed because you were shy and had never met him before. Sure, he was attractive and he seemed nice enough to help you clean up, yet your type was someone who resembled your personality much more, and his flamboyant actions proved to you he wasn’t the kind to. 

You quickly accepted his rambled apologies, telling him you’d just dip into the pool and it would come right off. He led you towards the backyard of the house, walking towards Mark and Donghyuck yet throughout the evening, he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering to you. At the end of the night, he searched for you to ask for your number, feeling encouraged by the couple of shots he took with Donghyuck while the girls swam, yet to his misfortune, you had already gone home.

Not wanting to embarrass himself and ask Renjun for your contact information, he simply hoped a day would come where he’d meet you again at an event, giving him the chance to finally ask you out. 

The day came months later, when Jaemin was invited to a party by Mark. Seeing your familiar figure sitting on a couch, his mood shot up and a smile grew on his face, yet it was quickly wiped off as he saw your hand interlocked with a hand belonging to none other than Park Jisung, his own friend. 

It felt like betrayal, although Jisung wasn’t aware of his crush, that you had been swept off your feet by someone so close to him. You looked so happy, blushing and giggling alongside him, and Jaemin swore somehow he would end up being the one to make you laugh. He hadn’t expected you both to take your relationship so seriously though, going on several years, and he started to get impatient. 

Convincing Donghyuck to help him, although not purposeful, was easy. It wasn’t that he disliked you, in fact he really enjoyed your company, seeing you as a very close friend, yet all Jaemin had to do was take a blurry photo of someone who resembled you kissing a man in a club the two were at. Jaemin was aware of the protective nature he had over the younger boy, so as soon as he showed it to Donghyuck, the man did all the work himself, calling Jisung and telling him about the situation. 

It all worked in Jaemin’s favor, especially when you messaged him to meet up. It was as if all the years of waiting finally paid off, now presenting him with the perfect opportunity to sweep you off your feet, all the meanwhile convincing Jisung he wasn’t missing out on dating you. Of course, he’d probably lose his friendship once he got to his last part of his plan which was properly asking you out, yet he was willing to take that risk, considering he met you before Jisung did, and it truly was only right that he’d get you instead. 

After half an hour of comforting you while you cried to him at the cafe, he offered to drop you off, grinning ear to ear once he saw you enter your apartment. Pulling out his phone, he quickly deleted the screenshots you had sent him proving your innocence, knowing Jisung would never be seeing those since the second you brought it up. 

Jaemin wouldn’t let his plan go to waste, and he wasn’t ready to allow anyone to ruin it for the both of you.

a/n: omg! I'm so shocked! jp i knew he was going to be the villain all along. (it's not like i'm the author or anything >U<) hehe

Na Jaemin, i sincerely apologize... i love you... you are perf... my man truly. but someone had to be the bad guy and unfortunately i chose you... it was originally gonna be haechan having a sad pathetic one-sided crush instead but he was chosen to be jaemin's little pawn bc it makes him look more evil muehehe

things are gonna get messier soon but we finally got the backstory >:3 jisung redemption arc coming in the next chapters? NOPE! cause i love angst sorryyy... but eventually we'll get there. i think. maybe.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Emaciated Villain Used as Entertainment at a Hero's Party Part 9

Warnings: severely injured & abused villain, caretaking/recovery whump, panic attack

He wrapped his arms around his stomach and breathed shallowly, focusing on not having another panic attack. His new owner would hate that, wouldn’t she? Everyone always did.

Hero's gut twisted with guilt and sympathy, and she wondered how she could possibly earn his trust when he was still so terrified of her. And she couldn't blame him for that fear; he'd just survived what were easily the worst days of his life and was still practically half-dead on her bed. She would have a similar reaction if the roles were reversed.

Hopefully, with proper care, Villain would start remembering her – remembering how she was one of the most lenient and kind people among the hero team.

Wordlessly, she went and grabbed the medical kit to start fixing up the wounds that she hadn't tended to yet, along with a few others that Villain had accidentally torn open again in his futile struggles during Superhero’s brief visit. She set it on the nightstand as she crawled onto the bed, reaching in the kit and pulling out some gauze and medical wrap.

"Will you let me take care of you?" Hero asked quietly, raising an eyebrow at Villain. She wanted to make it look like a choice, in hopes that it would ease his anxiety. In reality, she was going to help him whether he wanted it or not – but at least she could be gentle about it.

She knew full-well she could easily pin the ex-villain down while she treated his wounds, but she wanted to try getting Villain to willingly accept her help first, to build shaky trust. If she restrained him first, it might make him panic again. So it was worth a try to coax him into opening up more.

Villain lifted his face out of his curled state to look at her. Why bother with the kind act? He wanted to yell the words, scream them till he was hoarse. But... his mind flashed to the morgue. Cages lining the walls. The smell of blood, rotting flesh and death.

He nodded ever so slightly. He didn't want to get hurt again.

Hero sighed in relief and offered a small, reassuring smile as she came closer, intentionally slowing her movements to avoid spooking him too badly as she delicately reached out and grabbed his arms, gently pulling them away from his curled up form so she could better see the damage to his midsection.

Villain did his best to take deep, steady breaths, but they were still ragged as the hero gently examined his midsection. She gently prodded at his right rib and he nearly passed out from the excruciating pain that hit him.

"Yikes, that's a bad one," Hero said aloud, examining the giant bruise that had formed over the rib. Only time could heal that one.

She shifted her focus to the gash in his side that he'd re-opened, carefully soaking up the fresh blood with a clean rag before pressing a large bandage over the wound, grimacing as she knew how much it would hurt.

Villain let out a strangled cry. Pain. So much pain.

His stomach twisted again. He hadn't eaten since... No. That was how you drew your attention to the hunger. And that only made the pain worse. He bit his tongue against another cry, hoping desperately she would soon be done.

