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senseofnewness · 1 month

Text

double fault

idea by @diyasgarden

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader (mistress!patrick zweig x trophywife!reader)

rating : explicit

word count : 31.4k

contains : smut 18+, infidelity, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), period sex, pregnant sex, mention of noncon, emotionally absent mother, body dysmorphia

summary : Running into Patrick Zweig, your childhood crush, was a much-needed distraction from your otherwise unhappy life as a housewife. Though others might envy your life of ease, with no obligations and a generous husband showering you with gifts, you felt something was lacking. You missed the excitement, the fire. Someting Patrick reignited in you, drawing you into an affair that forces you to reevaluate your life and what you truly desire as woman.

It was undeniable, you loved your husband more than anything. From the moment you met, he swept you off your feet with his charms. He was successful, ambitious, intelligent and a lot older than you. Raised in a wealthy traditional family, marrying up and dedicating yourself to your household was an expectation you couldn't escape. While you found this somewhat outdated, you reluctantly complied, feeling unprepared to pursue anything else in life. Your parents had always controlled the course of your life, never allowing you the freedom to explore and experience life on your own terms. Every decision, every step, had been meticulously planned and dictated by them. But now you found yourself without a degree, a clear passion, or a career beyond a few modeling gigs in your youth, so the path seemed set. Yet, when you met your husband, the weight of obligation lifted. You found comfort in his embrace, a sense of security that enveloped you. His reliability reassured you, brushing off any concerns you had about conforming to your parents' plans. And from the shelter of your father, you passed into the care of your husband.

In the early years of your relationship and marriage, he treated you like a precious jewel, a dazzling trophy wife to parade and whose happiness was at the forefront of his priorities. Together, you surrounded yourselves with luxury, enjoying a life of comfort and abundance. Three-star restaurants, exotic getaways, lavish hotels, designer wardrobes and expensive handbags, all gifted to you in gratitude for being such a devoted obedient wife. In return, all you had to do was maintain a firm body, keep your pussy tight and preserve your young-looking face. The only obligations you had were at the gym, visits to your plastic surgeon, or social events. You loved how easy your life was, how everything was thought of for you.

As time passed, cracks really began to show. While the material comfort remained, you found yourself starved for attention. His demanding career increasingly pulled him away from home, leaving you on your own in your cold mansion with no one to care for. No husband. No pet. No baby. A child was what you desired the most, a need that consumed your thoughts more and more as years passed. You had discussed it countless times, but he remained firmly convinced that he was happy with just the two of you. He was content with your only presence and so were you, but most of the time, he wasn’t even there.

He still made efforts to show he cared despite the distance but his gestures seemed mechanical, lacking the spark that once setted you on fire. Nights once filled with whispered promises, hushed moans and stolen kisses now echoed with silence. Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, you caught yourself remembering a time when sheets were warmed by your shared intimacy, and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled you into sleep. Now, those moments felt like distant memories, fading with each passing day.

The loneliness was particularly bitter today, on your birthday, a day you had eagerly awaited. You had spent the hours ticking by, hopeful for a phone call or a surprise gift that never arrived. By 9pm, it was clear : he had either forgotten. Or worse, was too busy with someone else. Thoughts of another woman, younger and more captivating, raced through your mind. Had he become so consumed with impressing her that he had forgotten his own wife? There was no concrete reason to doubt him, yet you couldn't help but imagine the worst-case scenario.

You had spent the day in tears. Now, as evening settled in, all you craved was a small comfort, something sweet to numb the ache. For six years, you had diligently avoided indulging in anything sugary so that your husband would always find a thin and toned wife waiting for him in bed. But tonight, those sacrifices felt meaningless. You needed cake.

●

When the Uber dropped you off at the bakery, disappointment washed over you as you discovered they didn't sell individual slices of cake. You opted for a whole 6-inch cake instead, decorated with a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ message on it. You were sitting outside at a table with a spoon in hand, about to dig in, when you spotted a familiar face crossing the street. A face you had not seen in ages. A face that one couldn’t forget. It was Patrick Zweig.

You had grown up alongside the Zweig family, close friends of your parents. While you and Patrick couldn't call yourselves great friends, you shared many fond memories together. Beach trips, parties, amusement parks, you had experienced it all with him. Your parents always paired you up during events, likely because you were the same age. But you knew age wasn’t the only reason. Both your parents had ulterior motives. Your mother often remarked on how sweet and caring Patrick was, though you knew better. Her words had little effect on your opinion of the boy so she eventually suggested he would be a ‘great marriage candidate’ for you. You thought she was crazy : you were only fourteen and there was nothing remotely husband-material about Patrick.

As children, you got along well enough, despite Patrick's habit of using you to get whatever he wanted from his parents, who adored you, by making you ask for anything on his behalf, but as teenagers, you fought frequently. Patrick was wild and messy, while you were the opposite, always obedient. He saw you as a pain in the ass for always sticking to the rules, and you hated how unserious he was. But, eventually, at fifteen, he had grown on you. You developed a bit of a crush on him, having been the victim of his constant teasing. However, witnessing the way Patrick treated other girls had convinced you not to pursue it or even mention it.

●

"Patrick!" You called out, raising your voice to catch his attention. He looked up, scanning the area until his eyes met yours. A grin spread across his face as he recognized you, closing the distance between you with quick steps. "No way!" He exclaimed as you stood and enveloped him in a warm hug.

After exchanging pleasantries, you gestured towards your dessert. "Want some cake?" Patrick hesitated for a moment, you could tell he had better things to do but his curiosity piqued as he read the inscription on the cake. "Sure." He replied, taking a seat opposite you and grabbing a spoon from your plastic bag. "Is it your birthday?" He asked, already digging into the chocolate cake. You nodded. "Happy birthday then." He said with a smile, clinking his spoon against yours before indulging in the sweet treat.

You talked for a while about your lives. Patrick was still involved in professional tennis, just as you remembered your mother mentioning, but the prodigy of your youth now confided he struggled to make a living from it, only occasionally qualifying for tournaments. You shared your life as a housewife with him, mentioning your involvement in philanthropic events when he asked you how you occupied your days, half lying as you felt there wasn't much else noteworthy to say.

He began reminiscing about your shared childhood, managing to bring laughter to such a somber day. The way his smile made his lips curl stirred butterflies in your stomach and brought a blush to your cheeks. You thought he looked even better than you remembered, his face now adorned with a beard and subtle lines of age that only enhanced his charm. You regretted wearing yoga pants and a cozy sweatshirt that evening. You were now also extra aware that your hair was likely disheveled and your face swollen from crying. Not that you sought his approval of your appearance, but you couldn't help but hope he didn't see you as a complete mess. Well, perhaps a part of you secretly wished he found you attractive too.

The shop had closed, and you found yourself standing on the sidewalk with Patrick, engrossed in conversation as he smoked a cigarette. He had offered one to you, but you declined, mentioning that your husband would never allow it. "Do you always do what your husband tells you to do?" He asked, curiosity in his eyes. You paused, genuinely considering the question. Doing what your husband wanted was easier than thinking for yourself. "Pretty much." You answered with a shrug. "And where is that amazing husband today?" He continued, a smirk playing on his lips as the cigarette dangled precariously. You bit your lower lip, unable to respond, knowing that voicing the truth would bring you to tears again. Instead, you faked a smile, but your downturned eyebrows betrayed your true emotions. Patrick studied you intensely and sighed. "I can’t believe you became such a boring little housewife." He spat out, clearly not trying to comfort you. You shot him a death glare. "Where is the brat I grew up with? You used to give me shit all the time. That was hot." He mumbled the last part. He thought you were hot back then? If only you had known, your life might have turned out differently. Not that you wouldn't still be married to the same guy, but you'd probably be hating Patrick's guts right now. After a bit of fooling around, he would have found a way to let you down and become your enemy. Perhaps it would be better than feeling giddy inside because your childhood crush had finally called you hot, more than ten years later. "You know, fifteen years old me would have died hearing you call me hot." You revealed, letting out an amused snort. "Really? Damn, another missed opportunity for Zweig." He said, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, feigning disappointment. "But you still are, you know, hot." You grinned at him, genuinely pleased by his compliment. Your heartbeat was going crazy. This was even worse than you had thought, you liked the attention. "Even if you have the personality of wet bread now." You whined loudly and slapped his arm as he burst into laughter. Typical Patrick, always disappointing you somehow.

You continued to talk for a while. When your legs grew tired, you sat on the edge of the sidewalk, and Patrick followed, sitting next to you, his muscular thigh resting against yours. You asked about his friend Art, the boy who always followed him around when you were kids. His expression grew somber for a moment, and you sensed it was a complicated story. "We don’t really talk anymore." He said quietly. Whatever had happened between them, it had clearly affected him deeply. He pinched his lips together, and you gently patted his back. Under the streetlight, you noticed a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, you licked your thumb and wiped it away. "So messy." You remarked, feeling oddly maternal with him when he was acting all vulnerable in front of you. "Gross." He snorted, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.

After exchanging contacts and promising to ‘do this again’, a comfortable silence finally settled between you. "Let me walk you back to your car." Patrick offered, his gaze fixed on you. "I took an Uber." You admitted. He rolled his eyes. Of course, you did. If he wasn’t already convinced you were living the high life, he certainly was now. "Want me to drive you back?" He asked. You nodded. It was cold outside and you didn’t want to wait for someone to pick you up. "Okay, follow me. I parked over there to avoid the fees." He stood up and extended his hand to you, helping you stand up. He didn’t let go as he led you to the other side of the street. "So cheap." You chuckled. The contrast between the spoiled child you once knew and the thrifty man he had become was startling. "I was just around here to buy some smokes. Imagine the fees, it’s almost midnight now!" He said, defending his frugality. The skin of his hand felt rough against yours, but the firm grip was pleasant. It had been so long since your husband had held your hand that way, so tightly, as if he didn’t want to lose you.

●

You walked hand in hand in silence, the only sound being your heavy breathing as you struggled to keep up with his pace. The low temperature added a slight chill to your heated cheeks. Once you reached his car, Patrick opened the passenger door for you. It took you a moment to register his gesture, so out of character for the Patrick you remembered. "So gentlemanly. Have you gotten soft?" You teased, a smirk playing on your lips. "Me soft? I’ll show you soft!" He snorted, pinching your waist in the same teasing way he did when you were teenagers. You covered your stomach with your arms, trying to protect yourself from his touch. "As always, all talk." You joked. But Patrick’s expression shifted, he wasn’t joking anymore. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as if trying to read your mind. Were you flirting back for the sake of it, or did you really want him? Maybe a bit of both. Your heart raced, and you had difficulty swallowing as you stared back at him. Without warning, he grabbed your jaw and pulled you into a passionate kiss, his lips crashing against yours with an urgency that took your breath away. His tongue tasted your lips, and before you knew it, he had you pinned against the car, deepening the kiss with an intensity that made your head spin. "I'm married…" You mumbled against his lips, the words muffled but not breaking away from the kiss. Patrick pulled back slightly, sharing his breath with yours, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "That's not my problem, though, is it?" He whispered, his voice husky and teasing. There was the Patrick you knew. You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of excitement and guilt swirling inside you. You decided to brush aside that feeling, wrapping your arms around his neck and eagerly savoring the taste of his lips once more.

In an instant, you found yourself sprawled across the back seat of Patrick's messy car, his body pressed against yours. His mouth trailed hot kisses down your neck as his hands roamed under your top, sending shivers through your body. The rational part of your mind knew this was wrong, but the pleasure coursing through you felt undeniably right. It had been so long since you had experienced such intimacy that the touch of his calloused hands fondling your breasts and his warm tongue teasing your jaw was almost enough to send you over the edge. Patrick's intense focus on your body made it difficult to think clearly. You gasped when his thumbs flicked your nipples, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through you. "Kiss me." You breathed, your voice barely more than a moan. He obliged, capturing your mouth with his in a searing kiss. Your hands wandered over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, a vivid contrast to your husband's softer figure. The car's cramped space seemed to heighten the intensity of your connection, every touch and kiss amplified in the enclosed, chaotic setting. You could swear you were lying on top of dirty gym clothes reeking of sweat, but you didn’t care. Patrick's kisses grew more demanding, and you responded with equal enthusiasm, losing yourself in the passion of the moment. This was wrong but you needed him.

You hooked one of your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to your core as your hands slid under the hem of his pants, grasping his firm butt. Your fingernails dug into his skin, coaxing a deep grunt from his throat. A triumphant smile spread across your lips. You were the reason Patrick Zweig was moaning. He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours, as if silently questioning how far you were willing to go. You knew he wanted to be sure you wanted this, but in that moment, wisdom was far from your reach. Biting your lower lip, you rolled your hips under him, feeling the undeniable heat between you. "You’re a tease." He whispered, his voice serious. You shook your head in response, your eyes conveying your desire. "No." You murmured, your lips barely an inch from his. "I just know what I want." With those words, Patrick's hesitation vanished. He removed your sweatshirt with practiced ease as he trailed kisses down your neck to your cleavage, each press of his lips leaving a burning imprint on your skin, his tongue circling your nipple until it hardened under the attention. You arched into him, your body begging for more.

"Fuck, you have such nice tits." His words turned you on almost as much as his skilled tongue on your body. Your husband used to speak to you this way, lavishing you with compliments and adoration as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had once worshiped your body with such devotion. Now, the only comments he made were about changes in your figure, like when the cold weather made you skip your runs and your thighs lost some of their muscles. You hadn’t given it much thought until this moment, when Patrick began showering you with attention. It was then only that you realized how much you missed hearing those praises.

Patrick was drooling all over your chest, his teeth grazing against the skin of your perky breasts as he explored every inch of your skin with his tongue. You ran your fingers through the dark curls of his hair, tugging gently whenever his sucking made your legs tremble. His kisses traced a path down your stomach, and all you could think about was how much you wanted his mouth to continue lower. It seemed he had the same plan in mind when he slid your pants off. You glanced down and felt a wave of embarrassment. How could you have left the house in those unflattering worn-out grandma panties? The waistband elastic barely clung to the fabric, but thankfully, Patrick didn’t seem to notice or mind. Before you knew it, your panties were lost somewhere in the mess of his car, between old socks and empty Gatorade bottles. He spread your legs, positioning himself between them, his hands holding your knees apart and his eyes burning with desire as he took in the sight of you. At least you were relieved that the laser removal had done its job, leaving you smooth and bare. "I’m going to make you feel good, babe." He murmured as he spread your folds, revealing your glistening clit, inner lips and opening. You had been wet ever since you had felt his mouth on yours. He slid the tip of his tongue against your entrance, sending a tickling sensation through your insides. He spent a few teasing seconds with slow, short licks before pushing his tongue deep inside. "More…" You moaned, your eyes closing in pleasure. "Look at me." He commanded, his voice steady. You obeyed, locking eyes with him. The sight of him between your legs made you even wetter. Your husband did this from time to time, on special occasions, like your birthday. Your birthday. The memory of that neglected day suddenly filled you with sadness, but there was no time to dwell on it as Patrick’s eager mouth worked its magic. His enthusiastic attention left you breathless, pushing away any lingering thoughts of the man who shared your life. He shoved his whole face into your cunt, devouring you with voracious hunger as his nose bumped against your reddened clit. The sensation was more than you could handle. You raised your arms above your head, grasping the door handle for support, and pushed your hips against his face, desperate for more. All you wanted was to wrap your legs around his head and ride his mouth, but his strong hands held your thighs apart, preventing you from moving.

Patrick was messy, spreading your juices across his face as he sloppily made out with your pussy. The chaos of his approach only heightened the whole experience. You weren’t entirely sure if it was intentional, but you could have sworn you felt his tongue brush against your asshole at one point. "Pat…" You tried to warn him, sensing that his tongue was, once again, dangerously close to your ass. "Shh." He hushed you, his voice low as he continued to do whatever he wished of your body. You tightened your grip on the door handle, feeling the muscles in your legs twitching as your orgasm neared. "I’m c-c..lose…" You babbled, your cheeks flushed with heat. You didn’t recognize the sounds escaping your lips. You were usually more reserved in bed. You had always believed that such sounds were exaggerated in porn, but here you were, proving yourself wrong with every moan and gasp. "Patrick!" You cried out as you came against his tongue, your toes curling and your eyes squeezing shut with pleasure. The intensity of the climax made it impossible to maintain eye contact with him.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then his lips were back on yours, kissing you passionately. You could taste yourself, all tingy, on his tongue. Still panting from the orgasm he had just given you, the kiss made you crave for more. You craved the sensation of his body against yours. Until now, you had let Patrick take the lead, knowing you could later blame him for your straying. But now, you wanted to cross that line yourself, to break the rules. Consequences were the furthest thing from your mind, you were too consumed by desire. All you needed was him between your legs. You reached for the waistband of his shorts, but he gently pushed your hand away. "It's your birthday. Tonight, it's all about you." He murmured, sucking on your lower lip. Despite his desire, you sensed his genuine intention to make sure you felt special tonight. "Believe me, I couldn’t be more selfish than I am being right now." You assured him as you sneaked your hand back under the hem of his pants, pulling his length out. He was fully hard, it would make things easier. Yet, the impressive size of his cock presented a challenge you weren't entirely prepared for. There was only so much that your body could take. "Fuck, you’re big." You blurted out, unable to contain your surprise. He chuckled in response, a mixture of amusement and pride.

You attempted to roll him under, but the cramped space of the car made it difficult for either of you to change positions. Thankfully, Patrick understood your intention. With a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you on top of him, handling you as if you were weightless. He settled comfortably beneath you as you straddled him, your legs on either side of his body.

He placed his hands on your exposed breasts, squeezing them firmly with his strong grip. Though his touch was a bit rough, you felt safe in his hands. You trusted him. You reached behind you and grasped his length, locking eyes with him as you gently stroked it. "Bab-..." He began, his voice breaking. Growing up, you had endured endless hours of Patrick’s chatter, but never had you heard him struggle to form words. You bit your lower lip, turned on by the sight of him being so reactive to your touch. You drew back his foreskin, then lifted your hips to guide his engorged tip against your slick folds, slightly rubbing it against your wet opening and overstimulated clit. As you felt his cock pressing eagerly against your entrance, it became clear that your body wasn’t ready to take him all at once, it would need time to accommodate him fully. With deliberate care, you eased the head of his erection into your already-sensitive entrance, the sensation making you both gasp. You took your time, gradually taking more of him in, until his head was finally enveloped in your warmth. Growing impatient, Patrick's hands abandoned your tits and gripped your hips, guiding you down onto his length with a firm push until you were sitting on it. You whimpered in pain, your hands resting on his chest as you urged him to stop. You weren’t used to such intrusion, the only man you had ever been with was your husband, who was nowhere near as large as Patrick.

"It hurts..." You whispered, your voice trembling. The burn of him stretching you in ways you had never experienced was too much for you. You needed a second to breath. "Shit, sorry..." He muttered, holding you still as you tried to adjust. "Fuck, you’re tight." You fell forward, pressing your lips to his, partly to seek comfort in the kiss and partly to make him shut up while you tried to focus. Kissing had always been your favorite part of lovemaking, it was when you felt most intimately connected to your husband, his mouth against yours while he was inside you. Now, you needed to feel Patrick sucking on your tongue to calm down and make you forget the temporary sting. "I’m okay…" You reassured him, starting to roll your hips on top of him. Feeling finally ready for more, you leaned back and placed your hands on his knees, beginning to ride him with a steady rhythm. He rested his hands on your hip bones, guiding your movements as his thumbs spread your folds apart. His gaze was locked on the connection between your bodies, completely absorbed in the sight of your tiny pussy sucking in his thick cock, while you kept your eyes on him. His breath grew uneven, his mouth slightly open as he focused on the pace of your body. "Look at you taking my dick so well." He groaned, his voice rough with desire. You responded with a moan, arching your back and pushing your chest forward, savoring every sensation.

You were fucking like never before, each thrust sending waves of pleasure that promised to leave your thighs sore for days to come. But you didn’t want to think about the aftermath. All that mattered in this moment was feeling his meaty length buried deep inside you, his tip bumping against your cervix as you forced yourself to take every inch he had to offer. You craved the sensation of his heavy sack squeezed under you as you sat back on his cock. "Fuck!" He gasped, his tongue hanging out in pure pleasure. "If I had known what a…" Bounce. "S-slut you were…" Bounce. "I would have fucked you years ago." You could only moan in response, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure. He planted his feet firmly into the backseat and started thrusting upward, perfectly syncing with your bouncing. "Patrick…" You breathed out, overwhelmed by the sensation of his pubic bone grinding against yours. Your clit was on fire, and you could feel yourself nearing the edge. You weren’t sure you were going to last much longer. "I know, baby." He murmured back, his eyes locked on yours for the first time in minutes. You both continued to move in perfect harmony, your motions becoming more urgent. The long, languid strokes were replaced by rapid, short thrusts. From the outside, you probably resembled animals in heat more than two people having sex. After minutes of fucking each other, it was clear that he was as desperate for release as you were.

"Babe… I’m close… Tell me you’re close…" His voice was urgent, and you met his gaze, nodding as you felt the tension build up tightly in your lower stomach. "I’m coming…" He warned, but you continued to ride him, unable to come just yet. "Off…" He begged, grabbing your ass, ready to help you dismount him. But you clenched around him, coaxing him with your tight grip, and felt his cum painting your walls. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you moaned his name, but your orgasm was abruptly interrupted as Patrick hurriedly lifted you off him. He pulled out, glazing the remainder of his cum on your ass and lower back. "Fuck, I’m so sorry." What was he apologizing for? For interrupting you mid-high? For coming inside you? You were nothing but grateful. Besides, you were the one who had held onto him as he was about to climax. If anything, you should have been the one apologizing. But, in truth, you felt no remorse whatsoever. He grabbed a towel from his gym bag and began to wipe his semen from your skin. You leaned in closer, wrapping your arms snugly around his neck. "Don’t worry about it…" You whispered in his ear, playfully nibbling on his earlobe.

●

The drive back to your house was quiet, both of your minds still reeling from what had just occurred. When Patrick finally parked in front of your house, the reality of the moment sank in, it was time to leave. The warmth and comfort of his embrace had felt so right that the thought of parting was almost unbearable. You glanced around, scanning the darkened windows of your neighborhood to ensure no prying eyes would witness your misbehavior. Then, heart pounding, you leaned closer to Patrick, your breath hitching in anticipation. You planted your lips on his, the kiss starting soft and hesitant, but quickly growing more passionate. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. Your lips moved against his with a hunger you hadn't felt in years, a desperate need to hold onto the connection you had found tonight. Patrick responded eagerly, his other hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. The intensity of the kiss was overwhelming. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and you opened for him, allowing the kiss to deepen even further. Patrick's way of kissing was delightfully messy, a trait you found endearing. The exchange of saliva between you two was all-consuming. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, unwilling to let go. The taste of him, the feel of him, was intoxicating.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in the kiss, to forget about the world outside the car. Your hand wandered down his pants, feeling his length, still slick with your juices. But the reality of your situation clawed its way back into your mind when Patrick placed his hand on top of yours, gently urging it to stop. You broke away, breathless and conflicted, looking into Patrick's eyes one last time. "You should go back inside before I fuck you in front of all your neighbors." He whispered, his voice thick with desire and amusement. You giggled softly, the sound echoing in the car, and withdrew your hand from his crotch. The moment left you both in a lingering silence, your heart pounding against your ribs as you tried to gather your thoughts.

With a reluctant sigh, you stepped out of the car, the cool night air a sharp reminder of the warmth in Patrick’s embrace. As you walked towards your front door, you glanced back one last time. Patrick was still watching you, his gaze unwavering. You waved him goodbye and watched him leave, a huge smile spreading across your face. As you approached your door, you noticed a package waiting for you. Bending down, you saw it was from your husband, with a note attached wishing you a happy birthday. A stab of guilt twisted in your stomach, and the smile faded from your lips. Now, you felt sorry.

●

That night, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep, haunted by the events of the evening. You had washed your clothes, but ultimately threw your panties into the trash, unable to bear the guilt they embodied. No amount of scrubbing in the shower could rid you of the feeling of dirt clinging to your skin. Even the Birkin bag your husband had gifted you seemed to judge you silently from its place in the closet.

Countless scenarios played out in your mind, each one a punishment for your infidelity. You worried about the possibility of being pregnant with another man's child, despite your IUD. What if someone had seen you with Patrick and informed your husband? Or worse, what if you had contracted a life-altering illness from Patrick? He was kind of the manwhore when you were teenagers, what if that was still the case and your body was slowly killing you?

Fear was eating you from the inside, compelling you to schedule an appointment with your gynecologist first thing in the morning. However, the thought of facing your regular doctor and his inevitable judgment was unbearable. Instead, you booked an appointment with a clinic out of town, taking great care to show up with sunglasses to avoid recognition.

When the doctor informed you that most STDs could not be detected so soon after exposure, your heart sank. The test results might not be accurate, even if you were infected. "Contacting your partner to ask if they've been tested recently might be more reassuring." He suggested. But that was not an option. You knew yourself and you knew you wanted nothing to do with Patrick, it would only complicate matters further. He mentioned taking PEP as a precaution, and you readily agreed.

You swallowed the pill with a gulp of water, nerves taut as you awaited the test results. Just then, your phone rang, displaying your husband's name. Panic surged through you. Did he already know? Taking a deep breath, you answered as calmly as possible. "Yes, lovey?" He was calling to ask about the package and to apologize for not being able to call the previous night. "Yes, I did. Thank you so much. I love it." You truly adored the bag, your husband knew you so well. You couldn’t believe what you had done to him. How could you betray such a good man? "You shouldn’t work so much." You replied when he explained that work had kept him late. A nurse approached, handing you an envelope. The results. "Oh, I’m sorry, someone’s at the door. I’ll call you later. Love you." You hung up and tore open the envelope, your hands trembling. The results were there in black and white : you were clean. You were overcome with contentment, but doubt lingered. What if you weren’t? What if it was too soon to be sure? You needed certainty.

Grabbing your phone, you began to text Patrick, the cause of all your problems. You had blocked his number the night before, determined to erase him from your life and never speak to him again. But now, faced with an emergency, you had no choice but to unblock his number and confront your past mistake. Your fingers hesitated over the keys, but you knew you needed answers, if not for yourself, for your marriage that was at risk.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:15am] Look, I’m freaking out… Have you been tested for STDs?

You watched the screen, seeing the three little dots appear, indicating he was typing. Relief washed over you, thank god he was awake.

→ [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:15am] wtf… ← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:16am] I don’t feel so well… → [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:17am] Well that’s not because of me, I’m clean. But next time, maybe ask that before you let a random guy fuck you raw.

Next time? Oh, there wasn’t going to be a next time. And it was all his fault that you had lost your mind and become so desperate last night. He had awakened a beast within you, one incapable of rational thoughts. Thoughts like condoms.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:17am] Patrick… → [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:18am] I’m serious, I’m clean. ← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:18am] Thank you.

You exhaled in reassurance. It was easy for men to lie but deep down, you knew you could trust him. He had nothing to gain from lying to you. Plus he wasn’t just a stranger, he was the boy who grew up with you. He had cared about you in the past, he wouldn’t put you at risk, right?

On your way back, you made a point to stop at the nearest pharmacy, securing Plan B as an extra precaution.

●

Later in the afternoon, another text arrived from him.

