#bad end reader

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

mirror:rorrim on the wall, who's fault is it all?

an idea for a timeloop/groundhog day fnaf:sb AU, as presented by (throws confetti) meeeee

in this AU, you continually wake up/come to in front of the timeclock at the pizzaplex after having just clocked in for your first night on the job. You die, leave the building, manage to survive until 6AM? You black out and wake up at 12AM, standing right where you were six hours before. No one else seems to remember or realize what's happening unless you directly attempt to make them recall that you've met before. You can't seem to figure out how to get out of this timeloop, and if you're not careful, you might just lose your mind... again.

Lingering in mirrors around the 'plex are reflections of your past selves, the ones that were killed or survived or any other number of things. They tell you about their attempts to break the loop, about how to survive certain encounters with the dangers of the 'plex, give their best attempts at advice on what you could be missing that frees everyone from the cycle of dying and waking up again.

But one of these past selves is a little... off, even compared to the others. Turns out, in one of the most recent loops, you lost your mind and took the matters of life and death into your own hands. You had been killed numerous times- crushed, cut, bitten, bled out, suffocated, bludgeoned, dropped, strangled, stabbed- and at last had decided it was your turn to do some killing. And you had been good at it. You had killed every last moving thing in the building and spent the final hour watching the sun rise on a world that you hadn't touched in god knows how long. And you had felt free for the first time in... months? Years? How long had you been stuck here? Not even your reflections are sure.

To try and keep the loop from becoming a neverending bloodbath, your past selves kept the memories of every previous end from you. They give you advice, tell you of things that helped them, admit that you had bonded with certain animatronics during repeated run-ins over the course of several loops but that so far it had never amounted to anything and it never helped when said animatronic might catch and kill you before you got the chance to talk to them in the next loop, and tell you of every small bit of information they uncovered that might help you find the way out of this purgatory. You are your own last chance to get out of this now, you tell yourself. There has to be a way out of here. Otherwise, you might as well succumb to madness, though you know you already have.

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[kiwiandmint]

Content warning: blood, impalement, death, Squid Game Season 1 Spoilers

Hi I brainrotted ORV x Squid Game au after reading this

Credits and thanks to @tsukithewolf for allowing me to draw this au and use some of the dialogue!

[a-lurking-fae]

Credits to @zealousgoldcollective for the ideaaa!!!

◇ SELKIE READER x BATFAM

◇ WORD COUNT ¡ — 2.0k

◇ SYNOPSIS ¡ — You were a halfling selkie - but due to the family's neglect, you have become one with the ocean.

Your mother was a beautiful selkie that had simply come to sunbathe — yet, how could she have ended up like this?

Bruce was travelling to Ireland to enjoy his vacation, walking on the beaches, and - there she was, in all her glory.

Your mother was humming a tune, sunbathing as she enjoyed the sea breeze, unaware of the man who had fallen in love with her at first sight. Her long locks flew gently, arranged by the wind lovingly, the sun shone on her skin — she was the epitome of beauty herself.

A beautiful stranger — she was truly. If Bruce had simply left, maybe your fate wouldn't have ended up like this. But he approached her, like a predator moves - his eyes never leaving his prey. She was a stranger, but she didn't have to be.

“A lovely afternoon to you, sir — ” by the gods, even her voice was beautiful. A tune that no words could ever hope to explain. The moment she had spoken, your mother had sealed her fate. “It truly is. Magnificence has finally gotten a meaning.”

The woman chuckled, “A poetic man — you are, dear sir. Might share some inspiration?” .

Her- she had become his beacon, his muse, his sun, the very being that he will forever tie himself into. Was this what his parents had told him? A love so strong — it can not ever be called love. So what was he feeling?

“I - uhh… it just comes naturally, sometimes it gets to you - it explains itself in words…” oh gosh, what the fuck was he talking about. But that didn't really matter, she was laughing. “Well, I hope I'll get to experience that too!”. Her laugh had started to cease, “Could I get your number?” Shit. Did that come out from his mouth?

“What's that?” She tilted her head in confusion, the humans that approached her always asked about this “number”. Bruce was also confused, but understood that some do not have the luxury of phones. But — he misunderstood why she didn't know what a number was. “Ah… never mind, will you still be here tomorrow?” Bruce asked her, well — he hopes she will.

“Hmm, I most likely will!” Well — wait, really?

From there, their interactions spiralled into something more, a spark - you could say. For your, mother this seemed like a revelation that not all humans are pure evil — but, Bruce? Well, his obsession worsened day-by-day. He craved for her touch, he needed her to be his. And finally, he soon figured out her secret.

She was a selkie — with further research, he figured out how to tie her to him. At the dead of night, he stole her pelt, hiding it away from her grasp.

She was devastated. She should have expected this. The tales of older selkie were all truths. How could she have been that naive? Bruce brought her to the manor. She met Richard Grayson, a son she never bore.

Your mother was crafty, she conceived you in the manor while she made her grand heist. She had figured out where her coat was. She was getting desperate, the ocean screamed at her to return. The rain's whispers — always so quiet - now have started to weeping noises. How could she? The ocean was her home, not here.

You may join her one day, among her own people, just not now, she swears she loves you. Amongst the sobs of the water around, your mother weeps at what might never be. Her baby, oh, her baby.

Her pup will be left to fend for herself until she can reach her. Your mother hopes she could whisk you away, but that human has trapped both of you here. And in a way, when she leaves — a part of her will be left behind in this cold — desolate structure.

‘Goodbye, my precious cub.’

She leaves, and you are left behind — wondering what it would be like to know the love of both your parents.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

Bruce had sent you abroad for senior high. Your siblings never really cared where you were. You had chosen Ireland — its infrastructure, history, and folklore screamed to you.

Everything was fascinating! You had read about selkies, which were kind creatures that sometimes assisted humans. You knew how most stories ended up with them getting taken advantage of. (You are unaware you were a result of the exact situation. How ironic.) You return to your Airbnb, opting to rest after classes.

At the dead of night, you trailed to the beach, you never realised you had walked all the way here! It was a good few kilometers from the bnb, how could you have not noticed?

You decided to enjoy the sea for a while, think about life? Sure, why not? A melodic tune enters your ear, words couldn't describe how beautiful it truly was. You follow the tune — entranced, you find a woman with long locks, singing away her heart. She spots you, and familiarity hits you — akin to a tidal wave, it sweeps you away. Leaving that feeling of being stranded on the shore. She runs to you, her sobs pulling your heart as well. And — “My pup, you have finally returned to my arms once more!” You weep along with her, you're not even sure that if she truly is your mother. Well, in the future you can deal with that problem!

The woman embraces you from midnight to the early rising of the sun. She tells you her story, and you are unsure. She senses the hesitation from you, after all, how could she not? You came from her womb, and she tells you your heritage. Your mother had started her own selkie family. You had half–siblings that enjoyed your presence. You weren't used to this. Your mother's husband, Liam, was surprisingly accepting of you. Watching you and your siblings from far away. His mother had a similar situation to his wife, Cahira — he was conceived by his mother after her escape a few millennia ago.

Liam protects you like his own pup. Wounds? Patched up. Need someone to talk to? A good listener is here. Boy problems? Need him to drown them? He loved you like a father. Liam saw you for you. Not because you were Cahira’s daughter, nor just a pity party — but because he genuinely thought of you as his pup.

Anytime you went swimming, they would all trail after you. You weren't a full selkie, and had a risk of dying since you weren't immortal like them. They showed you the wonders of the ocean. No matter how dark it ended up, they always knew how to find you. When graduation came around, they decided it was time to ask you —

“Join us, my child — ” Your mother randomly blurted out one day. “You can become a full selkie, and I truly wish to have you with us until the end of time.” She chose her words, knowing that you may decline their offer. “If I become a selkie, Bruce might hunt you down — again.” You rest your hand atop hers.

“I love you, all of them too. But — I do not want to risk your happiness over mine.” You hug her, burying your head unto her shoulders. This was nice, you imagine a place where it was only you and them. The cruel truth will always haunt you.

“You silly girl!” Liam hits your head in a chopping motion. “We would love to have you, and honestly? It is safer if you stay with us — away from that man.” Well —

“Not to mention the neglect you have been facing all these years, my dear — We love you so much, if he ever tries to break us up, I will go to the depths of the Otherworld and back to make sure you are with us.”

You don't notice the tears cascading down your face — it was only after Cahira had kissed them away. Did you finally realise.

Finally, after graduation, you had decided to become a full selkie.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

You returned to the manor, wishing to say goodbye to Alfred one last time. Your pelt was in your bag, although it would have been safer with your parents, an emergency might arise and you would need it.

Your room had been the same as before, the posters during junior high were still stuck up the walls. Alfred had told you to go downstairs since you would all eat together. You honestly had a bad feeling about this —

Laughter could be heard echoing against the manor walls, inside jokes ran rampant between them — you wished to return to your room. Your paradise in hell. Entering the dining room, you could feel the stares of all your siblings upon your figure. They pale in comparison to the little gremlins back home. (You didn't realise you had stopped calling the manor your home, have you?)

Silence was suffocating, and Bruce felt the awkwardness dawning on them. “So, how was Ireland (name)?” He shuffled with his collar, he came from another one of his charity events, and he was too tired to change. “It was lovely, the country is interesting.” You wanted to taunt him, let him know you were going somewhere kinder, you knew better than that.

The silence dragged on until dinner ended, it was the polar opposite with the Selkies. You truly missed them.Your days went on without a hitch, not much has truly changed. It was only a few days until you'd return to Ireland.

“You'll be staying in Gotham for college.” No! No fucking way! Did he seriously just say that shit? “I already made friends there, it's hard adjusting to another environment again and — ” Bruce sighs, he hadn't expected this, should he just let you be? “I want to spend time with, I — I regret all the things I haven't done with you. I want to become a father to you, I hope you'll give me that chance.”

You stormed out of his office, packing your bags in a haste, preparing your pelt carefully. For some reason, your siblings in the manor had all tried to spend time with you today. Richard attempted to get you to go with him to this restaurant that opened a few blocks away — you opted to run instead. Damian had dragged you to paint with him, he surprisingly didn't attack you during this process. Cassandra and Stephanie wanted to watch a movie with you, while Babs and Jason bought you ice cream. Duke joined you and Alfred in baking. Your plans I'm running away kept getting ruined. They used to patrol until dawn!

You felt a sense of urgency to return to the sea. You made up you mind and ran with your stuff, your flight had been booked, and a friend picking you up secretly. You searched your room for the hidden pelt — wait, where the fuck was it? Shit. Shit. Shit! You turned your room upside down and — nononono! You can't delay right now! “Are you looking for something, (name)?” It was Bruce, he had to have it. “I am, and I know you have it.” You'd glared at him.

“Have what exactly?” He was a bitch alright. “My pelt, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce was taken back by your cold tone. One he always used on you. “You will stay here and that is final.” He goes outside as he locks your door, chains clanking at his every move. You never knew that there were chains! “You will not leave me, no. This is your home, my dear. Dad is sorry.” Bruce walks away from your screams, he will burn your pelt soon. Until he is sure that it will not give you any harm.

You attempt to break the windows, but all the windows in the manor have been reinforced by Dick and Jason. A feeling of dread washes over you, as your selkie family senses something has gone awry.

•.:°❀×═════════×❀°:.•

Damn that was long lol —

[silvertherogue715]

Yippie more O' Medusa drawings!!

Probably one of my last big batches for a while :')

@naffeclipse, happy early birthday and i hope you enjoy your blorbos!

Previous art of these two: First - Second - Third - Bad end

EDIT: absolutely kicking my feet and giggling over every single comment/tag you guys leave THEY'RE SO SWEET THANK YOU SO MUCH

[fghgfgf]

cuties...

[semisolidmind]

found some unfinished monkey business in my files, figured it should see the light of day

the first one is from the childhood au

(no i am not drawing for lmk rn, don’t ask please)

[redfirefox-55]

Please guys go read Software Entropy by @clubsheartsspades (I hope you don’t mind the tag!)

It literally destroyed me. I forced my sister to read it and it destroyed her too. I just had to draw something for it because I couldn’t get this quote out of my head, but I couldn’t possibly do the scene justice in the same way as in the fanfiction so you need to go read it yourself

[orphicmusings]

based on this request

a cringe on your face as you adjusted your position was all viktor needed to see. his thick brows furrowed in concern, a slight pout approaching his lips. he didn’t even have to ask, he knew it was your back. “don’t worry.” you assured him, brushing it off as you usually do. “i’m used to it, i’ll be okay.”

“i didn’t even say anything.” he commented gently, palms facing you in surrender.

“no, but you were gonna.” you smiled fondly, despite the stiff ache in your back. “i saw the look on your face.” he huffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “i’ll be fine.” you insisted, wincing on your way up to get ibuprofen. a delicate but firm hand intercepts your shoulder before you can.

“nope.” he countered. “lay on your stomach.”

“you don’t have to-“

“i said…” he fixed you with his golden eyes, “lay. on. your. stomach.”

you couldn’t help stopping the heat that bloomed on your cheeks. you secretly loved when he got all…hot doctor like this. you did as he said, changing your position on the bed. he let out a pleased noise of affirmation before he sat behind you, opening the bedside drawer that contained the only lotion that both smelled good and offered some relief.

“shirt off.” he commanded innocently as he lathered his hands in the fluffy lavender. you had to bite back a smirk as you discarded your top, your back bare to him now. “good girl.” he murmured.

“huh?” your eyebrows shot up.

“nothing.” he pressed his long, dextrous fingers into the flesh of your back and began to knead. his thumbs worked in firm circles, moving up and down and alternating sides. though it didn’t relieve the pain fully, the stiffness his hands released from your back felt so nice— you swear you can’t help but moan! it started innocent, little sighs and hums of satisfaction. the more he responded though, through little clearings of his throat and abrupt breaths, your mouth went as loose as your muscles. moans of pleasure floated from your chest.

“fuck, just like that…” you breathed, and you felt him dig his blunt nails into your skin to ground himself and remind himself what he’s doing. “feels so good.”

eventually, he decided to play into it. “you feel me here, darling?” he asked huskily, rubbing his hand down your lower back, pressing little circles into it with his fingers. “you like when i do that?” he let himself indulge in the innuendo, the suggestiveness of what you’re doing, a smirk gracing his face. you nodded, breathless. “speechless already, my love?”

[whateveriwant]

I love the headcanon that Simon has had his nose broken multiple times, but I like to take it one step further and imagine: what if Simon’s nose has been broken so many times that it’s permanently affected his sense of smell?

That would explain why the big bastard is so grumpy all the time, right? I mean, wouldn’t you be if you lost one (and more than likely, two) of your five primary senses?

Like, just imagine what it would be like to lose both your sense of smell and taste (because the two are strongly intertwined). It would be like living every day of your life as if you have a bad head cold. It would make eating – something you have to do to survive – a chore instead of something to be enjoyed.

And I know what you’re thinking. No, I’m not about to insert a “British food is bland anyway so it’s not like he’s missing much” joke here. That would be in poor taste (just like their food, hey-oh!)

Okok no but seriously. Imagine what losing those two major senses would do to a person mentally. Knowing Simon, he would probably pretend like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter that everything smells and tastes like the color gray to him, even though secretly that couldn’t be further from the truth.

So imagine if that didn’t have to be the case any longer. Imagine if there was something – say, nasal surgery – that could restore those abilities he almost forgot he had once upon a time. (I’m not a doctor so I don’t know if surgery would work, but let’s just run with it, ok?)

For starters, I don’t think he’d be the one to initially seek out a treatment. The idea would have to come from an outside source (like from you, his loving partner) and it would take a lot of convincing to get him to go under the knife.

But say that you are able to convince him to have the surgery; that you get him to agree to have his bones rebroken and properly set this time, to have his olfactory nerves reattached to the places they’d been severed from. What would it be like to sit beside him as he wakes up and takes that first, deep inhale? What would it be like to witness him experience the power of smelling again for the first time in what feels like forever?