"You're doing great, just hang in there a bit longer," Hero murmured. Her hands moved with practiced skill over his injuries, swiftly treating them until finally... the worst was over. She decided to give Villain a brief break from enduring the necessary pain of having his wounds treated to make sure he wouldn't pass out.

Hero sat back on her legs with a sigh, her pitying gaze flicking over Villain's broken body once more. She was still disgusted that Superhero could inflict this much suffering onto someone for the sake of 'fun'.

"Is... Is there anything I can get for you?" She hesitantly offered.

Villain shook his head. What a disgusting display, he thought to himself. Pretending to actually care about him. Mind games, just like the ones Superhero had once played with him.

But no. He had to be submissive, or things would hurt more. And even worse, a weak part of him hoped Hero had been acting when the executioner had come in. But in the end he was still her plaything, and he was to be her loyal dog. Nothing more.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson

@writing-with-olive @whatwhump

[ewingstan]

I do wonder how much the perception of cape culture in the fandom would have changed if Wildbow hadn’t made the story so Brockton Bay centric.

The story of Worm (and Ward to an extent) has alluded to the fact that Brockton Bay is notably an exception when it comes to cape violence and brutality, with Taylor shocked that a Ward she met had 3 fights in 6 months. And how several Wards and Rime had no idea what she was talking about in regard to “counting coup”.

We see this with Victoria too, when she’s shocked about the Majors not seeing any action in 6 years and Tristan being overwhelmed with the amount of violence in the Fallen Raid despite being a hero for a few years himself. Foil also mentions how most of her career was really calm until March would occasionally poke her nose in things.

Mal posted some Ward updates! While I understand her pov, I do disagree with her:ilebow has also stressed, pre-Ward, that Brockton Bay was not indicative of the wider cape scene as a whole but rather a domino of things going wrong due to outside factors.

If Wildbow had extended interludes to show the dynamics of other, average, cape cities or had Taylor be in a city where things were so much calmer that she found it disturbing… well, it’s hard to say how things would change, but I think it would have made it far more clear that Taylor and Victoria’s life experience should not be applied across the board.

Or maybe nothing would have changed. Just spitballing an idea based on your let’s read so far.

Brockton Bay may be exceptional to an extent. But maybe just in the sense that it had so much happen to it before it was abandoned. Madison and Ellisburg only needed one bad day. Several countries in Worm were just straight-up destroyed.

The Bay may have been a notably large hub of nazi capes. But they were part of an internationally-connected network of capes with similar agendas. Hell, the Fallen mostly operated outside of Brockton Bay. Most of the exceptionally violent groups like the Fallen, the Slaughterhouse Nine, Heartbreaker, the Teeth, etc. were roaming problems. Yes, Brockton was unique in that it was hit by all of them, but the world was full of those types of groups. There were similar groups of enough importance on a world stage to get an invite to the cauldron meetings that we only get the barest details of.

But the most important thing is that the low-level fights Victoria's specifically nostalgic for was itself always worse than she's remembering. It wasn't a bunch of kooky characters clashing with straightmen heroes. It was a bunch of very desperate people trying to survive in a system that found them either expendable or better off dead. Even without all the specific things that hit Brockton Bay, Rachel probably would've ended up in the birdcage. Victoria would've kept relying on Amy to fix up the crooks she broke, assuming she never ended up accidentally killing someone. Both of them would continue living under the crushing responsibility and isolation that came with their cape personas. Vista would've ended up as maladjusted as a marketable celebrity child soldier would always end up being. People like Dinah and Lisa would keep being hunted for their skills by more powerful forces. The Taylors of the world would keep getting bullied, the Mr. Gladlys would keep looking away. The rot would be same.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Forever | Jaemin Imagine #13

Title: Forever

Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff ><

Warnings: light making out

Word Count: ~1k

Author's Note: Yet another story of mine that was inspired by my admiration for Jaemin. Trust me, I've liked a lot of k-pop guys. But for some reason, Jaemin stands out the most to me. Maybe because he's my ideal type. But every time I see him, I find something that makes my heart beat faster. I wonder if that's what falling in love feels like? Anyway, hope you guys like this. Thank you for reading ^ ^

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The Totoro lamp on the accent table next to the television cast a soft glow that warmed the living room of your once lonely apartment. Cozied up at the edge of the gray loveseat, you sat with your knees pulled close to your chest, allowing your thoughts to wander as they often did past 10 p.m. However, those thoughts were interrupted by the light padding sound of slippers against the wooden floor panels. Soon after, the couch cushion next to you sank under added weight. 

Then you felt the arms of your beloved wrap his arms snugly around your waist, and his warm lips planted a lingering kiss on your cheek without wasting another second. “Missed you,” he whispered, his voice slightly tickling your ear.

The corners of your lips curled into a fond smile, and you turned into his embrace so you could face the sweet man properly. You nestled comfortably between his legs, letting your hand naturally find its way to the back of his neck while your other hand brushed against the left side of his face. 

“I missed you too, Nana,” you murmured, tenderly caressing his cheek. He leaned into your touch instantly, savoring it.

The simple action was enough to stir a flurry of emotions within you. In the brief moments of silence that passed, you studied your handsome boyfriend as if searching for any changes that might have occurred in the three weeks you had been apart. Other than his white-blond hair having grown longer so quickly after cutting it, you didn’t find any significant changes. Jaemin’s big beautiful eyes were as captivating as ever, complemented by his flirtatiously long eyelashes. His dark eyebrows were still perfectly arched, framing his expressive eyes, and his soft pink lips retained their subtle, endearing pout.

A small sigh from you couldn’t be suppressed, the sight of him having the same effect on you as always. Although, deep down you knew his kind-hearted personality made him even more attractive in your eyes. 