→ [From : Patrick Zweig - 3:33pm] I took a test, just for you, so stop being so… psycho, okay? [picture attached]

The image displayed the results of his blood test. You couldn't help but be grateful that he had taken such steps to reassure you.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 3:34pm] I trusted you but thank you. That means a lot. → [From : Patrick Zweig - 3:34pm] A lot? Like enough to let me hit it again now that you know I’m clean?

You scoffed at his text, but a smile tugged at your lips nonetheless. He wanted you again. You hesitated to answer. There was something about the chase that thrilled you more than giving in, a line you swore never to cross again. Biting nervously on your acrylic nails, you dialed his number. "You're such a homewrecker." You blurted when he finally answered. "Excuse me?" His laughter filled the line. "We can't do this, I'm married!" You reminded him, though his chuckle only widened your grin. "And?" His response made you whine in frustration. How did you end up entangled with someone with such loose morals? "Don't you care that I belong to someone else?" You pressed, wondering if he was even capable of feeling jealousy. "You belonged to me last night." He whispered. So he only lived purely in the moment? "You sucked me in so well, sitting on my dick like you were meant to be there." He added, his words making you nibble on your lower lip. Your body heated at the memory. "Can you still feel me?" His question hung in the air. "Patrick!" You whimpered, torn between wanting him to stop and wanting him to continue so you could sneak your hand between your legs and play with yourself.

●

It didn’t take long for you to fall back into his arms. A few phone calls, some initiated by him, others by you. You felt powerless against him, and he knew it well, his words stirring up desire and leaving you perpetually hungry for more. So when he asked you out for coffee, of course, you went.

Initially, your encounters were under the cover of night, hidden away in his car, far from curious eyes. He would pick you up discreetly, down the street, driving aimlessly until finding a secluded spot. But now, caution faded as your craving intensified. He took you in broad daylight, parking just blocks from your home. You had done it all. On every seat, every position and he had explored every inch of your body, bullied your tight little pussy and throat. His fat cock had stretched you out in any possible way and you just couldn’t put an end to it. In just six days, Patrick had unraveled you, making you come more than you ever did. You knew there was no returning to the old you, to the days of vanilla sex and mundane desires. You had transformed into a new woman. Cravings you never knew existed now consumed you, discovering your body in ways previously unimagined and experiencing climaxes that sent waves through your entire being. Patrick had opened your eyes to the fact that, despite what you believed, you had never truly experienced an orgasm before, certainly not like this. It was now clear that you had always been naturally submissive, longing for domination, but you had never encountered a man who could fulfill that role.

You had also discovered that you didn't hate giving head as much as you once thought. With your husband, it had been a chore, something you did out of obligation rather than desire. But with Patrick, it was different. You found yourself loving it, even though he was far from gentle with it. The first time you had done it, he had let you take the lead initially, but he quickly took control when he realized how truly inexperienced you were. You knew the basics, but you hadn't ventured beyond them. All those years, it had done the job to make your husband come so you had never questioned it. Now, most of the time, Patrick held your hair in a tight fist, tugging it forcefully as he fucked your throat. You had come to enjoy the roughness and the humiliation that accompanied it, savoring the moments when he would slap your face lightly with the head of his dick before releasing his sticky load on your bare face. He praised you every time he came, calling you his obedient little slut, and you were eager to impress him with how naughty you could be, pushing the limits each time. You loved it so much that when your mouth wasn't on his cock, you found yourself nuzzling his fuzzy sack, drawn to the addictive, musky scent of his sweat.

Patrick insisted that he couldn't commit to anything beyond tennis. Serious relationships, marriage, children. None of it interested him. You didn’t mind, though, you already had a husband for those things. Still, you found it amusing how the supposedly untamable Patrick always ended up texting you, seeking more, making time for your meetings in his routine.

The whole STD scare had, however, left you cautious about letting him come inside you. You suspected he had other partners. So Patrick pulled out, like a good boy. Instead, he made sure to cover you with his cum. Breasts, stomach, ass, neck, face, and hair coated with the pearly liquid. Showers had become even more of a necessity after every encounter. He knew how embarrassed you felt rushing home in stained clothes, and oddly enough, he seemed to take great pleasure in it. You even had a sneaking suspicion he might had been driving behind you to witness every single step of your walks of shame. If he kept this up, your cover wouldn’t last a day when your husband would be back. He would surely notice the gigantic pile of dirty crusty laundry. Or the cum dripping from your chin every time you came back from your promenades. So you found yourself begging him to fill you up again. Patrick's smile in response was so bright, you knew he had once again manipulated you into getting exactly what he wanted. Just like when you were kids.

●

A few days had passed, and your husband returned home, showering you with gifts he had bought on his trip. You felt relieved that your relationship dynamic remained unchanged. You cherished his presence, he loved you deeply and expressed it in many ways. Yet, in return, you found yourself reverting to the role of devoted housewife : doing his laundry, preparing his meals, and jerking him off until he fell asleep. But you weren’t as available for Patrick, and he made sure to make you pay for it. He flooded your phone with pictures of his cock and videos of him touching himself. To avoid constant interruptions, you kept your phone on 'do not disturb'. You had also cleverly changed Patrick's contact name to 'Patricia'. To your husband, she was your new friend you had met at the gym. And Patricia was a very demanding friend.

← [To : Patricia - 11:44am] Stop it! → [From : Patricia - 11:44am] Send me a picture of your tits and I will stop.

You hurried to the bathroom and obliged, sending him pictures of you squeezing your full boobs together. Yet, that didn’t stop him from asking you more. And each time, you provided him with pictures of your ass or your cunt spread out enticingly just for him. You didn’t have enough time in your day to take care of your husband and satisfy Patrick’s never ending requests. Why on earth did you have to engage with a jobless man?

→ [From : Patricia - 11:49am] You’re so hot, I want more. Are you free for a ride right now?

With your husband beside you, loneliness could no longer be blamed for drawing you closer to Patrick. You found yourself forced to respond to every message. You craved to be the center of his world, yearning to occupy his thoughts every hour of the day. You longed for his love. It wasn't the thrill of the chase that excited you anymore, it was the idea of being possessed by Patrick completely.

●

The freezing cold outside finally drove you both to Patrick's place. It just wasn’t possible anymore to fuck in the car. Until then, your encounters had been confined to the cramped vehicle, so entering his apartment felt refreshing, and a bit scary. As Patrick swung open the door, the lingering scent of unwashed dishes hit you. Sports bags cluttered every corner, empty soda bottles covered the table, and a layer of dust settled over the few ornaments he owned. His place was a mess. "That's really where you live?" You couldn't help but ask, taken aback to find the Zweigs’ golden child living in such chaotic conditions. Patrick chuckled in response, clearly unfazed. "Are you being judgmental? Not all of us are blowing billionaires." He joked, gesturing for you to come inside. Up close, it was even worse.

With nothing edible in his fridge, you both decided on take-out. Unable to ignore the mess, you took it upon yourself to tackle the dirty dishes. "You really don't have to do that." Patrick insisted repeatedly. "But I do." You retorted firmly, scrubbing away. "Can't you smell this?" You teased, glancing back at him. He shrugged, unbothered. "Maybe I should get myself a wife too." His comment caught you off guard. You snorted and turned toward him, staring at him in disbelief. He had told you many times that the idea of marriage made him gag. Plus, you knew his aversion to commitment and serious relationships. "So she can be your cleaning slave?" You challenged, raising an eyebrow. He really wasn’t any different than any other man. "No, so she can force me to do it." He admitted with a grin. He surprised you with his response. You couldn't help but smile back. "Clean the table, you pig." You playfully commanded, swatting his ass with the dish towel. He laughed and began gathering the discarded bottles for disposal. "See, that’s motivating."

Fucking Patrick in his bed felt strangely intimate. Despite his sheets looking and smelling like a dozen people had been there before you, laying there, idly, with him made you feel special. It was as if he were inviting you into the most private part of his life, the place where he was most vulnerable. His bed was just slightly larger than his car's backseat but smaller than your own bed. Even when you lay on opposite sides, it felt as though you were still all over each other. And you were, unable to keep your hands off each other, like horny teenagers.

Patrick was driving into you from behind, his other hand pressing your face into the pillow while the other firmly gripped your waist. The pillow, soaked with the heavy scent of sweat, was the object of your frantic nuzzling, much like a cat in heat . "I can’t believe…" He started, his voice strained as he thrust into you harder than he was before. "...he’s letting a slut like you be u..u-unfucked." His moan was raw, punctuated by a sharp smack as his hand spanked your exposed behind. You couldn’t believe it either. You were ready to explore nearly any boundary, nothing could be off limits with enough convincing. You knew you could have been your husband’s ultimate fantasy if only he was interested. The spank sent jolts through your body, causing your legs to tremble beneath him. Now, the pillow was completely soaked with your drool.

As he continued to fuck you, you felt his thumb grazing teasingly against your asshole. Well, maybe there were, in fact, some boundaries you weren’t just ready to cross. "Pat… What are you doing?" You gasped, feeling a thick gob of his spit trickling down your crack. "No…" You whimpered, feeling him smear his saliva over you. "Just a finger." He assured you, pushing his thumb into the tight ring of flesh without any warning. You closed your eyes, clenching around the unexpected intrusion, but remained silent. You knew you couldn’t deny him anything.

In the end, it turned out to be more than just one finger. And now, you were nestling against him, spent, face buried in the curve of his neck while he lazily smoked a cigarette. "Do you think your husband is seeing other women?" He asked, his free hand aimlessly tracing circles on your hip. Just the thought of it made you mad. "He must be." You admitted quietly, lifting your head to meet Patrick's gaze, sadness in your eyes. "He never fucks me." You revealed. "Never?" Patrick's disbelief was evident, his voice rising in shock. You knew it wasn't entirely true, there were some moments, perhaps once a month, when he would crawl on top of you. "Can that old fuck even get it up?" He scoffed, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. You knew he could, just not with you. Your suspicions about another woman lingered, the subtle scent of women's perfume on his clothes when he returned home, the constant need to check his phone, or his newfound obsession with meticulously trimming his pubes, details you chose to ignore. "He's an idiot." Patrick spat out, his voice thick with disdain. You hated whenever he brought up your husband, knowing Patrick had nothing but contempt for him. "He's got the hottest wife, a Rolls-Royce of a pussy, and he's messing around." His blunt words gave you butterflies. Did he genuinely think of you as the 'hottest wife' with the 'Rolls-Royce of pussies' or was he simply buttering you up for another round? It didn't matter in that moment, your mouth was already wrapped around his cock, tasting yourself on him.

It was dark outside, and you knew it was time to head home. You were relying on Patrick to drive you back but he was so deeply asleep you couldn’t wake him up. So you ordered an Uber, and it would be arriving soon. You carefully crawled out of bed, gathering your clothes from the floor. As you were dressing, you noticed Patrick stirring. "Mmh, you’re leaving?" He mumbled, still half-asleep. "You know I can't stay the night…" You replied softly, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. He smiled, though his eyes remained closed. "Next time, clean your place, or I’m not fucking you." You whispered into his ear. "By just being in those sheets, I probably tripled my body count." You playfully bit his ear, eliciting a soft whimper from him. "Goodnight, Patrick." You said once you were fully dressed. "Night, honey." He responded in a playful tone. Despite the unseriousness of it, his affectionate nickname brought a smile to your face.

On your way out, you noticed pictures adorning the walls. They depicted various eras of Patrick’s life, and you paused to observe them. There were photos of Patrick with his cousins, whom you had met a few times, pictures of him winning tournaments and proudly lifting his trophies, and candid moments with Art, both of them acting like fools. He looked the same yet so different, the joy in his eyes from those earlier days seemed absent now. You wanted to understand what had changed. Despite Patrick slowly revealing parts of himself to you, there were still many things he kept hidden. Your phone beeped, the Uber had arrived, and with a final glance at the pictures, you left his apartment.

The next time you visited Patrick's apartment, you were pleasantly surprised by the transformation. Gone were the dirty dishes, the floor had been vacuumed, and fresh sheets adorned the bed. It seemed he had taken your words to heart. A smile tugged at your lips as you thought, perhaps Patrick did need a wife to keep him in order.

●

Patrick’s apartment had become your cocoon, the place you retreated to whenever the monotony of your housewife life became too suffocating. It was here that you felt truly alive, where Patrick would wake up the woman in you. You now only met during the day, finding it far easier to sneak away while your husband was at work than to lie about your whereabouts in the evenings. As soon as Patrick was done with practice, you would meet him at his place. Most of the time, you were so eager to see him that you would be waiting for minutes in front of his front door. You knew he was just as eager to see you, as he would still be covered in sweat from his workout. He never took the time to shower first, and you secretly loved it. The feel of his tense, sweat-dampened body against yours, his intoxicating scent, a mix of musk and cheap drugstore deodorant, made your desire for him even stronger.

However, this new routine left you with no time to visit the gym yourself. But that was alright. Patrick had become your new workout, his intense touch keeping your heart rate up in ways no treadmill ever could. The rush of adrenaline, the rapid beat of your heart, the fire in your veins, all of it was more exhilarating than any exercise. Plus, Patrick’s adoration of your body made you love it more than ever, making trips to the gym unnecessary anyway. No exercise had ever made you appreciate the way your breasts sat so nicely on your chest, a bit heavy from their natural weight. You had once considered getting them done as gravity began to take its toll, but now you thought they were perfect. And Patrick thought so too, as they fitted so nicely in his mouth. Your hips, which you once found too bulky, never looked better than when he had his hands on them as he plunged deeply into you. Your butt that you thought was too flat never looked fuller than when you were sitting on his cock. It wasn't just Patrick's actions that made you feel like the sexiest woman alive, it was his words. He would whisper all kinds of things in your ear when he was inside you, words that made you so wet, it was almost embarrassing. He talked about how tight you were, how sexy your body was, and how gorgeous your face looked when you were coming. Whether they were lies or the truth, you couldn't tell, but he boosted your confidence like no one ever had. You felt like a goddess in his arms.

Whenever you would show up, he would greet you with a knowing smile, pulling you into a deep kiss that made your knees weak. Patrick's hands roamed over your body, making you forget everything else. His whispers in your ear, his touch, his very presence, they all made you feel desired, wanted, alive. Every rendez-vous left you craving more, and each time you left his apartment, you knew you'd be back in no time, unable to leave him for more than half a day. But as days turned into weeks, you knew you were playing with fire, and the thrill of the affair was as intoxicating as it was dangerous. One afternoon, as you lay tangled in Patrick’s sheets, you found yourself wondering how long you could keep up with this. You knew you couldn’t choose between the two anymore. In the past, you would have chosen your husband without a single thought, because he had taken such good care of you for so long and you loved him. But now, everything had changed. Patrick had entered your life and turned your world upside down. The passion, the excitement, the way he made you feel, things you had never experienced with your husband, had left you utterly confused. The lines between love and lust blurred, and you found yourself falling for Patrick in a way you never anticipated. Of course, you still loved your husband more than you loved Patrick, but you loved who you were when you were with Patrick.

●

As he searched for a lighter, cigarette dangling from his lips, he opened the drawer of the bedside table. Unable to resist your curiosity about Patrick's nighttime essentials, you peered into the drawer, intrigued by what he considered indispensable for his bedtime routine. Your gaze fell upon something unexpected. Well, not totally unexpected since it was Patrick, but something curious. Crawling over him, you reached into the drawer and pulled out the object, examining it closely. It was a fleshlight and it looked well-used. "What’s this?" You asked, holding the item up in front of his face. He simply stared back at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, don’t play dumb." He replied nonchalantly as he lit his cigarette. To be honest, you only had a vague idea of what it was, you had heard about those but had never seen one in person, with your own two eyes.

"Show me how you use it?" You asked, extending the toy toward him. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but you nodded firmly in response. You had always enjoyed watching Patrick jerk off, though typically you watched from beneath him as he fucked his fist close to your face, coating it with his slimy release. This was an opportunity to watch him from a different angle. "So I guess tennis is not the reason your arm is so big?" He shot a death glare at you and you stole the cigarette from his lips, taking a long drag of it. He grabbed the lube from the drawer and coated his length with it. "Will you be able to keep your hands away from me?" He joked and you rolled your eyes, blowing the smoke in his face, placing the cigarette back between his lips.

He slid the silicone sleeve over his length, the fake pussy spreading wide against the base of his shaft. You gasped at the sight, aroused by the image of another pussy, even if artificial, spread open for him. It was undeniably hot, but deep down, you doubted you could ever enjoy watching a real pussy receive Patrick in the same way. Patrick's eyes were locked on the fleshlight, his wrist moving frantically, and his mouth hung open in a silent expression. Seeing the cigarette balanced between his lips, you quickly snatched it away and extinguished it in the ashtray, preventing it from falling onto his chest and burning him. You watched closely as Patrick's length thrust rhythmically into the toy, the slick movements captivating your gaze. "Touch yourself." He commanded, his voice heavy with lust. You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes reflecting both hesitation and excitement. Slowly, you reached for the aching spot between your legs, your fingers beginning to stroke your folds with agonizing slowness, a deliberate tease meant to drive him wild. "Fuck, that’s hot." He murmured, his eyes glued to your hand as it disappeared between your crossed legs. "Spread your legs. I want to see." He demanded, his voice low and urgent. You spread your legs, allowing him a clear view of your wet cunt and the fingers dancing over it. As you slid your middle finger inside yourself, your eyes locked onto his cock.

"Baby…" He groaned, his free hand reaching down to squeeze his balls. You added a second digit, riding your hand the way you did when no one else was watching. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t be as vocal as you were when Patrick fucked you. Touching yourself had always been a secret act, performed silently under the blanket to avoid waking your husband up. Still, you panted heavily, the pleasure building with every stroke. After a few minutes of you both pleasuring yourselves on either side of the bed, Patrick lifted his hips, his thighs twitching. He came with a low grunt into the plastic toy, his body shuddering with release. You continued to rub your clit, your fingers moving in desperate, needy circles. It only took a few more strokes of your swollen bud before you reached your climax, your eyes locked with his as you moaned his name, the scent of both your orgasms filling the room.

You glanced at him through half-lidded eyes, your chest rising and falling with each breath. He was grinning from ear to ear, a look of triumph in his eyes. Reaching for your hand, which was resting between your legs, he lifted it to his face and examined it. "Why did you remove it?" He asked, his voice a low murmur, as he sucked on your fingers, licking them clean. It? Oh, your ring. "Felt weird wearing it when my hand's always on your dick." You explained, watching him lavish attention on your slick fingers, covered with your juices. You couldn’t help but bite your lower lip at the sight of him. "That was the fun part of it." He replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You frowned, studying his face. The fun part of it? Was the thought of fucking a married woman more exciting than fucking you? "Wait, is this turning you on?" You asked, your voice rising with shock.

Now that you thought about it, there was something deeply perverse about the way he always ensured you went home with his cum dripping from your cunt and pooling in your panties. Or how he'd make you swallow his load and then ask you to ‘give your husband a kiss’ for him. He was actually enjoying this situation.

"Duh. Obviously." He said with a smirk. "You're a freak." You muttered, pushing his face with your hand, interrupting his intense sucking. "And you're a cheating whore. We all have our crosses to bear." He retorted, his tone carrying a hint of cynicism. You opened your mouth in shock. "Little shit." You said, slapping his shoulder. Patrick just chuckled, the sound resonating through the walls. You stared at him, a mixture of annoyance and amusement swirling within you. It was moments like this that confused you. Sometimes, in Patrick’s embrace, you felt so alive that you questioned your life choices. You wondered if sacrificing your womanhood for a comfortable life was worth it. Yet, leaving your husband for Patrick would be a foolish decision. While your heart fluttered in his presence, you understood that you were just something exciting for him to play with, just a new toy he had stolen from someone else.

●

But whenever you began to question your feelings, he had a way of reminding you just how much better he was for you than your husband, with his hands on your throat and his tongue all over your chest.

"Such a needy whore." He groaned, feeling you clench around his cock with desperation. "Please…" You pleaded, your voice trembling as you begged him to move inside you, but he remained still, toying with you. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer to your core, yearning for more. "Always begging for my dick, huh?" He said, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make you feel lightheaded. Finally, he gave in and began to pound into you, the sharp sound of his full balls smacking against your ass filling the room. You tried to moan in pure bliss, your mouth open in a silent scream as your hands roamed down his back. "Does he…" He asked, his voice husky as you gazed at him in awe. "f-f… fuck you like that?" While missionary was your husband’s favorite position, and yours as well, since it allowed you to kiss him, he had never gripped your neck so harshly or treated you as if you were just a hole to be filled. "N-no…" You gasped, struggling to produce any sound. "Only you…" You breathed out, your face flushed a bright red as you fought to catch your breath. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, and before you realized it, you climaxed in a wave of silent pleasure, your eyes closed and mouth agape. Your juices spilled over his lower stomach and sack. You were barely aware of when Patrick followed, lost in near-unconsciousness beneath him. When you finally regained your senses, you could feel his thick warmth filling you deep inside.

You appreciated the aftercare with Patrick, especially when he felt he had gone a bit too far. Although he was turned on by pushing your limits, he felt guilty about making you nearly pass out. Now, both of you stood in his cramped shower, lathering each other with soap and enjoying the warm, calming water together. His tongue playfully brushed your earlobe as he whispered praises, his hands caressing your asscheeks. He told you how hot you were and how special it felt that you had abandoned yourself to him, allowing him to indulge in all sorts of twisted things. Yet, it wasn’t enough, he always wanted more. "I want to fuck your ass." He murmured, trying to gently ease the words into your brain and convince you. "I kinda noticed." You chuckled, feeling his warm breath tickle your skin. "I’ve never done it before." You confessed, though the knowing look in his eyes had already revealed your inexperience. He smirked, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze. "Ah, a virgin." He said, as he spread your cheeks apart, letting the warm water from the shower cascade down your crack. "What if it hurts?" You asked, your eyes searching his for reassurance. It’s not like he was exactly small. "I can prepare you so it won’t." He promised, his tone soothing. "But what’s the point if it doesn’t feel good?" You questioned, your voice trembling slightly. It wasn’t that the idea of anal sex was unpleasant, it just went against everything you had been taught about intimacy between a man and a woman. You weren't totally against the idea, to be fair, you were just scared of the discomfort. Also, it felt almost wrong to let another man be the first to explore that part of you, despite your husband’s lack of interest in it. "I can make you feel really good." He said, his breath warm against your neck as he trailed soft kisses from your ear to your collarbone. You shivered at the sensation, a mix of desire and hesitation in your voice. "You already make me feel really good." You refused yourself to him. Tonight wouldn’t be the night.

After drying off and dressing, you shared a lingering kiss. There was an unspoken understanding between you. This couldn’t last forever, but for now, it was enough. You slipped your ring back on, feeling the weight of it, both physically and mentally.

As you prepared to leave, Patrick walked you to the door. "Take care, and don’t forget to leave his ass." He said softly, wrapping your scarf around your neck with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "Sure." You replied, forcing a smile before stepping out into the cold night.

Patrick no longer bothered to mask the depth of his hatred for your husband. His remarks were frequent and biting, urging you to divorce. Yet, you knew his words were hollow, born from a contempt rather than a genuine desire to build a future with you. He would often stress how your happiness was the most important thing and that your husband no longer provided it, thus there was no point in staying. But he never said the words you desperately wanted to hear. You longed for him to tell you to divorce because he wanted you to be his. Only his.

●

While you wanted him to be fully yours as well, there were still many things you ignored about Patrick. As close as you wanted to be to him, he always maintained a distance, dismissing your questions or reminding you of your husband. You craved to know everything about him : What happened with his family? What happened with Art? How was his career doing? What were his dreams and hopes? Was he dating anyone? All these questions lingered in your mind, but you didn’t feel legitimate enough to ask those as his fuck buddy. Yet, you needed these answers to sneak your way into his heart and maybe become more than just a warm hole to him.

You knew the best way to pull information out of him was to ask at his most vulnerable moment : right after he came. "Are you seeing other girls?" You asked softly, brushing his hair back. His head was resting on your chest, your breasts glazed with his saliva and sweat. "Are you really asking me that when you have a whole ass husband waiting for you at home?" He stared at you, amused. "You're fucking me without condoms, I have every right to know!" You retorted, but the truth was you wanted to know if there was any competition for Patrick’s affection. You wanted to be the only one for him. "Don't worry, I'm being extra careful with other people." So there were other girls. Your stomach turned. You had no right to be jealous, but you were. Your mind raced in all directions. What did they look like? What was his type? Did they look anything like you? Were they also married women? Did he do to them the things he did to you? "But to be fair, you’re taking a lot of my time, so I don’t really meet new people lately." If keeping him busy was keeping him from other girls, you surely could find time to pay him more visits, at any time of the day. You were sure you could manage to make him stay home with you, no matter if he had practice or not, plans with friends or dates or whatever. You had a skilled tongue he couldn’t resist. "But no one is as good as you." He mumbled against your breast before circling one of your nipples with his tongue. His words hit you like a wave, flooding you with happiness and leaving you breathless. No one is as good as you. You wanted to scream with joy, your heart nearly bursting. In that instant, whether his dick was speaking for himself or not, he made you feel like you were the only one in the world that mattered.

●

Seeing Patrick was no longer just about the sex, even if he thought otherwise. While he was fucking you like a whore, you were quietly sneaking into his life. It had become your personal mission to form an emotional bond with him, to make yourself indispensable. It started with the meals you shared. You had bragged about your cooking, promising to let him taste your creations, and soon his kitchen had become your workshop. You were filling his stomach with your love, and in exchange, he filled your cunt with his own.

You also spent evenings watching movies and cuddling for hours on his worn-out couch on nights when your husband wasn’t home. You would always pretend to fall asleep, hoping this time Patrick would allow you to stay over. But he would always wake you at the end of the movie and drive you home.

But you would be back by morning, letting yourself in with the key under the doormat that had become unofficially your key and cooking him breakfast. Maybe you were intrusive, but he didn’t seem to mind when you would wake him up with your tongue on his balls.

And every time he welcomed you a bit more into his life, you would push it farther. You wanted to know more, to dig deeper. "Patrick?" You asked one evening, nervous about whether your questions would be dismissed like all the other ones you had asked before. "Yes, babe?" He answered, his eyes closed, face buried into the pillow. "What really happened with your family?" Silence. He opened his eyes and turned to face you, a shadow of wariness crossing his features. "Why do you want to know?" He responded quickly. "It’s just, I knew your parents, and I’m surprised they would allow their precious boy to… struggle." You hesitated on that last word. While Patrick’s lifestyle seemed like chaos to you, he appeared content enough with it. Patrick sighed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "They didn’t allow it. I chose it." He finally said, his voice low and guarded. You shifted closer, resting your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your ear. "Why?" You pressed gently. He hesitated, his fingers idly playing with your hair. "Because I didn’t want to be their perfect little son. I wanted to live my own life, make my own mistakes. I don’t care about their fucking board, I’m a tennis player."