Would he be overwhelmed? Underwhelmed? Something that’s impossible for him to put into precise words?

And what would be the first smell that sticks out to him? The medicinal air of his hospital room? The clean aroma of his bed linens? The coppery tang of his own blood congealing around his sutures?

Realistically, I don’t think it would be until he goes home that any real change is apparent to you. It’s once he has the freedom to do whatever he wants, like a former shelter dog getting to explore the world for the first time, that you’d notice the drastic switch in him.

All of a sudden, Simon would be super adventurous when it comes to trying new foods. In the past, he just shoveled down whatever tasteless slop would keep his body fueled. But now, he’d find the fun in trying all sorts of different cuisines, ordering entire menus at a time to discover what he does and doesn’t like to eat.

I also think he would start experimenting with ways to perfume himself. Yes, he used soap and deodorant even when he had no sense of smell (for others’ sake, truly). But now, he’d go beyond those basic items, wandering into scented shampoos, specialty aftershaves, even dabbling with cologne.

Of course, things wouldn’t be all peachy 100% of the time, as I feel like he would soon get very picky about the kinds of scents he could tolerate in your home. The kind of fabric softener you use in the laundry, the kind of hand soap you have in the bathroom, the kind of leftovers you can and absolutely cannot reheat in the microwave the next day, just to name a few.

But through it all – the good and the bad, the bold and the nuanced – Simon finds there’s one scent in particular that eclipses anything else he’s encountered: You.

And I’m not talking about the products you use in your hair or the fragrances you like to wear on a night out. I’m talking about the raw, natural, pheromonal scent of you.

It’s like a drug to Simon, that warm, pleasurable smell that clings to your skin. There’s something about it that brings him an abundance of comfort, and he finds that after he’s had a long day, he wants nothing more than to come home and bury his face in your neck as he cuddles you to sleep.

Call it what you want. Biology, psychology, psychopathy, or so on. Simon doesn’t know what it is about your scent that’s so irresistible to him, nor does he really care. All he knows is that for a long time, something was missing from his life beyond just his ability to smell. And now that he’s realized what it is, he can’t believe he ever lived without it:

His reason to breathe.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

talking to yourself? maybe you're both mad

'bad end' reader killed peepaw willy in the mirror:rorrim au lol

more lore/potential ideas for the timeloop/groundhog day au, yeehawww (i know no one rlly cares abt lore n stuff for these aus but i have no other doodles to share srry lmao)

[sunsburns]

30 for 30 (ii.) — vi (league of legends) !

⟢ synopsis. you swear you would be in peace if it wasn’t for her. but this kept you on your toes, you guessed. just the way you liked it. besides, everyone knew that falling in love with your best friend’s older sister only led to trouble.

⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, the reader is lowkey insane i cannot lie, vi is kinda toxic but we love her anyway, modern!au, nsfw, fingering, oral, really bad ending sorry, SMUT 18+.

⟢ word count. 11k+

⟢ part one: 30 for 30 (i.)

⟢ authors note. i have been working on this for the last 6 weeks and i have lived so many lives through this fic. christmas passed, then new years, and then my abuelo died a few days ago. no one talk to me for a while, please.

You’d grown so used to ignoring that festering ache in your chest that when your phone rang late one night, her name on the screen, it caught you off guard. Her voice was slurred, rough and frayed around the edges. Drunk. She asked if you could pick her up from some bar you didn’t know, mumbling something about not wanting her family to see her like this.

The drive to the bar had felt surreal, a heavy quiet filling the car as you tried not to overthink why she’d called you . And now, as she sat slumped in the passenger seat of your dad’s old car, it felt no less strange. The dim glow of the streetlights flickered across her face, catching on her freckles and the faint blush on her cheeks. Her head lolled against the window, her hair sticking out in places, the faint scent of alcohol clinging to her like an unwelcome shadow.

Vander and Silco used to tell you that you were family, but as you stole glances at her from the corner of your eye, it struck you how distant she felt. There was a chasm between you—one you weren’t sure either of you could cross. The thought lingered in your chest like a weight, growing heavier as the silence stretched on.

When you pulled into the driveway, she was half-asleep, a faint flush stained her freckled cheeks. Her arm was heavy as you draped it over your shoulder, her weight pressing into you as she stumbled out of the car. She muttered something incoherent, her breath warm against your neck.

“Just a little farther,” you murmured, your voice steady, though your pulse was anything but.

Inside your room, the mess was almost comforting—a reminder of who you were before moments like these blurred the lines. You eased her down onto the bed, her arm slipping from your shoulders as she collapsed with a muffled groan, burying her face in the pillow.

“Vi,” you said softly, crouching to tug off her boots. “You’ll feel better if—”

“Stop fussing,” she muttered, her voice slurred but tinged with familiar defiance. “Mmm.... Not a kid.”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at your lips, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Her lips curved into a crooked smirk, one eye cracking open just long enough to meet yours. But it wasn’t her usual sharp, teasing look. It was softer, tired. Vulnerable in a way that made you hold your breath.

You finished pulling off her boots, setting them aside, and you draped a blanket over her. For a moment, you lingered, your eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her features softened in sleep. Your fingers twitched at your sides. You wanted to reach out, to brush your fingers against hers, to ease the weight she carried even for a second—but you didn’t.

The door felt heavier than it should have as you turned to leave.

“Hey.”

Her voice stopped you mid-step, quiet but insistent. You turned to find her half-awake, her gaze unfocused yet pinned on you.

“Yeah?” you asked, your throat dry.

“Thanks,” she murmured, your name slipping from her lips like an afterthought, though it struck you like a blow.

You nodded, swallowing hard, and left before your resolve could falter.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You wanted to touch her—just her hand, her shoulder, anything to ground yourself in this moment—but you knew better. So, you turned to leave, the sound of her voice stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey.”

You turned, your pulse quickening. She was still half-asleep, her gaze unfocused as she stared in your direction.

“Yeah?” you asked softly.

“Thanks,” she muttered, your name slipping from her lips in a way that made your chest ache.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and reached for the door.

But later, when you came back to check on her, you found her sitting on the floor by the bed. Her back pressed against the frame, her knees drawn up, and her hands clutched a photo from your desk. Her knuckles were pale where they gripped the frame. Her thumb traced over Claggor’s face, back when he was just a chubby kid with a grin too big for his face.

“Vi?” you called gently, stepping closer.

She didn’t look up. Her voice was low. “I’m such a fuck-up.”

The words hit harder than you expected, knocking the air from your lungs. You sank to the floor beside her, your shoulder brushing against hers.

“You’re not a fuck-up,” you said quietly.

She scoffed, her gaze fixed on the photo.

You hesitated, then offered a small, almost shy smile. “I think you’re cool.”

That earned a laugh—quiet, shaky, but real. She glanced at you, unshed tears clinging to her lashes, catching the faint light and making her eyes shimmer. Her lips twitched into a sad grin. “You think I’m cool?” She asked, wiping hastily at her face with the back of her hand, a hollow snort slipping out. “Jesus, what are we, ten?”

You shrugged, the heat crawling up your neck almost unbearable. “I’ll always think you’re cool.”

Her smile faltered, her expression shifting into something quieter, something raw. Her gaze softened, lingering on you, and it felt like she was searching for something.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

For a moment, the air between you felt impossibly heavy, thick with words left unspoken. Then she let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping against the bed frame. “I just... I wanna be a good person. For my family.”

The vulnerability in her voice hit you like a punch to the gut. “You are a good person, Vi,” you said, your tone steady, though your chest ached with the effort to keep it that way. “I think you are. And they think you are, too.”

She blinked at you, her eyes softening further. The lines of her face—usually so sharp, so guarded—melted into something tender, something that made it impossible to look away. The freckles across her nose stood out against her flushed skin, and the faint scar cutting through her brow caught your eye, an anchor in another sea of thoughts that threatened to drown you. The tattoo along her cheekbone seemed softer now, framed by the dim glow from the bedside lamp, its edge catching the shadow of her jawline.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze locking with yours, and her lips curved into a wider smile. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she muttered. “I’m happy Powder has you in her life.”

The words sent a flutter through your chest, the kind that made it hard to breathe. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too widely, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“You should rest,” you said instead.

For a second, she didn’t move, her eyes flickering down—to your lips. Was it? Was she? You tried not to jump for joy or scream or cheer, swallowing back the girlish, excited squeal that nearly left you. It was so brief you almost convinced yourself it hadn’t happened.

Still, you stayed beside her. The room was quiet save for the soft rhythm of her breathing, which eventually evened out. Her hand still gripped the photo tightly, her thumb brushing faintly across its surface even in sleep.

You tried to focus on that—on the photo, on anything else—but the thrum of your own heartbeat drowned everything out. You were too aware of her, of her presence, of the way her face looked unguarded, almost peaceful now.

And for fuck’s sake, you wished you could’ve kept ignoring her.

--

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed from the kitchen. The warm smell of roasted meats, herbed vegetables, and freshly baked bread filled the house, weaving a comforting cocoon of home and familiarity. The occasional pop of sizzling oil and the scrape of utensils against cookware punctuated the muted hum of conversation. It should’ve been perfect.

Almost.

You’d spent most of the day in the kitchen with Vander and Claggor, sleeves rolled up and hands coated in flour or spices as the three of you moved in easy, practiced rhythm, and maybe getting a little tipsy with wine while you worked.

Cooking was grounding. There was something about the simplicity of it—peeling potatoes, kneading dough, and tasting sauces—that gave your restless mind a moment’s reprieve. It lets you focus on the here and now, your hands busy and your thoughts, for the most part, quiet.

Mostly quiet.

Because no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself, your thoughts kept circling back to her.

Vi.

You hadn’t seen much of her today, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it gave you the space to breathe, to settle the frayed edges of your nerves without the weight of her presence pressing against your every thought. A curse because even the absence of her was its own kind of presence.

She was everywhere. In the distant echo of her voice from the other room. In the low, rumbling sound of her laugh that you caught when you passed by the dining table. In the fleeting glimpses of her out of the corner of your eye, a blur of red hair and sharp edges that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at directly.

When the food was prepped and tucked neatly away in the oven, you excused yourself to get ready. Powder had followed you upstairs, chattering away about the table setup, how the napkins needed to be folded a specific way, and whether the wine glasses were clean enough. You smiled despite the knot still coiled in your stomach.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you focused on getting ready. Powder sat perched on the counter beside you, swinging her legs as she twisted her hair into short messy blue pigtails. The soft buzz of the house seemed far away and you worked in companionable silence.

The moment you picked up your eyeliner, though, a shadow passed in the hallway.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. You felt it.

Powder’s casual chatter stilled mid-sentence, her hands freezing mid-braid as her gaze darted to the door.

You glanced up, turning your head just enough to see her through the mirror.

Vi had stopped, one hand brushing the edge of the doorframe as if she’d paused without meaning to. She wasn’t saying anything—just looking. Her hair was tied back and finally pulled out of her face.

Your eyes met in the reflection. For a second, everything else blurred—even the ache that had been sitting low in your chest all day.

She didn’t move. Neither did you.

Her lips parted slightly as if to say something, but she stopped herself. Her hand dropped from the frame, and her eyes softened. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. But it was everything to you.

“Hey,” Powder piped up suddenly, startling both of you. Vi blinked, glancing away quickly as though she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

You dropped your gaze back to the counter, feigning interest in the clutter of makeup brushes and compacts.

“Hi,” Vi muttered.

Powder hopped off the counter, her movements casual, but when she reached the door, she nudged it closed with a quiet click, shutting Vi out.

The space felt even smaller now, the tension curling tighter in your chest as you forced your hands steady and reached for the eyeliner again.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

And if you told yourself that enough times, maybe you’d start to believe it.

Powder didn’t press, instead humming a tune as she returned to her hair, but the weight of Vi’s gaze lingered like a phantom. Even as you finished your makeup and brushed off imaginary specks from your clothes, you couldn’t shake the way her eyes had softened in that fleeting moment.

Maybe you had too many glasses of wine.

The evening swept forward as though nothing was amiss. Dinner was ready, the dishes were carried out to the table, and the family gathered in the dining room—a warm, crowded space made cozy by the soft glow of holiday lights and the flicker of candles. Plates clinked, the air hummed with laughter and conversation, and the smell of roasted meat and spices filled the room.

You ended up seated between Powder and Isha, grateful for the buffer between you and Vi, who sat across the table. Vander took his usual spot at the head, towering over the rest of the group like a benevolent giant, while Silco lounged at the other end, his sharp eyes keen and observant even as he sipped his wine.

The conversation rippled through the table, shifting effortlessly between childhood pranks and escalating into an all-out debate between Ekko and Powder about their taste in music. Despite everything, you found yourself smiling, the warmth of the moment settling in your chest like a soft hum.

Ekko leaned toward you, reaching over Powder to tap your arm. “Back me up here! She swears her old mixtapes were legendary, but seriously, half of them were just static and random snippets of songs she couldn’t finish recording.”

Powder whipped around, her arms crossing over her chest in defiance. “They had character , thank you very much. Unlike your boring-ass beats that all sound the same. Admit it, Ekko—you wouldn’t know originality if it smacked you in the face.”

You laughed, holding your hands up as if to ward off a fight. “Don’t drag me into this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Powder shot back smugly, flipping one of her pigtails over her shoulder. “You’d pick mine anyway. Right?”

“Doubt it,” Mylo muttered from across the table, not even bothering to look up from his plate. “Your mixtapes were shit.”

The room practically exploded as Powder’s outrage hit full volume, her chair scraping back slightly as she leaned forward to defend her honour. Ekko egged her on with exaggerated imitations of her tape-recording process, while Claggor sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as though this wasn’t the first time he’d been subjected to this argument.

Vi’s laugh broke through the chaos, low and raspy, cutting through the din like a blade. It froze you in place for a moment, the sound pulling at something deep and tender inside you. Your gaze flicked up almost instinctively, and there she was—her lips quirking in that lazy half-smile.

For just a second, her eyes caught yours across the table, and the rest of the noise faded away. Something lingered there. You really wanted to know what it was.

She glanced away first, turning her attention back to Vander, but your pulse thrummed in your ears, loud and insistent.

“Aye, enough with all the ruckus,” Vander called out, his booming voice easily cutting through the squabbling. “You’re supposed to be adults now, eh? How come Isha’s better behaved than the lot of you? You’re all grown and graduated, even if we never thought we’d see the day.” He added the last part with a sly, teasing grin.

The table burst into uproar again, the teasing and banter ricocheting back at Vander.

Silco hummed from across the table, “I’m still not sure how we managed to clean that mess up.”

You tried to stay present, to laugh along with the others, but his words knocked the air from your lungs.

Graduation.

The word hit you like a stone, unearthing memories you’d buried deep. You could almost feel it again—the laughter that hung in the warm night air, the shimmer of stars above the city, and the way Vi had pulled you aside. The press of her hand on yours, the sharp, dizzying heat of her lips as they claimed yours like a secret only the two of you could keep.

Your throat tightened as you forced yourself to swallow the ache threatening to rise. You focused on the present, the clatter of plates and the chatter around you, but it didn’t help.

And then, you felt her eyes on you again.

You glanced up, and sure enough, Vi was looking.

There it was—that same knowing look, tangled in everything you couldn’t say out loud. Her brows furrowed just slightly, her jaw tightening as though she was holding something back.

What the fuck was she up to?

--

The Last Drop buzzed with life, music thumping through the speakers and spilling into the streets. It wasn’t just another party. This was a celebration—a proper Zaunite send-off for you, Powder, Ekko, and a few others who had somehow survived to see your graduation day. Families mingled, laughter and loud voices filling the air, while mismatched chairs and tables were dragged together to make room for everyone.

Powder’s arm was slung lazily around your shoulders, her cheek pressed against yours as she swayed side to side, microphone in hand. Her voice cracked mid-line, breaking into laughter that made you smile despite yourself.

Powder had never been much of a singer, but she made it impossible to resist. You joined in, your voice blending with hers, uneven and off-key.