“What’s on your mind, princess?” Jaemin asked in his dreamy deep voice that carried a mellowness at night. His eyes held a curiosity to them, and he didn’t need to say anything for you to know he was referring to your earlier distraction.

You hesitated for a second, before responding. “I was just thinking about relationships.”

Checking Jaemin’s reaction before continuing, you saw that his attention remained fully captured on you. The way he listened intently made your heart flutter so easily, a feeling you couldn’t quite explain.

“You know, I was watching YouTube before bed the other day,” you began to explain. “And I came across a few shorts about couples talking about how the first year is supposed to be the honeymoon phase, and then they start arguing a lot in the second year and often break up.”

Jaemin nodded, a gentle smile tugging on his lips. “I see. What’s your take on that, love?”

Although you had the answer to his question in your head, it took a moment for you to piece it together.  “Hm, I don’t think there really should be a honeymoon phase. I mean, that’s not really the case for us.”

Almost instinctively, you glanced down at the diamond ring on your finger, its facets catching the light perfectly. A few days before Jaemin had to leave for Taipei with the Dreamies, he surprised you with a simple yet intimate proposal. 

“Sure, we’ve both had to work on some things,” you continued, fixing your gaze on him once more. “But even after two years together, you still make me feel like a giddy teenager with a huge crush.”

Jaemin chuckled, his laughter causing a blush to tinge your cheeks. You knew how silly your words sounded, but they reflected your true feelings. However, it was rare for you to verbally express this to him. Before any doubts about being this honest could creep in, Jaemin’s hand moved to lovingly brush a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“I feel exactly the same as you. Every day I discover something new I love about you, and every kiss we share feels just as special as our first,” he said sincerely.

A part of you sensed he said the last sentence as an excuse to kiss you, and sure enough, he leaned in to plant one on your lips shortly after. Even though you lost count of how many times Jaemin has kissed you, you could agree that all of them were cherishable.

Pulling away, you scrunched your nose slightly with a hint of skepticism in your voice. “Are we being too cheesy?”

If anyone had walked in and witnessed this, you were certain that they would cringe at hearing all the sweet, sappy things exchanged between the two of you. You could practically hear the fake gagging noises from his members.

“I’d like to think of it more as us being extra romantic,” Jaemin replied, wearing a playful smile that you secretly swooned over.

The conversation naturally faded into the background, as you lost yourselves in each other’s embrace once more. His lips moved against yours slowly, tenderly, without ever making you fear that he’d pull away anytime soon. One hand held your back securely, while the other gently cupped your face. Your fingers lightly ran through his light-colored strands as you melted into his touch.

“Gosh, I just want to marry you already,” Jaemin exhaled, a hint of sulkiness in his tone.

Despite his words causing you to blush profusely again, you relaxed into his arms and appreciated this quiet moment surrounded by love and warmth. Maybe you guys were pretty cheesy. But that didn’t make your feelings for each other any less real.

Being in love with Jaemin was a feeling you hoped would last forever.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: When a battle with some Gith hunters leaves your appearance in a deplorable state, it's up to your loyal companions to fix a bad hair day ...

Genres: Humour, fluff, crack.

Written as a gift for the wonderfully talented @radish-breath. Thank you for putting up with (and encouraging) my endless BG3 brain rot, lol.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

The chaos of the battle was beyond anything you'd known thus far. Vlaakith's hunters were both swift and dexterous, their bodies flickering out of your perception almost every time you tried to land an attack.

It was frustrating, and somewhat terrifying. You'd never encountered foes who had challenged you quite like this before.

Gaining the higher ground, on top of a stone bridge that formed an arch, you ducked down, another arrow nocked and ready. Fingers dancing along the fletching, you closed your eyes for a second, gathering your frazzled thoughts.

This had to be done. You could do it. You'd faced stronger foes, returning from the brink of annihilation with your cunning, strength and the ever-present support of your companions. You could -

"Watch out!"

Lae'zel's scream echoed across the courtyard, a note of rare panic in her voice. Your eyes snapped open, body reacting before the mind had time to process the visual signal, a primal, animal reflex.

It saved your life.

The leader of Vlaakith's team of bounty hunters swung a shining axe down toward your head, narrowly missing his intended target. The blade came down on your hair instead, lopping it off against the rough stone of the bridge balustrade.

Tearing yourself free, the muscles of your neck screaming in protest, you flung yourself away from him, loosing your arrow into the sinewy meat of his thigh. He grunted in pain, and advanced on you.

You had no choice but to stand and fight him directly, a tall order considering the arrows still zinging up like deadly zephyrs from his lieutenants below.

You had to think, you had to -

With a cry that rivaled a frenzied barbarian, Lae-zel vaulted the stone railing, her gith psionics propelling her forward with inhuman athleticism. Her blade came down against the Gith Leader's, striking up sparks with every fierce blow.

She was driving him back. He snarled at her, attempting to quail her in the face of seniority, but Lae'zel was well beyond the point of intended insurrection. She was fighting for her life, and yours.

A few devastating blows later, the Leader's arm was almost severed and, from somewhere in the shadows, Astarion's bolts struck true through his chest, bringing him to his knees.

With the tide of battle turned, your group managed to pick off the remaining members of the hunting party. You had all seen enough battle by now to never let your guards down for even a moment, and this rule bore hard-won fruit.

Afterwards, you all took the much needed respite at camp. Lying on your bedroll, you winced as you stretched over-taxed muscles and applied salve and bandages to your remaining wounds, the odd healing potion (and Gale's cooking) providing a coveted sustenance.

It was then that you noticed how everyone was looking at you. Some would meet your eyes and hurriedly glance away, while others were regarding you with open pity and gentle concern.

What on earth was this about?

You'd been injured quite severely in that unexpected skirmish, but it was nothing you hadn't been able to handle. Hells, each and every of your companions who'd been present had undergone similar harm. So why -

It was Karlach, in all her straightforward kindness, who approached you first, plopping herself cross-legged beside you on your bedroll.