"Yes, you are." You murmured, fingers playfully tangling in his chest hair. It had been so long since you'd seen him play a real match, but you knew he was a gifted kid. "I remember how everyone raved about your talent when we were kids. Your parents always said you were going to be the biggest tennis star." He glanced away, nervously nibbling his lower lip. "Well, they don’t really think so anymore." His voice was tinged with hurt, a vulnerability he rarely showed. "And it wasn’t the only thing." He added, his tone darker. "It wasn’t?" You asked, curiosity piqued. What else could have happened? Did he get a girl pregnant or something? "They didn’t really accept me coming out." He revealed quietly. "Coming out? Wait, you’re into boys?" You sat up, shocked by his revelation. He nodded, his nervousness palpable, as if he feared your reaction. "Don’t you want to be our third?" You joked, trying to lighten the mood with a giggle. "I’m not fucking the disgusting geriatric asshole you’re married to." He whined, pinching your waist. You grabbed his hand, stopping him from pinching you further. "He’s a handsome man!" You tried to defend your husband, though Patrick’s grossed out face made it clear he wasn’t convinced by your words. "He’s like a hundred years old!" Patrick exclaimed, typical in his exaggeration. "He’s 49!" You responded. "And you’re 27. He’s a fucking creep." Patrick said, his face twisted in disgust.

You frowned at his words. You had never thought of it that way. Sure, he was older, and you had met him when you were young, but it wasn’t as if he had preyed on you. Your father had introduced you to one of his business partners, and you had simply fallen in love. Right?

"If you’re into boys…" You began, tracing delicate patterns on his chest. "Can I fuck you then?" You asked with a teasing smirk. You were usually the submissive type, you loved it, but a part of you had always been curious about what it would feel like to top someone. You imagined yourself putting on a strap and taking control of someone’s body, and not just anyone, but Patrick’s. You fantasized about how he would look, all hot and flustered, under you, his face flushed and his body trembling with anticipation. The thought of seeing him all vulnerable and overwhelmed by your plastic cock deep inside him made your heart beat faster. "Do you think I’m just going to let anyone have my ass? Do you think I’m a whore or something?" He shot back, abruptly shutting down any fantasies you had. His refusal stung. Anyone? You weren’t just anyone.

●

As days passed, Patrick’s words replayed in your mind like a broken record. The more you thought about it, the more it felt off. The age gap that seemed romantic and reassuring once now felt predatory. You were 21 when you married your husband, but he was well into his 40s. He had courted you when you had barely graduated, still fresh from the confines of your parents’ home. You didn’t have much experience with love or even boys so you felt flattered. He became your first boyfriend. Apart from your first kiss, which had been stolen by some random guy at the country club, he had been your first everything. He, on the other hand, had been married before and had dated numerous women. What was in it for him to date you? Your innocence? Now, the fact that he had waited for you to turn the specific age of 21 before marrying you, despite the fact that you had been living together for a while, seemed calculated and unsettling.

It was as if you were looking at your husband through a different lens, a perspective vastly different from the adoration you once held for him. You didn’t think so highly of him anymore. All the red flags you had so mindlessly ignored before were now glaringly obvious.

Was the fact that you were growing older the reason he was now so distant lately? You had noticed the subtle changes over the years, from the way he looked at your body to the way he touched you. At first, he just couldn’t keep his hands away from you and now he simply petted you, like a dog. You had always thought that it was how couples evolved with time : passion at first and then comfort. But the gossips at the country club painted a different picture. The women there often complained about feigning migraines to escape their marital obligations. Your situation was the opposite, the man who had been so eager to introduce you to sex now seemed to avoid it altogether. This didn't feel like a natural progression. And you were sure of it when you thought about Patrick and how you could hardly imagine growing tired of making him come.

So why wasn’t he attracted to you anymore? Your body had not changed that drastically. Was he receiving attention from other women? Younger women? You needed to know for sure.

As soon as he left to take a shower, you seized his phone and began scrolling through his messages. You didn’t recognize yourself, the normal you would never had invaded his privacy. You had been raised to believe that a wife should stay in her place and respect her husband’s boundaries, but at that point, you didn’t give a fuck. It didn’t take much searching to discover an interesting conversation with another woman. They were exchanging flirtatious texts and pictures. As you read through the messages, you realized it wasn't just flirting, there were feelings involved. Your husband was feeding her sweet words, just as he had once done with you in the past. The proof was there : he was cheating on you. And even worse, he was in a relationship with her.

Who had been the first one to stray? Did it even matter? Yes, for your own guilt. You needed to erase the doubt that you had betrayed him first. You scrolled back to your birthday, that fateful day that had changed everything. There, you found him telling her he would be home soon. So your husband had indeed been with another woman while you were alone and crying. The guilt that had been eating you was gone. He had only gotten what he deserved. But now, you were consumed by anger and disgust.

You stared at the picture of the woman who had now taken your place. She looked young, way too young. Her skin was smooth, her cheeks full and her eyes bright with the innocence of youth. She could be your little sister. She could be his daughter. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. A wave of hatred for her took over you, but beneath it was an unexpected urge to protect her. How could you see how wrong it was so clearly when it involved someone else, yet remain blind when it came to yourself?

The woman in the photo seemed fragile, her smile unaware of the storm she was caught in. You could imagine her excitement, the thrill of attention from an older, experienced man. It was a cruel irony that the very things that had once drawn you to him were now being used to entrap someone else. You thought of your younger self, so eager to please, so willing to overlook the small red flags. You wondered if she knew about you. She had to. She had to wonder why your husband was leaving her every night. What did he tell her about you? Was he telling her you were the problem?

Patrick had been right all along, your husband was a creep.

●

Your chest felt tight, as if an invisible weight was pressing down, making it hard to breathe. Your heart pounded erratically, its rapid thumping loud in your ears, drowning out all other sounds. Your vision blurred with unshed tears, and your hands started to tremble uncontrollably. The room spun, making it hard to focus on anything. You clutched your chest, trying to steady the dizzy feeling inside. A cold sweat broke out across your skin, chilling you despite the warmth of the room. With shaky hands, you grabbed your phone and dialed Patrick's number. You needed to get out of the house, whether your husband noticed your absence or not. "Baby, can you pick me up, please?"

After fifteen minutes, he texted that he was at the corner of the street. You walked to his car, the short distance feeling like an eternity. You tried to dry your tears before meeting him, not wanting to spoil the mood with your problems, but your red, puffy eyes betrayed you. Spotting the car, you quickly opened the door and stepped in, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "So, what did he do?" He asked against your lips. He knew you way too well. His question caused your lips to tremble, and tears to well up in your eyes. As he drove off to his place, you told him the whole story between sobs. He rolled his eyes as if it were expected news, sighing at each new detail. "What does it change? You were almost sure of it already." He glanced at you. Unable to answer, you also wondered why it hurt so much. Maybe the fact that he had a second home. Fucking another girl was one thing, creating a home with her was another. "Let me tell you, if you weren't such a fucking coward, you'd leave his ass." You stared at him, your eyes widening with disbelief. He had never talked to you that way. His words were as harsh and sharp as a knife. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. "But I know you. You're so greedy, you would never give up your designer bags, your nice clothes, and your big fucking house." Speechless, you wondered if he truly thought so lowly of you. Did he believe you had married your husband solely for the money? Yes, living comfortably was pleasant, but you had fallen in love with that man. He was your family. "Are you always going to call me when you're fucking miserable and expect me to just watch you ruin your life and fuck you?" His words hit you like a slap. You gasped, too stunned to immediately respond. "You're a piece of shit, Patrick." You mumbled between clenched teeth, barely able to contain your anger. He stopped at a red light and turned to you, his face inches from yours. "I may be shit, but you like to roll in it, you cunt." He spat out. Before he could say more, you slapped him across the face, desperate to silence him. Words like that had only ever been thrilling when said in passionate moments, when they didn’t cut to the bone but made you wet and beg for more. Now, they shattered your heart into a million pieces. Without a word, you opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle. You couldn’t bear to stay near him. You believed that Patrick would always be there to comfort you, but now you saw the truth. He was just as hurtful, if not more, than your husband. In that moment, you realized how truly alone you were in your misery.

"Get in the damn car!" He shouted through the open window, his voice slicing through the night as he drove slowly alongside you on the sidewalk. "No!" You shot back, your teeth sinking into your lower lip until you tasted blood. The urge to cry was almost overwhelming, but you couldn't allow yourself to break down. Not in front of Patrick fucking Zweig. Not in front of that fucking loser. Maybe you were a gold digger, but at least you weren't a broke motherfucker with shattered dreams and no future. You wanted to throw that in his face, to lash out with the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn't hurt him. Even though he hurt you. Deep down you knew from the start that it was meant to happen, that he would inevitably disappoint you. He always did. He let everyone down, yet you clung to the hope that things might have been different with you. You didn't want to believe otherwise but here you were. "It's dangerous." Oh, so he cared about you now? Sure, it was nighttime, but the streets were empty. You felt safer outside than in that car or even in your own house. "Go fuck yourself." You finally yelled back. He sighed, pulling over and parking the car right in front of you, forcing you to stop. You crossed your arms without a word, determined to wait him out. Let him get bored of the silence and leave you alone. He opened the passenger door, waiting for you to climb in. You had no intention of doing so. After a few minutes, Patrick stepped out of the car and stood in front of you. "Babe, I'm sorry..."

He pulled you into an embrace, and you remained still, unwilling to give in until you felt his lips brush against your neck. "I shouldn't have said that." He mumbled against your jaw. Despite yourself, you smiled at the warmth of his lips on your skin. Something must be wrong with you. He had insulted you moments ago, wounding you in ways he never had before, yet here you were, back in his arms, ready to follow him like a lovesick puppy and forget every hurtful word. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting your head to give him room to explore your neck. His hands found their way to your butt, gently squeezing. You were in public, being intimate with another man besides your husband. Anyone driving by could see you cheating, but it didn’t matter. You pressed your body as close to his as possible, merging with him. You felt his hard length pressing against your lower abdomen. "Wait, are you hard?" You asked, your voice rising in surprise. "You were so hot being all mad and stuff." He revealed, his lips inching closer to yours. "I slap you and you get hard? You’re really deranged." You whispered against his lips, amused. You felt his tongue trying to breach the barrier of your lips. Did he really think it would be that easy? True, you were already melting under his touch, but he couldn’t just keep getting away with everything. He couldn’t treat you like shit and expect you to let him take you right here on the sidewalk. "I just can't go on watching you waste your life with him. You deserve better." He murmured between soft pecks on your lips. His words made your heart skip a beat, it was the closest he would get to saying how much he cared about you. And was the 'better' you deserved, him? After all, he wasn't running away from you to protect you, he was trying to get into your pants, which surely meant he thought himself worthy of you. With Patrick, it was always what he didn't say that left you hoping. As your tongue found its way to his lips, you were now the one devouring his mouth. Okay, he was forgiven. You would totally let him fuck you right there on the sidewalk.

You let your hands roam down his back, finding their way to his ass, groping it in a similar way he was grabbing yours. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his eyes, noticing his smirk. Did he think he had won? "If you're really sorry, let me fuck you." You blurted out, your fingers sneaking between his cheeks, the fabric of his shorts the only obstacle. "What?" He asked, eyes squinting in confusion. "Let me fuck you." You repeated, pinching your lips together to hide your grin. "No way." He chuckled, probably thinking you were joking. But you were as serious as a heart attack. "I want to own you like you own me." You wanted Patrick to commit to your relationship as much as you had. You had let him take control of your body, marking his territory on every part of you. Well, almost every part. "You won’t let me fuck your ass and you think I’ll let you fuck mine?" He questioned, and you sighed in response. In reality, if Patrick had really wanted to, he could have had his way with you a long time ago. But so far, he had always stopped at the slightest hint of resistance from you, which in theory was a good thing. Still, you wanted him to beg for it. Which he didn’t. But now that you had made your objective clear, perhaps you would let him have his way with you, just to get your way with him later on.

Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket. Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace and fished it out of your pants. Your husband’s name flashed on the screen. You sighed, seeing that he had already tried to call you seven times. Patrick's eyes fixed on the screen, his face twisted in a grimace. "Drive me back home then." You commanded, disentangling yourself from him. You stepped into the car, settling into the passenger seat. Patrick quickly joined you, taking his place behind the wheel. "Are you still mad at me?" He asked, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek as he drove back to your place. "Maybe." You replied. The anger was actually long gone, you had forgiven him the moment his lips touched your skin. But you weren't against letting him stew in a bit of guilt, even if it meant sacrificing your own pleasure for the night.

After a few minutes of Patrick's attempts to win your complete forgiveness by being extra affectionate, stroking your thigh and smiling sweetly, you found yourself back on your street. You had tried your hardest not to show any sign of giving in, but his puppy eyes made it difficult not to jump his bones. "I'm home alone this weekend." You announced, placing your hand on top of his. "Wanna come over?" You proposed, a smile spreading across your face. You didn't care anymore about respecting your husband’s space. If he didn’t respect you, there was no way you were going to respect him either. "Really? Your house?" He asked, surprised that you were now inviting him into the one place that had always been off-limits to him. You nodded eagerly, your eyes burning with a desire for revenge.

●

After an intense make-out session interrupted by a couple of whispered apologies, Patrick finally let you go despite the raging boner in his pants. As you walked back into your house, you found your husband waiting at the door, his hands resting on his hips. He looked worried sick. What was with the men in your life acting out of character tonight? When he saw you, his expression shifted from relief to anger. "Where the hell have you been?" He demanded, his voice thundering through the hallway. The tone made you jump. Your husband could be scary sometimes, and tonight was one of those times. You calmly explained that you had to help one of your girlfriends with an emergency. He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "And you couldn't call?" You shrugged, feeling the weight of his glare. "I-..I didn't have the time." He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but you cut him off with a half-hearted apology. "I'm sorry, lovey, okay? I'm exhausted. I just need to go to bed." You rushed up the stairs, your heart pounding, eager to escape the questions you couldn’t answer.

"Seriously, where the hell have you been?" His voice erupted from behind you as you stood at the vanity, removing the last traces of makeup from your face. You caught his reflection in the mirror, and the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. His expression was taut with frustration, and it was clear he was nowhere near ready to let this go. He had displayed jealousy in the early years of your marriage, but it had been so long that you had almost forgotten the depths of his paranoia. "With a friend." You repeated, sticking to your fabricated story. "Call her. I want to speak with her." He demanded, his voice icy and insistent. His insistence took you by surprise, and for a moment, you wondered if he doubted your faithfulness. Did he also find out about your little affair? "You’re being ridiculous." You said with a chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension. "Call her." He said again, his teeth clenched with frustration. "I don’t want my friends to see my husband acting irrationally. What will they think?" You replied, hoping to use his reputation as leverage. You knew that using his concern for how others perceived him was likely your best chance. It always seemed to come down to how others viewed him. "They will think you have a caring husband. Call her." He insisted, stepping closer until his presence loomed over you. You clutched your phone tightly, keeping it away from his reach. Turning to face him, you felt so small in front of him. "Okay, but what if we call your friend first?" You suggested, trying to sound as confident as possible. However, your voice faltered as you stressed the word ‘friend’. You locked eyes with him, the silence settling between you. The moment his gaze shifted away from yours, you knew he understood. He sighed heavily and turned his back on you, his frustration palpable. "Whatever. Who’s the irrational one now?" He muttered, his tone dripping with resentment as he walked away.

Later that night, you felt his untoned body pressed against your back. The sensation sent shivers across your skin, not from excitement as it did with Patrick, but from dread. He had remained silent until then, and now he was whispering in your ear how much he craved you, his fingers toying with the waistband of your pajama shorts. He had waited for the lights to go out before slipping into bed, placing his nasty eager hands all over you. "Not tonight..." You whispered, placing your hand over his in an attempt to stop him. Ignoring your plea, he slid your shorts down your ankles. You felt the tip of his length against your entrance, and he penetrated you, pulling your hips back with a sudden, unwelcome force. He took you without any warning, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, repeatedly reminding you how much he loved you and how you were the only one for him. Tears welled in your eyes as you forced yourself to fulfill your duty as a wife. You pushed your ass back against him, desperate to make him finish quickly and bring an end to this. When it was over, the urge to throw up overwhelmed you.

●

Patrick had followed your instructions not to ring the doorbell and trigger the recording of the camera, so he texted you upon his arrival. You opened the door and quickly pulled him inside, gripping his shirt. "Where did you park your car?" You asked, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him hungrily. "Down the street." He replied between breaths. After a few minutes of showing him how glad you were that he was here, you offered to give him a tour. "Damn, he’s making big money." Patrick exclaimed as you led him through yet another room. The Zweigs’ home seemed modest in comparison to yours, and yet, when you were growing up, they owned the largest house you had ever seen. Patrick paused in the corridor, his gaze fixed on the large wedding portrait hanging on the wall. In the photo, your husband stood behind you as you sat in front of him, your voluminous, puffy dress filling the frame. "How cute." Patrick said with a smirk. "You took a father-daughter picture on your wedding day." You playfully slapped his arm. You knew he only wanted to tease you but there was some truth to his words. The age difference, so obvious in that image, had only become clear to you now, thanks to Patrick’s perspective. You locked eyes with your younger self in the photograph, remembering how innocent and full of life she once was. She was so happy and in love. You missed her.

"You know your parents were actually there that day." You said, recalling how your parents had insisted on inviting the Zweigs out of old friendship, despite the distance that had grown between you and them over the years. You were genuinely glad to see them, and they had been remarkably generous with their wedding gift. You were fairly certain Patrick had been invited as well, but he never showed up. "They would probably be very disappointed in you for letting yourself be corrupted by their failure of a son." He murmured, his gaze still fixed intently on the picture. "Or very pleased." You countered. Patrick glanced at you, puzzled. "You can’t imagine how hard our moms tried to set us up." Patrick snorted at the comment, disbelief evident in his eyes. "No way!" You nodded insistently. "Don’t you remember how they always forced us to hang out?" A smile played on your lips. Did he really think you were willingly following him around everywhere back then? "I was a kid, and my mom tried to convince me you’d make a good husband!" The memory of your mother’s persistent hints came flooding back. "Really? You didn’t notice anything?" You asked, astonished. He shrugged, genuinely confused. "Damn, you really never consider me as a woman!" You blurted out, chuckling. It stung a bit that Patrick had never even glanced your way despite your mothers’ scheming, but it was all in the past. You knew the effect you had on him now. "I was too focused on tennis!" He tried to explain. "Liar!" You teased. "You always had a new girlfriend. Like that girl…" You began, your voice trailing off as you tried to recall the name of the first one who had lingered long enough to be introduced to his parents. You recalled meeting her too, and thinking she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Back then, you couldn’t understand why she’d settled for someone like Patrick. But that was before you knew how much of a good fuck he was. Now it made sense. "Ah, yes, Tashi Duncan!" At the mention of her name, his smile faded, and the mood in the room changed. There was history there. Sensing the need to divert the conversation, you quickly continued. "But it’s alright. I can deal with the fact that I didn’t make you hard when you were a teenager." You shrugged nonchalantly. "I can make you hard quite alright now." With a playful tug on the waistband of his pants, you drew him closer and pressed your lips firmly against his.

Patrick had one mission that day : to claim every room in your house as his own by fucking you there. It began in the living room with a quickie on the couch. "Did he fuck you there?" He asked then, gesturing toward the kitchen counter. You nodded, though the truth was that your husband had never touched you in that space. The house was new, and your sex life had long since declined. Yet, Patrick seemed intent on marking his territory in your husband's home. He took you on the kitchen counter, and later, on the desk in your husband's office. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were already sore and overstimulated. "Now you’ll think about me every time you’re fucking him in this bed." Patrick babbled as he bounced you on top of him. You clawed at his chest, whimpering in pain as your pussy burned from the relentless penetration. Despite the discomfort, you couldn’t stop. If you could erase every memory of your husband in that bed and only keep thoughts of Patrick, you would take it gladly.

"I’m sure this is the first time you’ve come in that bed." He mumbled as you got off him and laid beside him, panting heavily from your orgasm. You chuckled, finding his bitterness amusing. "Don’t be ridiculous." You teased, calling him out. "I’ve masturbated there before." You burst into laughter, and his chuckle soon joined yours.

Though it was still early, you felt utterly drained. All you wished for was to close your eyes and wake up a week later. It was the first time you were sharing a bed with Patrick solely for the purpose of sleeping, rather than for sex. Even though he had fucked you in your marital bed, you had moved to the guest room for the night. You nestled close to him, your face pressed against his neck, fully immersed in his comforting scent. With your eyes closed, you drifted into sleep almost immediately and so did he.

Waking up next to Patrick felt even better than falling asleep beside him. As he pulled you closer, his eyes still closed, your heart pounded out of your chest. Was this what it felt like to be Patrick’s girlfriend? You enjoyed the domesticity of the moment, the simplicity and comfort of sharing a bed. The fact that, even half asleep, he sought your presence warmed your heart deeply. Feeling his morning wood pressing against the back of your thigh only added to your delight. It was these small, tender moments that made you crave more than just a fling, that made you yearn for a life that was intertwined with his in every way.

After a few moments of cuddling in bed, you slipped out quietly to give Patrick time to wake up properly. Embracing the role of his wife for the day, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a healthy breakfast with the best ingredients from your fridge. You arranged a plate with fruits, eggs, and bacon, ensuring it offered everything his body needed. When he finally emerged from the bedroom, you served him the meal and then headed to the shower. Of course, it wasn't long before Patrick joined you. "Already done?" You asked, surprised that he had finished his plate so quickly. He nodded and wrapped his arms around you, his embrace growing warm under the stream of hot water. "Can I have my breakfast now?" You asked with a playful smirk, lowering yourself to your knees. Holding his length close to your lips, you glanced up to ensure he was watching as you took him fully into your mouth.

You were barely dressed when he began demanding more. He pinned you against the living room window, the curtains barely hiding the view of you with a man who wasn’t your husband. He yanked your panties down to your ankles and lifted your skirt as he penetrated you. "Now anyone who walks by can see that you’re a whore." He murmured, his voice low, filled with possessiveness. Your face was pressed against the glass, giving you a full view of your neighbor’s front yard. Anyone passing by could, indeed, see you if they looked up, but you didn’t care. In fact, part of you wanted them to see who you truly belonged to.

●

As the months went by, Patrick became your priority. You weren’t buying so many designer bags anymore, instead, you found yourself financing Patrick's career. He had no remorse about taking your husband's money, and you were more than willing to provide. You wanted him to have the best tennis equipment, the nicest furniture, and the softest bed sheets. You hoped that every time he used his racket or laid in bed, he would think of you, knowing that every element of his life had your touch.

There was something in you that made you want to take care of Patrick like he was an innocent baby lamb. You just wanted to make this boy’s life easier, ease all the pain he had to go through in his life. Once, you even suggested selling some pieces from your collection to help him secure a decent place to stay. That was where he drew the line, refusing to let your loss be his gain.

"Thanks for the bag!" He exclaimed, the strap of the brand new tennis backpack hanging off his shoulder. He stood in front of the mirror in his underwear, admiring the bag from every angle. You gazed lovingly at him while lying on his bed on your stomach, chin resting on your hands. Patrick had always been good-looking, but lately, he seemed even more handsome. Perhaps it was the feelings you had developed, making you see him in a new light. Just the sight of his biceps made you a little weak. You had always thought you weren't the type to swoon over athletes and their muscles, but you had been wrong. Patrick’s body was a masterpiece. You could never get tired of looking at him. Your eyes traced the lines of his chiseled jawline, lingering on the reddish hairs covering his chin. From there, your gaze moved to his broad shoulders, strong and imposing, a testament to the years he had spent perfecting his serve. You drifted over his strong, veiny arms that always held you so effortlessly, and settled his small, pink nipples stood out against the firmness of his chest. Your stare lingered on his sculpted stomach, captivated by the defined muscles, before following the strip of dark hair that trailed down his lower abdomen. "You're welcome, baby." You mumbled, eyes fixed on the curve of his ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle a moan as you drifted to the hem of his boxers and his fuzzy thighs. It was impossible to look away when Patrick was in a room. For a second, you wondered if his fans were as captivated as you when they watched him on a tennis court.

"I want to see you play someday." You said with a sigh of frustration, watching him model the new bag. It was a line you had always been careful not to cross. You already occupied most of his free time, intruding on his professional life felt like overstepping. You weren’t his devoted girlfriend or his tennis wife, just the woman he fucked from time to time. He turned to face you, setting the bag down on the floor. "Then come watch the tournament next Friday?" He suggested, a proud smile spreading across his face. The tournament? You recalled him mentioning he was training for a state-level challenger, one that could be a pivotal moment in his career. It might be the very thing that lifted him out of the slump he’d been in. "Wait, you qualified?" You asked, your voice rising with excitement. He nodded enthusiastically. "Why didn’t you tell me?" You exclaimed, leaping into his arms and wrapping your limbs around him. He lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as you showered his face with kisses.

●

Friday couldn’t come fast enough. You were thrilled to finally watch Patrick play after all these years. Back in your teenage days, you usually avoided his matches, uninterested in tennis and reluctant to spend hours watching boys hit a ball. But now, you were so eager that you arrived an hour early. Sitting in the bleachers, you hid behind a hat and sunglasses, hoping to avoid running into anyone you knew. Tennis was quite popular in your community, so you wouldn't be surprised if someone from the country club showed up and saw you getting all cozy with a tennis player.

A few minutes after you sent Patrick one final good luck text, he stepped onto the court. He scanned the audience with a focused gaze, as if searching for something, or someone. Was he looking for you? Did he anticipate your presence as much as you had longed to be there? You hesitated for a moment before raising your hand and giving a small wave, not wanting to embarrass yourself if he happened to acknowledge someone else. When his eyes finally found you, his face lit up with a grin that left you breathless, and he nodded in your direction.

The match began with each player standing on their side of the net. Patrick wasn’t the server for this set. When his opponent served the first ball, it flew across the court and met Patrick’s racket. A succession of strokes followed, the sound of sneakers grating on the cement echoing with every quick move as the ball zipped back and forth. Patrick scored the first point by powerfully slamming the ball over the net, where it hit the ground. His opponent was skilled, but Patrick played with a level of determination you had never witnessed before. If he had been bringing as little as half the same energy in bed when fucking you, you were certain you’d be dead by now. When his opponent scored the first point, Patrick’s confident expression slipped, replaced by a grimace. Despite this, he didn’t allow the other player to score again, ultimately winning the first set by five points.

As the match went on, you found yourself on the edge of your seat, your heart racing with the set’s rhythm. For a moment, your attention drifted from the ball to Patrick’s muscular arms, glistening with a thin layer of sweat. From the way his arm flexed with every motion, veins on his forearms bulging, to the way his fingers gripped the racket tightly, reminding you of how he fisted his cock to milk himself all over your face. You couldn’t help but be turned on by the sight of him, everything reminded you of him fucking you. Realizing another point was added to the score during your daydream, you tried to shake off the inappropriate thoughts and focus on the match. After a few minutes, your eyes wandered to his ridiculously short shorts, barely concealing how big he was underneath. His bulge bounced with each leap and sprint, and you craved to have it, hot and salty, in your mouth. Damn. Fuck the game, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. There was something about the way his shirt clung to his torso, drenched with sweat, accentuating the contours of his sculpted stomach that made you almost bark like a dog. And you didn’t even want to mention the way his thick, fuzzy thighs jiggled with every step, making you salivate, or how his firm ass filled out those shorts so perfectly.

You felt a stir of guilt, feeling like a perv, as you watched him play. What had begun as a desire to connect with him, to know more about his passion, had turned into a fixation that overshadowed the game itself. You sighed deeply, crossing your legs to prevent the dampness in your underwear from showing. You shifted your gaze to his opponent, realizing that watching that ugly loser was probably the best way to regain your focus and follow the match.