It was one of those rare nights where nothing else seemed to matter—until you saw her.

Vi stood on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall like she didn’t belong to the chaos. A bottle of beer dangled casually from her fingers as her eyes locked on yours. She wasn’t smiling, wasn’t moving . Just watching.

More than anything, you wanted to press your lips against hers. To stop the world around from spinning. To satisfy that little desire of yours.

Yet you couldn’t.

Because that’s not what friends do.

Because you were supposed to hate Violet right now.

It had been over a week since the fight—long enough for the sting of it to fade but not the weight of it.

This fight wasn’t like the bickering you had with Powder or the arguments with Ekko. No, this had been something raw, biting, and far too personal.

And it still sat heavy in your chest, a tangled knot of anger, guilt, and something you couldn’t quite name.

Because who was Vi to get upset about your bad decisions? You never judged her for hers.

It wasn’t fair.

It bothered you more than it should have. Because you liked Vi—you really did. It wasn’t just a fleeting crush; it was the kind of feeling that had rooted itself deep, stretching back to childhood, growing stronger with time. No matter how hard you tried, it never seemed to go away.

But she always kept you at arm’s length, always pushed you away just enough to make you doubt yourself. And now, she was the mad one? How was that fair?

God forbid you wanted to try something new before graduation.

Maddie was a mutual friend between you and Ekko, and she’d invited you to hang out by the creek with her crowd. It wasn’t your usual group of people, but with Powder and Ekko off on their date night, it wasn’t like you had anything better to do.

The rocky quarry was cold, even with the fire Maddie’s friends had started. Its orange glow reflected off the still water below, casting flickering shadows across the uneven ground. The air smelled of smoke and charred wood, sharp and biting against the crisp night air.

Music thumped faintly from a portable speaker, its low bass barely cutting through the sound of laughter and clinking bottles. You sat on a flat rock near the edge, a beer bottle dangling from one hand as you tried not to cough from the joint Maddie had passed you.

It wasn’t your crowd, not really. Maddie was nice enough—but her friends? They were louder, wilder, the kind of kids who laughed a little too loudly and always seemed on the edge of doing something stupid. Powder probably would’ve fit in better than you did.

You forced yourself to laugh when they laughed, nodding along to their stories even when you didn’t get the jokes. But the joint burned harshly in your throat, and the alcohol made your head swim.

“Hey, you good?” Maddie asked, plopping down beside you.

“Yeah,” you lied. “This is fun.”

She grinned, nudging your arm, and offered you another hit. You hesitated but took it anyway, determined not to look out of place.

The night stretched on, blurring into a haze of smoke, music, and the spinning lights from someone’s flashlight. You weren’t sure when it started feeling too heavy—when the laughter began to grate or when the voices became too loud.

So what? You weren’t having fun. Who cared?

Not every trip was going to be a good one.

But things went from bad to worse when a car pulled up, its headlights cutting through the dark like searchlights. The beams blinded you before they clicked off, leaving the silhouettes of the car and its driver behind.

The glare of the headlights cut through the haze, piercing and unwelcome. You squinted against the brightness, trying to make out the shadowy figure stepping out of the car. The moment you recognized her, your stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Vi.

You ducked instinctively, shifting lower into the rocks and bushes, hoping the flickering firelight wouldn’t betray your hiding spot. But it was Vi—she always found you. One second, you were staring blearily at the water, trying to dissolve into the night, and the next, she was right there, pulling you to your feet.

If you’d been even a little more sober, you might have swooned. Her hands were warm, steadying you against the dizziness swaying your vision. For a split second, your hazy mind latched onto the way she held you, like an anchor. But then you saw the scowl pulling at her lips.

Her eyes burned with frustration, her jaw tight as she looked you over. Even through the muddled fog, you could tell she was annoyed. No, more than that. She was pissed. And yet... when her gaze softened, just barely, you felt your stomach flip in that infuriating way it always did around her.

Before you could protest, she started dragging you toward her car.

“What the hell?” you slurred, trying to plant your feet, though the ground seemed to shift beneath you. “What’re you doin’?”

“I’m taking you home,” she said flatly.

“What?”

“Come on.”

“Vi. No, I’m not going anywhere,” you snapped, voice cracking as you shook her grip. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I am fine. I have it under control.”

Vi stopped, her grip tightening as she turned to face you fully. Her voice dropped lower, sharp but quiet. “You don’t have it under control.”

“Yes, I do,” you mumbled.

“You’re drunk.”

“So what?”

“So you don’t even know what you’re saying,” she snapped, her tone cutting through the haze.

“Oh, you know? You think you know me so well?” The words spilled out before you could catch them. “You think you know what’s good for me?”

She sighed heavily, muttering your name in a warning tone. “Just calm down—”

“No!” You cut her off, your voice rising. “You don’t get to decide what I do, Vi! You don’t get to swoop in and play saviour just because you feel like it.”

Maddie and her friends had turned to watch now, their curious gazes pinning you in place, making your face burn. And despite everything—despite the words bubbling on your tongue—you let Vi pull you away, her hand firm around your arm.

Your teeth ground together as you stalked to her car, every step sparking with indignation. Things between you had been unbearable lately, each interaction leaving you more wound up than the last. There was a time when you would’ve had endless patience for her, but now? Now it felt like she was one more weight pressing on your chest, one more thing you couldn’t figure out.

When she shut the car door behind you, the cold glass felt soothing against your temple as you leaned against the window.

“How’d you even find me?” you muttered, your voice low and bitter.

“Ekko told me,” she replied without looking at you, her tone clipped.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Of course.”

“A thanks would be nice,” she said, her knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“For what? Embarrassing me?”

“You embarrassed yourself.”

“Right,” you scoffed.

“Well, sorry for trying to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Fuck, you’re impossible sometimes,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You should’ve just stayed home. These aren’t the kind of people—”

“Are you seriously going to turn this into a lecture?” you interrupted, your words a little slurred but sharp enough to sting. “Do you really feel like you’re in the position to be giving me shit about my bad decisions? You?”

Her head snapped toward you, her brow furrowing. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You hesitated, the fight draining out of you for just a moment. The words sat heavy on your tongue, the weight of her presence drowning out your resolve. She’d been pushing and pulling at you for months now , teasing something more but never following through.

And yet, no matter how mad she made you—no matter how deep she cut—you couldn’t stop feeling the way you did. You couldn’t stop wanting her.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, turning away to rest your head against the cool glass. The words you wanted to say stuck in your throat, a bitter ache joining the spinning in your head.

“Is everything okay?” Powder’s voice broke through the haze, grounding you back in the moment. Her worried gaze locked onto yours, soft but insistent.

For a second, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The words sat heavy in your chest, unwilling to come out. Instead, you gave her a small, tired smile—a silent reassurance you weren’t sure even you believed.

“Do you want a beer?” she asked, holding out her own cup. Her attention flicked between you and the lively crowd behind her as Isha grabbed the mic, joining Mylo and Vander in a loud, drunken chorus.

You shook your head. “No, it’s alright. I’m just going to grab some water… maybe step outside for a bit.”

Before you could turn, her hand caught yours. Concern flashed in her eyes, clearer this time, and it made your stomach twist.

“I’m fine, Pow,” you said, pulling your hand free gently. “Just need some air.”

Without waiting for her reply, you slipped away, weaving through the crowd and out the door before anyone else could stop you.

The chill of the night hit you immediately, a stark contrast to the heat and noise inside. The streets of Zaun buzzed softly, a symphony of distant voices and the occasional whistle of wind. You leaned against the railing outside the bar, letting the cool air sting your cheeks and settle the unease in your chest.

It had been a long day. Too long, really.

You tilted your head back, staring up at the sky—hazy and grey like it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to rain or stay dry. The faint glow of the streetlights was enough to keep the dark at bay but not enough to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts.

“Thought you might’ve made a run for it.”

The voice startled you, low and familiar, cutting through the quiet.

Your head snapped to the side, and there she was—Vi. She leaned against the wall a few feet away, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, her posture casual, but her eyes… her eyes were locked on you.

“No running,” you said, trying to muster a smile. “Just needed a breather.”

She nodded and stepped closer, the scuffed soles of her boots scraping against the concrete. “Can’t blame you. It’s a lot in there.”

You hummed in agreement, turning back to the horizon. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched her lean on the railing beside you, her profile outlined in the dim glow spilling from the bar windows.

The silence stretched between you, but for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

After a moment, Vi cleared her throat, her fingers fidgeting with something in her pocket. “I, uh… got you something.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden statement. “You did?”

Without a word, she pulled out a small box and held it out to you. Her knuckles brushed against yours briefly, sending a jolt through your system when you took it.

“Go on,” she said.

Curiosity warred with apprehension as you took the box. It was simple—nothing fancy, just a plain black case. Your hands trembled slightly as you opened it, the hinges creaking faintly.

Inside was a ring, nestled in a cushion of fabric. The gemstone caught the light just right, glinting in shades of blue and green. It was unmistakable—the ring you’d admired months ago, the one you’d only ever mentioned to Powder.

“Vi…”

She shifted, rubbing the back of her neck, her usual confidence replaced by something softer, almost shy. “Figured you deserved something nice. You’ve been through enough.” A pause. “I’ve put you through enough.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her.

Did she know?

Could she see how much space she occupied in your head, how her presence both thrilled and tormented you?

She must know.

You slid the ring onto your finger, watching it catch the faint glow of the streetlights. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Vi huffed a small laugh, her gaze dropping to the ground. “You look good,” she said suddenly, the words almost rushed. “Like, really good.”

You snorted, the tension breaking slightly. “Thanks, bonehead. I tried not to disappoint. Don’t want to ruin your reputation with all those girls you bring around.”

The jab was meant to be playful—a callback to the jokes you and Ekko often threw her way. But her reaction wasn’t what you expected. She stiffened, her jaw tightening.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she said, her tone unusually earnest.

You frowned, the lightness of the moment slipping through your fingers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for the right words. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “For the same reason I haven’t had a drink in months.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Your chest tightened, a mix of confusion and hope clawing at you. “What do you… Vi?”

She looked up at you then, her eyes unguarded for once. “I want to be better. For my family. For you.”

The vulnerability in her voice took your breath away.

“I’m sorry for last week,” she continued, her voice soft as she moved closer. “I’ve been… an asshole.”

“You’re always an asshole,” you taunted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You weren’t sure how else to approach this.

Vi chuckled, the tension easing slightly. “More of one than usual. Better?”

“A little.”

“How do I get you to forgive me?”

You smiled, warmth unfurling in your chest like a slow-burning ember. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Her hand grazed your shoulder, the touch featherlight, as if testing whether you’d melt under her fingers. You leaned into her instinctively, like a plant drawn to sunlight. It was new, this tenderness from her, but somehow it felt like home. A strange, beautiful comfort that was exactly what you were aching for.

“Is it terrible that I really want to kiss you right now?” Her thumb traced the line of your collarbone, slow and deliberate, before cupping your cheek. Her palm was warm against your skin, grounding you in the moment while the world around you blurred into hazy irrelevance.

Her hand trailed up your collarbone and rested on your cheek. You were so close you could feel her breath on your face. You turned the rest of your body, finally fully facing her. Your chests were almost touching from the proximity, and so were your lips. You could feel your heart beating so loud in your ribcage you thought she could hear it.

“Definitely not,” you whispered, barely able to trust your own voice.

You turned to fully face her , closing the small distance between you . Your chest brushed against hers, the soft hitch of her breath almost louder than the pounding in your ears. You wondered if she could hear your heart, wild and untamed beneath your ribs, or if it was just you unravelling in her presence.

For a second, she hesitated, her lips ghosting over yours, not quite touching. The tension was electric, a charge that made the air feel thick and heavy, like the world itself was holding its breath. You closed your eyes, letting yourself fall into the anticipation, surrendering to the pull that had always been there.

When her lips finally pressed to yours, it was slow—achingly so. Her movements were unhurried, like she was memorizing the feel of you, the way your breath hitched, the softness of your lips against hers. Your hands found their way to her arms, fingers curling over the muscle there, marvelling at the juxtaposition of strength and gentleness. She brought you closer, her free hand slipping to the small of your back, holding you as if she were afraid you might slip away.

She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The warm summer breeze kissed your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy drinking her in—the way the string lights overhead reflected in her eyes, turning them into pools of gold, the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips parted as if she had something more to say but couldn’t find the words.

You didn’t care. Words didn’t matter anymore.

Her name slipped from your lips in a whisper you barely recognized, a plea you hadn’t meant to voice.

And then her lips were on yours again, fiercer this time. You responded without thinking, arms wrapping around her neck as though pulling her closer might make you whole. She matched your urgency, her hands firm as they pressed you flush against her, anchoring you in the moment. She kissed like she fought—with passion, with intent, with a determination that left you breathless.

When she broke away, it wasn’t to retreat but to trace a path down your jaw, her lips exploring the sensitive skin of your neck. Each kiss, each gentle scrape of her teeth, sent shivers down your spine. You gasped her name, your fingers tangling in her hair to pull her back to you.

Her eyes were dark when they met yours again, desire simmering just beneath the surface. Her lips were swollen, her breaths uneven, and she looked at you like you were something she couldn’t quite believe was real.

“Fuck,” she breathed, “I want you. Really bad.”

“You’ve always had me.”

She kissed you again, this time with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. Her hands roamed, each touch setting your skin ablaze until you were sure you’d never be the same. It was dizzying, intoxicating—a dream you never wanted to wake from.

--

Across the table, Vi was still looking at you.

You weren’t sure how long it had been—seconds, minutes?—but the weight of her gaze pressed down on you like it could peel back the layers you’d so carefully wrapped around yourself.

Your fingers tightened around the fork in your hand, the metal cool against your palm. Look away, you told yourself. Just look away. But you couldn’t.

Her expression was unreadable, her jaw set, and her brows drawn just slightly enough to make her look... almost regretful. Almost. It made your heart plunge. Even if you already had that sinking feeling she did regret it, when she left you that summer, but it still hurt all the same.

You tore your eyes away, focusing hard on the plate in front of you. The food looked perfect—bright, warm, comforting. But you had no appetite.

“...You alright?” Powder’s voice cut through the haze, and you blinked, realizing she’d been watching you. Her head tilted, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, fine,” you said quickly, forcing a smile that felt all wrong on your face when you felt Isha place her hand over yours. “Just tired.”

You could feel Vi’s eyes on you still.

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Vander was saying, his deep voice rolling over the table. “Feels like it, though. Never thought we’d make it through that night in one piece.”

“Speak for yourself,” Powder chimed in, grinning. “I think I came out of it looking pretty great.”

Mylo snorted. “You came out of it covered in glitter and confetti.”

“Exactly,” Powder shot back, shoving him lightly, and the table erupted into laughter.

Vi shifted in her chair, leaning back slightly. “Some people had more exciting nights than others,” she remarked, her tone light but razor-sharp. “If I remember right, someone disappeared for a while.”

The room went quiet.

You looked up sharply, meeting her gaze again, and there it was—something burning in her eyes, daring you to say something.

“What are you talking about?” Claggor asked, looking between you and Vi.

Vi shrugged casually, but her grip on her glass betrayed her. What the fuck was she playing at? “Nothing. Just saying, some people had... priorities.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, curling into the silence.

Your chest tightened under the weight of everyone’s stares. You forced your voice to stay even.“If you’ve got something to say, Vi, just say it.”

Her lips curled into a smirk that didn’t meet her eyes. “No. I’m good.”

You leaned forward, tension crackling in the air. “No, seriously. You clearly have a lot to say about that night. Why don’t you go ahead and spell it out for everyone?”

Vi’s chair creaked as she leaned forward, her voice low and steady. “Fine. You went missing. Nobody knew where you were. Figured you’d be with your friends, but no. You were off… handling your own business, weren’t you?”

“Vi—” Vander started.

Your jaw tightened. “Maybe you should look in a mirror before pointing fingers,” you shot back, the words escaping before you could think. “Because last I checked, you were drunk and sulking in the bottom of some mug—”

Vi’s scoff cut through the air like a slap. “Oh my god. Not this again.” She laughed, sharp and hollow. “Some of us actually enjoyed the night.”