"Hey, soldier. Hanging in there?"

You nodded, distracted by the glances you were still receiving, before edging closer to her, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss.

"Karlach ... why is everyone - "

"Ah, well, that's why I came over here."

She scratched at her cheek, uncomfortable.

"So ... it's your hair."

"My hair?"

"Have you taken a look in the mirror since you got back?"

"No, I've been a little busy surviving."

She raised both hands placatingly.

"Right. Well, when you get a chance, or you feel up to it, just know that we've had a little chat amongst ourselves and we'll help you fix it."

Curiosity was really eating at you now, and at the first opportunity, you hurried over to the mirror in the corner of the camp.

You stopped short.

Gods. It was small wonder that everyone had been looking at you with sympathy. You'd had no idea that the Gith Leader's axe had done quite so much damage.

Your hair had been chopped through lop-sidedly, uneven tufts sticking out like last season's bedraggled straw where you'd wrenched yourself free. The damaged ends swept over your shoulders like an old broom, and you'd never seen your hair look this dreadful. 

A hand came down on your shoulder, startling you out of your reverie.

It was Lae'zel.

"I don't set much store by appearance, but you look like you've been dragged backward through all the wards in a githyanki crèche."

Shadowheart's acidic rebuke came swiftly.

"Not that different from how you look everyday then, Lae'zel."

Karlach pushed them both apart, striding towards you.

"Come on, you two. We're here to stage an intervention, not tear each other's hair out."

Your glance flicked between them.

"An intervention?"

Shadowheart sniffed.

"Well of course. You didn't think we'd leave you wandering around Faerûn with your hair in that state."

You gulped heavily, extremely thankful that you'd landed yourself such reliable friends. Lae'zel clicked her tongue irritably.

"Let's get on with it then. Shadowheart, I presume you're the one who's going to do the damage control."

"And you would be wrong, my sweet Gith poppet. I'm the one with the necessary skills here."

Astarion sauntered forward, looking particularly smug. You noted that he was wearing a leather apron, similar to the ones barber's favoured, the numerous pockets filled with instruments: scissors of varying sizes and shapes, fine razors, combs and brushes of all kinds.

You raised an eyebrow.

"So you're the expert at this?"

He scoffed, one hand waving in airy indignance.

"Of course I am. Have you seen my hair? It's a thing of most ethereal beauty ... or so I've been told."

You nod slowly.

"I suppose you're right. What are you thinking?"

He approached you, those deft, long-fingered hands fluffing out the hair on either side of your head, eyes taking in the damage with nothing short of professionalism. Quite suddenly, you felt a sense of reassurance. You were now in the capable care of your resident vampire, and there was no way he would leave any stone unturned when it came to fixing your appearance.

"Hmm. Hmm. I see something here ... a vision, if you will."

Lae'zel looked surprised.

"A vision? I thought you were just going to shave her head and be done with."

Karlach giggled.

"Now that you mention it, that might be a smashing look. Get a tattoo on your scalp and everything."

"Are you both mad?" came the snippy rejoinder from Shadowheart. "A short princess cut would be better."

Astarion shot them a disapproving look.

"I'm certainly glad that I'm the one handling this. No need for drastic measures if you have the skill. There's a style popular amongst some scholars in Baldur's Gate, the young edgy ones who think learning from tomes is so last year."

Gale's outraged exclamation at this news from across the camp was roundly ignored.

"And what does this cut look like?"

"It's an angled trim, high above the nape and coming down here. Asymmetric, like this."

His hands traced the shape in the air above your shoulders and you raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well, I trust you, Astarion. Have at it then. Quite frankly, anything's better than this."

"My darling, you really need to raise your standards."

In spite of his sharp reply, you could see from the very slight flush at the tips of his ears and his ultra-stoic expression that Astarion was pleased that you'd placed your faith in him so wholly.

"Let's get to work then."

He spun you around to face the mirror, and Karlach carried over a stool to make the process easier. Astarion fussed about, setting up a basin with warm water, producing various solutions and oils from those bottomless pockets and setting up a tray with the combs and trimming implements.

Even Shadowheart looked taken aback now.

"What are ... all of these?"

"Sweetheart, this is how it's done in most of the best salons in the city, don't you know?"

"All right, but what are those?"

Astarion paused, clearing his throat.

"I take it you've all wondered, at some point, how my hair could possibly look this perfect."

Lae'zel stared at him.

"You look like a runty sheep."

Karlach stuffed a fist into her mouth as Astarion's glare scorched over them.

"I wouldn't expect the likes of you to know much about proper hair care, but if you must know, I distil and mix these potions and oils myself. Plants are a wonderful source of healthy extracts."

"Hear, hear," came Halsin's call from beside the fire. "The Oak Father provides for beauty too."

Astarion, somehow, refrained from rolling his eyes.

"If we're to fix this damage, then a cut won't be enough. We have to treat the hair, soften it, bring out its natural curl, and then we'll cover the damage."

Shadowheart nodded critically.

"Sound advice, Astarion. You're quite the expert."

Readying yourself for a true 'Baldur's Gate Salon Experience', you followed Astarion's brisk instructions, allowing him to wrap a cloth around you to prevent your clothes from absorbing water, the tension leaving your shoulders as he had you lean backwards, neck braced on another heavily folded cloth over the rim of the basin.

A comfortable silence descended over this corner of the camp as Astarion soaked your hair, massaging some of the soapy extract into the individual stands with care. It felt surprisingly good, the trickle of warm water and the steady motion of his fingers dragging you into a pleasurable haze.

"Gods, that looks relaxing."

Halsin had wandered over at some point, looking with interest through Astarion's collection of hair potions.

"You came up with these mixtures all by yourself?"

"Oh believe me, I've had time."