As the final ball of the second set landed on the opposite side of the court, you clapped with excitement a broad smile spreading across your face. That’s when you noticed two girls in the audience, cheering louder than anyone else, screaming his name at the top of their lungs. You couldn’t help but glare at them. They were young and cute, with tiny skirts showing just enough thighs, their hairs flowing in the wind, their firm asses and perky tits. It was obvious that Patrick was an attractive man, but it had never truly hit you that he could have anyone he wanted. Maybe he even already had them. And just like that, with one wild thought, another competition started on the court. You needed to outscream them. You were going to yell his name louder than anyone had before. You no longer cared if someone recognized you, you just wanted to make those little bitches shut the fuck up.

When the last point of the third set was won, the crowd erupted in applause. Patrick stood victorious, his face glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Pride radiated from his expression. He looked up at you once more, and this time, you didn't shy away. You stood and cheered as loud as possible, your heart swelling with adoration. You had seen a new side of him, and you didn't think it was possible to fall even harder for him.

In just two hours, you felt transformed, a whole new woman, as if you had undergone a grueling religious experience. Watching Patrick being so passionate on the court almost made you resent his racket and ball. You yearned for him to feel that way about you, to be his priority, the one thing that consumed his thoughts. You wanted him to love you.

After the match, you were determined not to give his two fans the chance to monopolize his attention, so you waited for him, despite knowing your husband was probably waiting for you at home. Truth be told, you didn't even want to let them congratulate him. You watched as every single member of the audience left the court, your eyes narrowing on the two girls who skipped down the bleachers to join Patrick as he put his racket away in his bag. "Fucking cunts." You muttered under your breath, fuming as they interacted with your man. Patrick was all smiles, engaged in an animated conversation with them. Was he trying to piss you off on purpose? You sighed and leaned back in your seat, arms crossed, glaring at them with such hate that it felt like you were burning holes into the backs of their heads.

When the court was finally empty, you made your way to his car and waited for him there. When he arrived, his new tennis bag slung over his shoulder, you were leaning against his car. "You’re alone? You didn’t bring one of your fangirls?" You asked, unable to hide the jealousy in your voice. "I knew I already had one waiting for me." He replied smoothly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he opened the trunk and began placing his tennis equipment inside.

Once his arms were free, he pulled you into a tight hug, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You wore the perfume he loved on purpose, knowing it drove him wild. His hair, still damp from the shower, left a wet spot on your shirt, but you didn't care. He gently slid your sunglasses off, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment before he leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him as close as you could, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The kiss was intense, his tongue eagerly exploring your mouth. After a few moments, you tried to break away to congratulate him, but he was having none of it. Eventually, you managed to pull back, your lips tingling. "Congrats!" You said, breathless, placing a soft peck on his lips. "You were so hot." Your hands slid down to his butt, squeezing it firmly. Patrick let out a deep throaty sound, and began peppering your face with kisses, his arousal evident from the hardness against your stomach.

"So hot that I want to fuck you..." Standing on your tiptoes, you whispered into his ear, your fingers sliding provocatively between his asscheeks. You pressed your index finger against the fabric covering his asshole. "Nuh uh." He shook his head firmly. "You don’t know what you’re doing." It was true, you didn’t know anything about pleasuring a man this way, but you were willing to learn. You could watch instructional videos, order the best lube, and even get the perfect strap. You just wanted to claim him completely. "Then show me how to do it." You said, your voice filled with determination. "Really, should I show you how?" He raised his eyebrows, a smirk dancing on his lips. You nodded eagerly, ready to absorb everything he had to teach. He quickly slid your sunglasses into his pocket and placed his hands on your ass, mirroring your earlier action. He rubbed your crack through your pants with the side of his hand. "You know that’s not what I meant." You kissed his lips as he slid his hands back over your cheeks with a sigh. This had become a game for you, seeing how long you could tease and deny him until he finally took charge. But that idiot didn’t seem to catch on. He just gave up as soon as you said no.

"I really thought you were going home with those two girls." You confessed, a pout forming on your lips as you looked up at him. "What two girls?" He asked, genuinely puzzled. "The cute ones, the girl in white with her hair braided and the other one in pink-" You began to explain before he cut you off. "My cousins?" He exclaimed, his eyes widening in realization. His cousins? Now that you thought about it, they did look familiar but the last time you had seen them they were kids. So, you had been unfairly resenting two innocent girls for hours? "Gross!" He added with a look of disgust. "Get in the car before you start accusing me of banging my dad." You burst out laughing as he opened the passenger door for you. "Wouldn’t blame you, your dad’s kinda cute." You admitted with a playful grin as you jumped into the car. Patrick resembled Mr. Zweig quite a bit, same hair, same freckles, same nose. He was undeniably a handsome man, but you much preferred the son. Patrick slid into the driver’s seat, his brow furrowing at your comment. "Of course, you love fossils." He retorted. You playfully slapped his arm as he started the car and drove away. You glanced at the clock. It was late, too late to head back to his place. Surely, you would find a spot to park for a few minutes on the way back, just enough time for you to blow Patrick before you had to return home to far less enjoyable obligations.

●

You hadn't shared the news with Patrick yet, but after weighing up the pros and cons, you were now certain you wanted to leave your husband. The decision had come after another sleepless night, lying beside a man you no longer felt connected to, your mind wandering to thoughts of Patrick's face, his touch, the way he made you feel alive. You were now certain that whatever you had with your husband, it wasn’t love. Perhaps it had never been. Patrick was the one who occupied your every thought now. Months had passed before you came to understand that there was no point in staying married when every trait you once admired in your husband now repelled you. The comfort he offered no longer outweighed the ache you felt inside. You weren’t afraid of disappointing your family with the decision to end things anymore, nor were you scared by the prospect of being single. You had Patrick, and though you were certain he would never claim you as his girlfriend, you believed you could remain in his life after the divorce, as long as you allowed him his freedom. He would continue to be with others, and you would maintain the pretense that it didn’t fucking kill you. The only change would be the absence of guilt, the relief from constant deception and self-loathing. You envisioned a life where Patrick's presence, however brief and elusive, would be enough to make you the happiest of women. The thought of living without the shadows of betrayal hanging over you felt liberating.

Now, all that remained was to find a place of your own and save up enough money. You had begun parting with some of your treasured bags, a significant step for you. With no personal bank account, you had to open one just to deposit the funds. Though the account was gradually filling, it still fell short of what you needed to live independently. Mentally, you were at your breaking point, the idea of staying in your marriage any longer was unbearable. You needed the divorce to happen now. Though you were certain Patrick would offer you a place to stay for a few days, you couldn’t bear the thought of overstaying your welcome. The only option left was to hope that your husband would allow you to remain in the house until you found a place of your own.

The only thing left was to break the news. You wanted to wait for a moment that felt right to announce a divorce, if such a moment did exist. You were clueless, having never imagined yourself as one of those divorcees. When you first married, you were convinced it would be forever, yet here you were, anxiously flipping bacon in a pan, rehearsing the impending conversation in your head. You decided that telling him in the morning, before he left for work, would give him a few hours to process the news and offer you some space away from any potential outburst. Though your husband was not a violent man, you knew he would react with anger and accusations, blaming you for ruining his life, like his previous wife did. Telling him in the morning would not only give him time to come to terms with the situation but also allow you to use the day to pack your bags.

You placed a plate of eggs and bacon before him, its presentation less neat than usual, and settled into the chair across from him as he began to eat. "I’m not happy…" You said, your eyes focused on your hands, nervously picking at your cuticles to avoid meeting his gaze. He paused, setting his fork and knife down with a resigned sigh. "I can tell." He replied, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. Gathering your courage, you took a deep breath, ready to deliver the news in one swift motion. "I want-..." You were startled by the sudden sound of his deep voice. "I know what you want…" Did he? Was he about to make things easier for you? Had he noticed the growing distance between you two? Your mind raced as he continued, "I’ve thought about it, and I think I’m ready for us to have a baby." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. A baby? Was he serious? After all those years of rejecting the idea, he chose this moment, as you were on the brink of leaving, to bring it up?

You stared at him in stunned silence, the weight of his words sinking in. The only sounds that penetrated the stillness were the hum of the refrigerator and the rapid beating of your heart. He knew that this was the one thing you had always yearned for, a dream you had long since abandoned, believing it would never come true. You had grieved motherhood when you married a man who had no interest in having children, and you had buried the hope even deeper when you planned to leave him for another man who was equally unwilling to grant you that wish. But now, here was an opportunity, one you could not bring yourself to refuse. The meticulously crafted plans for escape now seemed like a distant, fading dream. Finally, you managed to talk. "Let’s do it." The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their meaning. The prospect of a baby had momentarily overshadowed all other thoughts. His eyes brightened with a blend of relief and joy. The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of forced smiles and muted conversation. As you cleared the table, the reality of what you had just agreed to began to settle in. A baby meant Patrick had to go.

You needed to talk this through with Patrick. Despite not being his wife, you felt he deserved as much input into this decision as you did. A pregnancy would inevitably affect your relationship. You waited until your husband had left the house before calling an Uber to Patrick’s place. When Patrick opened the door, his eyes widened with concern at the sight of your distressed expression. "What’s wrong?" He asked, guiding you inside. You sank onto the couch with a sigh. "He wants a baby." You admitted. The room fell into a heavy silence. Patrick settled beside you, his gaze unwavering as you struggled to meet his eyes. "Do you want one?" He asked softly. You nodded, your desire unmistakable. It had been your dream for so long, and you couldn’t lie to him, even if it meant that dream might drive you apart. "Then I think you’d make a great mom." He said, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. Was it all? Did he not grasp what it meant? Did he not care that it meant you had to break things off with him?

●

Weeks passed, and you hadn't brought up the subject again with Patrick. You thought your husband might change his mind about having a baby, so there seemed no reason to discuss it further. However, he was more than serious. He had booked an appointment with the gynecologist and accompanied you to the clinic. He was even present when the doctor removed your IUD, explaining that fertility could return immediately after its removal. That very night, your husband insisted that you start trying. The whole ordeal had lasted a bit longer than ten minutes, most of which had been spent with you jerking him off. Before Patrick, you had always wondered if something was wrong with you because your husband had always preferred your hand over your cunt. But now you knew you weren’t bad at sex, so what was the issue? Was it the same for him as it was for you? Was he so in love with his mistress that it felt wrong fucking his own wife? When he had felt the orgasm nearing, he had spread your legs and penetrated you. After a few lazy thrusts, he had came, filling you up with his load. If baby making was anything like this, it was cold, unloving and unenjoyable.

Not as pleasant as what was happening at the moment. Patrick was fondling your breasts as you cooked him dinner. His warm breath tickled your neck as he placed dozens of sweet kisses against your nape. You could feel his hard cock against your ass and feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of his fingers against your nipples. But you couldn’t just let him have his way, there were consequences to your actions now. "Pat, stop. I just got my IUD removed..." You explained as you flipped the omelet in the pan. He sighed and pulled his hands away from under your shirt, his face showing clear disappointment. "So, no more fucking?" He asked, a pout on his face. "Pull out?" You suggested. "Oh because that worked so well the first time." He said with a hint of sarcasm. You remembered the whole STD scare that had happened on the very first day together. After a pause, he offered. "I could fuck you in the ass." You shook your head without even glancing in his direction. Sure, you could do that once or twice, but more than that? Hell no. You needed to feel him stretch your pussy. "Condoms." You suggested, offering what seemed like the only initiative. "Or anal." He insisted, his tone unwavering. You turned to face him, your arms crossing tightly over your chest, your eyes narrowing in frustration. "So you plan on fucking me in the ass for the rest of my life?" You asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You had given alternatives, yet he was still adamant about ignoring your poor needy little cunt. His attitude shifted dramatically. The usual playful Patrick had vanished, replaced by someone way more resentful. "I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t been a coward and left him when I told you to." He snapped. So it was all out of spite. You had never seen such anger in his eyes, and you couldn’t tell whether it came from you denying him the right to unload in your cunt or from the fact that your desire for a baby was getting more concrete. "So should I just leave him?" You asked, turning off the gas burner with a click. His response came sharply. "Duh, he’s a piece of shit." Patrick’s words offered no comfort. He was unaware of your earlier plans to divorce and how you had abandoned them at the mere mention of a child. He had no idea how deeply you longed to be a mother, or how lonely you had been until he came into your life. This had never been a topic of discussion between you. Despite what he seemed to believe, you hadn’t taken the easy way out. You remained married to a neglectful husband who neither loved you nor you loved, but you had chosen a life that provided what Patrick couldn’t : belongingness. He was unaware that even the slightest hint of a promise of being his girlfriend, or any other status, would have made you leave your husband right away. Sure, you longed for marriage and babies, but you were ready to give up on those dreams if Patrick promised to be by your side for the rest of his life.

"Do you think I have a choice, Patrick? What else can I do except be a wife?" His mouth opened as if to respond, but you cut him off, not giving him the chance to speak. "If I leave him, where do I go? I belong nowhere." The realization had only struck you during your plans to divorce him : your husband had made you so dependent on him while giving you the illusion of independence. You believed you were free to spend your days as you wished and buy whatever you wanted without justification. But in reality, you lived to please your husband, organizing your schedule around his own and the money you spent was his money : nothing was truly yours. Not even your free time. The only thing that was truly yours was your relationship with Patrick. "What should I do for a living? Sell my ass?" Your voice rose with the last question, an attempt to mask the cry threatening to escape. "Don’t be ridiculous." He responded, his tone soft trying to soothe you. "You’re going to take care of me then?" You asked, looking at him straight in the eyes. He remained silent. "And you know what? It’s not even about him anymore." The words spilled out. You were ready to leave your husband, but you weren’t ready to give up on the dream of a child now that it seemed almost within your grasp. "If I leave him, are you going to be the one giving me a baby? Or should I just fuck some random guy, hoping he gives me what I want?" All you wanted was to hear him say that you could leave your husband, he would provide for you, help you find a career and make you a mother, but he couldn’t promise you that, he didn’t want that. "I’m sorry." He whispered as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. While his arms offered comfort, they couldn’t soothe the pain within you caused from his lack of words.

●

Despite the argument, you had let Patrick get what he wanted. You were unable to say no to him. He now took you from behind on a regular basis. Despite your fear of pain, your first experience with anal sex had been unexpectedly very pleasurable. Patrick had been meticulous in his preparation, first using his tongue, then his fingers, and plenty of lube to ensure you were thoroughly ready. You appreciated the burn of stretching as he eased into your tightness. Still, you missed the deep, relentless pounding that had once bruised your cervix and left you dazed. Yet, you had come to realize that having anal sex with Patrick Zweig was better than not having sex at all. Although on some lucky nights, he would begin fucking your pussy like he always did and finish in your ass. Those were your favorite kinds of nights. Tonight was one of them.

You were bent over the couch, your hips raised in the air, while he stood behind you, thrusting into you with force. "I-I.. should just put a… baby in you." He groaned, his voice heavy with desire as the sound of his fat sack smacking against you filled the room. His words sent a shiver through you, leaving you breathless and trembling. Your legs began to shake, nearly giving out under the surge of pleasure. "Please, do it!" You pleaded, your eyes shutting tightly with ecstasy. His words sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit. Patrick being your baby daddy? That was all you wanted now. "That’s all that asshole deserves... raising my bastard child..." He mumbled, fucking you like a maniac. His words weren’t the only things filled with resentment, you could feel how much he despised your husband in the way he pounded into you. For a fleeting second, you thought maybe you should piss him off more often. "Please, Patrick." You moaned, pushing your hips back against him, craving every thrust. "He doesn’t deserve to soil your body." Patrick growled through clenched teeth, his voice thick with anger. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back as his teeth sank into your neck. He was usually careful not to leave marks, but this time, you felt his teeth dig a bit too hard into your skin. "I want your baby, Pat…" You begged, clenching hard around his length, your desperation palpable. "Don’t be stupid." He snapped, his tone harsh. "You would hate me for it." Hate him for it? If only he knew how many times you had imagined yourself carrying his child. Without warning, he switched holes, slamming himself into your ass. You let out a pained whine, your body tensing at the sudden intrusion. This time, he hadn't prepared you in the slightest, only using your juices as lube, and the sharp discomfort interrupted the orgasm that had been building up. You quickly reached between your legs, fingers finding your already throbbing clit as he forced himself into your ass. The mere thought of him breeding you reignited the tension, building the pressure toward another climax. "So tight... I can't even pull away." He whispered against your neck, his hand joining yours between your legs, guiding the rhythm of your touches. After minutes of relentless rutting, you both climaxed together, Patrick's release buried deeply within your guts.

The thought of all this cum going to waste filled you with a surge of frustration. Once he pulled out, you could only think if only you could push back hard enough to let it drip onto your cunt, maybe, with a bit of luck, you could become Patrick Zweig’s baby mama. Before you could even attempt it, however, Patrick’s tongue was already working its way to your asshole, eagerly lapping up every last drop of his semen.

"So, are you two really trying for a baby?" He asked, his voice tinged with curiosity as you both lay sprawled naked in bed. You nodded, a hint of determination in your eyes. "He’s actually fucking you?" He pressed, his tone incredulous. You nodded once more, feeling the weight of his questions. He grimaced, a look of disgust crossing his face. "Don’t you know how babies are made?" You joked lightly, reaching over to pinch his nipple playfully. "Does he make you come?" He asked suddenly, his gaze intense. You had never seen him so serious, gone was the casual tone of before. You shook your head. Of course, he did not. In comparison to the rush you felt with Patrick, having sex with your husband truly felt like a chore. It wasn’t unpleasant most of the time but nothing truly enjoyable. "I’m the only one who knows how your body really works." He said. You nodded eagerly in agreement. You couldn’t even make yourself come as hard as you did with him.

He started by letting his mouth wander down your neck, his lips brushing softly against the curves of your chest. "My tits." He murmured, adding a playful bite to his kisses as he grazed your skin, each nip sending shivers down to your stomach. His lips traced a heated path across your body, leaving a lingering warmth. As his attention drifted lower, he took hold of your ass with a possessive yet gentle grip. "My ass." He declared, his hands exploring your curves with a blend of desire and affection. Then, he devoted his full attention to the most intimate part of you. "My tight little cunt." He whispered, his voice low as he began to feast upon your core. You grasped his hair tightly, pulling on the soft curls as he used his tongue with fervor.

"Mine, mine, mine." He repeated like a mantra. You wanted to believe him. Yet, despite his claims of possession, you knew deep down that he didn’t truly desire to own you. If he did, he wouldn’t let you return to your husband at the end of each night.

●

Your period had started, and you felt like dying. The cramps were bearable, but the emotional pain was killing you. You had spent the morning with a dull ache in your lower stomach, a sign that something was definitely wrong. Although you recognized the pain, you clung to a small hope that it might be a good sign. You didn’t know much about pregnancy, after all. Perhaps there was still a chance. But it was the sight of the bloodstain on your panties that made you break down in sobs. It was concrete proof you weren’t pregnant. All those times you forced yourself to smile while your husband snuck his hands under your clothes had been for nothing? Unprepared and caught off guard, you had nothing to take care of it. You had to stuff your underwear with toilet paper and order pads through a delivery service. After they arrived, you took a long hot shower to wash away the blood from your inner thighs. Then, instinctively, you made your way to Patrick’s place despite knowing he couldn’t fuck you. You weren’t sure why you were there. Maybe you were seeking some comfort.

When he opened the door, you wrapped your arms tightly around him without saying a word. Patrick just let you in and kissed you gently. You were surprised he didn’t immediately jump your bones like he usually did the second you passed through the door. You wanted to believe he could sense you weren’t feeling right, that he knew you better than anyone. But the truth was, he was most likely oblivious to your issue. Instead, he held you close, his embrace warm and comforting, as you laid on his couch, watching TV with him. You lay beneath him, gently stroking his hair as his head rested on your chest. His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt a surprising sense of peace despite the chaos within you. After more than an hour of cuddling, he shifted, lifting your shirt and slipping his head underneath it. His lips left a trail of burning kisses across your stomach, each one sending a shiver through you. "I need to fuck you." Patrick whispered against your bare skin. You sighed inwardly. Of course, you couldn’t just hang out with Patrick without sex being involved. Not that you usually complained, but right now, you couldn’t and didn’t need to add frustration to the swirling mix of emotions you felt. "I'm on my period." You interrupted him. He quickly removed his head from under your shirt and looked at you with a wide smile on his face. "Really?" He asked, looking quite happy for a man you were rejecting. Was he glad you were bleeding? Was it some kind of kink of his? Or was he just glad you weren’t pregnant? "Do you think I care about a little bit of blood?" He questioned, and you frowned in disgust. He truly had no limits. "At least, I will be able to fill your cunt this time." Oh, so that was the reason? That was enough to make you consider it.

You resisted at first, holding back until the intensity of his grinding against your core left you begging for it. You felt uneasy about letting him inside you while you were bleeding heavily, but he insisted it didn't bother him in the slightest. He pulled down your sweats and underwear, revealing the blood-soaked pad. You braced yourself for his reaction, expecting it to turn him off, but instead, he remained unfazed. "Do you have cramps?" He asked, his voice steady as he tapped his thighs, signaling you to straddle him. On his couch? He didn’t seem to know how messy things could get . You positioned yourself on his lap, facing him, and wrapped your arms around his neck. "A bit." You admitted. "Apparently, it helps." He pulled his length free from his shorts as you lifted your hips. You reached for him, guiding his shaft to your core before you sat down onto it. As he began thrusting upward, you were already moving wildly against him, driven by an insatiable craving for his touch. Your period made you extra horny and sensitive, amplifying every touch and sensation. He gripped your buttcheeks firmly, pulling you down onto his length with deliberate, slow strokes. Your eyes rolled back in your head. “Ah...” You moaned, glancing down to ensure you weren’t fucking in a pool of blood. All you could see was a pinkish blend of cream and blood covering the base of his cock. Reassured that you weren’t bleeding to death in your lover’s arms, you started bouncing on him with renewed fervor. A grunt escaped his lips when you planted a passionate kiss on them.

“Patrick…” You sighed in bliss. “I’m coming…” He dug his fingernails into your ass cheeks as you clenched around his length, feeling the climax build. A few extra well-angled thrusts pushed you over the edge. “Fuck!” You cried out. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, eyes closed, a smile spreading across your face as you came, feeling both overwhelmed and dizzy. You pressed your lips against his neck, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your mouth.

When he finally followed you into climax and you felt his warmth spreading deep inside you, a sensation you had been missing for weeks, you couldn’t help but admit that maybe he was right. Period sex, despite your initial reservations, was actually quite alright.

You both ended up in the shower, trying to clean up the mess you had made. "Are you disappointed you're on your period?" He asked, his voice echoing softly against the tiled walls while he rubbed soap over his body. Disappointed was an understatement. "A bit… I knew it could take some time to get pregnant, but I kinda hoped it would be quick." You admitted, feeling already exhausted of the baby-making process. "You should be prepared that it might take a while. The sperm is like centuries old. Fucking expired." Patrick replied, mocking your husband once more. "Patrick." You glared at him. The truth was, you didn’t care that he was making fun of the man you shared your life with. It didn’t matter. What irked you was the unsettling possibility that he might be right and that getting pregnant wouldn’t be as easy as you hoped.

●

Taking pregnancy tests each day had become an obsessive routine. Each morning, you felt the urge to pee on the stick as soon as you woke up. Your desire to become a mother was only matched by your eagerness to escape the never-ending cycle of trying. Your attraction to your husband had faded, so you had to mentally prepare yourself each time, struggling to even become slightly wet. It was painful most of the time, and his lack of attention to your pleasure made the whole experience a struggle. You were convinced that if he were more attentive with foreplay, things might have been better. For now, lube was your best friend, and you blamed your dryness on nervousness. After all, making a baby was a pretty big deal. During the act, you had to do some of your best acting, pretending to be overwhelmed with pleasure the second he was inside you just to boost his ego and make him jizz quicker. And once he came, you felt disgusting, but you had to keep it together and raise your legs above your head.

But today, the test looked different. Two lines appeared, with the second line so faint it was almost invisible. You took another test, and then another, each one revealed the same faint line. As you gazed at the positive pregnancy tests lined up next to the sink, a wave of mixed emotions washed over you. Part of you was filled with happiness, knowing your dream was finally about to become a reality. Yet, another part of you was torn, for this also meant the end of things with Patrick. For a brief, tempting moment, you wondered if you could keep it a secret from him a bit longer, until you started showing, just to keep seeing him a few more months. But deep down, you knew you couldn't lie to him. You couldn’t betray him, not like you did with your husband.

Patrick was the first person you wanted to tell, even before your husband. When you arrived at his place, you realized you had no idea on how to break the news. You kissed him lightly on the lips as he opened the door and let you in, but you remained silent. You wished you had rehearsed what to say before rushing over. "What’s wrong?" He asked, sensing your discomfort as you barely responded to his caresses and kisses against your neck. "I think I’m pregnant..." You blurted out. You felt his hands instinctively pull away from your ass, and the smile vanished from his face. "Oh." His gaze dropped to your stomach. "Wow." He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Congrats?" Patrick had never been good at lying, and his half-hearted congratulations made that evident. He looked at you, chewing on the inside of his cheek, struggling to mask his emotions. You knew how delicate the situation was, but you had hoped he would show a bit more happiness for you. Yet, deep down, you were also relieved that he didn’t. It meant he wasn’t ready to let go of you.

You had never broached the subject of what would happen between the two of you once you became pregnant. Truthfully, you had avoided thinking about it completely. It had always seemed clear to you that it would mark the end of your affair and you hated it. But apparently, that wasn’t as obvious for Patrick. "Do you want to stop seeing each other?" He suddenly asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty. Was it even a real question? You shook your head in denial. Giving the opposite answer would have been the right thing to do for your family but you had no desire to end things. "Thank god." He murmured with palpable relief, drawing you into a passionate kiss. You were stunned by his reaction. What kind of guy would continue a casual relationship with someone who was pregnant with someone else’s child? It seemed so morally wrong. Yet, nothing felt more intensely right than the sensation of Patrick’s fingers wandering beneath your panties.

●

The first two months of your pregnancy felt like the beginning of your relationship all over again. Patrick was back to fucking you at least four times a week, taking full advantage of the freedom to fill you with his cum without any worries. And you never brought the subject up again, not even once. You knew life was growing inside you, but you pretended to ignore it and be your old self. You were as present for Patrick as you could be. Despite your husband being a bit more attentive since you gave him the news, you made time, making sure to be at Patrick’s place as soon as your husband left for work. As much as you wanted things to remain that way, you noticed Patrick had become a bit more cautious around you. No more throwing you against every piece of furniture, no more strangling your neck with his strong hands or sitting on your chest, pinning you down while he made you gag on his cock. He still treated you like a cock-hungry whore, calling you all sorts of names and covering you with his cum, but he was more gentle about it. You hated it. You hated how he pretended everything was unchanged, while you found yourself begging for even the slightest hint of roughness. He had even stopped smoking in your presence, and you nearly had to put a cigarette between his lips for him to feel relaxed enough to light it up. You had spent months yearning for him to show some consideration, and now, when he did, you craved the uncaring treatment you once had. What was wrong with you?

And then, just when you thought nothing could burst your bubble, he had to leave for a tour. You were thrilled for him, celebrating his success and impressive rankings, but you also felt resentment. He always seemed to choose tennis over you. You found it unsettling when you realized that you actually preferred it when he was miserable and struggling with his career because it meant he needed you more. How twisted was that?