“Enjoyed it?” you spat. “Is that what you call it?”

“At least I wasn’t sneaking around like I had something to hide!”

Your eyes narrowed, the fire in them flaring. “That’s fucking rich, coming from you. Considering the fact that you can’t ever grow up and actually take responsibility for your shit.”

Her chair scraped loudly as she leaned forward, “Grow up? Weren’t you the one giving me the silent treatment all weekend?”

“Because I didn’t have anything to say to you!”

“Oh, really? Sure sounds like you’ve got plenty to say now!” Vi’s voice cracked like a whip, the sarcasm cutting deeper than you expected.

“Because you’ve been acting all weird since I got here!” The words were out before you could stop them, a raw truth that had been burning inside you all day. It wasn’t just the awkwardness—it was her presence, everything about it, that had been eating at you.

“Weird how?”

“You keep acting like we’re friends—”

“Are we not friends?”

“Not the last time I fucking checked!” The words escaped in a snap, too loud for the quiet that had overtaken the table. “Friends don’t... they don’t—”

“They don’t what?” Her eyes were hard, daring you to finish it, daring you to bring it all back up. She knew exactly what you were going to say.

“They don’t leave , Violet.” You felt the air grow thick around you. Your voice dropped lower, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “They don’t fucking leave and act like nothing’s wrong. They sure as hell don’t spring out bullshit like this and pretend it’s nothing.”

“I—”

“They don’t pretend to care when they don’t,” you interrupted, your voice rising now, a sense of finality creeping in. You were done dancing around it. Done avoiding it. “And don’t act like this is some fucking coincidence, Vi. You left. And you know it. And for what? Because you’re a coward? We can fight about this forever and still end up right here again and again.”

Her jaw tightened at that, but her lips barely parted. She tried to steady herself, but you saw the crack—the tiny flicker of something that couldn’t hide in the cold light of the argument. “But I do care,” she said, softer than she meant to.

“No, you don’t. Because if you did you would’ve taken me seriously a long time ago.”

Around you, the table remained frozen, the once-familiar chatter now swallowed by the storm of your words.

Your chest tightened, breaths coming too quickly as heat rose to your face. Your hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, but they trembled, betraying you. You clenched them into fists, trying to steady yourself. The cold weight of embarrassment crashed over you, thick and suffocating, pulling at the pit of your stomach. The sting of tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you fought them back, refusing to show weakness. Not here. Not now.

“I need the bathroom,” you muttered.

The words were barely a whisper, but they felt loud in the stillness, a fragile escape from the chaos you were drowning in. You didn’t wait for a response. You pushed back from the table so violently that your chair scraped loudly against the floor, a harsh sound that seemed to echo in the tense silence. You stood up, your legs shaky, and your vision blurred for a second as you tried to steady yourself.

But just as you were about to leave, a small, insistent tug at your dress made you freeze. You paused, tension coiling in your chest, and glanced down. Isha’s wide, innocent eyes met yours, filled with concern and confusion, but she didn’t speak. She just held on for a heartbeat, her tiny hand clutching at the fabric.

You couldn’t bear to see her face, the concern too pure, too innocent for the mess you’d just created. You could already feel the shame settling in, the weight of everything crashing over you. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, silently asking if you were okay, but all you could do was nod quickly, avoiding the pleading in her gaze.

Without another word, you turned away, the sound of your shoes hitting the floor sharp and heavy as you walked toward the hallway. Your heart pounded in your chest, a rhythm that matched your quickening breaths, and you didn’t look back.

--

You'd spent your entire summer tied between bedsheets and lies. The knots in your chest were growing, the bitterness between your teeth spreading like a cavity. The sun was your only witness to the way you were falling apart at the hands of Violet. She was unravelling you, pulling you to pieces, limb by limb, with her teeth as they gnawed at your skin—biting and biting and pulling and pulling, taking everything out from you.

But you were so in love. You were sure that’s what it was. You were so in love with her and with this strange feeling residing within you that you couldn't help but think that if this was the way things were going to be from now on, so be it.

Her touch was electric, sparking something deep inside you that refused to be extinguished. When she pulled you into stolen moments—pressed against walls, her lips brushing yours with an urgency that made your head spin—you forgot about the world outside. You forgot about Powder. About Ekko. About the lies you were spinning just to be with her.

It was never planned. She’d come into your room late at night, your parents always let her in, her footsteps soft and deliberate, her voice a low murmur of your name that sent shivers down your spine. And then she was there, so close you could feel her warmth, her breath fanning your cheek as she whispered, “Can I stay?”

You never said no.

It was all tenderness. Her fingers would trace lazy patterns on your skin as the two of you lay tangled together, the world melting away outside your window. She kissed you with a care that made you believe, for just a moment, that this wasn’t wrong. That you weren’t betraying anyone.

Her laugh, soft and rare, became the soundtrack to your summer. You’d tease her about her scars, and she’d roll her eyes, calling you insufferable before tugging you closer with a smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” she’d say, her voice light but her gaze heavy with something deeper.

But even then, cracks were forming beneath the surface.

You ignored the way her jaw tensed whenever Powder’s name came up when you told her what you did in the day. You pretended not to notice how her touch lingered a little too long as if she was trying to commit you to memory. And when she’d pull away in the mornings, murmuring some half-hearted excuse about needing air or checking on something, you let her go without question, even though her absence left a hollow ache in your chest.

You spent your days with Powder when the afternoon sun was merciless and drenched everything in a sticky warmth that clung to your skin. You followed her into the tiny ice cream shop on the corner, grateful for the blast of cold air as the door swung shut behind you. She immediately made a beeline for the counter, peering at the flavours.

“You know you’re just gonna get strawberry,” you said, leaning your arms on the glass display.

Powder rolled her eyes at you. “Maybe I’m feeling adventurous today.” But, true to form, she ordered strawberry, with a generous drizzle of chocolate syrup on top.

The two of you wandered back outside, ice creams in hand, the salty breeze from the beach brushing against your skin. Powder was chatting about something—maybe the latest gossip from your old neighbourhood or some ridiculous scheme Ekko was planning—but you weren’t really listening. Your thoughts were far away.

“Okay, spill,” Powder said suddenly, cutting through your haze.

You blinked, looking over at her. “What?”

She stopped walking and turned to face you fully, her blue eyes narrowing in a way that made you squirm. “You’ve been weird lately. Like, really weird. And I know you’re seeing someone.”

Your heart dropped. “What are you talking about? I’m not—”

“Oh, please.” Powder rolled her eyes, licking a stray drop of chocolate syrup from her thumb. “You think I haven’t noticed the hickeys? Or the fact that you’re always sneaking off? Or how you’re suddenly a terrible liar?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t even try,” she interrupted, grinning now. “You’re so obvious, it’s embarrassing.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Powder knew you too well, and she wasn’t wrong.

“I’m not gonna push,” she continued, taking another bite of her ice cream. “You don’t have to tell me who it is or anything. Just… I don’t know. Be careful, okay? If they hurt you, I’ll deal with them myself.”

You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded casual. “I think I can handle myself, Pow.”

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice softening. “You’re my best friend. I just want you to be happy.”

It wasn’t like you wanted to keep it all to yourself, but you had to admit, you enjoyed the rush. The thrill of sneaking around, of stolen touches and whispered words in the dark . Of secluded meetings where the world melted away, leaving only the two of you. You even started to understand why Powder and Ekko had kept their relationship a secret for so long before telling anyone. There was something intoxicating about the secrecy, about having something—someone—all to yourself.

Still, the guilt lurked in the back of your mind, a constant shadow in the brightness of those moments.

You could feel its weight one night as you lay beside Vi, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside your window. The moonlight poured in through the swaying blinds, catching the sheen of sweat on your skin. You could still feel her hands on you, the warmth of her lips lingering in places you’d never forget.

But something shifted in the air as you spoke.

“Powder knows,” you said softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

Vi stiffened beside you, her arms tightening for just a moment before going rigid. You felt the change immediately, like the comfort of her embrace had turned into a cage.

“What?” she muttered, her voice panicked, strained. She pulled away from you, her sudden movement leaving you cold despite the warmth of the summer night.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, watching as she sat up and ran a hand through her hair. The way she avoided your gaze made your chest ache. “I mean, she knows I’m seeing someone. She doesn’t know it’s you,” you clarified, trying to ease the tension. “But she’s smart, Vi. I’m sure she’ll figure it out.”

“Oh,” was all she said, her tone flat.

You frowned, sitting up to face her fully. “Is that so terrible?”

She finally turned to you, her expression unreadable, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Well… yeah.”

“What? Why?” you asked, your voice rising slightly, a mix of confusion and hurt.

“It’s just…” She trailed off, her hands falling into her lap. You watched as she fidgeted with the hem of the sheet, her knuckles brushing against her thighs, her usual confidence faltering. “This isn’t… I mean, it’s not supposed to be…”

“Not supposed to be what?” you pressed, your heart sinking as the silence stretched between you.

“Never mind,” she muttered, her voice clipped, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Your chest tightened as you watched her get dressed again, searching for her clothes in the mess of your room. “Where are you going?”

“I just remembered—I promised Jayce I’d meet him for drinks,” she said, her tone casual, but the way she avoided your gaze betrayed her unease.

“Drinks?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“No, I just… uh, will I see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe. I dunno.”

Her answer hit you like a slap, the indifference in her tone cutting deeper than you expected. You opened your mouth to say something, to ask her to stay, but the words tangled in your throat. She was already halfway to the door.

And then she left, shutting it behind her without so much as a glance back.

You sat there in stunned silence, the warmth of her presence already fading. The sheets felt colder, and the air seemed heavier. You stared at the door, replaying the conversation in your mind , wondering where you’d gone wrong.

You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

You didn’t see her for a few days. Each hour of her absence stretched unbearably long, her silence gnawing at you like a wound that wouldn’t heal. It wasn’t until you were at Powder’s house for a sleepover that you saw her again, and the encounter was nothing short of jarring.

You were in the bathroom, brushing your teeth when the door swung open abruptly.

“Shit, sorry,” Vi said, freezing in the doorway, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Figures.” you muttered as you met her startled gaze in the mirror.

Her presence made your chest tighten, anger and longing colliding in a mess of emotions. She lingered for a moment , her hand gripping the doorknob so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her eyes darted to the floor before she stepped back and shut the door behind her.

You stood there, toothbrush suspended midair, the brief encounter leaving you shaken. Your grip tightened on the sink as you stared at your reflection, trying to steady yourself, but all you could think about was her.

Ten minutes later, her bedroom door was locked.

You didn’t know how you ended up there, pressed against her bed, but none of it mattered in the heat of the moment. Her movements were frantic, her hands rough and unrelenting as they held you in place. One hand cupped your mouth, muffling your gasps and cries, while the other gripped your hips, anchoring you to the mattress.

Her breath was hot against your skin as she licked a line up your centre, her tongue moving with a precision that made you shudder. Vi’s eyes stayed locked on you, watching the way your chest heaved and your fingers fumbled for something to hold onto. The sheets bunched beneath your grip as her nose brushed against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

You felt your breath stagger. Her mouth moved against you with a desperation you hadn’t felt before, like she was trying to drown out her own thoughts by consuming you entirely.

Her tongue worked relentlessly, warm and wet as it flicked against you in ways that stole the air from your lungs. She was vicious, her teeth scraping lightly, her lips sealing over you with desperation that bordered on need. You tried to stay quiet—the walls were thin, and you weren’t an idiot—but it was impossible to stifle every sound.

It was a miracle that the woman you fucked wasn’t a talker half of the time.

Your head pressed back against the comforter, and your body arched into her touch, unable to resist the pull of her movements. A broken gasp escaped you, muffled only by the fingers pressed against your lips. The lewd, wet sounds of her mouth against you filled the room, driving you closer to the edge.

Vi’s eyes never left you, and when she moved her hand from your mouth to tug at your shirt, you realized she wanted more. Her fingers fumbled with the fabric, her grip firm but not rough.

Your hand covered hers, “Vi—” you managed to whisper, but the way her fingers flexed back against yours stole whatever protest you had.

“ Oh, ” you keened, the sound spilling from your lips before you could stop it. Your chest heaved, and your free hand clutched at the sheets as heat spread through your body.

She shifted lower, pulling her hand away from yours, spreading you open further with her fingers before her tongue dipped deeper. She sucked on your clit, her lips closing over it with a force that had you gasping her name. Your hand found her hair, tangling in her locks as your hips bucked against her face.

“F-fuck,” you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper. The room felt too hot, the air too thick, as if the walls themselves were closing in.

What Vi gave you wasn’t just desire—it was something raw, frantic like she was trying to pour everything she couldn’t say into every stroke of her tongue and press of her lips. Her nails dug into your thighs, holding you steady as she pulled you apart, piece by trembling piece.

When you finally came undone, she didn’t let go immediately. She lingered, her tongue moving slower now , as if reluctant to stop.

Your gut twisted with unease and she finally pulled back, her forehead resting against your thigh, her breath warm and uneven against your skin.

She stayed there for a moment, her shoulders trembling slightly.

“Vi?” you whispered, your voice hoarse and uncertain.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she climbed up beside you, pulling you into her arms with a gentleness that went against all the ferocity from moments ago. It made your chest ache.

Her hands traced idle patterns on your back, and her lips brushed against your temple, but even in her embrace, you could feel the tension radiating from her.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a momentary lapse.

It felt like a goodbye.

Three days later, you found the note.

Sorry, can’t keep doing this. Take care.

--

The sound of your feet hitting the floor was sharp, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You couldn’t stand being in the same room with her for another second. Without thinking, you turned on your heel and made a beeline for the door.

Powder was already on you. “Hey—wait! What the fuck was that all about?” She followed closely, her voice softening with concern.

“I just need a minute,” you muttered, the words coming out more broken than you intended, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her.

“Please, talk to me,” she called out, grabbing your arm before you could open the bathroom door. You flinched, the touch grounding you against the whirlwind of your emotions. Powder gently turned you around, her gaze locking onto yours. The concern in her eyes was sharp, but it softened when she noticed the tears staining your cheeks. The ones you’d been fighting back all night.

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush, but it felt like they weren’t enough.

Powder’s eyes softened at the apology, but she was still searching for answers. “For what?”

“I’m sorry, Pow,” you repeated, your voice trembling.

She blinked, shaking her head slightly, “Why would you—”

“It was Vi,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. Your chest felt tight like something was gripping around your heart, squeezing the air from your lungs. “The person I was seeing over the summer... it was her. I... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Powder’s face, usually so open and easy to read, flickered with something unreadable for a moment. But then, without skipping a beat, she spoke, her voice calm. “I know.”

“What?”

“I knew.”

Of course, she knew. Why wouldn’t she know? You scoffed involuntarily. A bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up in your chest, but it died before it reached your lips. Of course, she’d figured it out. You’d never been good at hiding things from Powder. She’d known you better than anyone for as long as you could remember.

Seeing the way your face shifted, Powder seemed to understand the storm of thoughts going through your head. She continued, quieter now, but her words landed with surprising ease. “You’ve always had a thing for her... I just thought you’d tell me when you were ready. I wasn’t going to push.”

The floodgates started to crack open, the guilt and the ache in your chest spilling out in fragmented pieces. “I wanted to tell you,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “I really did... but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what I was doing—what I was feeling. And I didn’t want to hurt you.” The last part came out in a broken whisper, the pain of it digging into you like a knife.

Powder’s gaze softened, but she didn’t say anything right away. You could feel her presence steadying you, like she was holding onto you in the way she always did when things felt like they were falling apart.

“Come on, stop apologizing. You sound like a loser.”

But you couldn’t stop. You were choking on it. On the guilt. The regret. The frustration. You’d kept this secret for so long, and now everything had cracked wide open, splintering everything around you. “I should’ve told you first thing,” you choked out, your chest heavy with regret, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I fucked everything up. I ruined Christmas dinner, I ruined everything.”