Glancing to your left, you noted that Karlach, Shadowheart and even Lae'zel were lying on the grass nearby, chins propped on palms, watching with lazy interest. It reminded you, somewhat, of nights gathered together with friends when you were very young.

Before long, Astarion raised you gently, patting your hair with a cloth to remove the excess moisture. Now came the application of more oils and potions, each exceptionally fragrant. Reaching up curiously, you gasped as you felt the soft, glossy texture of your hair.

"Astarion, this is amazing!"

"Isn't it? It works wonders for curls, I've found."

Shadowheart edged forward.

"And what about straight hair? What works well for that?"

"Sweet almond and green nut oil is best as far as I know."

"Braids," grunted Lae'zel.

"If you mean what works best for braided hair, I would say that cedarwood oil and the essence of peonies, combined and applied to the scalp, would prevent drying and damage."

"What about horns?"

"Karlach, do I look as if I know the first thing about horns?"

She cursed under her breath.

"Damn. Nobody knows shit about horn care. Guess I'll just have to flake my damaged horn debris all over your clothes and stuff - "

"I can look into it for you," came Astarion's hurried reply. "I'm sure there's something for all scalp adornments."

Transitioning into the crucial phase, Astarion began to turn your head this way and that, his touch feather-light. Watching him cut your hair was a surreal experience indeed. His reflection wasn't visible, of course, so it seemed as if a number of instruments had taken it upon themselves to lift, trim and comb your hair.

He divided your hair into sections and delivered neat little angled snips to each, transforming the butchered ends and stray tufts into something far more aesthetically pleasing.

When he was done, he shook your hair out and called across to Gale.

"Oh mighty and handsome wizard, we require your assistance."

The eagerness with which Gale came hurrying over roused a grin on Karlach's face. He stopped beside the basin, rubbing his palms together.

"All right, I'm here. What do you need? Some advice on the best way to enchant an item? Perhaps one of my custom made cantrips for repelling dust and moisture from surfaces on a molecular - "

"Just blow some hot air out of your finger or something, there's a dear."

" ... oh. That's it?"

"I've got everything else covered. I'm just so bad with atmospheric spells, you know. Never got the hang of them."

"Well, in that case ... "

With a beleaguered sigh, Gale raised a hand. A controlled steam of beautifully warm air, just the perfect temperature, skimmed across your scalp. Astarion hovered at the corner of your vision like a fluffy hummingbird with an expert eye, adjusting a lock of hair here, snipping off a stray portion there.

Before long, the finished product was ready.

With a flourish, Astarion whipped the cloth bib away from you and spun you around to face the mirror once more.

"What do you think?"

It was testament to how well you'd come to know his little tells that you immediately recognized the nervous anticipation behind his confident demeanour. He'd certainly done a sterling job.

Gone were the rough edges and uneven planes. On the side that had been more heavily savaged by the axe, the hair was shorn fairly close to the scalp. The other side sported a soft, vibrant tangle of curls that flowed down to your shoulder, the transition between the two giving you a certain rakish elegance.

"I love it!"

You beamed at him, capturing his hand between your own.

"I never thought my hair would look ... well, like this after that kind of damage!"

The companions who had slowly gathered round during the execution of this project were now offering their own input.

"Nice going, Fangs!"

"I'll be sure to come to you when my hair needs a trim."

"Hmm. The swashbuckling academic. A unique look to be sure. Remind me to lend you a book about the value of asymmetry in the Weave. A most insightful - "

"At least you don't look like a sheep."

"A veritable dryad. Nature has blessed you with lovely hair and a most talented friend indeed."

Astarion waved off the compliments with a self-aggrandizing chuckle, but he stayed by your side, casually leaving his hand in your excited grasp.

Later, while you rested in your bedroll, muscles now relaxed and free of the tightness that came after a hard battle, you heard the shift of Shadowheart's body a few feet away. Turning your head to her, you saw her slightly sleep-hazed glance taking in your hair.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"Not really. I was just thinking. I've ... never had things like this before. You know. Being together. Laughing. Doing silly, mundane activities. It's rather ... nice."

You gave a small smile, choosing to stay silent.

Shadowheart yawned, stretching one arm over her head.

"We should do it again sometime."

"What? Get my hair chopped off by a murderous gith hunter?"

"You know what I mean."

She turned over, settling further into her blankets.

"And next time, we do Astarion's nails and give my fringe a trim. And maybe polish Karlach's horns. And maybe get Gale to make that sweet brown drink of his, the one with the cinnamon sticks."

[blublublujk]

nobody knows (2)

-> part 1

word count: 3k

genre: established relationship (hard dom x slutty sub)

pairing: hoseok x reader and jungkook x reader

summary:

a few minutes pass as you entertain yourself on some random game on your phone before he messages again. daddy: if you even think of actually going out with a friend i’ll chop their dick off.  me: who said it would be a man?  daddy: have fun then baby don't stay out too late! 

warnings: [please read if you are sensitive] hard dom hoseok!!, needy sub reader!!, hoseok is actually sweeter this time, cheating ig?, reader gets her period, explicit sexual content: idk how i forgot this last time but DADDY KINK, thumb sucking, blowjob, throat-fucking, pictures during sex, shy awkward virgin jungkook, sexting, cum on panties, suggestive language

a.n: i'd let this hoseok ruin my fucking life. this is so fun. can you tell he's my bias >.< tbh im making up all plot on spot i wanted to explore the actual relationship first before we see anything else of jk x reader. hoseok can be sweet... he needs to fuck the reader already!!! anyways thanks for being very patient with me. see you on the next one ^.^

—> m.list

—> find me on ao3 & twt

--

“baby.” hoseok’s lips are warm against your cheek, hot breath hitting the soft skin. “i’m off to work.”

your voice is groggy, hair a mess, but it doesn’t stop you from flinging out of bed in a pout. “already? you said we could do breakfast.”