While he was away, he made a point to check in on you, sending you a daily picture of his cock. You were grateful for it, especially since the hormones had you unbearably horny, making you hump your pillow several times a day. You were also thankful for FaceTime, allowing you to watch his face as he came, your name on his lips and his hand gripping his cock.

When he finally returned, defeated and unvictorious, you rushed to his apartment like an addict craving her fix. You had missed him so much, it almost felt like dying. Now that he was back, you were determined not to let him go. As he opened the door and you saw him standing there, you could swear he looked even more handsome than you remembered. He greeted you with a grin, though his eyes quickly flickered to your stomach. You had spent countless hours on your knees, desperately praying that you wouldn't start showing, wishing to remain physically the same woman you had always been. But despite your efforts, your body had grown larger and fuller, and loose clothing could no longer cover it. "Come in, fatty." He teased as he let you inside. It was probably the last thing you wanted to hear as an emotional, pregnant woman who yearned to stay slim and hot for her athletic lover. Yet, the playful smack on your ass as you walked in reassured you and made you smile. Maybe you were a bit of a "fatty", but you were a "fatty" he wanted to fuck. Once inside, you grasped him by the collar and drew him close, savoring the warmth of his body against yours. You had missed his touch, his scent, his smile. The moment you were reunited, you pressed your lips to his with an urgent, desperate kiss. "I’m so horny…" You murmured breathlessly against his tongue. "When aren’t you?" He replied with a playful smirk, effortlessly lifting you off the ground and gripping your thighs with a firm, possessive hold. "I swear the hormones are driving me crazy." You whispered into his ear, your breath hot and heavy as you nibbled on his earlobe. "Show me then." He urged, biting his lower lip at the sensation of your tongue against his sensitive ear. You spent the rest of the day in bed, riding him into oblivion. Being on top allowed you to grind against him, the friction offering sweet relief to your aching, swollen clit. Even when his body could no longer keep up, you continued, desperately humping his thigh like a starved animal.

After a couple of months, your growing belly made it difficult to have sex in most positions. So now, he mostly fucked you from behind, either spooning you or in doggy style. To be fair, if you really wanted to, you would still ride him, but you suspected that the sight of your pregnant body turned him off. It was either that or Patrick Zweig, the most sexual being you knew, had somehow turned into a saint.

He no longer initiated sex, it was always you who made the first move. While he obliged and fucked you, it was clear he wasn't doing it for his own pleasure. Sure, he would come but he wasn’t using you like he used to. He barely spoke during the act, no more crude talk, he was only asking if you liked it from time to time. Of course, it was still enjoyable, Patrick Zweig would always be a good fuck, whether he put in the effort or not, but the passion was gone. You missed the wild intensity of the past. There were no more forceful poundings. He was delicate now, his strokes long and gentle, his hands tenderly cradling your hips. Throat fucking had become a thing of the past too, he wouldn’t even finish in your mouth anymore. Anal sex, once one of his biggest turn-ons, was suddenly off the table. He had even stopped going down on you. He had tried once, but after a few minutes of his view being blocked by your growing belly, he gave up, leaving you unsatisfied and longing for more.

You didn’t want to admit that your relationship with Patrick had lost part of its thrill. Yet, it became painfully clear when, during a particularly intimate moment, you accidentally called him by your husband’s pet name. "L-lovey…" The forbidden term slipped out while he was spooning you, his cock deeply buried inside. The slow, languid thrusts were so reminiscent of your husband’s lazy fucking and the position so familiar that the mix-up was almost inevitable.

You wanted to ask Patrick what was wrong, whether your changing body was troubling him. Why wasn’t he fucking you like the whore you were anymore? But bringing it up would mean confronting the reality of your pregnancy, something you weren’t ready to face. You still needed him in your life, whether he fucked you or not. You were convinced that keeping him at a distance from your baby was for the best. You had intentionally shielded him from that part of your world. So you never mentioned the countless doctor visits or the preparatory classes you attended. You kept your aches and symptoms to yourself, and he remained oblivious to the fact that you already knew the baby’s gender, and how happy you were about it. It was a girl, just as you had hoped.

●

"Your friend Patricia says she really needs to see you." Your husband said, handing you your phone as it buzzed with a new message. Patricia? Why on earth would Patrick contact you on the weekend? He knew your husband was home. "Ah yes, she’s going through a hard time." Knowing Patrick, probably a really, really, really hard time. "I should probably go, she needs me." You said, making your way to the door. Your husband let out a sigh that made you freeze. It was a sigh that hinted at trouble. "Does Patricia know you’re pregnant?" He asked, his voice carrying an edge. You squinted at him, trying to understand the motive behind his question. Was he still questioning your faithfulness? You knew he had doubts, but you had no way of knowing what he knew or didn’t know. With the lack of honest communication between you, you only knew deception and secrecy, making it unlikely he would confront you directly. He was as much of a coward as you were. For a brief moment, you wondered if his question came from concerns that you might be pregnant with another man’s child. "Yes, it’s not like I can hide it." You answered, trying to sound casual and unconcerned. "She must be happy for you." He said, clearly pressing for more information. "Sure. Like any friend would be." You replied, trying to clear up his doubts. You wanted to reassure him that despite the mess in your relationship, you still respected him enough to be honest about such an important matter. You gave him a quick peck on the cheek, grabbed your jacket, and headed for the door before he could say anything more. As you left the house, you texted Patrick back.

← [To : Patricia - 2:22pm] Don’t text me when he’s home! My husband saw your message! → [From : Patricia - 2:22am] Oh really? Did he see this too? [video attached]

Attached was a video of his cock sliding out of you as he fucked you from behind, one hand pressed against the small of your back while the other held his phone. You had no idea he had even recorded such a video. You’d never seen him use his phone to film before. Judging by your size in the video, it was clearly recent. You found yourself wondering why he had felt the need to capture that moment.

← [To : Patricia - 2:24pm] Is that blackmail material? → [From : Patricia - 2:25pm] More like jerk off material. → [From : Patricia - 2:26pm] You know I would never blackmail you. I want you to be safe and living a comfortable life.

You kept re-reading his words. A comfortable life? What about happiness?

← [To : Patricia - 2:31pm] I’m on my way.

●

Before you knew it, you were back to your monotonous housewife routine. Your husband had returned to his business trips, and the attention he had showered on you after the pregnancy announcement had died down. Once again, you were reduced to just being a part of the house he lived in.

You were now free to invite Patrick over as often as you wished during the week, eager for his company. While sex was mostly why you met him, what you truly craved was his presence. So, he came over to watch movies, play video games, or simply chat. The guest bedroom had essentially become his, and by extension, yours as well. Patrick grew increasingly comfortable in your home, moving through the hallways with the ease of someone who belonged there. You were confident that if you asked him for anything, he would locate it in no time.

You were in the bathtub, savoring a rare moment of intimacy as the warm water enveloped both of you. Patrick's cramped shower barely allowed for such comfortable closeness, but tonight, your spacious bathtub had made it possible. One of his hands rested on your breast while the other lay absentmindedly on your stomach. It was the first time Patrick had ever touched you there. He usually made a conscious effort to avoid this part of your body. Was it because he didn’t want to hurt your baby? Out of respect for your husband? Or was he simply grossed out? The last theory seemed the most probable. For weeks, you had prayed that your child wouldn’t show any sign of life in Patrick’s presence, but it had happened more than once. You always made sure to dismiss it, no matter how hard it kicked, masking any sign of discomfort or awareness. Even though your life was on the brink of a monumental change, you were determined to remain the same old you for Patrick.

You placed your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers, allowing yourself to imagine, just for a second, that you were living this life with Patrick. That he was your cherished husband with a successful career, and you were carrying his child, a child you both eagerly awaited. When he realized where his hand was, he quickly pulled it away, resting it on your thigh. "Don't you want one of your own someday?" You asked, breaking the silence. "Hell no." He replied, his voice tinged with disgust. "You keep calling me deranged. Do you think it’s a wise decision to pass down those genes?" Sure, he was deranged, but he was also caring, attentive, and sweet. "I think you’d make the best daddy." You said, a warmth in your voice. Silence followed your words, and you could tell they had some kind of impact on him. You doubted anyone had ever thought so highly of him or simply believed he was capable of any kind of responsibility. "Aren’t I already?" He teased, sneaking his hand between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with slow, intense rubs. You bit your lip, knowing he was trying to divert your attention from the seriousness of your words. "I’m serious, Patrick!" You insisted, your voice trembling. "One day, you’re going to make a woman the happiest, and I’m so pissed that it’s not me." There. You said it. You couldn’t pretend anymore that this was a normal, casual relationship. You would have traded the world to be the one Patrick would settle for.

Patrick sighed deeply. And here you were, crying again, your emotions a chaotic mix fueled by hormones. His fingers were still on your cunt, and you were sobbing. "I don’t want to be the reason you’re crying." He murmured, his voice full of regret and tenderness. He placed a soft kiss on your head and wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around your torso. But he was the reason for your tears. If he wanted you to stop crying, he only had to say one word and make you the happiest woman on earth. But he would never. Patrick Zweig would remain a selfish and immature man, unable to commit. Not unable. Unwilling. The future you longed for with Patrick was a fantasy, one that couldn’t coexist with the life you already had, and it had to stop. The bathwater grew colder as your tears continued to fall down your cheeks.

●

You were madly in love with Patrick, it was a fact you could no longer deny, no matter how hard you tried for the sake of your marriage. It was becoming impossible for you to conceal the depth of your distress. It was when you started resenting your baby for straining your relationship that you knew it was time to stop seeing Patrick. You had been so eager to be a mom, but Patrick had made it difficult to look forward to it, and you didn’t want him to ruin your relationship with your unborn child. Ending this relationship would, without a doubt, be the hardest thing you would ever do, but it was necessary. The weight of guilt had become unbearable. It wasn’t your husband you felt sorry for, it was your child. Your rendez-vous with Patrick had lost all its enjoyment. You were fairly certain he could sense how much you loved him and it was starting to scare him. You couldn’t help but constantly message him and tell him how much you missed him. You had to know where he was and with who, acting like his jealous wife. You knew he was fucking other people, you could smell on him and you had no right to say a thing about it. Each time you met, you ended up in tears on his couch, overwhelmed by the betrayal that wasn't even a betrayal. You knew he was grossed out by your swollen body and your unpredictable mood swings. He wasn’t even fucking your brains out anymore, he mostly just held you, cuddled you, and offered reassurances, as a friend might. And those meetings were happening less and less often as he always had a great excuse to cancel on you. His career was doing better than ever and he had to be away from home. You suspected that for him, the end of the relationship had come long before it had for you, and that realization was breaking your heart. Without him, you faced a future alone, and the thought of it frightened you. Breaking up with him felt like a huge mistake, but you couldn’t back down. Your daughter deserved to have parents who respected each other and loved her unconditionally.

"I think we should stop seeing each other." You were lying in bed, spooning when you finally said it, your voice trembling with apprehension. The words you had dreaded to utter hung heavily in the air. "I really need to focus on my child and husband." You attempted to explain, though it felt out of place, considering the months you had spent neglecting both. "I get it." He replied softly, as if he had been expecting this for some time. Wasn’t he going to fight for you? You longed for him to beg, to declare he couldn’t live without you. But instead, he remained silent, simply holding you, his arms wrapped around your chest. Tears began to fall down your cheeks, but you tried to stay quiet, unwilling to show weakness. If he didn’t care about you leaving, why should you care? Fuck it. You were not strong enough to maintain the facade. You wanted him to understand how much he meant to you, how grateful you were for the way he had helped you discover yourself. Because of him, you had learned what love was truly meant to be, and now you had to say goodbye to it. "I will miss you so much." You whispered, a lump forming painfully in your throat. You recognized that you were being unfair by forcing your feelings upon him. Although not answering would make him seem like an asshole, you needed to hear his response. "I know." He replied, but his words offered little comfort. Of course, he wouldn’t answer. "Me too." He finally added, his voice barely a whisper. The words sent you into a fit of loud, uncontrollable crying. Patrick did his best to soothe you, pressing gentle kisses along your neck. For a brief moment, it felt like his face was as wet as yours, though you suspected that was just wishful thinking.

You both stood in front of the door to his apartment, tightly wrapped in an embrace, his chin resting gently on the top of your head as he stroked your back. It had been months since he had held you so closely. It seemed that your enormous belly that used to be an issue for him wasn’t anymore. The hug didn’t help the tears streaming down your face. "I better see you on TV as the best fucking tennis player on earth." You sniffled against his chest. You only wished for the best for him, knowing he had the potential to achieve it. "Don’t worry, I’ll make myself impossible to avoid." He teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "And you’d better be the happiest woman on earth. You and the little one." You nodded, though you had doubts about ever finding happiness without him. At the very least, you hoped your child would.

You had decided it was best for the two of you to call a driver to pick you up, avoiding the extended goodbye that would come if Patrick drove you home. Patrick’s car was also weirdly sentimental for you. It was where everything had started, where you had become a new woman, where he had fucked you so good that you had forgotten your miserable life. You didn’t want it to be where it ended. You knew the moment you saw him behind that wheel, your knees would get weak, and you would beg him to take you back. So here you were, sobbing in the backseat of a stranger’s car. You didn’t miss the driver’s quick glances in the rear-view mirror but you didn’t give a fuck. You needed to release the sadness before you reached your house. Once near your home, you asked the driver to stop at the exact spot where Patrick always parked when he picked you up. There, you cried until you couldn’t anymore. After a few minutes of loud cries, your eyes had simply stopped shedding tears and had become bloodshot and very dry. All there was left was a lump in your throat and a headache. When you finally exited the car to return to the emptiness of your house, you made sure to tip the driver extra money for the inconvenience. You were also very grateful he didn’t ask any question.

When your husband walked through the door that evening, he was unprepared for the request you were about to make. "I need you to focus entirely on me and our daughter from now on." You said, your voice a low but firm whisper. Your gaze met his with an intensity that left no room for misunderstanding. Your eyes were still swollen and red from the tears. "No one else." You added as he looked at you curiously at the unspoken implication of the other woman. He could feign ignorance all he wanted, but you were about to make it very clear to him. "I don’t want this family to fall apart." You said, your hand resting gently on your stomach. You had sacrificed your own happiness for your child, and you wanted him to share in that sacrifice, to be as miserable as you were. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as he nodded in agreement. "Only you two." He replied, trying to reassure you. You wanted to believe him, but deep down you knew you would need to check his phone for proof in the coming days. You knew better than anyone how challenging it could be to end things.

●

A week later, your daughter was born. The postpartum depression hit you hard, a dark cloud that you couldn’t shake off. You found yourself unable to form a bond with your child, hating her for being the reason Patrick was no longer in your life. Each day felt like a struggle, and the baby in your arms was a constant reminder of what you had lost. And Patrick didn't make it any easier for you.

→ [From : Patricia - 9:29pm] I heard about the baby. Congratulations. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.

You almost dropped your phone at the sight of the message. You had no friends in common, so how could he possibly know? You hadn't posted anything about your kid. There was no way he should be aware of it, unless he had been stalking your husband’s account. Your husband, who proudly posted hundreds of pictures of his daughter. A daughter who looked so much like him, you resented both him and her for it. You knew the chances were slim, but you had hoped that somehow, someway, it would be Patrick’s twin that came out of you, that you would see his ears and his nose in her face. So meeting your daughter and her annoyingly tiny ears had been nothing but a disappointment.

← [To : Patricia - 9:30pm] I miss you so much…

You felt weak, already yearning to be back in his arms after only a few days. But to your disappointment, he left the message on read. Deep down, you knew he had done this for your own good.

●

As your daughter grew, you had hoped that having a child would ease your loneliness. In some ways, it did, but the misery lingered. You were still lonely, just too busy to dwell on it. Your husband remained a devoted father, yet he no longer fulfilled the role of a husband. He had replaced you, his affection solely devoted to your daughter. The little attention he used to give you now went entirely to the baby, and you couldn't voice your resentment without looking like a heartless mother.

For years, you had dreamed of being a mother, but now you regretted it. You had hoped the bond would come with time, but you found yourself unable to grow attached to your own child. And she demanded your constant attention, clinging to your breast like a leech. She was draining the life out of you. Day after day, you felt your own beauty slip away as she grew prettier. Your face appeared dull and blotchy, your body still swollen from the pregnancy, and your skin loose from the drastic changes. Breastfeeding had left you with empty, sagging boobs. You couldn't even bring yourself to think about what childbirth had done to your once perfect, tight little pussy. You knew that pelvic floor exercises would eventually help but you feared nothing could restore it to its former glory. And the stretch marks… They were a constant reminder of how ugly you felt. But that didn’t matter, it wasn't as if anyone was interested in fucking you anymore.

Your affair with Patrick had remained a secret, and now he was just a shadow in your life. He was the one you imagined to make yourself come, the one who lingered in your thoughts whenever you smelled a cigarette or heard about tennis. He was the one you had in mind every time you told your husband you loved him. Though Patrick wasn't entirely gone from your life. For your birthday, a chocolate cake arrived, unsigned but unmistakably from the bakery where it had all begun. It was a thoughtful gesture from him, ensuring that your special day was not forgotten. Knowing you crossed his mind even once was the only thing keeping you alive at the moment.

●

At two and a half years old, your daughter had begun to be a bit more independant, making things somewhat easier for you to manage. She no longer depended on you for her survival, allowing you to leave her with the nanny while you retreated to the garage to cry. The guilt had returned and was slowly killing you, as you watched her from afar, feeling sorry that you, unlike her father, or other mothers did with their kids, struggled to give her the unconditional love she deserved. You had some sort of fondness for her, but it fell short of the love you wished you could offer. Deep down, you feared that your emotional unavailability was already creating traumas she could never overcome as an adult. And despite your efforts to force yourself into a more loving role, each embrace and kiss felt like an exhausting obligation.

Your therapist was your only confidant on that matter. You didn't have many friends to begin with, and you were too ashamed of yourself to open up to anyone else. You knew you would face judgment for being a cheater and a terrible mother. So she knew everything about you, even about the affair. She had discussed your upbringing as a factor in your overall unhappiness, noting the family's pressure to marry and become a wife without allowing you to experience passions and interests or love and relationships. She believed this was why you couldn't move on once you had found thrill in Patrick's arms.

Despite the many issues you had, Patrick was the center every session. It always circled back to him. She no longer mentioned him by name because you would burst into tears every time you talked about him. For her, you had fooled yourself into believing he was your true partner, and being happy with your husband and your daughter meant you were cheating on him. You just couldn’t do that. And your daughter was a constant reminder of who you truly belonged to, and until you accepted the reality of your situation, forming a bond with her would remain impossible. So you tried to remind yourself that Patrick wasn’t the one. All you had to do was to dull the feelings and the pills she prescribed helped with that.

While you were grappling with your struggles with your daughter, your husband was constantly talking about having a second child. The thought of bringing another kid into the world, only to potentially ruin their life as well by being their mother, was unbearable. At first, you told your husband you were too tired to take care of another child, but he persisted. He had even hired a nanny to help with your daughter, easing some of the pressure on you. You then tried to convince him that your body couldn’t handle another pregnancy, that it would be ruined, but he promised to pay for liposuction and any other procedure you needed. You mentioned that your daughter might be jealous of a sibling, but he was confident she would end up loving it. No matter what argument you brought up, he always found a solution, unwavering in his determination. But when you discovered he had returned to his mistress, his phone constantly beeping with her name flashing on the screen, you wanted to make him pay. So you made the drastic decision to get your tubes tied without his knowledge, ending any chance of continuing your lineage. Now, all you had to endure was his gross body on top of yours, moaning into your ear, filling you up, while you pretended to struggle with fertility issues.

●

That day, you were out grocery shopping, your little girl perched in the shopping cart. As you navigated the aisles, you sighed when you saw her stretching out, trying to grab something from the shelf. "Don’t touch anything." You said, your tone dry. The endless choice of snacks blurred before your eyes, and you could never quite remember which brand was her favorite. You were studying the list of ingredients closely when you felt a sharp pinch on your waist, making you jump. The last thing you had energy for was dealing with some inappropriate stranger. Ready to unleash your anger, you turned around and froze. It was Patrick. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. "Hey you." He said, his lips curling into a familiar smile. He stood there, his hair a mess of dark curls, face unshaven, wearing ridiculously tiny gym shorts. Earphones dangled from his ears, and a cigarette perched precariously atop one. He clutched a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He looked like a mess, a beautiful, breathtaking mess nonetheless. You couldn’t help but smile back, your grin so wide it felt like your jaw might dislocate. Despite the heartache from the end of your relationship, seeing him filled you with unparalleled joy. It had been so long since you felt anything, and with just a word, he had awakened something in you. It took all your strength not to jump into his arms and run away with him, leaving your child and everything else behind. "H-hi." You stammered, your voice betraying the flood of emotions surging within you.

You both remained silent for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Patrick's gaze briefly shifted to your daughter, who remained oblivious to the stranger standing beside her. She had not even noticed him. If the bond between a mother and child was supposed to be so strong, how could she not recognize the man who had been there almost every single day while she grew in your womb? You didn't know what you really expected from her. Perhaps to recognize his voice and accidentally call him ‘daddy’? That was stupid. All you knew was that you felt irritated that Patrick's presence didn't affect her in the slightest while it was turning your world upside down.

He licked his lower lip, a small gesture that used to send you over the edge, before locking eyes with you once more. You tried to start a conversation, asking him how he was doing, how tennis was going, or if he missed you as much as you missed him. But all that came out were a few random, babbled syllables. A chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that felt like a slap in the face. Without another word, he turned and staggered away, clearly intoxicated. Wait. That was it? You stood there, paralyzed by the abruptness of his departure, your mind racing. You wanted to run after him, to grab his arm and beg him to take you back. But before you could find the courage to move, his figure had already disappeared into the distance. What was that about? Did the sight of you disgust him so much that he couldn't even bring himself to say goodbye properly? His indifference cut deeper than a knife, leaving you standing there, hurt and abandoned.

Finishing grocery shopping felt like the hardest task on earth. Your mind was consumed by thoughts of Patrick, and each step you took felt like it might be your last. Your legs trembled under the weight of the encounter, threatening to give out at any moment. Once back home, you handed your daughter over to your husband, muttering an excuse about needing the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind you, you collapsed in tears.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. The face looking back at you was a stranger : aging lines carved deep and dark circles shadowing your eyes. Your hair, with its roots showing and a few rebellious white strands, only added to the sense of unfamiliarity. You used to visit the plastic surgeon’s office and the hairdresser more often than you visited your own family. If it were truly you staring back at yourself in the mirror, you would never have allowed yourself to become like this. You were thin, but not in a way that spoke of health or tone. Instead, you looked sickly, your skin stretched over a frame that had once been strong and full of life. Your breasts had lost their firmness, now small, empty, and sagging.

No wonder Patrick had laughed. How could he gaze upon you and perceive anything other than the mere shadow of the person you once were? His laughter was a painful reminder of how far you had fallen from the days when you were the woman he desired the most. The urge to end it all welled up inside you, dark and overpowering. The thought of continuing to exist in a world where Patrick Zweig thought you were laughable seemed unbearable. No one would miss you anyway. Your daughter had your husband and your husband had his younger mistress. But how would you do it? You didn’t want to burden your family. You didn’t want them to discover your body and endure the pain of funerals, you just wanted to vanish without a trace.

Sinking to the floor, you sobbed uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity. As you contemplated every possible way to exit this life, you eventually rose to your feet, still trembling. Splashing cold water on your face, you washed away the tears and evidence of your breakdown

●

Later that night, after hours of your daughter's never-ending screaming, she finally drifted off to sleep. You had left your husband to tend to her, feeling unable to function ever since locking eyes with Patrick again. You believed her father was the safer choice anyway. You sensed yourself slipping from reality and feared that you might end up hurting her as well as yourself.

You laid beside your husband in bed, observing him engrossed in his book. You envied how peaceful he looked. He seemed so unaware of the despair that was slowly gnawing at your insides. You wondered if he could even think for a second that you wanted everything to end at this instant, to fade away knowing your final memory would be of another man.

The buzzing of your phone pulled you out of your dark thoughts. An incoming message. Seeing the name of the sender, you stole a quick glance at your husband to ensure he remained absorbed in his reading before cautiously unlocking your phone, your fingers trembling with fear.

→ [From : Patricia - 11:18pm] Damn, mama! I forgot how hot you looked. Had to leave before I did something stupid, didn’t want you to see me that way…

And you were paralyzed. Your limbs felt numb, as if disconnected from your head, yet your eyes welled up with tears. A tightening sensation gripped your throat, making each breath a struggle, while your heart pounded furiously in your chest. Was this it? All this planning to end it all just to die of a heart attack?

→ [From : Patricia - 11:19pm] Fuck… I lied, I didn’t forget. → [From : Patricia - 11:19pm] I really miss my tight little cunt.

He didn’t miss your tight little cunt, he missed his tight little cunt.

And just like that, you fell back into the whirlwind : the constant texting, the secret rendez-vous, the passionate fucking in the back of his car and once again, you found yourself falling madly in love with a man who wasn’t your husband. Except this time, it was different, he loved you too and you possessed him in ways you never had before.

♠♣♥♦

a/n : This was an anon request to begin with and I'm so thankful because the idea was so good. It was going to be a headcanon but I quickly turned this into a fic because I had not been so inspired in SO LONG. I'm so sorry it took forever (a month a half!!!!) to write it but life got in the way and I changed stuff so many times. Also sorry for the smut fans, I tried to be elusive a lot of time, did a lot of fade to black because they do fuck a lot and i didn't feel like writing 10k of sucking dick and cock (time and place, and you did it at my birthday dinner).

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers fiction #challengers 🎾#challengers smut #challengers 2024

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arachine · 2 years

Text

— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…”

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her.

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight.

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort.

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from.

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?”

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you.

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?”

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again.

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent.

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him.

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end.

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only.

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it.

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them.

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little.

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat).

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do.

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest.

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed.

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away.

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied.

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!”

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him.

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs.

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him.

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son.

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment.

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel.

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig.

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident.

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time.

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering.

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually).

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it.

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is.

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body.

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot).

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.”

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings.

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack.

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber.

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out.

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother.

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.”

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?”

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together.

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes.

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you!

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully.

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd.

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him?

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him.

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family.

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success.

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him.

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf.

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks.

“Do you have an idea where she might be?”

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion.

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence.

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode.

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would.

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time.

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden.

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack.

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot.

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?”

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway.

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack.

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk.

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches.

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting.

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs.

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.”

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now?

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him?

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again.

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart.

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible.

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each.

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces.

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.”

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream.

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly.

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.”

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.”

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations.

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones.

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin.

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds.

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty.

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?”

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to.

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve.

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think.

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face.

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb.

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring.

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you.

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you.

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.”

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is.

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours?

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity.

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force.

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching.

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you.

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers.

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it.

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to.

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles.

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man.

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty.

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you.

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack.

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides.

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls.

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy.

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically.

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile.

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?”

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him.

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground.

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness.

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side.

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess.

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length.

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable.

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired.

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you.

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement.

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds.

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement.

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons.

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace.

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks.

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart.

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains.

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.”