You didn’t mean to raise your voice at the table. It just... happened. The tears were close again, stinging the back of your eyes, and your hands shook violently as you tried to make sense of it all. You shouldn’t have come back here.

“I’ll leave. I’ll go.”

The words didn’t even feel real as they left your mouth. You didn’t even know where you’d go.

But before you could turn away, Powder’s hand shot out, stopping you cold. She wasn’t angry. No, this wasn’t about anger. It was something else—something steadier. Her voice was quiet but firm, unwavering. “And go where?” she asked, a little smile pulling at the corner of her lips, almost like she was trying to soften the weight of your spiralling thoughts. “You’re staying right here. You’re not leaving.”

She exhaled a laugh that sounded real for the first time all night, and it cut through the tension in the air. The smile that formed on your lips was small, but it was there. “Besides,” she added, “if anyone ruined Christmas, it was Mylo’s shitty cookies anyway.”

That did it. It was the most normal thing you’d heard all night, and it gave you just enough space to breathe.

“We’re gonna watch a movie soon,” she said, her voice softer now. “Once everyone’s done eating. If you need a minute... you’ve got plenty of time.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your throat felt like it was tightening again, but you didn’t have it in you to argue. “Thanks,” you whispered, your voice tight, raw. “I just need a few minutes... to think.”

Powder’s gaze softened even more as she stepped back, her expression unreadable for a moment. “I’ll deal with my sister and then we’ll talk about this later. There’s a lot to unpack here.”

The words lingered in the air between you, but there was no anger there. No blame. Only understanding—like she knew this wasn’t something you could just fix in a minute. It made your heart ache even more, that she wasn’t pushing. That she wasn’t leaving you to drown in this alone.

With that, she left you standing in the hallway, the door creaking softly behind her. You didn’t look back, the weight of her words lingering on your shoulders like a heavy cloak. It felt like everyone in the house was still watching, their eyes pressing down on you. The silence in the house seemed louder than the argument had been.

Without thinking, you pushed open the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind you with a force that left your ears ringing. You locked the door, the click of the lock filling the space with a strange finality. It was just you now, and you couldn’t escape what was happening inside your own head. The sound of your pulse thudded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You leaned heavily against the sink, your hands gripping the porcelain so tightly that your knuckles ached.

“Fuck,” you whispered, barely able to hear yourself over the frantic beating of your heart.

You stared at your reflection for what felt like hours, trying to calm the storm in your mind. Your face was flushed, your emotions a mess of anger, confusion, and exhaustion. You hated the way things had spiralled tonight. Hated that you’d let it get this far. Hated that you’d lashed out, that you did it in front of Isha and the rest of the family.

But as much as you wanted to bury it, as much as you wanted to push everything down and move on, you couldn’t. You couldn’t lie to yourself. What you really felt was hurt.

A soft knock at the door broke through your thoughts, sharp against the silence. You froze and swore under your breath.

“Hey, are you okay?” Claggor’s voice was gentle, hesitant like he wasn’t sure whether to intrude. “Just... just wanna make sure you're alright.”

You ran a hand over your hair, “Yeah, I just need to... just need a minute. I’ll be fine. Sorry.”

The pause that followed felt like it lasted forever. You heard him sigh before his footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving you alone again. But you didn’t move.

Suddenly, there was another knock at the door. This one was different, more insistent. You thought it was Powder again—

You opened the door quickly, but the second it swung open, you were met with a wall of heat, and before you could think, lips were on yours.

Vi.

The shock of it made your breath catch in your throat, a jolt of heat flooding through you. She pushed into you with a force that made your head spin, her body pressing against yours as if she couldn’t get close enough. Her lips were hungry, desperate as if trying to drown out something—something that had been brewing between you two for far too long.

Everything you’d been holding in—the anger, the frustration, the confusion—came rushing out in a rush of heat and tension. You responded instinctively, your hands finding her arms and pulling her closer. She felt so real, so tangible at that moment, like she was a part of you you’d been missing without knowing it. Her grip on you was tight, almost painful as if she was trying to force her way back into your world.

She muttered something against your lips—quiet, persistent, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The words burned against your mouth, each one feeling like it was meant for you to swallow, to take in and process like some kind of penance. You didn’t stop, though. You couldn’t. You kissed her harder, deeper, your own emotions spilling out as you pulled her into you, letting the anger twist into something darker, something reckless.

The door slammed shut behind you with a force that made the walls rattle, and you imagined her kicking it closed, her body language sharp, desperate, like she couldn’t get away from what she was doing.

But just as suddenly as it had started, Vi pulled away, gasping for air, her breath ragged against your lips. Her eyes were wild, dark, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t place. She wasn’t looking at you; she was looking through you as if she was trying to piece something together in her head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You hissed, your voice low and rough, the words escaping before you could stop them. Your chest heaved with, heart pounding in your throat. “You don’t get to come in here and—”

“I’m sorry, I know,” she muttered, cutting you off. Her voice was strained, full of frustration and something else—guilt, maybe. “I’ve been... fuck. I’m sorry.”

Your mind spun, trying to make sense of it all, but the words felt hollow. It didn’t change the fact that she’d barged in, that this... whatever it was, was happening now. “You should be,” you snapped, the words sharp, your chest still tight with the weight of everything—of the anger and the hurt, and the confusion that had never really gone away.

“I don’t wanna let anyone down anymore. I don’t wanna let you down. I just... I didn’t think I was ready for this, for you," she breathed, her voice trembling just slightly. “I didn’t know how to deal with how I felt. I’ve always fucked things up, and this... this feels like another thing I’m about to ruin. Because I know you like me. And I like you too. A lot.”

“You shouldn’t have come at me like that tonight... Not like... that,” you said, voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

Vi nodded, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I know. I messed up. But I just... I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to fix it.”

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth betraying a small grin. You couldn’t help it—you were a goner. Too far gone, far too smitten, tangled in your feelings for her. She could probably destroy you a dozen times over, and you’d still find yourself wanting more.

You moved closer, placing your hands over her chest before gently cupping her face. You willed her to believe you, forcing yourself to be brave even as the words felt foreign in your mouth. "One more. I’ll give you one more chance, Vi."

“That’s all I need,” she whispered, her voice low, full of intensity.

In an instant, the distance between you collapsed. One second, she was all taut, coiled tension, and the next, she was on top of you, her lips hot against your neck, leaving a trail of fire down your skin. One hand tangled in your hair, the other already lifting your skirt as her fingers brushed dangerously close, matching the rhythm of her tongue's movements against your pulse.

Her weight on top of you, even with clothes still between you, felt familiar. It was all the little things—the way she moved, the way her hand slipped down your leg, teasing, pulling back just as you thought you’d finally get what you wanted. Her kiss was fierce, her body pressing into yours in a way that made you feel both vulnerable and alive.

You realized just how much you’d missed this—the feel of her, the way she made your heart race and your breath hitch. The nights you had spent alone, replaying moments like these in your mind, when she would slip into your dreams like a ghost.

There had been nights—like that summer at Jayce’s and Mel’s engagement party—when she had drawn you to the edge again and again, leaving you gasping and frustrated, only to make you ache for more. You weren’t proud of it, but you'd replayed that night in your mind over and over when loneliness crept in—on bad days, or when you drank too much, and the restless feeling lingered even after you’d gotten yourself off. Nothing had ever compared to the way she made you feel.

It made you wonder—did she ever feel the same? Did she ever ache for you the way you had ached for her?

The bathroom was a reckless choice for this. But then again, life was too short for second-guessing. Clothes were discarded hastily, hands colliding with fabric, a belt buckle clanging against the floor. Every movement felt frantic, raw, desperate. She didn’t let you go, her body against yours as her fingers found their way to your skin, her breath hot and heavy on your neck.

“I miss you,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I miss you too.”

“Sorry I’m a dick.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You swear you would be in peace if it wasn’t for her. But this kept you on your toes, you guessed. The way you liked it.

part one

[bratbarzal]

maggie i’m going a bit off-script here, but for your valentine’s blurbs can i request ³⁾ “has it occurred to you that we’ve spent more valentine’s days with each other than with people we’ve actually been dating?” with quinn — but plot twist, he thought you were passed the just friends phase. just a little awkward & flustered quinn vday moment 💌

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

3. “has it occurred to you that we’ve spent more valentine’s days with each other than with people we’ve actually been dating?” we love awkward and flustered quinn in this house!!!

"I can't do this anymore," Quinn grumbles out of nowhere as the two of you are on his couch, drawing your attention from the dimmed screen of your phone to watch him pinch at the bridge of his nose and kick the throw that is draped over both of your lower bodies.

"Can't do what?" You frown, tilting your head to watch the theatrics, the blanket falling from your own lap into a tangled mess on the floor.

"Sit here and do nothing. I'm sick of doing nothing. You're driving me crazy, is this like, some sort of power thing? Are you seriously not even gonna acknowledge what's going on here?"

"What's-," You literally have no idea what the hell has gotten into him. "Going on? Quinn, what are you even talking about? When did you get all antsy and weird?"

"Uh, I don't know," he retorts, narrowing his eyes in your general direction, not quite able to meet yours. "Maybe when you started giggling at your phone and acting like this is any normal day? I get trying to convince yourself that this is no different to all the other times, it's what I kept telling myself to calm down earlier, considering we've been technically doing this," he gestures around the two of you, "For the past few years now, but I thought this time was different. I want it to be different."

"What do you mean by that?" You frown, pushing your phone under the pillow you're leaning on, shuffling a little where your legs are tucked beneath you on the couch and watching as he stands, arms thrown out in irritation as he turns back to you, swiping quickly where the blanket is bunched up and an inevitable trip hazard and throwing it over the back of the couch.

"Alright, has it ever occurred to you that the two of us have spent more Valentine's Days with each other than with the people we've actually been dating?"

You stare blankly at him for a second, mouth agape as you register what he's actually talking about, before you clear your throat with a hand to your mouth as Quinn stares back, waiting for a response, eyes narrowed as his patience wears thin. "It's Valentines Day? Today?"

He's right - for as long as you've lived in the same building as Quinn over the past few years, the two of you have spent the day together, making a tradition of it, even when you'd had boyfriends and he'd had girlfriends, somehow always finding yourselves in distant relationships with people who travelled or just plain didn't care.

Quinn's door was always open to you - even on days saved specifically for romance, even if the two of you had never even considered crossing that line.

You know you've been a little distracted with work lately, but surely you'd have heard about it being Valentines Day sooner than now. You reach back for your phone just to check, and sure as anything on your homescreen is the date - Friday, February 14th.

Crap.

You've literally spent the past twenty minutes texting your group chat, following along on the boozy girls night you had turned down in order to spend another night in with Quinn. A night you hadn't given a second thought to, as the two of you have been hanging out more and more, lately - him slotting you in pretty much any and every time he's free.

And now it makes sense - they're doing Galentines.

Double crap.

"Oh my God," he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, that one thick strand you always thought was a cool stylistic choice bouncing straight back into place across his forehead - because of course it just naturally does that. "I can't tell if you're just oblivious or I'm a complete idiot."

"Maybe it's a secret third option?" You offer, standing from the couch and taking a cautious step towards his now pacing figure.

"Don't be cute," he glares back at you, "I'm really not in the mood right now for you to be cracking jokes, I'm embarrassed enough-,"

"Embarrassed?" You frown, taking another step, "Why would you be embarrassed?"

"Because I thought this was a date," he jabs a finger into his chest before pointing it back in your direction, "And you thought it was any other Friday night."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he huffs.

"That is embarrassing."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, spinning on his feet and starting to make his way over to the kitchen before you panic and grab at his wrist, tugging him back with a little more effort than you're used to - because Quinn Hughes is nothing if not stubborn when he wants to be.

"Wait," you pout, trying to meet his avoidant gaze as he looks at anything but you, jaw set and body angled away. "Why did you think it was a date?"

"What is this, a humiliation ritual?" he scoffs, "I thought it was obvious. I asked you over. For dinner. I cooked! When you walked in here I was wearing an apron, for crying out loud! There's flowers on the table," he hooks a thumb over to where the two of you had eaten - sat across from one another at his small dining table, for once, instead of on the couch or the breakfast bar, places set before you even got there. A small vase with gerbera daisies and a little ribbon around the rim. "And I'm wearing a shirt. In my own home." You cast your eyes down, to the way the buttons are popped at the top, a small sliver of his chest peaking through - and it feels like the first time you're really taking him in.

Not even tonight, but maybe ever.

It's not like you've never thought Quinn was hot - he's gorgeous, Mike Wazowski in a blindfold could see that - but there's always been a barrier there, like a cartoonish, pixelated sort of blur that hides him from full view, unlocked only by some costly subscription with life changing terms and conditions that you could never be bothered reading.

And you might have struck him off, until now - until he stood before you with a pouty bottom lip and a mortified flush to his cheeks - and he all of a sudden doesn't look like someone who could never be more than a friend.

Especially when you consider that maybe he's been thinking about crossing that line.

In a new light, he looks like someone who goes the extra mile, who gets you flowers and cooks you your favourite pasta dish, buys your favourite wine, puts an effort into his appearance to distinguish between all the times you've seen each other in sweatpants and actively listens to your dumb stories about office politics and teams meeting etiquette - like it ties in at all to any part of his world.

He sighs, heavy and resigned, and you see his chest deflate where your eyes are locked on it, catching the subtle shake of his head in your peripheral as you take too long to respond.

"Look, I kinda feel like an idiot, so maybe it's better if we just-,"

It's the tug of his wrist that spurs you into action, and you let it drop - too eager to grab him elsewhere, like by the front of his soft, pretty shirt - pulling him in by the collar and pressing your lips firmly to his.

You worry for all of three seconds until his fingertips dig pointedly into your hips, guiding you forward until you're a little closer, and they can slide further back. Your own hands move higher, touching skin now - curling around the back of his neck to bury themselves in his hair, pushing at his head to better meet where you're angled up to kiss him.

He purrs almost at the feeling, a hum of satisfaction that's spoken straight into your lips, and it almost distracts you from the way his touch wanders, one hand sliding up the back of your shirt and the other hand sliding lower.

You hum back at the firm press of his palm into the small of your back - his hand warm and his touch soothing, your shoulders loosening until all the tension seeps from your body, and you start to feel like you're floating.

Or falling.

You part slowly - of equal volition, you think - your eyes opening to see Quinn's screwed shut, and you take the second he keeps them that way to feel a flush of pride at the soft pink tint that has taken to his lips.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, barely above a whisper, when he finally opens his eyes and flashes you that darkened gaze, where it darts between your own eyes and your lips in a tantalising triangle.

He clears his own throat then, blinking hard and purposefully, and licking at his swollen lips.

"For what?" he asks, breathless, his hands still in the exact same places, thumb swiping at the dip in your spine and the fingers of his other hand temptingly close to crossing the curve of your ass - confident more in his touch than he seems to be with anything else.

"For wearing sweatpants to our date," you huff, embarrassed yourself, because even if you hadn't known the implications of him asking you over for dinner, why couldn't you have at least put on something nice. "Now I get why you looked at me so funny when you opened the door, earlier."

He laughs then, slow and easy, his smile crooked and his eyes a melting kind of warm.

"I'll forgive you if I can change into mine."

"Deal," you nod, lips twisting as you take him in - those barriers, that pixelated blur, animating into something crystal clear and definite, something you can't believe you haven't given yourself the pleasure of seeing until now. "I'm sorry for being oblivious, too."

"It's alright," he shrugs, "I'm sure there's some way you can make it up to me."

And you're still standing with your arms resting on his shoulders and your hands behind his neck - the prime position to lean up and kiss him again.