“yeah, well plans changed. i really needa finish this song i’m working on. i’ll be back before dinner. no promises though.” hoseok doesn’t hesitate to say the words, he doesn’t look back as he fixes his collar and brushes fingers through his bed hair. an apology would be nice, but it never comes. 

this is the third time this week hoseok misses breakfast, much less makes it to dinner. somehow always managing to create more work for himself and keep busy while you rot away in the dormitory. it wasn’t fair to you, though you can’t really say you didn’t sign up for this. you knew exactly what this lifestyle came with, fame and money only meant hoseok would never truly be yours as you are his and you had to simply respect that. as sad and lonely as you can be at times. 

“but daddy—” 

“not now angel, you’ll be good for me right?” and just like that you succumb to his strong, firm demeanor. he digs his thumb into the fat of your cheeks, flicking your bottom lip. hoseok licks his own, watching your mouth take his thumb. immediately he feels your warm tongue, sucking him in like a vice, mouth so pliant and fuckable. 

he takes that as a ‘yes daddy’ the way you look up at him while you suck on his thumb like the sweet girl you are. eyes heavy and lustful. 

well, if he isn’t gonna do breakfast with you as he promised, you’ll get yours right now. two can play the same game, but only one wins in the end. something tells you that you fall victim to the game anyways, it was never yours to win. 

your hands find his waistband as you look up to him with hopeful eyes. he’ll probably be late if he plays this game, but it’s too much fun to resist. plus, which man on earth is known for rejecting a blowjob. certainly not this one. 

hoseok tugs his pants down, allowing you to pull down his boxers as his cock springs to life. he takes his thumb out of your mouth and caresses your cheek carelessly, smearing your own spit all over it. the things he would do for that face, so pretty and willing. and all fucking his.

you get to work and on your knees immediately. grabbing his cock in your hands, you lick and suck the tip while hoseok throws his head back, feeling you slurp him down. he fails to resist the temptation to fuck your throat so with no warning he holds a tight grip of your hair and forces your head down. mouth hot and tight around him, wetting his cock so nicely. 

eyes springing tears already, but alas he’s not gentle. he fucks your throat and you feel him grow larger in your mouth, drooling spit all over yourself. “fuck baby, you’re perfect.”

you moan airily, struggling to breathe as he thrusts harder, throat stretching for him and him only. just like you were made for it. 

he groans, feeling that warm wet grip swallowing around him. “just like that, such a slut for it. don’t think you deserve my cum.”

you shake your head profusely, sad-eyes looking up at him while sharp eyes mirror your own. his lips tug at the end and he’s smirking watching you desperately beg for it. 

he releases his grip, spit instantly drips from your mouth, covering yourself with your own juices. it’s a mess, but you both love it for different reasons. his dick stands tall and proud, swollen and wet around the tip. 

he starts to fuck his own fist, thanks to you, he doesn’t even got to spit on it anymore. his dick is wet plenty. he watches your lustful eyes crave for it, practically foaming at the mouth for it. though you are still gasping for air, you wish he would just fuck it out of you again. you want him so so so bad. 

your hands try to reach up at him, but he slaps them away, he isn’t rough and it doesn’t really hurt, but the warning is enough for you to drop them back down. your hands start to rub against your bare thighs, iching to release your own arousal. 

“baby’s horny?” it’s like he’s teasing you, almost laughing in your face, his cock is so close to your face you can still taste it. 

you instantly nod though with hopes that he’ll help you out. 

“yeah? you need daddy’s cock inside you?” hoseok taps his cock against your cheek, pre-cum smearing onto it. it’s cruel the way he toys with his food, but what can he do when you react so beautifully to it. you’re just too easy. 

“yes. plu-please.” you whine. 

“yes what.” he barks.

“yes d-daddy. i want it so bad.” 

you hear him hum pleased, as he continues to jack himself off, he’s getting close and you know it, because his eyes start to hood and he’s breathing heavier. all the more of a reason you wish he would just shove it in you, your pussy is dripping wet for it. if only he were to see himself, he would never stop fucking you!

“stand up.” he orders.

fucking finally.

with wobbly legs you stand and he rough pulls down your shorts. a hand still heavy on his cock, gripping the fuck out of it. 

“let me see inside those pretty panties.” 

hoseok wastes no time to nut his seed all over the inside of it, covering your bare cunt with his juices and dripping all over the fabric. you both look down as his cum decorates the inside of your panties so beautifully, both panting at the sight. “stay there.” 

the taller tugs his pants back up and grabs his phone. he pulls you in for a sudden quick kiss before he takes a picture of the mess he made. “such a perfect sub.” 

with another kiss, he puts his phone away and grabs your wrists, tugging your hands off your panties. your panties sit back so prettily and wet against your pussy now. they are sticky and it feels pretty gross against your skin, but you start to forget about it when you feel hoseok’s tongue down your throat. 

he finally pulls away with one final kiss, pulling your shorts back on. “go back to bed baby.”

“but ‘m not tired.” you mumble, still horny as ever. cunt begging for cock. anything. 