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam sully x reader smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #neteyam smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #awow #avatar smut #avatar the way of water smut

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

Text

classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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cxrdycxps · 3 months

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Pillow Talk • Joel Miller

☢️ Smut • p in v • unprotected • f!reader • no y/n ☢️

Main Masterlist • Joel Miller Masterlist

It didn’t happen every time you both slept together. Hell, sometimes it was a quick fumble in the stables or some messing around in the bathroom of the Tipsy Bison.

This thing wasn’t serious between you both. He needed the stress relief and you were happy enough to give him some.

“Most of the time I just miss football.” He laughed, careful not to jostle your head where it lay against his broad chest.

He had just rendered you speechless after a night at the Tipsy Bison and now all he wanted to do was talk about what he missed.

“I miss fruity shower gels and shampoo that made my hair smell like coconut.” You whispered quietly and he nodded slowly, another chuckle reverberating in his chest.

You ran your hand over his stomach, a little soft even with the layer of hard muscle under. He was just so big, it made your mouth water from across the room.

Every time you caught a glance of those shoulders you got flashes of your legs being thrown over them while he ate you out like a starved man.

Every time he ditched the flannel so you could watch his biceps flex against his t-shirt all you could picture was the strain in them when he fucked you against the wall.

The stretch of his thighs against his jeans reminded you of the times where you hadn’t even made it up the stairs, rutting against his leg like a damned dog.

The sex was phenomenal. No matter how often or how sparse it was. It always shook you to your core.

The added benefit of sleepy pillow talk was always nice. Sometimes he talked about life before, sometimes he talked about how life had turned out. He didn’t often discuss the last twenty years.

“I miss celebrating my birthday. I’d spend the day of my birthday working or whatever. Then Sarah and I would do something. Then Tommy and I would hit the strip club at the weekend.” Joel shook his head with a sigh but you finally raised yours. “It all seems so stupid now. But we had been doing it since we were barely legal enough to get into a strip club.”

“There’s a million things to miss and you miss a woman shaking her ass for you to toss a few dollars to.” You teased and he rolled his eyes. “Tell me, did you have a favorite? Do you miss her?”

“Yeah, you know what? I did have a favorite, pretty little thing. She could shake her ass like it was no one’s business. Used to book her privately too.” Joel had no shame despite you trying to embarrass him and you could only laugh at him, propping your head up on your elbow to watch him.

“Well Mr. Miller, I know in this town we don’t celebrate your birthday. Mourning and all that. But if you’re really lucky, I might get you a present.” You winked at him as you slipped from the bed, grabbing for your clothes. Your sister would no doubt be wondering where you had disappeared to.

“Oh yeah, what’s that then?” He asked, turning his head to look at you as you pulled your jeans on.

“Well, when the world went to shit I used to be one of those pretty young things. And your favorite girl might have been able to shake her ass with the best of ‘em, but I’ll show you how a professional does it.” You promised, buttoning your blouse.

Joel watched you for a few seconds, his mouth agape before he reached a hand out, lightning quick despite his age. He dragged you back to the bed, pinning you under him and you were surprised to find him pressed against you.

“I ain’t got that hard that quick since I was in my twenties.” Joel grunted, working your jeans back down past your hips.

He didn’t take them off, pinning your wrists above your head and lining himself up with the other hand to slam into you with minimal warning.

You groaned loudly, arching your hips towards him as he fucked into you, one goal in mind. “Gonna shake your ass for me? Think you would’ve let me pay you for a private show? Course you would, my fucking girl.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. It felt like he was filling you all the way. Like you could feel him taking up space in your air way. You could barely do more than arch your hips with how he had you pinned but you didn’t need to do anything else. Just let him fuck you.

You had had angry sex with Joel. You had been fucked, you had been romanced, you had done it all. But this? This hard and fast and brutal pace? This had to be your favorite. He had barely started and already you were sprung tight, ready to explode.

“Joel, I’m gonna-“

“Yeah, you fucking are. Gonna come all over me, I need it baby. Gonna take you in doggy next, see that ass bounce for me. Fucking knew you’d be able to dance. Knew that first day I saw you.” He grunted, fucking into you hard and fast. “Better find some lace baby, I want the whole fucking show.”

You couldn’t reply, throwing your head back and moaning loudly as you came and he continued to pound into you. He pulled out before he was finished and before you could complain you were flipped onto your stomach.

“Hands and knees, let’s see what those hips can do.” A rough smack against your ass had your scrambling to comply, knowing you wouldn’t be making it home tonight.

#joel miller #the last of us #soft joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #stripper!reader

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bakugoushotwife · 11 months

Text

no, please don’t kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel!

>>> you didn’t think you were making it out of kinktober without a visit from ghostface, did you? all cute and sweet pieces, blegh. it's time to play...happy halloween—don’t hang up on me you bitch!

>>> cw: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION. NO MINORS. dark content ahead. inspired by scream 1996. murder, blood, gore, stalking, yandere!characters, ghostface!characters, manipulation, major character death, alternate no curses!reality, physical harm to reader, manhandling, knifeplay, costumed sex, prone bone, dub con, non con just in case tbh, biting, choking spanking, face-slap, degradation (whore, slut, bitch, etc), praise, breeding, doggy, blood consumption, mating press, throat fucking, edging, double penetration, fingering/knife-fucking (?) (f!receiving) anal. threesome mfm/mmf, breeding. let me know if i missed anything. >>> wc: 15.8k >>> event masterlist: >>> playlist

you were starting to get majorly freaked out. the past year or so had been the worst of your life. your college professor was murdered last fall—sending the small town into a frenzy. some people were mortified. how could someone so brutal be lurking in the shadows of this cheery town? they stopped walking to school and carpooled instead, kids no longer played in the yards, and women rarely went out unaccompanied. some people thought it was funny—something interesting to talk about after years of mundane crimes barely making the news.

you were feeling something much more complex than just fear or interest; you were battling grief. grief that no one else even knew about, adding to the complexity of your feelings. toji was just your business professor—one that you paid frequent visits to on and off campus. you did a good job of covering your tracks, coming up with lie after lie to keep your friends well distracted from your taboo hook-ups with the community’s favorite teacher. they would bully you to tears if they knew you gave your virginity to dr. fushiguro—and between satoru and suguru’s relentless teasing, you would never know peace again.

plus, it’s nearly been a year, and you were nothing more than the other woman, a young girl that caught his attention over the monotony of marriage. it wasn’t going anywhere, and you knew that. in a way, the emotions you grappled with weren’t grief at all—but guilt. toji had young children—what you did was wrong. you felt that way when he was alive and you were actively doing it—but something about him pulled you in. maybe it was your own naivety that was to blame for believing him when he promised you he would leave his wife for you–all just to get you to put out again and put off your friends. maybe it was the subconscious belief that he was the best you would get, the best you deserved. your parents were hardly winning any awards for their methods, and the only other men in your life have been around you since high school, the aforementioned relentless teasers: satoru gojo and suguru geto.

you like to think that you put it all behind you, but you can’t stop this creeping feeling that toji fushiguro was murdered because of you.

and that wasn’t the end of the weird happenings. your lab partner—kento nanami unceremoniously dropped out this month, so the rumors around campus say, but you have a bad feeling about it. you’ve been calling him for days with no response, he has no after school work presence, and his best friend looks like he’s seen a ghost anytime you’re around. it was all the school was talking about, especially approaching the anniversary of dr. fushiguro’s death.

“i say he was murdered, just like the professor. we have a real serial killer on our hands, ladies and gents!” ieiri shoko—a haphazard extension of your friend group—wiggles her brows, reclined back on her hands to survey the rest of you as she puffs her cigarette.

gojo rolls his eyes, giving the speaker an unimpressed look. “i think they gotta tick a few more boxes before it’s a serial killer, no? only two murders, and so far apart?” he shakes his head to discount the theory. he makes a good point, perhaps it was just a creepy coincidence after all. there’s no reason to freak yourself out over nothing.

“yeah? well i think it’s connected too.” iori says from her spot on the ground, her head laying in your lap as you braid and unbraid her hair, just keeping your brain occupied on something other than the death that seems to follow you.

“yeah? and that’s why you don’t get paid for thinkin’.” gojo snickers, utahime’s annoyed attempt to swat at him blocked by suguru’s body, the two of them sitting behind you at the picnic tables out in the open sun. it made you feel a little safer, surrounded by friends and in a place where you could keep an eye out. you trust gojo and geto to watch your back.

satoru continues to giggle on about it until shoko interrupts, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and pointing gojo down with it. “what if they just pick one of us every year–some kind of halloween sacrifice?” she posits, and your eyes widen. the boys exchange a look, and suguru’s voice of reason cuts in.

“let’s leave the detective work to the police, yeah? i’m sure sheriff zen’in wants to solve his nephews murder.” he leans back against the table while gojo balances his weight with his elbows on his knees.

“yeah right. the sheriff couldn’t give a damn. ” you scoff, biting your tongue at the fact you spoke on the subject at all, but especially something so vague—implying you know more about toji than the normal student, and your cautious friends are also perceptive, you fear.

“what’s that s’pposed to mean? our loyal piggy doesn’t wanna protect the community?” gojo leans forward on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. he’s studying you—every nervous shift of your eyes, the seconds you let pass before you answer, everything, and you know it.

“of…course he does. i only meant—”

“pshhh, everyone knows those zen’in families are weird.” utahime swings in to save you—feeling the way your body tenses under your best friends interrogating stare “why d’you think his last name is fushiguro instead, hm? probably left the family to be a better person—how dreamy of him.” she sighs wistfully, having been another one of the many girls that would have killed to be in your place. “and that old bastard probably doesn’t care. he probably did it himself, knowing how corrupt–”

“smoking on campus, are we, students?” headmaster yaga walks up to send the conversation to a screeching halt. shoko quickly snuffs out her butt on her boot, crumpling the evidence in her hand as the man comes closer. suguru’s never quite cared about the opinions of his elders, and he won’t start now. he keeps slowly dragging his—making eye contact with the headmaster as he comes to a stop before your group in the grass. “geto. you mind?”

he arches his brow in annoyance, sticking out his tongue to burn the ash on. gojo giggles. “what an anarchist!” he cheers jovially, nudging his friend with his elbow. “we didn’t see any no smoking signs sir, swear.”

suguru cracks a lazy grin at the defense, looking at yaga patiently. “i’m sure you’ve heard the news about your fellow classmate.” he starts, and utahime sits up properly to question him more specifically.

“that he dropped out? yeah–we heard that days ago.” she confronts with furrowed brows. you can tell by the clench of yaga’s jaw that there’s more news. your heart sinks to your stomach, that bad feeling you had making an ugly return with the shifting of yaga’s stance.

“what–did they find him?!” you push yourself up to stand, heart pounding in your ears. if kento was dead, was it your fault too somehow?

yaga turns to you with a sad and curt nod. “they did. he was…strung up outside of his house–brutally murdered. his parents found him. all we know so far is that he was on the phone when he died. his mother heard him.”

you cover your mouth with shaky hands. how awful, to hear your own son gargle his last breaths? what a horrible way to go, you can’t believe your stoic and stern lab partner was no more, meeting a fate so horrible you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemies.

“how awful…his poor family.” iori shakes her head, too stunned to speak further. shoko replaces her cigarette with a fresh lollipop, lost in her own head; no doubt contemplating the morbid horror film most closely resembling the current situation—she has a fixation with death.

“there will be a memorial fundraiser to help his family with the funeral costs.” yaga nods, arms folded over his chest. he was clearly at a loss for words, though what could one even really say? he settled for, “be wary, kids. the sheriff’s department will be issuing a curfew. please be safe.”

iori nods as the headmaster walks away—turning back to look at everyone. you hug yourself, feeling a chill in the air that only reminds you of what time of year it is—halloween. you’re still lost in thought, wondering what toji and nanami could have possibly had in common outside of knowing you and being at this school. what motive could be, who was next.

satoru and suguru exchange a look. they can see how wound up you are, noting that you seemed to know that something had happened to nanami before you were told. shoko breaks the silence first.

“this is just like scream, you know? spooky phone calls and brutal killings—says here that he was gutted and suspended from a tree.” she shakes her head, reading the pixelated news article from her nokia screen—grossed out and intrigued at the same time.

iori gasps, “that’s awful—don’t compare his death to a movie, ieiri!” she scolds, noticing you off in la la land. “earth to y/n…hellooooo? i hope this isn’t a scary movie because you are so dying first.” she snarks, and gojo arches his brows and grins mischievously at the sentiment. he gets to his feet, creeping up behind you–jerking you by the shoulders and gasping just to scare you.

you scream and jump back—punching him in the chest. “you jerk!’ you huff as he covers his stomach with laughter, stumbling back into his bench seat. suguru gives you an apologetic smile, standing and offering you his hand.

“c’mon, let me walk you home.” he tilts his head towards the path you take. gojo jumps up too.

“i’ll come with! make up for my prank?” he pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder. his icy blue gaze stays trained on you until you finally give in and look at him, making a bright grin spread across his face.

shoko huffs, “you’re an insensitive asshat—i’m sure you’re not taking this seriously because you always picked on kento. i wonder if the piggies know that!”

“he was a nerd—that’s all!” he scoffs with an eye roll, “oh yeah, so now i killed the guy, huh?” he furrows his brows, insulted by shoko’s insinuation that he could stoop so low.

“no one said that, satoru.” suguru claps his free hand down on the other’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “let’s all relax. i know this is scary, so make sure we walk in partners, at least.”

utahime gags and rolls her eyes at the dramatics, stretching out before getting to her feet. you look to her, thinking you should make sure your fellow woman makes it to her dorm, but suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts again.

“we just want to make sure you get home safely with all of this going on, you look…worried.” suguru comments, stretching his palm out to remind you that his hand was extended for you. your heart warms at his kindness. he’s always been a gentle giant–especially compared to satoru; who has his own charms to him like his sense of humor and his striking good looks. he takes care of you in his own ways—but suguru’s always been more traditional. you place your hand in his, smiling thankfully. he turns to the other girls, but yu haibara is already escorting them the other way, careful to avoid you entirely. your shoulders slump at the idea that he blames you for nanami’s death.

gojo slings an arm around your shoulders and they steer you towards your off campus rental. it’s a little two bedroom one bath—no satoru mansion, but it does the trick. you’re rarely there anyways, bouncing between your friends’ residences for the “dates” you all go on—though ieiri and iori aren’t typically included.

“so this stuff’s really got you messed up in the noodle, huh?” satoru asks, exchanging careful glances with his opposite. you hum so he knows you heard him, settling into the rhythm they were walking for you. you don’t know if it’s the question or the crisp autumn air that makes you shiver—maybe it’s the way they both watch you so intensely, though the longer you think about it the more you realize they’ve kinda always been like that, letting their eyes stay on you too long, analyzing your features to decipher how you really feel. you can’t hide a thing from them. you can only buy yourself time.

“yeah. i guess so.” you settle on, tucking your cheek into your shoulder. you knew they would ask for more specifics, all in the due process of taking care of you.

“were you even close to that nanami guy?” suguru follows up, brows raised in curiosity. you know this trap. it was a miracle you’ve ever been able to keep toji a secret. they’ve always taken a special interest in your love life—they’re protective over you, and wanted to vet any potential match for you. but the boys you met in high school were easily scared off by the strong and intimidating friends of yours, so you figured college wouldn’t be much different. hence why you didn’t try—taking toji’s affection like a gift that fell into your lap.

“he was my lab partner, so we’ve done a few projects together. he seemed like a nice guy, never crossed any lines. responsible. the sort.” you shrug again, not wanting to seem too invested. “i guess it’s just…weird. he was here one day and now he’s not, and killed so brutally…it doesn’t feel real.” you explain, and suguru seems to reflect on the words.

“people die all the time, sugar. maybe he got caught up in something he shouldn’t’ve, maybe wrong place wrong time, or maybe he was eyeing something that didn’t belong to him. who knows. no use troubling yourself over it.” gojo shrugs, sliding his hand up to pat the back of your head.

“that’s easy for you men to say! if some serial killer came after you, you could fight ‘em off. i have no chance if he was…to pick me next.” you retort, trying to make them see why you were so amped up about it.

“what makes you think that he would pick you next?” suguru furrows his brows, but gojo just tilts his head side to side to mull it over.

“nanami was a man, right? i wonder why he died.” he thinks aloud, shrugging. you snap your head towards him to chastise him for such a statement, but suguru clears his throat.

“you have nothing to worry about, right? like satoru said earlier. these are isolated incidents, and they’ve only gone after men so far. chin up, angel.” he insists as you three walk up the steps to your house.

you take a deep but shaky breath, nodding. suguru was right. the only victims have been men. toji’s death and subsequently nanami’s had nothing to do with each other. it was just your guilt gnawing at you. if you didn’t get yourself together, your perceptive bodyguards would pick up on the fact that you were hiding something from them. “thank you. i…needed to hear that.” you nod in satisfaction.

“i’ll call you later, just to make sure you’re still..doing alright.” he assures, patting your hand before he drops it. gojo squeezes you into him, ruffling your hair.

“don’t worry, cutie. we’ll see you tomorrow!! dream of me!” he calls out as their figures retreat.

once the door shuts behind you, you sigh out a breath of relief.

you get some homework and laundry done in the few hours you have before bed. it’s a regular routine, but that’s why you found peace in it. you make yourself some dinner and cozy up on the couch, flipping through the channels to find something to make some noise outside of your loud brain. nanami’s picture makes you pause on the news, the reporter droning on about the case. according to phone records from that night, someone called his house six times, calls various in length from where kento was allegedly hanging up and trying to ignore the killer.

“it seems the young man was stalked from outside his home for the entire night—making a valiant effort to run according to forensics before he eventually succumbed to his injuries. the case is ongoing, and due to the nature of the crime, sheriff zen’in has ordered a curfew of 8pm, beginning friday.”

you’re reeling at the report, stunned beyond belief. it’s hard for you to even envision something so horrible. he must have been so scared. when your home phone rings—you’re jumping out of your skin–scambling up the couch with a scream. you stare at the receiver on the little side table next to you, fear nipping up your spine. that reporter said that nanami had been called repeatedly the night of his death—but suguru also promised to call. you decide to take the chance, satoru lives close enough that you could call him for help if it was this mysterious serial killer instead of one of your best friends on the other line—plus, nanami’s slaughter showed that ignoring the call wouldn’t help a thing.

you reach out a shaky hand, feeling your throat go dry and tight as your sweaty palm grabs the receiver. like it makes a difference, you quickly put it up to your ear, looking around frantically. you never realized how many windows your house has, and now it feels like you’re naked for the world to see. “hello?”

“hey, angel.” suguru’s luxurious voice calms your nerves instantly, like throwing water on a fire. you relax back into the cushions, sighing audibly.

“h-hey.” you card your fingers through your hair in attempt to rid yourself of any lingering anxiety.

“i take it you aren’t feeling better about the whole ordeal then?” he sighs with you, gnawing on his bottom lip a little. you were troublesome for his own nerves.

you play with the spiral cord connecting the receiver to the landline. “i was, i swear! then i saw the news and they were warning about phones like yaga did earlier and then–”

“your phone rang. sorry about my timing then, sweetheart. did you eat?” he interrupts, but his concern makes you tingle with warmth. they may be overbearing at times, but it’s so clear how much they care about you.

“mhm. i have some leftovers though, if you’re still hungry. i could…use some company?” you weakly excuse, slightly embarrassed to basically beg for his protection; but the truth was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight unless you had some comfort.

he chuckles softly and smiles into the phone when he agrees. “of course. i’ll be right over. give me ten minutes—i’ll bring slushies.” he hums enticingly, and you give him a choked up chuckle of relief. he would protect you through the night–and make sure that you had a good time, too.

“kk, sounds good. i want the cherry one!” you tell him like he doesn’t already know everything about your preferences.

“i know you want the cherry—i’m not a psychopath.” he chuckles with you, his car’s engine humming to life in the background. “i’ll see you soon angel. hang tight.” the line goes dead, but you’re no longer filled with a sense of dread, even if you were still nervous about the murderer on the loose.

while you wait on suguru, you do some more channel surfing. you wonder what satoru’s up to tonight and if he’ll be peeved that he wasn’t invited to hang out. who are you kidding, of course he’ll be jealous. you reach over for the phone to call him—even with suguru’s headstart he would probably still beat him here if you got to him now. the high pitched ringing of the phone sounds off again just as your hand wraps around it, making you jump just slightly—it caught you off guard, is all. it’s probably suguru calling to tell you that 7/11 is out of cherry—they’re always out of cherry. annoyed, you put the receiver to your ear.

“ugh, don’t tell me—”

“hello y/n.” the slightly garbled deep voice says. you don’t recognize it–and your heart drops to your stomach. this, this is who’s been murdering people, this is him. this is who they warned you about—why suguru is sneaking out to come see you through the night–suguru. you have to buy enough time for him to get here, if nothing else.

“who are you?” you ask, trying to give your voice some bravado. you start searching the windows again, the eerie sensation that you aren’t alone was making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. goddamn you need to invest in a dog.

“blegh–boring question. i want to know who you are, precious y/n.” the voice states, male in nature, but you can’t distinguish anything past that. your heart races at the avoidance.

“you know my name, and my phone number. seems to me you know who i am.” you clench your jaw together to keep your teeth from chattering, willing yourself to be intimidating. the voice on the other end cackles in amusement.

“you’re funny y/n. i mean the real you, silly girl! let’s play a game. for every question you get right, the longer i’ll let you live. every question you get wrong…one of your friends… dies!” he seems very entertained with himself over the threats, making the fear bubble up over your heart.

“m-my boyfriend is on the way! he’s really big and he’ll beat your ass–”

“and he’ll be the first one dead! question numero uno, and we’re starting easy!! oh, don’t cry now! you can do it, c’mon, iori and ieiri need you right? those are your girlfriends–and that’s not the first question!” he titters again, but his name drops make your rapidly beating heart still in your chest. “how far away is your little boyfriend?”

your chest heaves, the stranger’s wish for you not to cry was wasted. he knows everything–all your friends names—maybe the fact you hadn’t called satoru tonight was the only thing keeping him safe. you wonder how long this stalker must have been following you, listening to you. you wonder if he killed toji too—and why.

“l-like…six minutes, or so. I-i don’t know!” you cry out, clutching the receiver. you think about the consequences of hanging up—maybe that is what angered him into killing nanami. you better stay on the line.

“good girl. see? not that hard! just keep using that noggin’ of yours!” he encourages, breathing heavily into his side of the phone.

you nod, sure he can see you anyway. you shrink into the couch as if it will swallow you whole and keep you safe, but the feeling of comfort is short-lived.

“why was toji fushiguro murdered??”

you blanche. he is responsible. this is…all your fault after all. your worst fears are coming true right in front of you, and suguru cannot get here fast enough to stop it.

“i…i don’t know! i didn’t do it!” you put your hand over your other ear, trying to ball up and make this all go away.

“wrong answerrrr. you’ll find out soon that i’m not bluffing, sugar. let’s try again. why was toji fushiguro butchered?”

how does he know? toji must have told people. that’s the only logical explanation—you know that you haven’t spoken of it to a soul. this man knew, and killed him for it? was he related to toji’s wife, here for revenge? where did kento fit into this—is it really all about you?

you can hardly hear yourself respond over your heartbeat echoing in your ears, pumping your blood in a rush. “i..i dunno!! because i slept with him!?”

“ding ding ding! i knew you were a smart girl. but you do know that makes you a little slut, right? do you know that means you killed him, sugar!” he hisses the last part, as if personally hurt by the notion.

“i..it was wrong–yes–but i..i–” you try to explain, but realize the stranger has no reason to allow it. he’s here to punish you, and you have to either accept this lying down, or try to put up some kind of fight.

“is that two wrong answers? you’ll sentence your best friends to death over your pride, slut? how disappointing.”

“no, no–i am!” you clench your eyes shut, finding it easy to beg for their lives. if this caller was to be believed, then you already knew he wasn’t bluffing.

“you’re what? hmmm y/n?” his voice gets louder, like he’s closer to the device.

“i’m a…slut!” your cheeks burn, you shift uncomfortably on the couch as you wait for the stranger to reply. “please sir.”

“last question–speed round. what door am i at? your front door…or your porch?”

thoughts stop and instinct takes over, causing you to drop the phone and run to your porch–a sliding glass door with flimsy locks. you turn on all the lights, hoping to ward off whatever evil lurked in the night hunting you. you click all the locks in place, sprinting now towards your front door, which stood open already.

“no..” you say aloud, voice a broken whisper of realization. he was already in your house. maybe he had been the whole time, you don’t know anything anymore. all you can think about was suguru’s arrival—hoping you could last for a few minutes longer. you spin around, deciding to venture back the way you came. it was already cleared, he couldn’t have slipped behind—a gloved hand covers your mouth—leather thick enough to smother, and you throw your elbow back as hard as you can, stunning the captor into letting your face go. with a hurried gasp, you’re sprinting for your life. you run to your porch door, grappling with the lock that you just secured. you keep looking over your shoulder, waiting for the figure to reemerge, shaking the lock with all your might. you hear the footsteps, looking over your shoulder to see a tall monstrosity—cloaked in ghostface’s attire. you scream out and throw the door open. shutting it on him before he had the chance to grab you again.

your heart is racing and you aren’t sure where to go next, attempting to clear your fence to get to the main yard of your house, maybe you could get to suguru first. the killer is faster though, both in mind and in body. he grabs your ankle before you can get all the way over, yanking you back to his domain. you scream for help, but there’s no one around to hear you.

“my boyfriend—he’s scary, please mister!” you fight, kicking and thrashing to get all the openings to escape that you could. “let me go!” you throw your legs, connecting with his stomach. he reflexively clutched it in pain, giving you a window to scramble back to your feet and back into your house through the porch door you escaped from. locking it would be a waste, you just start throwing down whatever you could get your hands on to make an obstacle course for the masked man. you assume the cheap costume doesn’t have the best visibility, and you hope to use that to your advantage.

you sprint for the front door, hearing the grunting and frustrated groans of the man chasing you. you blink through your panicked tears, grasping at straws for what to do next. it’s then that you hear the gravel of your driveway crunch under what could only be tires—and who could only be suguru. you shove your couch in between you and the killer, flailing yourself down your front steps and into the yard, sobbing and out of breath, scrapes and scratches showing the evidence of the chase.

suguru is out of his car in an instant, by your side even quicker. he seems to put two and two together at the sight of you, running into the house just in time to see the ghostface impersonator sneak out of your living room window, fading into the distance. you can’t let suguru go very far, terrified beyond measure as you glue to his side and cry into his shirt once he assures you the scary man is gone.

he holds your face, trying to soothe you the best way he knows how. “shh, shh, let’s call the sheriff, alright? this has to be reported.” he insists, holding you to his chest as he picks up your phone to call the police to your home, your kitchen and living room a mess of the night that would undoubtedly scar you for life. you nod, burying your face in his comforting scent. “just tell them what happened, and make sure you tell them everything.” he encourages, petting your hair as you wait for them to arrive.

your heart sinks at the prospect of revealing your secrets to the police. surely they don’t need to know every word exchanged on the phone. you can communicate the gist. you rehearse in your head what to say—but nothing prepared you for sheriff zen’in putting suguru in cuffs and shoving him in the back of a squad car.

you protest, proclaiming his innocence–but the sheriff says if he’s truly done nothing wrong, then he can answer a few of their questions down at the station. you ride in a car too, like a passenger instead of a prisoner, to report what happened in detail that night. you can hardly get through an account of it—too nervous about suguru’s interview. he didn’t even wait for a lawyer, and had already used his phone call. deputy choso finally lets you go once it’s apparent you’re too shaken up to give them anymore than your scrambled memory, about being home and talking to suguru and then a very…summarized version of your call with the killer—and of course your run from him.

you’re relieved when a just-rolled-out-of-bed satoru throws the station doors open, face stern as he scans for you. his features soften when they land on yours, and he’s pulling you into his arms before you’ve even really processed that he’s here. suguru must have used his call on him, to make sure you were taken care of in the event they want to hold him overnight—you’re touched.