[eumivrse]

BE NATURAL : nanami kento

warning(s) breeding, creampie, mentions of pregnancy, shower sex, spanking, slight hair pulling, biting, a little degradation, reader & nanami are married, aftercare

word count 3,844

author’s note cuz nanami is the master at fucking you senseless then taking care of u after :,)

you aren’t sure what pissed him off, all you know is that kento came home already pent up.

you came out of your shared bedroom with nothing but a towel on— being on your way to take a shower— but you heard the anticipated click! of the door, which naturally made you wanna greet the love of your life. he hooked his finger in to the back of his loafers to take them off, meticulously placing them back on the shoe rack next to the front door. he hadn’t noticed you at this point and something about the underlying tension is stopping you from greeting him with your usual cheer.

after all, it’s rare for him to not acknowledge you considering that you’re his first priority to kiss and hug as soon as he opens the door to your humble abode.

his eyes aren’t visible from the specs he often wears for work, rotating his neck to unravel his tie, wrapping it around his palm as he walked towards the kitchen. he placed his glasses and silk tie down on the quartz counter and he finally took notice of you, walking up towards you without saying anything before resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“what’s wrong?” you lace your fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him, an arm around his back. your husband is never particularly emotional, but at times, there’s days like these where he comes home fatigued like he just fought a war or something.

he sighs, “work.” you give the back of his head small pats, trying to comfort him as best you can.

you ponder, offering, “what about we take a shower together then you can sleep it off? sounds good doesn’t it?” prying about his day will just worsen his stress so you decide to keep any potential questions to yourself. plus, you honestly just wanted to take a shower after a long day of errands, so you’re hitting two birds with one stone.

his meager “mm” in response was enough said.

—

you turn the knob, cold water drizzling out of the shower head. holding your hand out to check the water’s heat, you watch as kento was getting ready to undress, popping out the buttons from his signature blue linen top one by one. he slipped off of it, folding it neatly before placing it on the sink counter. he then slips off his wedding band and sets it on top of his clothes.

you had seen his bare body an ungodly amount of instances, but you never fail to just stare… it’s truly glorious. his broad shoulders along with his subtle six pack, not to mention his arms that you wouldn’t mind being suffocated with. he noticed your darting gaze when he unbuckled his belt and instead of panicking, you just shoot him a meek smile, unaware that the water pooling on your hand is already warm, apparent by the moist on the shower glass.

“baby, i think the water is ready.” he chuckles and you snap out of it, quickly unwrapping the towel around you and getting in the spacious shower. he followed shortly after, and closed the door behind him.

your intentions were innocent, really just wishing to ease your husband’s exhaustion, but kento had something else in mind.

he didn’t think about it until the soap suds trickling down your boobs and ass was seriously turning him on for some reason. you asked if he could put soap on your back because you couldn’t reach well, and of course he obliged. it’s crazy because he’d seen you naked more times than he could imagine, but something about today just made you so desirable.

when you turned around to slather soap on his body, you paused when you noticed that he’s staring at you so blankly. like you were a problem he couldn’t simply figure out. while you were distracted with his cold gaze, he takes the soap from your hand and puts it back in its respective place.

always so thorough, you know just how much he loathed making a mess.

he’s a taller man than you are, requiring you to crane your neck up to see him eye to eye. he guides his fingers to take ahold of your chin gently before tapping at your cheek with a bit of force, enough that it hurt.

“honey, what-“

before you could even finish, your face was smashed against the cold shower glass, kento’s chest trapping you in between him and the wall. you gasped in complete surprise, trying to turn your head to look at him, but he just turned your chin back towards the glass. though you didn’t mind whatsoever, it’s a rare sight to see kento so… aggressive with you, you didn’t even expect it since he came home weary and expected him to sleep it off right after this.

he whispers softly, lips against the shell of your ear, a hand grabbing ahold a chunk of your hair. “no talking unless i tell you to.” while keeping a tug on your locks, his fingers had already sneaked in between your legs, in which you spread in compliance. he pressed the pad of his finger against the bud of your clit, rubbing it ever so slightly. you yelped, palms backed against the glass that you’re being pushed against.

the water trickled down your cunt and on his fingers as he swiped your clit in tight and precise circles to get you aroused. your mind was already going stark, hazed with the thought of what he’s capable of when he’s in this state of mind. his teeth dug into the skin of your shoulders, trailing his bites up to the side of your neck. there was absolutely no way these weren’t going to bruise tomorrow, the pain on your neck mixed in with his fingers sliding into you so suddenly leaving you no choice but to curse out loud.

“fuck, kento- ah-“ the immediate slap on your ass when he specifically told you to not speak left your jaw hanging open. you felt like you were being tossed around with how rough you’re being treated, but you weren’t going to lie: you’re enjoying it to the fullest.

one hand went up to squeeze your breast, threatening to slip out in between his fingers from the silky water, the pitter patter of the shower masking the lewd noises of your cunt. he pinches your nipple, rolling it in between his fingers, and you gasp sharply, breathing heavily.

he rasps, “do you like it when you’re being treated like this, hm?” his voice was low and sultry, tongue grazing up your ear, with you shivering from his warm tongue juxtaposed with the shower’s humidity.

you whimper, “yes, i love it… ‘need more” the desperation lingering in your voice made his cock twitch, if he wasn’t already hard before, he’s definitely throbbing now, a bead of pre seeping out of the slit of his tip. kento knelt down on the tiles, using his huge bulky hands to spread your ass cheeks apart. your pussy glistened with slick, lips puffy, just asking to be devoured.

squirming, you arch your back to give him better access, kento licking his lips then sticking his tongue out to lick a stripe from your clit to in between your drenched folds.

he nuzzled his face in between your ass, lips smacking against the wet heat of your cunt, the tip of his tongue poking on your dripping hole. your moans were bouncing off the thin walls of the glass, kento only encouraging it by teasing your poor little clit with his finger while he feasted in between your legs.

his palms were gripped on your plush ass, massaging them to alleviate the tension out your body from his manhandling. to say that you were struggling to not curse or moan his name was an understatement. you were practically choking on your words, whines that nearly passed as sobs drifting past your lips. kento pulls out for a moment to take a breather, watching a glob of his saliva dripping from your pussy down on the tiles beneath him.

pushing you a few inches away from the wall, he positioned himself so that he could see your pussy from the front. “you taste so fucking sweet, doll.” he slid two fingers inside your hole, velvety walls immediately clenching around them, appreciating every crevice of his thick digits. “pretty pussy so wet f’me,” he reveres in between licks on your clit, each time sending shivers down your spine. he’s babbling at this point, just saying anything in his mind which isn’t in character for him. you’re usually the vocal one, but having him do the talking for once is doing nothing but turning you on— enough that you’re already pushed on the brink of orgasm.

his fingers plunged in with ease, and so far up that it quickly reached your sweet spot, that blended in with the warm muscle of his tongue jostling up against your clit had the corner of your mouth dribbling with saliva. you rock your hips on his face, an attempt on getting yourself off, however he strikes your ass for doing so, harsh enough that you could still feel the sting even minutes after.

he rasps, “do that again and you’re not cumming tonight. would you like that, hm?” you screamed when he smacked your ass again, his fingers plugged inside you never faltering in speed.

you whisper, voice barely capable of spitting out coherent sentences, “no… ‘m sorry kento. i’ll be good.” being unable to discern whether it’s tears trickling down your cheeks or the water from the pouring shower, you just moan in helplessness, cheek resting against the cool glass wall.

a point came where his digits were just in too deep in your poor cunt and his teasing tongue was leaving your clit swollen that you couldn’t hold it anymore. “oh fuck, can’t- i’m- ah—!” a warm stream of fluid dripped down your thigh, your husband licking up every last drop of your slick, kissing your clit one more time before standing back up, this time behind you.

he bit your lower back and dug his teeth up to your neck, leaving you with a trail of love bites. it felt as if he was gnawing at your skin, holding onto your forearm and pinning on your back before he nibbled on your earlobe. you were still coming down from your orgasm, legs trembling, ass cheek marred with the print of his palm. you turn your head, where you meet his eyes. the moment you felt his lips pressed against yours, you immediately succumbed back into his touch.

despite his ravening demeanor, his lips were so gentle as they brushed over yours, his tongue slithering in your mouth as soon as you gasped when he slapped his tip against your sensitive clit. he lets go of your bounded arm and from the corner of your eye, you notice his hand press over the wall, the other guiding his tip, resting his fat cock in between your plush walls. “do me a favor and let me know how good you’re feeling, okay?” he teases, poking the head of his dick against your drooling hole.

“just fuck me already.” you plead, screeching when he pushed his lenght past your hole, pussy squeezing onto him for dear life. he didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even ask if you were holding up okay like he usually does in his loving husband way. but to be fair, he was just heeding to your request.

he groaned when he thrusts into you to the hilt, taking both of your wrists with only one hand to pull you back slightly to reel you in deeper, while the other trapped you in between the sheer glass wall, now completely fogged with humidity.

it seemed like he was taking his time, basking in the warm feeling of finally being inside of you, holding still for a few seconds to appreciate his wife’s snug cunt. after for what seemed like a good minute, he pulled out, then rammed back in, leaving your mouth dangling wide, the slight upper curve of his cock having no hard time to prod onto your squishy g-spot.

“my god, kento… fuck.” you giggled, partly because you’re amused at how multidimensional your husband is despite being together for so many years and also because that hit the spot.

literally.

without a word, he was quick to thrust out and back in, each with a slightly deeper stroke, making your mind go in circles, ass bouncing against his lower abs. you felt like his tip was trying to poke through your abdominal walls with the way you’re arched, wrists gripped back with just his firm hand. the shower was too fucking hot, you can quite literally feel the condensation getting thicker, the sound of the water spraying onto your bodies muffled in your hearing.

he grunts your name, following with a string of curses, “fuck, fuck, fuck… hah—“ the clapping sound of his pelvis slamming up against your feeble body was enough to get him off, fucking into you in a vigorous pace for a few seconds before keeping himself plugged into you, making your whole body jolt forward, boobs pressed against the shower wall. it was all starting to hurt— you felt like putty, yet you couldn’t help but crave more. “kento,” you wince, yelping at the sensation of being so full of just him.

kento lets go of your wrists, so sore as if they were wrung like a damp towel. he pulls out, turning you by the forearm and takes a good look at your face after not being able to do so this whole time.

he’s always so adamant about how he hates clutter. in the years you’ve been married you’ve never seen his office messy no matter how busy or stressed he might be. even the way he gets ready in the morning and how he decompresses before bed is structured.

but with you? oh god, he absolutely strives for it. the mess. the nastiness of it all. your beautiful body adorned with his markings to remind everyone who owns you.

yes, he’s reserved. probably won’t even say anything brash when you tell him about the occasional times you get hit on when you’re out without him, but there’s no doubt that he's territorial. once in a while, he plants a little something on you to show everyone that you’re taken.

you’re just too oblivious to realize why he does it.

he strokes your cheek with the side of his index finger, then lifts your chin to force you to make eye contact. your eyes are glazed over, throat strained with nothing in that little head of yours besides his name and your animalistic desire to get fucked dumb. “i wanna see your face when you cum, is that okay?” he’s much more mellow now than minutes prior, gently rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb.

your mind is empty, responding with a frail “mhm”. you cup his cheek, leaning onto your tippy toes to give him a soft peck on the lips. he smiles tenderly, kissing your forehead before he lifts one of your legs by the back of your knee, leaving your pussy wide open. your wrap your hand around his cock, feeling the ridges of the protruding vein rubbing against your palm as you pump him.

“baby…” he moans, nestling his face in the crook of your neck, pressing his lips on each bite mark littered all over your upper neck and shoulders. you lead his cock back in between your slit, sliding him up and down for lubrication before slipping him back inside you, kento hissing from the tingling feeling of his dick being swallowed whole by your pussy.

your nails claw onto his shoulder blades, as he slammed his pelvis against yours, one hand keeping your waist locked while the other pried your leg open. you glance down to see the work being done on you, huffing when you used two of your fingers to frantically rub at your clit. you watch as his cock slid into you so swiftly, how your tight cunt was so welcoming for him. you see how flexed your husband’s abs are from having to thrust into you so precisely, eyes wandering up to his flushed chest then his brown eyes.

it’s funny because you were simultaneously watching how good he’s deliciously stretching you out amidst the moans and curses under your breath, resulting in a quick exchange of chuckles. “it’s turning me on. watching it, you- you know?” you stutter, followed by a little whimper when you feel that familiar knot in your stomach.

“nn- ‘love it when my princess feels good.” there were so many other things in mind that he wanted to say; how sexy you look while being fucked and how he wishes he could record your face so he could masturbate to it on nights he can’t go home due to a work trip, but kept quiet. you’re too sarcastic to let him get away with saying something so crass, honestly, he was a bit surprised that you even put up with his bullshit when he was slapping you around like some whore.

he pauses for a second, wrapping your leg that he was holding onto around his waist and he pulls on your other, signaling for you to hop on his arms.

you softly retaliate, setting your hand over his, “kento, i’m not light.”

“are you underestimating me?” you should’ve known he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer either way since he forced your other leg around him, your whole weight hanging on his waist. you were hesitant about this, mainly because you didn’t feel comfortable having him carry you, but then all your worries wore off when he squeezed your thighs for reassurance.

“i got you, baby.” he kisses your cheek. you had your arms around his neck, face a few inches from his. the veins from his forearm were prominent as he kept a bruising grip on your thighs.

you mumble, “you’re so deep,” swearing you could feel him in the pit of your stomach. he uses your thighs to propel himself in and out, and he turns around and pins you against the tile wall for a change of scenery. he felt so warm, his tender embrace all while your eyes rolled to the back of your head, chin rested on his shoulder. slight embarrassment rushed through your cheeks when you saw the moist shower glass printed with your boobs and your as well as kento’s hands.

your nasty moans so close up his ear only provided him with more stamina, his hips moving endlessly with the intent of drawing out another orgasm out of you.

nails digging on his back, you yelp, “kento, ‘need to cum.” you use the last bit of your strength to warn him, body manipulated by him, unable to buck your hips.

he pants in between sloppy thrusts, the water sloshing against his thigh as he slammed himself into you, “yes, yes, yes, cum for me, my pretty girl.” he’s mumbling sweet nothings as you let yourself release, eyes closed shut while nearly screaming his name, ultimately pushing him straight at his own high.

“ah fuck yeah,” he grits his teeth, stuffing you full of his hot, viscous cum. he waits a few seconds before pulling out, savoring in the few minutes of pure heaven that you gave him.

kento lets you loose, a little pop! audible as his cock slid out, coated with cum. arms still wrapped around him, he clashes his forehead against yours. “i love you, kento.” you whisper with a dulcet tone.

he smiles, “i love you more,” taking you by the lips one more time, his hands massaging the plump of your waist. you could feel his seed pooling in your stomach, being so filled that some is seeping down your inner thigh.

you unclasped your arms and he turns the shower knob off, walking out to open the bathtub’s faucet. you raise your voice a tad so he could hear through the glass, “what are you doing?”

“starting us a bath, so we can relax before taking a proper shower” he shrugs, reaching towards the mirror cabinet to take one of the bath bombs you’ve been storing.

when the tub was filled, he quietly turned off the faucet and went back into the shower where he proceeded to soak off with you. you help each other clean up, kento placing soft kisses over your raw hickeys while you rinse the intimate parts of your body.

“sorry for hurting you, sweetheart. i should’ve asked before doing something like that.” he mutters in between pecks on your skin.

you reach your hand behind to rake your fingers through his golden locks, humming, “it’s okay… what about your back, though? i’m sure it stings.” you snuck a glance at it when he was turned around earlier and there were two long red streaks, the apparent traces of your nails. although, it wouldn’t be the first time his back would be full of scratches.

“don’t worry about it, it’s a reminder of our love.”

you scoff at his choice of words, “okay, whatever you say, mister. let’s put petroleum jelly on it later.” you’re never quite sure if he’s being real with you or if he’s trying to be funny, but you appreciate it either way.

after cleaning up, kento prepared some strawberries and wine to compliment your bath, placing the platter and the wine glasses on the wooden bathtub tray you purchased a while back, but never ended up using. you light up a candle while he takes off the towel he draped around his waist while fixing up the food. he takes one step on the tub to test the waters, then sits across from you.

you clink your glasses together and after a sip, you joke, “what if you actually got me pregnant this time?” you always kid about being pregnant and he usually pays no mind to it because you’re never serious, but the question struck him differently this time.

he places the glass back on the tray. “then you’re pregnant.” his stoic expression and dry tone almost made it comical.

you roll your eyes in response, “so you’re saying you don’t mind?” it wasn’t like you two weren’t trying, it just has never really been a big factor in your relationship. you wouldn’t be upset if you live the rest of your life with him without children, but at the same time you often imagine how it would be.