“don’t pout angel. it won’t get you anywhere. i’ll be back later. behave.” and with that, hoseok leaves to work (or so he says), leaving you wet and lonely. 

to no surprise, hoseok in fact does not make it to dinner. to your surprise, he’s kind enough to leave you a sweet text message instead though. 

daddy: [attached image] miss that perfect pussy. you’re so beautiful you know that?

me: you missed dinner

daddy: that’s no way to talk to me angel  i said no promises

me: yeah well, i’ll just have dinner with a friend instead ig

daddy: who? 

me: wouldn’t you love to know.

daddy: you know i’ll find out anyways?  like you could hide anything from me

me: you’re an ass

daddy: you are what you eat

you don’t bother to reply nor entertain his not so funny jokes, but your phone buzzes again to absolutely no surprise. however the following message makes your heart fall straight out of your ass. 

daddy: i’m sorry angel.  i promise to be home for dinner tomorrow. is that better? 

the pit of your stomach burns, really it’s the bare fucking minimum, but you can’t help the way it flips into butterflies. a smile forming on your face. 

me: yes daddy

daddy: good girl the very best

a few minutes pass as you entertain yourself on some random game on your phone before he messages again.

daddy: if you even think of actually going out with a friend i’ll chop their dick off. 

me: who said it would be a man? 

daddy: have fun then baby don't stay out too late! 

hoseok’s messages make you giggle so hard. sometimes you forget this is the person you are with, the one you share every little moment with, and the one that would absolutely kill you despite your entire past with him for thinking about someone else. someone younger, bit buffer, close to them. the person they’ve always known all their life. and here you are contemplating doing it all over again. it’s scary how thrilling it all feels. a pawn in your own game and you don’t even know it. 

luckily for you and unfortunately for hoseok, there’s no dinner and especially no friend, but there is jungkook. he’s home again, earlier than everyone, as expected. 

the younger follows the same routine he has as soon as he gets home. he immediately hops into a quick shower and doesn’t come out to eat till way later. busying himself with who knows what. 

jungkook is a bit awkward, more nervous, and careful around you since the whole movie situation, the one where your tits were out by the end of it while he was driving holes into them with his eyes. 

it makes you a bit frustrated. at this point, you're begging for attention and he hardly budges, but you also understand his fear. 

“that was good noona, thanks.” jungkook picks up his plate, rushing to wash it off and lock himself back in his room. 

you hardly ever make dinner like that, but you figured it would be a great way to pass time and an excuse to get off your ass and do something that doesn’t involve rotting away in bed, lonely and horny. and all very much alone. this way, you don’t have to be alone. this way, jungkook fills the empty spot and he doesn’t even know it. 

jungkook is quick in the kitchen and you hate it. you obviously weren’t gonna let this happen, not under these circumstances, and not in this way. not after everything. “jungkookie, can you do me a favor?” 

“s-sure.” his hands are wet from the sink as he places the plate down, eyes hesitant to look up. 

“it’s just, i just got my period and my stomach hurts. a lot.” a hand caresses your tummy lightly, putting pressure where it hurts. thankful that your period arrived after this eventful/uneventful morning. 

“oh… im sorry. can i help?” he asks to be nice, not denying you a damn thing. 

“can you massage it?” you plead without shame.

“me-e?” he stutters, pointing at himself, flushing pink.

“mhm, who else silly!” 

jungkook awkwardly laughs. “yeah okay. lay down noona, i’ll try to make things better.” 

with that your back goes on the couch while you look up at him with sweet eyes. “thank you jungkookie, it feels much better when someone else is doing it.” 

“yeah, of course.” he lamely replies. 

very carefully, you slide your shirt up, revealing much more skin than intended (not really though). the mounds of your breasts sit so pretty like this and it leaves nothing to his imagination. your underboob peaks through and jungkook holds back a sharp gasp.

he refocuses on his mission, hands shaking as he brings them closer. “m gonna touch you now noona.”

though it wasn’t his intention, his suggestive usage of wording nearly makes you moan. you bite your lip to prevent it. 

“please.” you whisper calmly, desperately. 

jungkook nods and cold hands touch your tummy. they are a bit stiff at first because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he starts getting a hang of it when he hears you lightly hum pleasantly. 

he explores your skin, with every noise you make filtering his ear he finds what you enjoy and don’t. he rubs feather-like circles against your soft skin, thumbing over curves and your plushy stomach. you feel so warm in his hands and that makes him feel so good, too good. and the fact that he’s never ever done this before. jungkook thinks it's possible he can cum in his pants, just by doing this alone! he’s really, really lame. 

“feels so good, jungkookie.”

“yeah…” he strains, hands heavier on your stomach, but they warm up feeling so nicely against your skin. 

“can you- lower, can you go lower?” 

his hands are barely above, around your belly button, avoiding anything further down, not sure if it is for his own sake or yours. he’s scared and it’s obvious by the lack of movement. 

jungkook avoids your eyes as his hands freeze, hands weighing down on where he was last massaging. “wan— want me lower?”

“yes.” surely he knows what you mean. “please.” 

“oh- okay.” the younger says nothing more. 

jungkook resumes his movements, his hands going much further down your stomach, just right above your waistband. he thumbs your underwear, trying very hard to hold his breath whenever his fingertips come in contact with the thin yellow fabric whilst still rubbing patterns into your lower belly. he’s hoping you don’t hear how heavy and much faster his breathing has gotten. he’s struggling for air, face beet red. not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or his own humiliation driving him nuts. 

he’s not sure what he’s doing anymore. or what has gotten into him. it’s like his dream is set right before his eyes and yet he knows he really shouldn’t be here and doing this. much less with someone like you, but for whatever reason he can’t stop. 

“f-feels better?” jungkook asks, light-airy voice. 

“much, much better.” you reply truthfully, your stomach buzzing warmly. your eyes take in every movement on his face. from his eyes to his nose, to the way his cheeks puff as he breathes. he’s beautiful. much more when you have him this close, and nothing is stopping you from what you do next. 

jungkook’s breath hitches when he feels your soft lips on his cheek. eyes nearly bulging out his sockets because he doesn’t believe his reality. this just can’t be. no one has ever shown this much interest in him. especially not someone as untouchable as you.

it lasts no longer than ten seconds, but jungkook turns into jelly within that time. you aren’t sure why you do it, but it’s the only reasonable way you could possibly come up with to show your appreciation for all he’s done. for being sweet and patient. he’s too generous for his own good. 