“y/n, what happened?! suguru said—a ghostface broke into your house?? are you alright, are you hurt—what are they talking to him for?” he asks, cradling your head on his chest after gawking at your bandaged ankle. you shake your head on him, just wrapping your arms around his waist.

“i dunno, the guy chased me, satoru—i thought i was going to die!! suguru got there just in time, he saved me, and they’re treating him like he’s a criminal! get him out of there—call your dad or something this is bullshit!” you heave, panicky breaths shaking out over his shirt.

he rubs your back, finding suguru’s eyes through the blinds over sheriff zen’in’s window. he takes a steadying breath, clearly trying to set an example for you to follow. “it’s gonna be okay, c’mon, you believe in your ole pal satoru, right?” he leans back, hands on your shoulders to give you a reassuring look. his nod gives you the faith to do the same, leaning back into his chest for that feeling of safety that seems so fleeting these days.

satoru goes back and forth with the deputy about holding suguru overnight, threatening the mayor’s intervention. but deputy choso calls his bluff, rolling his eyes in clear aggravation.

“even the mayor’s asleep right now, kid. unless daddy’ll come running at three a.m, geto’s spending the night.”

“we have classes tomorrow you dipshit. y/n was literally expecting him—what can you even be holding him on?” satoru bucks, arching his brow. it’s rare that he gets serious, but when he does he comes correctly.

“reasonable suspicion.” choso shrugs, leaning back in his desk chair. “doesn’t suguru know how to clone phone numbers? i seem to remember some trouble the two of you got in for prank calling.”

“in eighth grade?” gojo scoffs, grabbing your hand roughly. you know it’s just because he’s wound up about the situation at hand. first your attack, then they cage suguru up like an animal, and now he’s dealing with dumbass deputy dewey. “prank calling to psycho murderer, huh? i suppose that is the only logical fuckin step!” he shakes his head in disbelief, dragging you from the station. “let’s go, sugar. time to get you back to bed—”

ice floods your veins. “what did you just call me?” you pull back out of his grip, looking at him with wide eyes. satoru’s face falters as he searches over yours, paused mid-speech.

“what, sugar? i’ve called you that for years, y/n!” he rolls his eyes, sighing. “so paranoid, goodness. c’mon.” he pats your lower back, urging you into a steady stride alongside him. “let’s go to my place. wouldn’t want there to be a second strike or anything.”

you still stare at him with that quiet unease, brain racing through your conversation with ghostface. “h-he called me that, too.” you mutter, stumbling over your own feet every few steps. satoru slips his arm around your waist to keep you close and to keep you from falling.

“well, i didn’t exactly coin the nickname, i must admit.” he forcibly chuckled. “babe, please.” he rolls his eyes at your steady disbelief. “if i wanted to kill ya, do you not think i could pretty easily? i mean, my dad’s the mayor and you have no family. clearly, i only have your best interest at heart, y/n.” he raises his brow, and as blunt as his statement may be, it is effective. satoru’s strong enough to crush you in one hand, if he wanted to. plus they’d be the only ones that missed you if you were gone. “i’ll…try not to call you that anymore.” he adds on the end, squeezing your hip in an effort to give you some peace of mind.

you nod softly, processing. he’s always been sort of crude and a little brutal in his manner of speaking, always followed up by triumphant giggles at his own jokes. it’s his way of protecting you, of playing good cop and bad cop all at once, and over time you’ve gotten used to his bluntness. he was right anyhow, you shouldn’t doubt the only protection you have in times like these. plus, his offer of safety was too good to pass up.

so you let gojo bring you to his huge estate, not affiliated with the mayor’s property downtown, no, this was just for satoru alone. it was expansive but still held onto that homestyle feeling. his bedroom was cozy, warm and safe like his arms around you, protecting you through the last few hours of the night.

news of your attack had spread like a forest fire around campus by the following morning. of course everyone’s in your face, all swarming around you in hopes they could get any bits of information—did the ghostface mention nanami? how did you escape? why was suguru still at the station if he rescued you?

luckily satoru is there to serve as the buffer between you and the crowd, your other friends close in quickly as well, shoving and cussing until the path cleared and the rules to leave you be were instilled. you weren’t even sure how you were up and walking right now. you were exhausted between the chase and your collective two hours of sleep. your worry was weighing you down, the haunting anxiety of being attacked again, of causing more of your friends to be killed due to your wrong answers, of getting suguru into serious trouble just because this town wanted someone to blame for this. you felt like you’ve had too many iced coffees, body wired and fidgeting as you try to avoid all the lingering stares by making your way to the bathroom to hide for a bit—just long enough to let everyone settle into classes, so you can peacefully get to yours.

you hear a couple of girls chit-chatting between the stalls, a voice you recognize saying your name followed by a near audible eye-roll. you quickly tuck yourself into a stall so they don’t see you when they come out, heart racing now that you seem to be the topic of conversation.

“i bet she’s making it all up. i mean—a ghostface costume? really? that movie came out thirteen years ago! i mean if we’re getting in the halloween spirit, why not jigsaw?” she snickers, the metal door to the stall clanging open to signify that they’ve left—the water running at the sinks.

“mei mei! that’s awful, why do you hate her so much?” the other girl teases, grabbing some paper towels. you bite your lip in wait, insulted beyond belief that she could think you were that big of an attention whore.

“because gojo and geto follow that girl around like she has some kind of…spell on them! i wouldn’t be surprised if she killed dr. fushiguro. she was in his class last year—and he seemed to pick on her a lot. maybe he was some…witchy sacrifice to make the two hottest guys at this school fall in love with her! nanami was this years!” she reveals as if she’s solved the crimes herself, simply from being so self-aware.

“that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, skank!” her friend dismisses with laughter, their voices fading as the bathroom door squeals shut, telling you they’ve left for good. you lean against the door of your stall for a moment, raking your hands over your face to cope with the cold sweat coating your skin and the disbelief gripping your heart. you fidget with the lock, stumbling out to the sinks for something to bring you back to life. you turn the faucet on, thinking some cold water would do the trick. it helps you perk up a bit even when it just hits your hands. before you can cup any and splash your face, a chill creeps up your spine—you’re being watched.

you bend over, looking under the doors of each stall to make sure there weren’t any feet lurking behind the doors waiting to attack you. you don’t see anything, puffing out your cheeks as you exhale and right your posture. you make eye contact with yourself in the mirror. you have to snap out of this, you tell yourself, raking your hands over your face, tugging at your eyes and rubbing your cheeks in an effort to remind yourself of reality.

“y/nnnn.” the distorted voice echoes in your mind, making you gasp and spin around to look at the stalls, look all over the bathroom, nearly flattening your chest to the floor to look under the stalls again. again, nothing. your brain is playing tricks on you. you’ve officially lost it. what was the likelihood of being attacked in your campus bathroom anyway—especially since he started at your house? you take a deep breath and gather your backpack up, hearing the clanking metal sound of one of the stall locks. “don’t ignore me, y/n.”

you squat down, there had to be someone there this time. you knew paranoia could only go so far, that voice sending your heart into a fearful spiral.

boots descend from the toilet, planting firmly on the ground. you start to breathe heavily, a jagged black cloak lowered to tell you that you were indeed being targeted by a ghostface impersonator, and you scream. he lunges out of the stall—a huge hunting knife clasped in both hands over his head as you duck, limboing under his attack and making for the door.

“help me!!” you scream frantically, voice so shrill it hurts your throat. you feel the heat of his body against your back, so you fling your head backwards into his chest—surprising him enough to falter. you fling the door open, making that connect too, scrambling for any extra time and space you could get. your vision is blurred by the nervous tears that spring automatically, searching for an exit or someone to help. you see a few guys standing together at the end of the hall—one of which has stark white hair that you could recognize from worlds away. “satoru!! he’s here, help!!”

the frantic desperation in your voice grabs all of their attention, satoru and naoya zen’in—grandson of the sheriff–sprint closer to figure out what’s going on. they see the masked man stalking after you, but you can only keep running for your life. your legs nearly give out as you make it to satoru, collapsing in his arms. his eyes are wide as he pushes you back behind him, turning to deal with the intruder—but the zen’in beats him to it. he tackles the figure, managing to wrestle the knife away even before the ghostface rolled them to win the struggle, punching naoya hard enough that his head bounced off the floor. you gasp–shoving satoru forward.

“help him!!” you panic, not able to stomach the thought of someone else dying over you. satoru barrels forward and roughly pulls the ghostface off, turning to naoya to ensure he was still alive while the masked figure tumbles to the ground with a grunt. you’re paralyzed with terror as one of the other boys, a freshman named ijichi, checks on you, grabbing your attention with his shaky voice.

“y/n, are you alright? goodness.” he pats your shoulder, and you nod–turning back to the commotion. you catch the sight of the cloak slipping down the stairs, screaming out for gojo to warn him. he quickly moves to follow—but finds no trace of the man. he turns back to you with a shake of his head. he was gone.

satoru moves to pull you to your feet, holding you securely to his chest as yaga and a host of other teachers bustle through the hallways looking frantic.

“he came to this school. that is it!” yaga shakes his head, surveying your crying and terrified form. “classes are canceled until further notice!” he declares, instructing for the cops to be called immediately–and to bring a paramedic for the student injured in your defense. you feel so guilty when you look over at the zen’in boy holding his eye, wincing. he had no business with you and didn’t have to get involved at all, but he likely saved your life!

you sniffle, gently pushing yourself off of gojo with a weak smile. you give him a grateful look, nodding to him in a way that communicated your need to accomplish something. “i’m okay.”

he nods a little, letting his hand fall off of your elbow. he watches you slouch over to naoya as he shoves himself into a seated position. you crouch to his level, giving him a gentle but still anxious smile.

“hey..does it hurt pretty bad?” you ask, sympathetically frowning at the shiner. he scoffs a little at your question. you sure are lucky you’re stunning–and that he has a reputation to uphold.

“yeah? it’s a massive bruise. i’ll live though.” he shrugs, brushing his hair out of the way.

“well…thank you. for doing that, you could have been hurt worse.” you nod, standing. you reach your hand out to help him to his feet. he smiles, and takes your hold despite his usual pride, he’s able to capitalize on some arrogance.

“i had it under control, don’t worry about it. what kind of man would i be if i didn’t step in?” he smirks, and the little look makes you blush. maybe you had a soft spot for the zen’in families good looks.

“i see, well. thank you anyway.” you hum, turning back to satoru. “i guess we’re free to go home, huh? classes are canceled…” you scratch at the back of your neck anxiously, hoping satoru would let you attach like a little lost puppy in order to stay within the realms of safety.

he rubs at your shoulders, wiggling his brows a little. “mhm, way to go, princess. you got us outta school!” he cheers, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “i say, party at my house!! everyone’s invited!” he yells out into the emptying hallway, the announcement of canceled classes causing the majority of your peers to spill into the schoolyard, escaping before the headmaster changes his mind.

the idea of a party right now made you nauseous. anyone of these people could be the ghostface poser or his next victim. you wish you could just hole up in your house, but being alone was hardly an option for you right now. satoru keeps a hand on your back to guide you out of the civics hall, assuring you that a party is exactly what you need to get your mind off of things.

“there’s no way i’d leave your side anyway! plus the girls are gonna be there, and—look who the cat dragged in!” his long finger turns your head in the direction he was looking, and your eyes widen at the sight of suguru waiting against the group’s usual tree. relief floods your system. at least suguru was free, clearly they couldn’t pin this on him like they wanted.

he strolls over to fall in line on your other side, giving you a sly smile. “hey angel. shoko told me what went down, and i am now on your side. that sheriff doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.” he sighs out as he loops his arm around your shoulders. you give him a proper hug, letting him pick you up slightly to keep walking to satrou’s place. it was a normal happenstance, the two of them loved passing you between them like a toy football they tossed back and forth, this time it was suguru who lifts you from the ground. you wrap your legs around his thighs with a giggle—feeling a bit of lighthearted fun spring to your heart.

“oh don’t tell me you didn’t get the honeymoon suite.” satoru mocks, reaching for your upper half to pull you into his hold, to which you and suguru insist in passing you over. it’s all part of the games they like to play with you.

you roll your eyes. “we tried to get you out, well—sato did. that deputy was a big ole meanie about it.” you huff, being carried like a baby in gojo’s arms. he nods, pouting down at you.

“totally. was gonna get dad on it and everything! but hey—this party will be epic, the girls are getting some snacks, we’re on beer duty!” he cheers happily, gently tossing you up into the air. you freely giggle, falling back into his protective hold. he passes you to suguru, who slings you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. you playfully kick and giggle and that sweet sound prompts satoru into comment. “she’s always so happy with us, huh sugu?”

he pats above your back, nodding. “of course. you’re our girl, right?” he hums, giving satoru a knowing smirk. you squeal a little and nod.

“mhm, i just feel so…safe with you two!” you sigh, relaxing across his shoulder. he finally lowers you to your own two feet once it’s time to walk into the general store with that one boozy cashier that would let geto have whatever he wanted from that store—including his weight in beer probably two times the legal purchase amount. you stroll around the aisles with them, satoru urging you to pick your own snacks over whatever gross shit iori and ieiri brought over.

for once, all seems to be well. you settle into a couch at satoru’s place, letting the boys fight over where they sat, deciding they’d just let you lay across them both. so your new couch becomes satoru and suguru, but they’re just as comfortable. shoko and utahime laugh at the sight when they come in, a few more stragglers that heard satoru’s invite making their way in for the free booze.

shoko of course came with her bag stuffed with horror classic dvds, starting with the obvious scream given her recent comments, and you roll your eyes and groan at the selection. suguru pets your hair back at your reaction, chuckling down at you.

“what, not a horror fan?” he raises a brow, the idea making gojo titter.

“probably not enough lady killers for our princess’ liking.” he elbows geto playfully, squeezing your thigh with his other hand. “or too many bimbos. which is it?” he asks expectantly, blowing some hair out his eyes.

you shrug. “what does sidney say, something about how insulting it is that all the girls are so dumb? always running upstairs when they should be going out a door on ground level. it’s annoying. and yeah—more girl killers!” you giggle back, finally settling into a decent spirit now that you knew you were safe with your friends.

“totally!! carrie’s like all we have!” utahime complains from the floor.

“well—all the victims have been dudes so far. maybe we have a lady ghostface out there.” satoru raises his beer to clink it with utahime’s. she’s already tipsy enough to toast gojo, so you know this night will be eventful, though you can’t help your unease at his statement. you felt like it was important to only pass around the proper information in regards to something like this, even though satoru’s only joking innocently.

“it’s not a woman. he’s too tall.” you mumble, reminding your friends in the room that you’ve suffered at the hands of this killer not once, but twice. your friends shift around awkwardly at the realization that they’ve gone a little too far.

satoru pats your thigh. “hey, y/n—” you assume he was going to apologize, but he’s cut off by the phone. your heart plunges. no, this can’t be happening. not here, not in the safety of satoru’s home–with all of your friends gathered around. your gasp makes a few heads turn to you, and satoru’s face falls at your jumpiness. “hey, it’s alright. probably just my folks. don’t worry. shoko—answer it?”

she nods, though you can tell she’s a little nervous too. she puts the phone to her ear and hums–seemingly recognizing the voice on the other end. the room all takes a collective breath of relief, but that doesn’t last very long. shoko clamps her hand over her mouth as she gasps, turning to you all to repeat what she was just told.

“it’s the sheriff’s grandson—naoya. they found him strung up the flagpole—gutted like nanami!” she whisper yells, sparking the intrigue of most of the mildly intoxicated young adults in the room. she nods a few more times with whoever’s on the other line, shaking her head at the grotesque crime until they hang up.

“well—what are we waiting for, let’s go check it out before they pull him down!” some freshman suggests, getting whoops and hollers from the other nameless faces as the pile out of the room, shoko leading the charge. you’re gripped with fear. this is the last straw. there’s no room to deny it anymore. the only common thread is you. when would this man get gojo? get geto? get ieiri and iori—you? would you have to watch all your friends die in front of you before he finally got you? naoya was not a nice guy, he had wronged plenty of people and was toji’s cousin—but he had saved you that day. and been punished for it.

“i need to go lie down.” you declare, sitting up on the only two men you could trust these days—which only made you fear for their safety that much more. suguru looks up at you wistfully, seeming to understand. gojo pouts, but nods his head towards his room.

“we’ll know where to find ya, sweet cheeks.” he assured, helping you slide off of their laps. you smile and nod at him gratefully, breaking out in that nervous cold sweat you were prone to as you creep up the steps towards satoru’s room. your heart thunders in your chest, so loud in your own ears you think it may be audible to everyone else. suguru ‘awwws’ as you walk off and utahime blows you a kiss, stretched out in the recliner. she’s invested in the movie—totally into billy loomis, naturally.

you wish you could be so naive to spend your night crushing on the killer in an old horror film, but your mind is too preoccupied with the one you’re living. some comfort soothes at your heart as you enter satoru’s large personal space. it smells of his soothing sweet scent, and you melt right into his bed, looking up at the rotations of the ceiling fan. you aren’t sure how long you stare up at it, wondering what entertainment your classmates were getting out of seeing naoya’s dead body. it makes you shudder to think about it, you wish that this was some sort of nightmare. at least those weren’t real. but that can’t be, because you feel yourself fall into some kind of satoru’s scent-induced slumber.

“you know, it is pretty spooky how similar these past few deaths have been to the movie.” utahime scrunches her nose as she looks around the remaining friends. gojo nods, lips turned down in a pondering frown.

“yeah–like the disembowelment? totally creepy. awww i’m all out of beer. utahimeeeee?” he coos, shaking his bottle at her. she jiggles hers and rolls her eyes at the emptiness. she shoves out of her comfy spot on the recliner.

“you’re lucky mine’s empty, you bastard.” she chuckles, shaking her head and making her way out to the garage.

“let suguru beer-sit for me when you get back, i’m gonna go check on the princess!” he yells after her, using his own thighs to propel himself into a stand. he turns to suguru, brows raised. “she’s been so skittish lately. i’ll be right back.”

suguru takes a swallow of his room-temp beer, making a face at the taste. he finds himself alone with the movie, no choice but to watch the corny film that the current killings seem styled after—at least in costuming. he sighs.

some time must have passed by the time you blink awake. you think it’s the trees rustling in the october wind that rips you out of your brief reprieve, or maybe it’s the uncomfortable silence and stillness to gojo’s house. either way, you’re yawning—stretching out on your stomach as you remember what caused you to isolate yourself from the rest of the party in the first place. you close your eyes as if that will stop the thoughts in their tracks, but it’s no use.

the scraping up the trellis outside of satoru’s room does plenty to wipe your mind, followed by what could only be the sound of the window being opened from the outside. you push yourself up, ready to flee the bed, but his voice stops you as if he had puppeteer strings controlling your limbs. the distortion is familiar, just like it was on the phone that day.

“don’t move you little bitch, i’ll slice you to ribbons!” he cheers, boots scuffing against the floor. you’re holding your breath, still laying on your stomach, head faced away from the killer.

“wh–what do you want from me?” you gulp, clenching your jaw as his weight sinks into the bed. your hands grip satoru’s pillow as the ghostface touches your back, hand resting in between your shoulder blades. he trails one finger along your spine, stopping at the curve of your ass.

“ya mean you haven’t figured it out?” he slides his hand under your skirt, curling his finger in the waistline of your panties, pulling them out and letting them snap back against your skin. “i want that pretty pussy in exchange for another day on this spinning rock!”

you shiver, fear creeping up your veins. you feel something sharper than a finger against your back—unmistakably the point of his hunting knife. your body straightens and you gasp, his gloved hand palming at your ass. while the blade keeps you in place.

“p-please, mr. ghostface, i–i dunno what this is all about!” you breathe heavily, feeling a tingling warmth bubble in your abdomen at his touch—fear had to be crossing the wires in your brain. he uses one hand to shove up your skirt, slapping the skin, the leather covering his hand only intensifying the feeling. you squeeze your eyes shut at the pleasurable sensation–shaking your head in surprise with yourself.

“i just told ya, sugar. open up those ears and those legs. you’re gonna let me fuck you dumb if you ever wanna see outside this room again, be the good little slut i know you can be.” he pops your ass again, causing you to make a strangled sound of enjoyment. your cheeks burn, you can’t be enjoying this, the stranger that’s been terrorizing your life for the past few months—even possibly the man that killed your lover a year ago—should be the last person on the planet that causes your pussy to clamp around nothing.

you obey, spreading your legs wide enough for him to shift between. he repositions himself there on his knees, hooking his arm around to press the long blade across your delicate neck as he pulls your hips up slightly. you gasp at the sharp weapon pressed to your jugular, careful not to move or you’d slit your own throat. he giggles, using his free hand to leave the outline of his hand on your ass. your heart thrashes, blood pumping in your ears as a disgusting need burns viciously in your gut.

“that’s a good start, see. you can do it.” he kneads your ass approvingly, big hands gripping the skin so tenderly you whine out, biting your lip immediately after. his laugh is taunting, and makes the anticipation shoot up like sparklers. you’re ashamed. this is a dangerous and scary murderer, and he’s in here fucking you, you can’t deny that it makes you feel a little special—as he’s only targeting males. “ohhh you’re an even bigger skank than i thought, wow. you like it!” he licks his teeth audibly, hooking a finger around the crotch of your panties, yanking off the soiled fabric. he delights in damp juices covering his fingers as he tucks the soiled undies in the back pocket of his jeans beneath the robe. “you’ll fuck anyone won’t ya?”

you move to shake your head, feeling blade bite into the flesh beneath. you open your mouth in your defense, silenced by the feeling of his bare fingers playing around in the mess holding you at knifepoint has created. “no! that’s not true!”

he slaps your ass, sighing. “yeah? why’d you give this pretty little cunt to your married professor then? eager? desperate? did he make ya feel special?” he inquires, making your pussy grip again. the possessive lengths this murderer went through clearly spoke to your pussy if not your heart or your brain. you feel the man move around, freeing his cock if you had to guess. you ask yourself why you did fuck toji, and you decide to tell the truth. with the way things were going, he’d know if you were lying anyway.

“because i was horny and he was hot and there—and i…i guess i did feel special, he picked me.” you reply, earning a growl in return. the smack on your ass has you screaming this time, the force of it causing you to brush up against the knife a little, feeling the first layer of skin give way.

“wrong answer.” he gruffs, not as jovial sounding as before. you know what comes next. you briefly wonder what he’ll feel like, how curved or thick he’d be, and if he’d actually let you live after he’s done. he answers most of your questions rather quickly, feeling like lightning had struck you and split you open—you realize he’s shoved himself all the way in while you’re still laying on your stomach. you sputter out gargled sounds from suddenly being so full, balling up your fists in satoru’s pillow. maybe it was his scent wafting in your nose that made you horny instead of the masked man plowing your insides, holding your ass cheek apart with one hand in order to reach top speed. “little slut likes getting ruined by a psycho, huh? maybe i will keep you around after all, gripping my cock like you love it.” he giggles, laying all his body weight into the thrusts.

you’re mewling, gripping satoru’s pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth. the ghostface was hitting every spot so rapidly and with so much force that you’re seeing stars. it takes everything in you not to slump forward—only the threat of imminent death keeping you awake enough.

“you keep grippin it, lil slut. dont wanna let me go?” he chuckles at the way you keep lifting up to escape the blade. “cute slut though!! and a good one. gonna give you my load for being so obedient—i guess you didn’t have much choice though!” he laughs and pulls the knife from your neck, sickening slaps of his hips into your ass sound out across the room, growing slower in pace until he stills altogether, seed flooding your insides–his tip pressing it directly to your womb. his breaths are slightly ragged as he presses your ass back together, trapping his cum tight as he pulls out of you, humming at the sight of his slimy seed sliding out of your hole and pearling up on your pretty thighs. you heard his zipper at the same time you heard a knock at the door, a voice you recognize all too well kicking the panic up again.

“y/n? i heard screaming, are you okay?” suguru asks, jiggling the handle. “everyone’s gone and i just want to make sure you’re alright. i’m coming in.”

you shake your head, turning to scream out a warning, but the ghostface clamps a hand over your mouth. suguru pushes the door open— furrowing his brows at the sight, immediately rushing forward to intervene. he grunts his displeasure, snatching your hand to yank you away from the figure.

“run y/n!” he commands, trying to shove the man away from you. you slide off the bed frantically, trying to get geto to run away with you as he and the ghostface struggle for dominance over the knife. he turns his head to look at you still standing in the room. “go, now!” he calls out, the sound of the blade making contact with his skin making the color drain from your face. his eyes widen as he looks down at the knife in his chest—while the masked murderer cackles wildly before he grabs the wooden handle. geto looks back up at you, eyes growing more and more lidded.

“yet another friend you’ve killed, little skank!” he cheers, yanking the knife out with a harrowing schlick before embedding it in him again for good measure—his form falling to the ground. the sound of geto’s body collapsing was enough to send you scrambling down the stairs in search of the only other person who could help you get away. your legs move faster than you’ve ever seen them go before, taking two steps at a time as you bound for the door.

you hear the stomps of ghostface’s boots coming after you. you shudder out your cries of anguish, trying to figure out a way to put some space between you and him—not wanting to put any merit in his promise to keep you alive. you jump over the couch, slinging the tv down and once again throwing any and all obstacles in your path. it seemed to work well enough the first time you tried it, and based off of his hiss and a subsequent thump, you know you tripped him up a little bit. you sprint towards the garage, flipping on the light and pressing the switch to raise the door—screaming in horror at what the lights reveal.

iori utahime was nearly unrecognizable, her head smashed in the refrigerator with a broken beer bottle sticking out of her chest. hot tears spring out of your eyes instantly—muttering your apologies as you dip under the opening the garage door gives you, full sprinting like your life depends on it. you’ve made it to an open field—somewhere you once felt safe now making you feel like a deer waiting to be pounced on. you keep your head on a swivel, trying to locate the black mass in the night—but it was virtually impossible.

when he comes out of your peripheral—running at you from your right side, you see him in enough time to slide under his attempt to bear hug you, turning an about face towards the house. maybe you could make it back there, make it back to geto’s body—if you could just lock the doors and windows, you should be home free. satoru was still around–luckily you didn’t find his body. you struggle to get oxygen into your system through the chilly night air—feeling it squeeze at your lungs as you desperately fight to get back to some idea of safety, running in bursts and patterns to keep the masked man guessing and confused through the tiny holes in the mask. tears still sting at your eyes as you throw yourself up the steps, making it to the door which you deadbolt instantly. you sweep the house, making sure the other doors were locked before coming back to the front—hearing the beating of the ghostface rap against the door.