“well, i don’t think it’ll be a burden if it ends up happening. plus, i think it’s about time we start a family, don’t you think?” he takes a strawberry and holds it in front of you, in which you lean in to take a bite. you were really just joking, but the sincerity in his response warmed your heart. he never really gave you the impression of a family man, so you didn’t think he would comply so easily.

you swallow before sighing, “so do you think it’s a boy or a girl-“

“don’t push it.”

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content. satoru/reader. dark dark DARK, bad end au, sorcerer breeding programs, consent is not a thing for sorcerers, all sorts of bad shit.

ultra dark dystopian au where the public knows what cursed spirits are and jujutsu society isn't controlled by the higher ups.

it's controlled by the government.

sorcerers are national assets. tools, property, born and raised to be weapons against cursed spirits.

they're taken from their mothers at birth. indoctrinated and trained in facilities until they're old enough to be sent out to kill curses. they start somewhere around 13. most of them don't reach adulthood.

with attrition rates so high, where are they getting all this fodder?

special grades like satoru gojo don't spend most of their time out in the field.

as soon as he was of age he's sent to a suitable mate. breeding stock like him should create more sorcerers.

for what? to be killed?

the questions come to his mind every now and then, but he knows they're useless. he doesn't think much about why things are the way they are.

he's a weapon. he's been a weapon his entire life. this is what he's good at. what he's meant for.

however he feels about his life, satoru gojo was born and bred for sorcery, in every universe. he loves it. what do the details matter?

things aren't so different for satoru in this au. he wakes up, kills curses, creates new sorcerers, gets maybe 3 hours of sleep and does it again.

he doesn't get to pick who or when he's bred with. he's a stud. his partners are broodmares. sorcerers who managed to survive the meat grinder of exorcism.

when satoru gojo meets you, he doesn't know you. doesn't even know your name.

he doesn't need that to get you pregnant. he's sent to a room, locked in there with you, crystal-clear instructions on what you're meant to do.

it isn't his first time doing this. it's not your first time either, he's sure.

it's not romantic. it's not even sexy. it's quiet, practical, and methodical -

but oh. oh, does it feel good.

he doesn't know if it's just your body, or if this is something you actively do but it feels like you're clenching around him, like your cunt is embracing him and refusing to let go.

you're touchy, too. touching his face, his hair, his body. satoru is used to roving eyes (he's instructed never to say no; after all, what if a woman who fucked him bore a sorcerer child?) and hands.

but your hands aren't greedy. they're tender. gentle caresses like the sigh you make when he buries himself to the hilt inside you.

he nearly jerks at the feeling of your lips on his neck. kisses littered up to the underside of his jaw, featherlight fleeting. ghostly, even.

when he's rutting into you, quick, efficient motions to get him closer to the edge, you meet his ice-blue gaze and press your lips to his -

it's the first time he's been kissed on the lips.

he remembers your eyes watering the first time he penetrated you. next time, he makes a point to whet his fingertips, rub over your clit, kiss your breasts, your neck, until you're dripping over him.

he doesn't know why. it's unnecessary effort. all he has to do is release inside you.

but he supposes if you're both stuck here for a while, it might as well be... nice.

and it is nice. this time he feels one of your hands grasp his, a strange feeling churning in his gut as you guide his hand to your clit.

with just a few careful swipes, timed to the rhythm of your hips bucking into him, the sonnet of your little gasps and moans, he watches you start to shiver and quake.

you clench around him and something inside him lights up, tugging, bright and hot and bursting along with his climax.

it's never been like this before, never been this good. you squeeze around him like you're milking him, panting with your mouth slack and opened wide, eyes glossy and dilated.

irrationally, he leans in to cover your mouth with his, lap at your tongue, steal away your desperate breaths and feel you moan and squirm beneath him.

when he moves to pull out, your arms dart around him, holding him close. like you don't want him to leave.

and even though it's never been like this, even though he's never tried this hard or liked it this much, satoru still thinks this is the strangest part.

laying there, bodies entwined, chests rising and falling as you fall asleep against one another.

it's warm. it's hot and sweaty and full of the stench of sex and bodily fluids, and it should be disgusting, but it's not.

maybe he's just too tired to care. when his six eyes finally close, the darkness that embraces him is warm, enticing, and absolute.

he can only just make out your heartbeat within it.

there's a few days of that, until your fertile period is over and you part, without words.

in fact he can't recall if he even spoke to you. you might not even know his name, though he's rather infamous, and with his hair and eyes he's hard to mistake.

satoru thinks about you sometimes. in the dead quiet of the night when his brain refuses to stop churning. in the midst of battle.

in the beds of the others he's meant to breed, cooling bodies laying against him as he brings himself to climax inside them and then pulls away.

it doesn't even feel that good anymore. not now that he'd had it with you.

sometimes he wishes he'd never had you. most times, he wants you there with him.

none of it matters. he knows that. he kills curses, he mates with fellow sorcerers. they're walking wombs, and he's a sperm donor. an impersonal exchange.

the worst is when he's summoned to fight a curse that seems just a little too low grade for him.

usually because the sorcerers originally dispatched failed.

in jujutsu sorcery, failure is death.

but high-level sorcerers like him aren't usually dispatched against lower level curses. it's almost invariably weaker sorcerers - younger ones.

it takes him an instant to exorcise it. seconds, really.

how many people died trying to do what was second nature to him?

how many of them were children?

it's his fault, in the end. for not being able to be everywhere at once. having to breed more to replace the sorcerers that wouldn't have been lost if he didn't have to spend so much time breeding.

the system churns through sorcerers like a meat grinder. anyone who comes out alive is squeezed for raw material, to make more of them.

an unending marathon. all that's waiting for them on the other side is death, death or being reduced to breeding stock.

he wonders what happens to female sorcerers who can't be bred anymore. are they just worked until they die?

do they ever get to see their children?

it's been years. if he'd gotten you pregnant then his children might be old enough to be sent out by now. if he has any children.

at the rate they've been having him fuck, he must have at least a few.

where are they? where are you? useless questions.

there's only been one fellow sorcerer he was able to keep track of throughout the years, and he...

well. he won't be seeing him again.

but he does see you again. years later.

do you remember him? he remembers you. how many others have you been bred with? was there a dark, long-haired sorcerer among them?

someone with sharp violet eyes and a warm smile and large hands? did you have any children by him?

is there anything left of his friend in this world?

the questions bubble in his chest, staining the back of his throat like bile.

if he asked, he's sure you would answer. you smile when you see him.

but instead he buries himself inside you, in your arms, your tight embrace. this is the only time he gets to feel good.

is this the only time you get to feel good, too? during this week of your fertile window, when they send you in to anonymous sorcerers to get fucked pregnant?

breeding stock, he remembers. what will be done with you when you can no longer bear children? what do you have to look forward to?

satoru wants to ask. did you have any children by him? did any of them survive?

but instead he buries himself in you to the hilt. until you keen and stretch underneath him.

even if he did ask, you wouldn't know.

you hold him too tightly for a brood mare, for an encounter that will only last as long as your fertile window.

do you yearn for these moments, too? do you miss him, do you want to see him again?

did you bear his children? did you want to show them to him when they were born? did you want him there?

did you - you're looking up at him hopefully, arms that hold him close, it's time to leave now and your eyes are wet and empty and your shoulders drop as you lay back on the bed limply -

geto was right.

[mushgloomz]

A New Perspective

Joel Miller x F!Reader OneShot

• an: y’all i have been GAGGED over some of the sex pollen fics I’ve read recently and i truly couldn’t help myself. as usual, this is not proofread whatsoever and was merely written in a horny-for-Joel-Miller induced haze, so apologies for any errors you may come across <3

• warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - SMUT/NSFW CONTENT. SEX POLLEN (DUBCON). unprotected p in v (not worth it irl!! don’t do it!!), reader is afab, able-bodied and has hair. language, descriptions of genitalia, pet names (baby, baby girl, sugar etc.), joel has a fat cawk but what’s new, creampie

• wc: approx 5.2k

Late spring had washed over Wyoming, introducing a plethora of flora and fauna to what was a barren waste of ice all but a few months earlier. Luscious greenery stretched as far as the eye could see; the snow-capped mountain range barricaded by acres of plentiful forestry. It was beautiful. A soft breeze swilled around your head as you took in the view from your vantage point.

“Would’ve asked for a different partner if I knew you’d stand around gawpin’ all day.”

Reality trickled back into focus as the grumble from your foraging partner reached your ears. Joel Miller, Jackson’s own resident asshole, had been paired with you four days prior to complete a week-long expedition. You’d been sent off to retrieve anything of value from abandoned settlements, and to stock up on ingredients for herbal remedies. How you’d fallen under the misfortune of being partnered with the most miserable bastard in the county was beyond you.

Joel hadn’t even turned to voice his complaint, continuing to walk toward the tree line. You mentally weighed up whether being left to raiders could really be that bad, before scampering off to rejoin him with a huff. “Didn’t exactly choose to be here myself, dickwad”, you hollered, falling on deaf ears as you closed the distance between yourself and the man ahead of you.

You reached the tree line, standing to inspect the foliage before you.

“If you’ve got anything stupid to say, get it out your system now. I ain’t dying on your count ‘cause you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

He couldn’t be more condescending if he tried. He stood at arm’s length beside you, rich brown eyes staring you down, arms crossed across his chest in a display of patronising authority. A singular eyebrow raised in your direction, prompting you to break the silence. “Oh fuck off already”, you mumbled as you barged past him and onto the dirt path, intentionally knocking into him with your shoulder as you went.

The woods were thick. Shrubbery of all varieties grew between the trunks and twisted roots of staggeringly tall trees as you edged your way further inwards. Insects provided a constant thrumming sound, broken only by the twittering of small birds, high above the underbelly on which you walked. Once in a while, a twig would snap underfoot, followed by a hushed shut up from Joel trailing behind you.

You peered through branches, your mental checklist of ingredients being ticked off gradually as you foraged through the underbrush, scoping out your remaining items. The ground was unforgiving, swelling and receding with reckless abandon, threatening to throw you off balance at any given moment. You continued your trudge, until you came across a small and unusual clearing.

You kept your volume low as you enquired about the strange plant ahead of you. “What… what the fuck is that one?”, your curiosity piqued by the shrub in the middle of the clearing, seemingly warding off any and all other vegetation. You stepped forward, wanting to get a closer look at the vibrant blooms spreading across the tangled mass of deep green leaves and twisted branches.

“Christ, don’t you have any survival skills? Where’d you learn to stick your nose into plants that you don’t recognise? G’damn FEDRA didn’t teach you shit, clearly.”

The hiss of Joel’s words were delivered straight into your ear as you were yanked backwards by a firm hand on your shoulder. Not to give him any credit, but you hadn’t realised quite how close you had gotten to the bright red petals in front of you. You jerked your shoulder from his grasp and shot him a warning glare.

“Get movin’, next settlement should be ‘bout a half mile from here.”

It was Joel’s turn to barge past you, leading the way around the small glade and past the shrub. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the blossoms adorning it’s branches, the crimson colouring almost magnetising to your eyes. You hadn’t been paying attention to your footing as you passed, and before you could rebalance, you stumbled over an overgrown root and found yourself tumbling into the sprawling clump of petals and greenery.

Despite the prickle of broken branches, toppling over had been less of a pain in the ass than a majority of the expedition. The smell, for one, was divine. It was powdery and light, yet simultaneously heady and almost nauseatingly sweet. You couldn’t describe it even if you tried. And tried you did, as you sat and breathed deeply through your nose, not even attempting to right yourself. A calloused hand breached the branches directly in front of your face.

“Get. Up. Now.”

But even Joel’s sour tone couldn’t distract from the aroma. You clasped both hands around the one ahead of you, and with a grunt coming from the other side of the branches, you were hauled up and out of the bush onto your feet. The smell clung to your clothes as you brushed twigs and squashed petals from your body. Joel did the same, having leant a fair distance into the centre of the plant to retrieve you.

As soon as you were stable again, Joel took off without another word. You didn’t care particularly. You trailed a few feet behind, cautiously watching your steps to avoid another fiasco. You walked in silence, arms swinging gently by your side, ambling along. You sighed. As you scanned the environment, you realised that everything had become slightly hazy, the borders of your vision tinged with a fuzziness that hadn’t been there before.

“Did I hit my head on the way down?”, you questioned out loud. It was the only explanation you could think of; the only answer as to why everything in your field of vision had taken on an almost shimmering iridescence. Sunlight breaching the canopy of trees beamed down and quite literally sparkled. Warm hues were more pronounced - an ambience that you hadn’t noticed before surrounding you as you continued to sidle along the path. Joel didn’t answer, remaining steadfast in his pace.

Ten minutes passed, and you noticed that your skin felt hot and clammy underneath your clothing. Trailing a hand toward your neck, you unclasped the buttons of the denim jacket that suddenly felt all too much for this weather. Shit, maybe you did hit your head. But this didn’t feel like a typical concussion; everything looked far too pleasant, the melding shades of green and brown making you hum unexpectedly, as if you were purring. Everything felt… good.

“Sh-should be five minutes from here now.”

The sound reached your ears, a rumble from just ahead of you. It was warm, much like yourself, like everything else; viscous like honey and borderline blissful to hear. Heavy eyelids lifted from the path in front of your feet as you glanced toward the source. Joel. Unlike everything in your periphery, Joel was crystal clear.

You took him in, in all his glory. And glorious he was, as he swaggered in front of you, strong legs stepping rhythmically across moss and detritus. You’d never noticed quite how broad he was across his shoulders as your eyes worked their way up his back. Curls sprung from his nape, perspiration making unkempt hair even more unruly. It made you salivate. A source of light just beyond him let you know that you were nearing the edge of the forest, the settlement you’d be pitching up in for the evening just ahead. And that’s when he turned his head, painfully slow, to glance over his shoulder at you as he walked.

It was like you had been electrocuted, or stung, or something. Eyes that had rarely held anything but disdain for you now frenzied looking, pupils blown out. Ravenous. The glance lasted far, far too long, or at least it seemed like it did. A plush pink tongue swept over parted lips and you damn near gasped. A singular bead of sweat sat atop his usually furrowed brow, now knitted in a delectable blend of need and desperation. That’s when the ache started, deep in the pit of your stomach, inescapable. Your breath sat heavy in your chest, each inhale seemingly adding to this godforsaken pressure now lingering between your legs.

Not once had you thought of Joel in a sexual manner, you thought to yourself as you stepped into the sunlight beyond the tree line. He was always so unimpressed by you, so harsh and scolding. He was handsome, no one would argue that point, but his sharp tongue and unrelenting judgement of others made him unapproachable. How stupid of you, to overlook something quite so beautiful. Your stomach knotted, painfully aching as you continued to watch him head toward the small building a mere few metres away.

Each step became arduous as you reached the abandoned house, your thighs rubbing in your jeans. Joel didn’t hesitate to enter, swinging the door open, mumbling bathroom in your direction before slinking off upstairs. It was so unlike him, to act so precariously. Why did it make you wet? You eyed an armchair, hideously upholstered in a carpet-like fabric, before approaching and resting. As soon as your ass hit the cushion, your thighs pressed together as though your very own body may betray you if you didn’t seek to contain yourself. Teeth clasped your bottom lip, a stifled whimper echoing in the room. Did you just make that noise?