“thank you jungkookie, you’re so sweet.” he doesn’t even realize you’ve already pulled away and his hands are no longer feeling your heated flesh until he’s watching you walk away, hiding behind the door to your room. hoseok’s room. yours and hoseok’s room. he shouldn’t be feeling like this, but he can’t help the way his stomach twists in knots. 

jungkook is left completely speechless, confused. 

he shamefully walks back to his own room with no other word, skipping his night routine completely. fuck skincare, he can go a night without it. he’ll manage. 

that night, hoseok arrives fairly early. well at least, earlier than usual. you’re still awake when you feel his hand on your hip, feeling his lips pecking the tip of your ear. 

“you’re home?” 

“yeah, got off a bit earlier than expected. did you eat?” he asks quietly, thoughtful enough to not disturb others. hoseok’s lips still softly kissing behind your ear, practically making you melt into the bed. if you could purr, you are more than sure you’d start purring right about now. hoseok has always been very hands-on, it’s what you adore about him. always making it known how much he wants and needs you. 

“i did. have you?” you ask to be polite, though you most likely already know the answer. hoseok may be busy, but he never skips his meals. his discipline is insane. he’s busy, but not ever enough to starve himself. he cares about his mental and physical being just as much as everything else. and he plans on keeping it that way for as long as he lives. 

“yeah. they brought take-out from that one place in downtown you like.” 

that calls for your slightest attention, shifting your face from your pillow to face him, even in the dark your eyes find his. “zuki’s?”

“mhm.” hoseok steals a kiss like this, sharing a breath as he continues. “that very one.”

“lucky.” you pout, sadly with cramps still lingering around your pelvic area. 

“yeah… i brought you some.” he says so nonchalantly. 

the older laughs when he feels you shove yourself, full force onto him, hugging him with all your might. “really?!”

“yes, left it in the fridge for tomorrow.” hoseok pauses, fingers tangled in your blow dried hair and breathes in your sweet fresh scent. “unless you wanna eat a late night meal then be my guest.” 

“well, i just got my period so...” you contemplate that damn meal, almost sorta justifying your not-so-healthy options.

“then let’s go. i’ll sit with you while you eat.” your boyfriend decides for you instead, tugging you up very gently without another word. 

there’s was nothing more to say or decide, hoseok watched as you ate the meal very pleasantly, humming here and there, devouring it all in minutes. you were a very happy, happy girl. and hoseok was a happy man watching you eat so easily. he’d do it all over again if it meant he could see that perfect smile all the time. 

and like that, you forget all about today and what made you upset. you are so stupid to think he could ever not love you and care for you. who else than him. even if you have heavily committed your mistakes, so has he, but he loves you, and nothing else matters. 

but then again, in another room, jungkook is tearing himself up for it. even though, he’s not really at fault. is he? it sure feels like it is anyways. 

at least, it felt that way after beating his cock raw and swollen. flashbacks from earlier crowding his virgin-mind. he’s so so fucked, it’s laughable. pathetic really.

jungkook tries so hard to ignore it and at first he succeeds, but then he hears a bubble of laughter coming from the room beside him and he knows he’s been beaten once again. 

“i love you.” 

“i love you too baby.” 

that’s the last thing jungkook hears before he falls into a deep sleep, eventually succumbing to his exhaustion and overthinking mess. the crowding anxious thoughts die for the first time that night.

[mirrorballpages]

The good news was that while some of Windhaven’s females deemed Elain a witch… others came out to see what all the fuss was about. They lingered near the edge of the terrace at first, arms crossed and brows furrowed, but curiosity pulled them closer. Whispers drifted through the cold mountain air like wind through pine, and Elain let it wash over her without flinching.

She had quickly realized the truth: healing the rot entirely through magic would be both exhausting and dangerous. Not just for her body, but for the secret she still guarded. If word reached Feyre or Rhysand of what kind of power she wielded, the questions would come. The pressure. The scrutiny. She wasn’t ready for that.

So, she found another way. Practical. Quiet. Effective.

Elain stood, brushing soil from her palms, and turned to Bretha and Tash. “Will you take me to the apothecary?” she asked gently. “I think I know how to make a mixture that can treat the rot."

Bretha raised an eyebrow, still skeptical, but nodded. “If you’re serious about fixing this, you’d better hope I’ve still got dried wormroot in stock.”

Emerie had to return to her store, but before she left, she gave Elain a look filled with something like pride, and maybe a little warning. You’re doing it. But be careful.

By the time Elain reached the apothecary, there were five more females trailing behind her, and by the time they began working outside to mix the ingredients she’d selected—dried nettle, wormroot, ash bark, and vinegar steeped with fennel—there were nearly a dozen.

Just as she’d hoped. The chatter began slowly at first. Half-hearted comments about the weather, the poor quality of this year’s milk, complaints about the state of the village washhouse. But then Tash said something about a male disappearing for three days. And another woman mentioned strange meetings after sunset near the upper ridge.

Elain listened.

She moved quietly through the group, kneeling to guide one female’s stirring, pausing to answer questions, always smiling, always watching. She let them underestimate her. Let them think she was only here for the plants.

And they talked. Gods, did they talk.

She felt Azriel’s shadows before she saw them—curling along the edges of her boots, coiling around her calf like a tether. Protective. Possessive. Probably worried. She reached down and brushed them away gently, sending a subtle pulse of reassurance along the tether.

I’m fine. I’ve got this.

The shadows withdrew, reluctantly.

For the next three hours, Elain worked beside the females of Windhaven, teaching them how to crush and layer the herbs into a thick, pungent paste to spread across the soil. Some wrinkled their noses. Others laughed. But they listened.

By the time the sun was mid day, the rot plots had been treated, the females were gathered with fresh instructions for continued mixing, and Elain had enough whispered confessions and careful observations to fill several pages of her journal.

It was information that would’ve taken Cassian months to get. And Elain? She’d gotten it with a smile, a hand in the dirt, and her crown braid laced with ivy.

@elriel-month

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