You were desperately uncomfortable. The armchair played no part, the discomfort stemming purely from yourself. You rubbed your legs together, the friction offering no relief. Hazy-eyed, you peered around the room. Joel hadn’t returned. God, how long had it been since he went upstairs? You crossed your legs, your core hot with an unrelenting need to act. The thought of touching yourself, slipping a hand under the waistband of your jeans, sprung to mind. You shook it off, and no sooner had you done so, you whined. Animalistic, like a bitch in heat. You were no better than any wanton animal, desperately seeking out relief from the ache that consumed you.

What the fuck was going on? Why were you acting like this, so uncontrolled, so unhinged? Your back arched against the chair behind you, eyes squeezed shut and inhaling deeply. You had to do something, anything, to settle the ache inside you. You hesitantly unfurled your legs, biting your lip harder. Your thighs trembled as you stood, and you willed them to carry you toward the staircase that Joel had disappeared up.

After braving the stairs, you could see a number of doors. One was open, a trail of wet footprints leading from it and toward another, the end of the path being cut off by a closed oak door. You followed the footsteps in reverse, heading toward the bathroom. You could smell the pine shower gel that had been wrangled from the mirrored cabinet above the sink, the cracked tile underneath you slippery.

You closed the cabinet and looked at yourself. Staring back at you, eyes wide and dazzling, pupils stretching your irises into a thin circle of colour around a bottomless pit of pitch black, was a version of you that you’d never seen before. Your hair was windswept, flyaways sticking to damp skin on your face. There was something feral about the woman that looked back at you. She was beautiful. Without thinking, you reached out to touch the cool surface of the mirror, in awe of how her lips parted just so, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The ache returned and interrupted your admiration with a ferocity unmatched.

You wanted relief. No, needed relief. As you stood, you trailed a hand down your chest, past your naval, and down to the button of your jeans. Your fingers fumbled for just a moment before threading the button through its hole, immediately seeking out the metal zipper after. You didn’t even bother with shedding the denim from your legs. A supple hand slid its way over your mound and toward your clit, slick and saturated with want. Bracing yourself with one hand on the porcelain sink, forehead pressed against your own cold reflection in the mirror, you began to draw slow circles around yourself.

A heady moan left your mouth, your clit sensitive under your touch, the relief your fingers could offer barely scraping the surface. The frustration swelled inside you as your fingers drew tighter circles, adjusting both pressure and pace in a bid to meet your climax. A strangled sound escaped your throat, high pitched and breathy, as you came, the ache inside you merely ebbing before burning brighter than before. This wouldn’t be enough, you thought, as you rinsed your fingers under icy water from the tap and wiped them on your jeans.

That’s when you heard it. Quiet, muffled by brick and wood, coming from a different room. A groan, somehow both pained and yet drowning in bliss. You’d barely finished re-buttoning your jeans before your feet had moved of their own accord, seeking more of the sweet sound that you knew could only be coming from one person. There was something so wrong, so obscene, about you stood outside of the doorway, ear pressed against chipped wood. The breathing inside was laboured, part grunt, part sigh. It may as well have been a live wire entering your eardrums, the way that it electrified you and made the hair on your arms stand on end.

You pressed harder against the door, pleading for more of the delicious noises to reach you. Your stomach coiled and churned, painful and hot, tension brewing across your shoulders as you fought to keep yourself upright. Teeth found your bottom lip once more, stifling your own lewd sounds, praying that you wouldn’t be caught in such a compromising position. It was then that you heard it, quieter than any noise that proceeded it, but it was there. Your name, moaned at a volume no louder than a whimper, intoxicatingly melodic as it reverberated inside your head. Your jaw was slack, spit pooling, and a moan left your mouth with no warning.

You clapped a hand over your mouth the moment it had happened, but it was too late. The sound of springs shifting, of feet making contact with floorboards, replaced the lusty melody as you span on your heels and pressed your back against the wall beside the door. You sank to a crouch as footsteps neared the doorway, and clarity breached your mind just for a moment, the consequences of your voyeurism being weighed up. Joel was a dangerous man, that much you knew, and you silently hoped that he would be forgiving as the doorknob twisted.

The door cracked open ever-so slightly. You could hear panting through the gap as you willed your own chest to settle. Door edging open, you squeezed your eyes shut, as if not seeing Joel would make the whole scenario better, as if you hadn’t just been caught in the act. With your eyes closed, you could smell him, like your remaining senses had been switched on for the very first time. He smelt of vetiver and musk, of leather and whiskey. Had your eyes not been shut, you’re sure you would’ve seen stars.

The crouch that had been holding you against the wall failed you, your thighs trembling and buckling, and your knees made contact with the hardwood floor underneath. Head ducked, you opened your eyes slowly and were met with the view of unlaced boots. Your gaze lingered as you raised your head, taking in strong thighs wrapped in starched denim, a shirt thrown haphazardly over an otherwise bare torso. A trail of dark curls closed the gap between naval and waistband, a runway for your eyes to follow, leading you to the thick imprint of a cock aching to be released from its confines. You drew your eyes away from it after a moment, and with your heart hammering inside your chest, you glanced up to Joel’s face.

“Get up.”

His voice was commanding but non-aggressive. There was a hint of desperation, as if you needed convincing. He looked down at you, soaking you in, and you wondered whether he too saw the beauty in the wild woman you’d seen in the mirror. Cheeks and neck pink with warmth, he held out a hand, which you took gratefully. Touching him, touching skin that wasn’t yours, was exhilarating. His hand swallowed yours, the skin of his palm firm and coarse, fingers thick and long. He hoisted you up to your feet, dropping your hand and scanning your face.

“Can’t be around you. Ya gotta go downstairs, can’t trust myself.”

Joel could’ve been speaking in tongues for all you knew. All you had heard was a throaty grumble, your attention all but consumed by the shape of his mouth as he spoke. The way his jaw tensed as he paused, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped in air. You swear his cock twitched in his jeans as your name left his mouth. You felt hotter than the sun, resisting the urge to double over as pressure reached a crippling peak between your thighs. “J-Joel, I need you to help me”, your voice cracking, pleading with him. You watched pink swipe over his lips, now glistening, hand reaching out and clutching at his bicep to steady yourself instinctively. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, please. Please, just-“.

Your sentence was cut short as a firm thumb found its way to your lips, coaxing them to part as it pulled the lower one down. Strong fingers held your chin up. Muscles flexed beneath your hand, tensing much like the ones you watched in Joel’s jaw. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to escape as your insides boiled, only fueled by the contact on your skin.

“Shhh now baby. You feelin’ it too? Reckon it was that damn plant, not been able to walk straight since you fell in it.”

Baby. The way it rolled from his tongue so naturally, like he’d always wanted to call you it. It made you feel giddy, head lulling harder into his grasp. You didn’t attempt to stifle the whine that left you. His fingers flexed around your chin, and he hummed his approval, the sound emanating from low in his throat.

“Oh darlin’, gotten yourself in a real state ain’t ya? Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can make it better.”

Was this really happening? His thumb brushed over your bottom lip before he removed his hand, placing it on your upper arm and squeezing gently. Your breathing was shallow, words unable to form. A wave of pressure swelled low in your abdomen and without thinking, you tip-toed, tilting your head up to reach Joel’s, and kissed his cheek. Stubble scratched at the swell of your lips, and the smell of him so close drove you to the brink of frenzy. It appeared the same happened to Joel, as he tightened his grip on your arm, bringing his other hand to sit flat on the small of your back and pressing you toward him in one fluid motion.

His mouth met yours with a vigour unparalleled; his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, all-consuming and dominant in its nature. You were putty under his touch, his hand following the arch in your spine up toward your hair. Breathing was no longer a priority - you needed this man more than oxygen. A fistful of your hair found itself wrapped around Joel’s hand, and with a firm tug, your neck was exposed. You were his for the taking.

Lips traced along the length of your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking as they made their way down to your clavicle. Flat-tongued and panting, Joel worked his back up toward your ear, licking as he went. Any self-restraint you may have possessed was long gone; begging him to give you all that he had. “Please, I need - oh fuck - I need you”, your hushed tone perceptible only to his ears. He stopped his attack on your neck and collar, eyes dark with desire, releasing his grip on you only for a moment before grabbing at your wrist and pulling you into the room that he had left.

The room contained little more than a double bed, a nightstand and a dresser. The bed was in a state of disarray, sheets peeling at the corners, a pillow lost to the floor. The smell of sex hung in the air, the aroma giving Joel and his earlier activities away. You squirmed from his grip to remove your jacket, far too aware of its weight on your aching body. Hands deftly made their way to the hem of your t-shirt, before lifting and shedding yet another layer. You stood, your upper half bare, and looked at Joel.

“Fuck, look so pretty for me baby. Gonna make you feel so good, promise.”

The words fell from his mouth, rumbling and low, and it sent chills up your spine where his hands had not long been. You’d no doubt soaked your panties, and at this rate, your jeans wouldn’t be far behind. With an almost pained expression, Joel tore his eyes from you and moved toward the bed, shrugging the shirt off of his bare torso and letting fall to the ground. He turned, facing you again, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh, beckoning you over. He leant back on a single propped arm, shifting his hips to accommodate the somehow still growing bulge in his jeans. It was vulgar to witness, and you moved quickly toward him.

Hands found your hips as you stood before him, feet planted between spread legs. He worked one hand over your zipper, and tucking both thumbs into your waistband, pulled both your jeans and panties to the ground in one fell swoop. He drew his lips toward your stomach, placing wet kisses in a downward direction, his breath hot against your exposed flesh. Goosebumps prickled along your legs, blood replaced entirely by red-hot adrenaline, as he neared your core.

“S’all mine, you hear me?”

No sooner had the words reached your ears, did you feel Joel’s hand snaking it’s way up your inner thigh toward your cunt. In a desperate bid to stop yourself from rocking your hips forward, you instead opted to nestle your hand into thick brown curls, tugging hard and reaping the rewards - a moan cascading from Joel’s mouth. “Please, Joel, I can’t - need something, anything”, you begged, as though your life depended on it. It very well may, you thought; the heat in your core reaching a precipice and threatening to bring you to your knees with its blistering pain. You felt a number of fingers drag through your folds, hot and slick, before two were pushed inside you without warning. You yelped, not with pain, but with a scorching desire for more.

“So fuckin’ wet for me baby. Must be hurtin’ real bad.”

You whined as the fingers inside you curled, brushing against the velveteen walls of your cunt, deeper than you’d ever been able to reach yourself. You felt yourself clench around the soaked digits, pumping themselves in and out, stilling only to drag themselves across your g-spot.

“Make me wanna cum just watching you, sugar. See what you’re doin’ to me?”

You glanced down past the curls still tangled around your fingers. Joel had unbuttoned his jeans, his cock thick and leaking, almost purple and just begging to be attended to. He held the shaft steady around its base, his other hand continuing to unravel you from the inside out. “P-please, I need-“; your words were cut short as Joel moved his thumb to your clit, nothing more than a strangled moan escaping you. He pressed firmly as he swept the digit left to right, his fingers now curling inside you - you felt as though you’d left your body as your orgasm drew closer, grounded only by the rhythmic motion of thick fingers and the blissful sounds of Joel’s humming.

“Cum for me baby, I know you’re needin’ it. Wanna see you make a mess of this pretty little pussy.”

Spurred on by the obscenities leaving his mouth, you held your breath as your orgasm rushed through you. As the wave of pleasure hit, momentarily replacing the ache in your abdomen, a cry left your parted lips, your head tipped back. Joel’s fingers worked you through the bliss, coaxing every last sound he could from you, murmuring as he went.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“That’s it darlin’, gonna make it all better.”

“So tight around me baby, don’t think I can hold on much longer.”

Your breathing was rapid, your chest rising and falling in shudders, knees desperately trying to refrain from buckling beneath you. And yet, before you could discern exactly what had just happened, your stomach tensed with a vengeance - it simply wasn’t enough. With his jeans still around his thighs, you gawped at Joel, sat cock in hand, precum dripping in glistening beads from its tip. Your fingers unwound themselves from his head as he slipped his fingers from your heat, slick release coating your inner thighs. You stepped out of the remaining clothes that sat bunched around your ankles, and made for Joel’s lap, wide and inviting.

He leant back further, using both arms to hold himself upright, as you climbed across his thick thighs and sat on him. Your chest was at his eye level, and he took full advantage of such a fact, dipping his head toward your breasts and nipping at the swells. God, if only you had the foresight to see what you’d been missing out on this whole time.

You weaved your hand between your bodies, further down until you made contact with his cock. It was girthy and solid, the weight of it surprised you as you curled your fingers around its length, your thumb not quite reaching the other side of your hand. Hesitation zipped through your mind, questioning whether or not you could actually take him, but the visceral groan that met your ears was enough to dismiss any and all doubts.

Steadying his shaft in one hand and balancing yourself on your knees, you lined him up with you. He stared up at you, brows pinched and pleading, surely feeling the heat radiating from your core. Hands remained at his side as you made your descent, the stretch as you engulfed him inch by inch borderline painful, but oh so worth it. The gasp he let out as you reached the hilt of his cock was downright criminal, his face flashing with both shock and desire. You let yourself adjust to his size, the fire in your belly quelled for now.

“Don’t know how long I’m gonna last; been a while since I last-“

You’d rocked your hips as he was speaking, and in turn had unintentionally cut him off, your name interrupting his flow of words, jolting out of him as if it were the most obscene curse word he could muster. It was music to your ears. You’d never felt so full, packed to the brim with Joel, cock-drunk and giddy as though you’d been fucking him for hours. He’d not done so much as thrust, and yet he had you enraptured.

“You’re so tight baby girl, I can’t - Christ - I can’t think straight.”

You rolled your hips, not just once but repeatedly, making light work of the friction that the smattering of curls at the base of his cock offered against your throbbing clit. You mewled as you pushed your hips down harder, seeking as much purchase as physically possible, Joel twitching against your walls.

“Such a pretty girl, making me feel so good. Always knew you’d take me so well.”

If it weren’t for your state of bottomed-out delirium, you’d have questioned Joel on what he meant by always. Had he pictured this exact scenario before? Was it as good as he’d imagined it would be? Selfishly, you didn’t care. You had started to lift yourself along his length, finding a pace that quickly filled the dank room with a cacophony of moans. Your knees ached against the mattress as you brought yourself up and down repeatedly, thighs trembling once more. You couldn’t be contained; a woman unraveled. Joel dug his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply, muffling his groans of pleasure with your shoulder. He filled you to such a degree that you could feel him pressing against your cervix, hard and wanting.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock, sugar. Gonna squeeze the cum straight outta me, so g’damn tight.”

The crude description alone would’ve been enough to send you tumbling into your next climax, even without the swell of Joel’s cock inside you. You bore down and rutted against him, dizzy and blissed out as you sought out your release. You choked on his name as you came, bracing yourself against his tensed shoulders, milking his cock as your walls quivered and clenched around him. As you rode out your climax, Joel wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you in place. He lifted you ever so slightly, creating just enough leverage for him to buck his hips up into your pussy, chasing his own orgasm.

You watched as he set a ruthless pace, sloppily thrusting upwards, eyes screwed closed. The slapping sounds as his hips met your own nearly overpowered the guttural moaning escaping his mouth. “Cum for me Joel, p-please - fuck - please fill me up”, you babbled, too enthralled by pure lust to consider the consequences. You needed him to fill you, claim you.

Your begging tipped him over the edge, and with a groan he shuddered his hips up, painting the walls of your cunt with hot, thick ropes of cum. You could feel him pulse inside you with each spurt, the muscles in his chest and stomach tensing, shoulders heaving with strain. He pressed his damp forehead against your chest, still hard inside you.

“Don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard - damn near knocked me out, pretty girl.”

He chuckled, still panting as he spoke. You shifted your weight and leant against his shoulders as you lifted yourself off him and to your feet. No more than a minute after you had unsheathed him from your walls, his spend still dribbling down your thighs from your slit, did the ache return. It brewed inside you, bubbling low in the tender flesh of your stomach, freshly bruised from the frivolities you had just taken part in. The building pressure made you whine, and as you glanced at Joel, cock still throbbing and stood to attention, you realised that your evening was far from over.