“don’t lock me out sugar! we had such a good time!” he appeals, using the weighty knife handle to beat on the door some more. you grip the sides of your hair, out of breath and full blown panicking. if satoru wasn’t in the house, then you’ve locked him out, and who knows if suguru was clinging to life upstairs. noise behind you makes you wheel around to confront it—terrified that the ghostface snuck in through a window like he had earlier.

instead, a heavily injured and bloody suguru limps out of gojo’s room, gasping out your name as he tumbles down the stairs, falling all the way to your feet. you cry out and crouch to him, face contorted up with concern and horror. he motions to stand, asking you to help him do so.

“suguru! he’s outside–oh my god, are we going to die? where’s satoru? i need him to be safe too! we have to call the police—” you prattle on, doing your best to help lift his weight. he groans in pain, helping you to the best of his ability as you get him propped up against the wall. he keeps you from pulling away, holding your hand in both of his.

“we’re going to be alright, angel. i’ll call the cops.” he assured, stumbling forward—toward the door. he nods to help you calm down, a bloody hand cupping your face to have you look him in his gentle eyes. “i’m going to get us out of here.”

“don’t!! he’s gonna break it down or something—stand back, suguru! i’m scared!” you warn him as he looks out the peephole, shaking your head frantically.

“you should be.” he says, leaning against the front door, giving you a cunning smile. gentle brown eyes shift into something much more sinister—though the lust that always swims in them remains. his words rock you off kilter—you’re sure you must be so paranoid that you’re making things up now.

“wh-what?” you shake your head, furrowing your brows a bit as he lifts a bloody finger to his mouth, sucking the red digit clean with repeated swirls of his thick tongue—and making you step backward as the shock wears off. he was involved. you don’t understand how or why—but your best friend suguru geto was involved.

“shame you don’t like horror movies, y/n. maybe if you had seen scream, you’d have known what to expect. high fructose corn syrup—just like in carrie.” he hums, trailing his tongue along his hand. you shake your head, steadily backing away from him. he wasn’t hurt at all—just theatrics to get you right where he wanted you. which means satoru—

“n-no…this is impossible. you…you came to my house!” you argue, trying to find a way for it to not be true. you back straight into another hard chest—and the figure dangles your panties over your face. your veins are frozen as you turn slowly—faced with the missing satoru. he’s beaming, wiggling the fabric in his hands.

“surprise! look what we did for you, princess!” he cheers, stepping forward to make you back up—pushing you back into suguru with every calculated step. you blink rapidly, processing all that’s before your eyes. satoru and suguru? they were working as a team this whole time? a murderous, manipulative team?

“for me? what on earth are you talking about??” you shake your head incredulously, wondering how they’ve cloaked their insanity this whole time. “i–i never wanted this!” you begin to sniffle, the tears of realization starting the burn your eyes.

“no? you know how we feel about boys around our princess.” satoru hummed, shaking his head.

“after all of our years of devotion to you,” suguru shakes his head, stepping in front of you as well, leaning down to capture your vision. you avoid his eyes, too busy dealing with your racing thoughts. “you reward us by giving your virginity to a married man. what were we supposed to do about that angel?”

“how–how did you find out–”

“you’re so loud in his office, pretty girl. we know what you sound like all too well—and you had been missing a lot that semester…we put two and two and two together!” he says shrilly, devoid of the costume though the large hunting knife was still in hand.

“i…i didn’t ever get any attention from boys!!” you start to cry, the full weight of their words taking hold on you. everything was your fault after all, those haunting feelings were all true—and your best friends were the ones behind the whole scheme.

“why would you need any other attention?? are we not more than enough?” he snarls, deeply wounded that you gave your body away after he’s spent so much of his time catering to it.

you sniffle, recoiling away at his tone. geto was always so gentle and calm, but it seems like he’s finally snapped. you never thought they had any romantic intent with all their safe-guards, assuming they viewed you more like a tiny kitten that needed their protection. but it all makes sense now, their abnormal need to spend their time with you, the cuddling, the touching, even the carrying game—you were sure now that it was all about their feelings for you. geto grabs your face in one broad hand, jerking your chin up to look at him.

“you’ll look at me when i’m speaking to you. answer. are we not enough?” he demands, clenching his jaw so tight that you can see the muscles twitch.

“yes! you’re enough—i just didn’t think it was like that, boys–i didn’t think you both liked me, i–i just thought you were being nice–”

“well. there’s no more of that, slut. if we didn’t kill the other two, who knows what you would have let them do.” he snarls, squeezing your cheeks together to keep you from speaking further. satoru claps his hands, tugging you to the couch.

“it’s time we make you our final girl, sugar. aren’t you so lucky? who else would love you like us?!” he asks you, pushing you into the cushions. he holds the knife to your shoulder, pouting. “don’t make me use this on you, pretty girl. just listen to us and we’ll go from a scary movie to a happily ever after.” he hums, sitting at your side so he could keep the blade steady.

you’re reeling, brain light and heavy all at once. they did this…for you? all to show you their love and devotion? it’s too much. his words are sweet but his actions have been anything but. you shake your head. “utahime…what did she do to deserve that?” you snap, tears slipping down your cheeks, you feel bolstered with the confidence that they won’t hurt you. this elaborate scheme has all been to make you theirs, after all.

geto laughs, shaking his head as he comes over to the couch, the boner in his pants so obvious your pussy clenches involuntarily. you’re lucky your skirt has you covered enough that neither of them saw it, for you’d never hear the end of it. geto strokes himself over his pants, giving satoru some kind of direction with the nod of his head. gojo shifts you to your knees, forcing your head forward to stare at suguru as he unbuttons his pants.

“utahime was in the way.” suguru shrugs, letting his endowment slap up against his red corn syrup stained shirt. he peels that off next.

gojo scoffs. “you don’t need friends anyway, you got us!” he cheered, repositioning his digits on the back of your neck. suguru pushes some hair over his shoulder, gesturing to his cock with a simple look down.

you shake your head no, trying to fight against satoru’s hold, but he points the knife under your jaw, following the line of the bone. suguru chuckles darkly.

“this whore will fuck anything on two legs, but when it comes time to fuck the men that earned it, you wanna be shy?” he shakes his head with disappointment, “you even slutted yourself out for someone you didn’t know. what’s the problem? if he holds the knife against your neck will it make you drip again?”

the statement makes you gasp softly, the pang in your core causing you to whine in disbelief. why was this turning you on? there’s no way you should be giving in to such a crazy stunt. they’ve ruined your life, killed anyone close to or interested in you—and now they’re here to claim their due reward. and your pussy is absolutely leaking over it despite the alarms ringing in your head. the way that geto grabs a fistful of your hair to guide your face to his drooling slit has you opening your mouth to welcome him inside without any more protests, causing gojo to giggle at the sight.

“told ya she’d give in. we know her better than anyone, yeah?” he dances the knife along the side of your neck as your throat bulges with suguru’s thickness. your eyes roll back at the feeling of his fat tip hitting your uvula, keeping you from speaking anyway.

“there we go. you’re pretty when you listen, y/n.” he hums, cock jumping in your mouth. you felt better than he could’ve imagined—and nothing could recreate the mix of fear and taboo lust that you look at him with, tears dotting the corner of your vision as he guides your head in bobbing along his thick shaft. gojo just keeps your hair from falling in your face–eager to see all of you as you arch up on your knees, wiggling your pretty ass in the air. “nasty little thing. you’re just as bad as us, you know. you made us kill all these poor people—if only you listened to us and left boys alone.” suguru grunts, watching as satoru pushes your skirt up, trailing the tip of the knife over your ass cheek, careful not to slice as he peppers slaps to your other side. you whine at the feeling, pussy tightening at his teasing even though suguru filled your mouth to the brim. suguru slaps you—medium intensity, but coupled with satoru’s spanks and his dick forcing your throat apart—it had your vision darkening. you never stop sucking his cock though, and that’s what he was testing for.

“let her ride it.” he rewards you with his approval, and satoru snickers happily. suguru’s hand falls to grip your neck, loving the sounds you make when struggling to breathe. the pain is so delicious, you can feel the morale in you dying the longer they toy with you—your need to be touched outweighing your fear–transcending it into trust. you know that they love you, in their own fucked up way, so they won’t kill you. your drowsy eyes shoot open when you feel the cool wooden handle of the hunting knife nudge against your clit. gojo holds it carefully by the blade—too skilled to let it cut him even with your uncalculated movements. suguru chuckles at your reactions, letting your hair go to see how you swallow him up on your own accord. you don’t falter, not even when the handle slides around your hole, teasing you into steady rolls of your hips to find it. gojo loved this—watching you grow so needy you’d settle for fucking yourself on the weapon that slayed your professor, your lab partner, your white knight, and your best friend.

“look who’s a needy whore now. you wouldn’t ever be satisfied without us, angel.” suguru insists, watching the pleasure on your face as satoru finally lets you sink down on the handle. it’s wide, stretching you open with a slight burn—but it’s delicious friction strokes against your insides, and you were eager for anything to relieve the ache in your stomach, the way they used you but loved you mercilessly has you clamping, wetness sliding down the weapon. the guilt pushing back against the pleasure was slowly fading—losing. “oh, no, no. don’t let her cum.” suguru tsks, sliding his cock free of your mouth. you whine at the loss, rubbing at your sore jaw, feeling gojo’s hands find your waist again. he pulls you to lay in his lap, his own excitement pressing against the tight seam of his zipper. you’re careful to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him and feeling a sense of relief—even as he pressed the blade to your neck.

“you liked this earlier, right? that’s because you’re just as fucking nasty as we are, cutie.” he snickered a little, cupping your clothed tit. suguru saddles between your legs this time, pushing your knees to your chest without pause, absolutely nothing but a feral need to claim you flashing in his eyes. he pushes your shirt up just to see all of you, “i’ve waited far too long to see these tits, angel.” he grumbles, palming at them in between squeezes from satoru’s large hands. you moan at their touches—so intense yet different and identifiable. satoru hums at the little noise, tweaking your nipple as geto parts your pussy lips. he doesn’t warn you before he sheaths himself, making you take his length all at once. your eyes widen at the feeling—so wide you don’t understand how your throat accommodated him. your back arches off the couch at the sensation, you think you can feel every vein and ridge along his length as he lets you get used to it. gojo’s enamored by the face you make, brows pinched and mouth dropped open—wide eyes flickering between them. he’s dreamed of this for so long—they would do all of this as many times as it took to have you like this now, but luckily you’re obedient. satoru cups your face with his free hand, trailing his fingers along your cheekbone in a touch reminiscent of his ghostface earlier. he’s gentler than suguru despite the blade he wields. suguru’s grip on the back of your thighs will bruise, it hurts even now—but in the type of way you want to feel forever. he’s not gentle with your pussy either, pulling his full length out, tapping your clit with his head to make you mewl. the force he uses to plow back in causes satoru to move the knife from your neck, drawing circles over your bouncing fat tits instead.

“she’s so tight, huh? think she’ll stay like that between the two of us?” gojo giggles, looking up at the pretty faces suguru himself was making. his eyes are lazily lidded, but still serpentine and focused on the sight before him. you squeeze down on his cock, and he loves that he can’t tell if it’s from fear or your returned affection.

“so tight, despite giving it up so freely. isn’t that right–our little slut?.” suguru mutters, watching the glint of the blade as satoru swirls it around your delicate skin. your eyes widen at his question, face burning at the fact that they knew. blaming them wouldn’t get you anywhere—it seems you had to own your mistake and hope that groveling can return you to your former glory, despite how you clench around him calling you a slut.

you nod, “i’m sorry! i didn’t know that you two love me, i’m sorry, suguru!” you lean up a bit to appeal to him, causing satoru to knick your skin with the blade. you moan at the slight burn, beads of blood bubbling to the small cut. satoru curses at himself, though the noise you make has his eyes narrowing at yours in intrigue. you liked it, just like you liked fucking at knifepoint earlier

“you’re a dirty little bitch.” satoru chuckles, looking up at an intoxicated suguru. his eyes were nearly blacked, pupils fully dilated. he leans over, running his fat tongue along the shallow wound, humming at the few drops of your blood that he got to taste. satoru arches a brow, fascinated by the reaction. it makes him want a taste for himself—but suguru’s still hungry for more. his thick hand steadies your jaw, his tongue licking a thick stripe up the side of your neck. you shiver at the feeling—all the feelings. the warmth threatening to spill over at the cock splitting you in half, the slight dizziness that came from the cut—how lewd and chill-inducing suguru’s tongue felt, the intense desire behind satoru’s groping. it was all consuming, and you were losing sight of yourself relatively easily—after all, you felt your safest with them. they’d never hurt their final girl.

“let’s see just how dirty, satoru…” he hums, never faltering with his hips as he moves his lips to your neck, licking and sucking spots into your skin almost romantically. you’re so undone that you even move your hips, circling to try to get closer to suguru, teetering on the line.

“oh–it feels so good, suguru..” you mumble, and satoru giggles at your blissed out face, dick throbbing in his jeans.

“i’m sure it does, pretty slut.” satoru sings to you, his normal taunting voice was layered with the sick affection he holds you in. he watches your cut pearl up with blood again, the sight so pretty to him. he’s seen plenty of blood eradicating all the threats to your happiness, but yours seemed so much better. like you were more pure than those that he’d eliminated on your behalf. he wanted to see some more—and suguru does too. satoru makes a matching cut below the accidental one, swiping his thumb over it to collect the hot crimson. you watch him, lengthening your neck to tilt your head back—eagerly following how his tongue wrapped around the slender digit to suck the tangy taste off.

the opening you give suguru is so delicious he can’t repress his chuckle as he picks the perfect spot between your neck and shoulder. he bites down and you can feel his canines pierce the skin deep, screaming out at the painful bliss. your red blood covers their white teeth, leaking out of their pink lips. suguru looks like a vampire instead of a masked murderer with his chin dyed burgundy, satoru’s tongue darting out to collect the remnants on his own mouth before he leaned up–grabbing suguru’s jaw so he could lap up the stain, letting your blood mingle together on each other’s tongues as they wrestle together. gojo holds the knife carefully away from suguru’s head as he puts his other hand on his face, the two clearly just as into each other as they were you—a fact that was terrifying and insanely hot at the same time. you shudder—feeling your heartbeat echo through the cuts and your bite, pussy throbbing around suguru. he breaks away from satoru—yanking him back by a fistful of his white hair.

“our little bitch thinks it’s time for her to cum.” suguru sighs, and satoru grins down at you with a mix of blood and saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. satoru shakes his head.

“but i haven’t even touched her!” he protests, pouting down at you. it makes you feel a pang of guilt in your stomach—but not because you were fucking two serial killers, no–because you hadn’t given one of them enough attention.

“you did take her earlier—without permission.” suguru growled a bit and looks over your slightly bloodied chest and fucked out face. he knows exactly what will perk you back up and get satoru back in line. he releases his hold on his hair and slips out of your sopping folds, moving to slip the knife from satoru’s grasp while taking your chin in his other hand. he nods satoru to you. “prep her ass—i wonder if she ever let the professor in there. wait no…i’m sure he only fucked your ass.” he gently pulls on you, prompting you to get back to your hands and knees, facing him. he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, tilting your chin up with the blade to look at him.

the intense knowing in his eyes makes a shudder trill down your spine—and your pussy clench. how did he know that? knowing about the affair—hearing it—was one thing. but how did they know the intimate details outside of…being there. the puzzle pieces click into place and suguru can see it in the way your eyes widen. he chuckles, nodding to confirm your fears while satoru jiggles your fat ass cheeks in his hands. he’s admiring the recoil, the leaking pussy he had to spread your ass to see—it was all such a wonderful and worthy reward for him.

“you think we’d miss a show like that? tsk tsk.” he pouts, keeping you engaged so satoru could warm you up on the other end. “professor fushiguro didn’t want any more children? how sad.” he teases slightly, running the knife over your plush lips, watching the way your skin gives in to the metal, bouncing back up as he moves it to a new spot. satoru gathers the arousal pooling down your thighs, adding his spit to the nasty mix on his fingers. you gasp softly, feeling his digits prod around your puckered entrance. “could have made a pretty little thing like you his baby mama? hm. maybe if he’d been smarter about it, his existing son wouldn’t be fatherless. though that’s on you too—”

you whimper, shaking your head. “n–no, don’t say that!” you protest, feeling the humanity in you lash out at the statement.

“why? hard truth? don’t worry princess—we’ll give you plenty of kids. you won’t be left wanting, poor thing.” satoru pouts with you, giving you the first finger down to the knuckle. you squeeze around it, any combativeness dying right back down as the brain fog returns. he’s slowly thrusting it, letting you rock your hips back for more, the unrelenting need in your gut yet to be satisfied under geto’s punishments.

“and your kids will have two fathers just to keep you extra safe. can’t you see? we’re the only ones who can protect you and make you happy.” geto implores, stroking your cheeks and watching your reaction to satoru’s second finger, tucking his lip between his teeth.

“oh she already knows that, sugu. c’mon sugar. tell him.” he encourages, defending you in his own way. he scissors his fingers in your ass, giggling at the wet squelch that accompanies his movements. “you’ll be so happy–just tell him, princess.” he appeals, your brain mushy with the feeling of their hands on you and their promises swimming around your brain. they have protected you from so much over the years, between your average bullies and boys that truly crossed the line back in high school—you know that in their own deluded way, they’re right.

“you guys are the only ones that make me happy!! i feel so safe here–i know you won’t hurt me.” you whine, nodding. it appeals to both of their hearts–the sultry call of your voice had them eager to fill all your holes.

“oh we’ll hurt you, slutty princess.” satoru hums, sliding his fingers out of your choking ass. he repositions you, hands fitting into the handles of your waist to right you in his lap, angling his proud length at your hole. “see, this will hurt a bunch! but you’ll love it.” he assures, pulling you down on him a few inches at a time. you scream out, looking up at geto for rescue. he only steps in front of you–fisting his own cock in the angle he needs it. your eyes widen when you realize that they plan to fuck you at the same time—and they don’t have the decency to let you get accustomed to one before giving you the other.

gojo hisses, your ass was still so tight despite all his hard work, though the amounts of spit and your own slick he slathered around were making it easy to sink into you. as soon as you hit the hilt of his dick—absolutely shaking from the pressure in your ass, suguru’s nudging your pussy lips apart to bully you some more.

“you can take us both—you’re a slut, remember? you can do it for us.” suguru reminds you tenderly, holding your face as they get used to the feeling of you and each other through the thin wall of tissue that keeps them apart. you sputter, grabbing onto suguru’s shoulders in an effort to not fall over. satoru uses his hold on your waist to propel you to move, making geto’s work minimal. the pace he sets is brutal, picking you up and slamming you back down while suguru just rocks his hips to add to the sensation of two cocks fucking you open.

if you thought either of them were big and splitting earlier, then this was what you got in return. white hot pain and pleasure courses through your veins, replacing the fear and unease that has been haunting you for days. they were taking care of you, and if you didn’t have to fear their wrath—why wouldn’t you squeeze their cocks, scream for them, and make them feel just as loved?

this is what they deserve, what their hard work has earned them: your silken walls being beaten into the shapes of their dicks and nothing else—your tits and ass bouncing with the impact of their brutal thrusts sending you back and forth like a tug of war.

“it’s too much!” you cry out, feeling the heat in your stomach burn as bright as a star–you felt like you were on fire. pleasure tingled up your veins, the gummy spots of your cunt being abused perfectly by suguru’s thick cock—your insides being rearranged by gojo’s unrelenting brutality, despite his sweeter speech.

“d’awh, no it’s not. look at you—you’re doing it.” he encourages, putting his lips to your neck. “you’re takin’ it so good.”

“squeezing us even. stop lying–you want even more.” suguru huffs, grabbing your throat. you sputter a little, erotic moans turning higher in pitch. he chuckles at his prediction—cock twitching in your walls.

“toomuchtoomuch—need to cum, please, please boys—wanna cum all over you!” you plead for yourself, though it’s not exactly a performance. they were fucking you mindless, and at this point you would do whatever it took to have them—even lying to the police about what happened here tonight.

“aw sugu, listen to her. i wanna see it, let her cum.” satoru adds on your behalf, balancing his chin on your shoulder. he bats those crystal blues at suguru, knowing he surely can’t deny you both—and he won’t.

“tell us you love us, angel. tell us who fucks you so good, then you can cum.” he grunts, laying his hands over satoru’s to feel you move your hips on them both, fucking into geto just to throw your ass back on satoru—it’s so fucking good.

his demand isn’t even a challenge—you’ve succumbed to their desires for you some time ago, accepting their brutal form of love as the one that you’re deserving of—men who would kill for you. what more could you ever want?

“i love you, fuck—i love you both so much! i always have–i always have, you’re my boys!” you pant, your voice begging plead. “you fuck me so good–let me cum to show you, please–suguru!! satoru!!” you cry their names so sweetly that satoru can’t hold himself back anymore—hot cum fills your ass before you even finish saying it. he’s shuddering, nodding to give you his permission, though you wait for suguru too.

he leans forward—jerking your chin up into a proper kiss with him, gnashing on your lips and giving you a taste of his tongue. he holds your face still as he pulls away, nodding. “cum, angel. you’ve been so fucking good.” he drawls in your ear, giving satoru a rewarding kiss too as your hips spasm under his command. it strokes his ego, the way you scream and jerk as your orgasm overtakes you—the ones he’s denied you factoring into the toe-curling sensation of this one. he follows after you—his hot seed spurting out in bursts, so so much cum. it’s clear suguru and satoru have planned this for some time—and now that delights you instead of invoking the fear it should, if you were normal.

satoru rubs at your shoulders, pulling away from suguru’s lips with a loud smack. you can feel your heart pounding—hearing it in your ears as they turn to you—cocks still plugging you full. “now princess…” he hums as suguru picks you up off of him. he looks so pretty, you think, his skin slightly red from excitement—blue eyes wild with adrenaline. “we’re gonna get you cleaned up—and then it’s your turn to attack.” he giggles, making you snap your tired head up to suguru who holds you like a baby.

“the police. we have to be believable survivors after all. didn’t you watch any horror movie, y/n?” he shakes his head, a fond grin on his face as he takes you to the kitchen, sitting you on the counter for satoru to wipe down. gojo kneels between your legs to clean you carefully as suguru tucks the knife into your hands.

“aim for the stomach. you’ve got our hearts already.” suguru smirks, dialing 911.

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year

Text

A Joyful Occasion. // Aemond Targaryen x Aegon ii Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

MDNI // slightly dark.

WARNINGS: p in v sex, breeding kink, 3some, tiddy sucking, m/m/f, poly relationship (?), aemond x aegon, virginity loss, oral (f. and m.), jealousy, manipulation, gaslighting(?), age system is according to medieval/canon standard but no sexual acts until 18, canon typical incest + not proof read.

A/N: this was something I wrote for pure self indulgence since I turned 19 today! thanks to everyone who wished me! I'm so thankful for it, here is the treat I made for myself that I'm willing to share 🤭

WC: 2.2k

It was your nameday today, a joyful occasion, your grandfather decided to throw a grand ball to celebrate it, for it was your 18th nameday, a special occasion for any young woman.

You were the centre of attention, and you did not mind it, liking it in fact, the way the Lords and Ladies alike would come and wish a good evening and an amazing day, occasionally kissing your hand as a greeting, you were having the time of your life.

Two people in particular, were not.

Aegon and Aemond.

Your relationship with Aegon and Aemond is quite a complicated one, you love both the men, they loved you and each other as well, though to others you three looked like people who never got along, if only they knew what happens behind the closed chambers, though you had only shared a few kisses, never really getting to the intimate bit yet, but you knew they both engaged in it with one another.

They were happy for you, celebrating this special occasion, at first at least, but then their mood turned sour, when they spotted multiple people eyeing you with nothing but lust, men and women alike, you however, were none the wiser.

You came down to sit in between them, tired from standing, and you felt Aegon's hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze and you shot him a look, to which he smirked at. Aemond opened his mouth to talk, and talk he did.

This surprised everyone, you and Aemond having a civil conversation without any snarky remarks thrown at each other? That was until Aegon butted in, throwing in a crude comment which made you annoyed.

“All these meals yet my appetite seems to crave something else.” Aegon perversely comments, you shoot him a glare and Alicent says his name as a warning, but he knew you weren't angry, because the way you rubbed your thighs together told him so.

Jace, your brother, misreading the situation came up and offered you a hand, you looked at him confused but then realised he was asking you to dance and you accepted it with a smile and left to dance on the floor with him.

Aegon's gaze followed your figure, turning around in his seat to watch you dance with jace, his hands on your waist, so did Aemond's gaze.

They both observed how you laughed and how Jace's touch was lingering longer than usual, and that's when they noticed the faint blush on his cheeks, Aegon turned his attention to Aemond and Aemond looked at him as well.

They were communicating in silence and Aemond gave him a nod, and Aegon fully turned away from his attention on you and focused on the table.

That was until he got up from his chair, announcing that he was retiring to his chambers, Aemond did the same after, and you felt your beat quicken and you felt a twinge in your heart, they promised you that they would stay until the end but now they are the first ones to retire.

You lingered around for a bit, unable to keep calm.

And then you couldn't take it anymore, loudly announcing that you were tired and that you wanted to rest, and your mother and father gave you a smile before allowing you to be dismissed.

Your feet led you to your chambers, and then the secret route which connected to Aegon's room, you pushed the stone wall aside and open the door, finding Aemond inside there room as well, pouring a drink in the goblet while Aegon laid on the bed playing with whatever was in his hands.

“You guys promised.” your voice cracked and they turned their attention to you, Aegon smirked before gesturing you to come over to him, and you did, he sat up resting his neck on your shoulder, his hand holding yours.

“I did not like the way he touched you.” Aegon began and you looked at him confused, before then it finally clicked and before you could say anything, Aegon pushed you on the bed getting on top of you.

“Aegon?” you asked and he hummed, trailing kisses on your neck, his hands gripped your sides, holding your waist and he grinds himself against you. “You liked the way he touched you didn't you?” his voice suddenly became angry and you shook your head, and you watched as his lip twitched.

He got off you and you whined when the warmth he provided was gone, he went to Aemond, who was sitting on the chaise drinking, before he sat next to him, kissing him instead, making you watch.

“You do not deserve our love, niece.” Aemond said disapprovingly, you shook your head, immediately getting up and going over to him, standing in front of him. “It seems your brother is enough for you, why do you need us anyway? Do you even love us? I bet you don't” he accuses you and your lips tremble, “I do! I do! Please uncle do not accuse me of such a thing, my heart breaks.” you reply weakly.

“But earlier, you seemed to be having fun with other lords, ladies and your brother.” Aemond raises an eyebrow, and you fall to your knees in front of him, apologising and he grips your face, thumb trailing the underside of your lip.

You watch as Aegon's hand undoes Aemonds breeches, pulling out his half hard cock and giving it pumps, up and down as he kisses, your mouth salivates, you had always watched them be intimate, they never let you join, telling you that you would only be able to after your 18th nameday passes by, yet now, they are still not letting you join.

“Do you know, my niece? We planned something for you, which we thought of giving after the celebration ends, however your naughty behaviour from earlier made us rethink our decision.” Aegon coos as you sniff, rubbing your thighs together, getting aroused at the tone of their voices, and also the fact that you felt so vulnerable.

You always put an act of being tough in front of others, glaring at others and proving your point, you were the daughter of rhaenyra after all, you saw vulnerability as a weakness but then these both men happened, and since then you loved feeling vulnerable, only infront of them of course, people would call it fucked but you wanted to be submissive when it came to them, let them push you around and mock you in private, it scratched an itch.

With teary eyes your hands tried to grab Aemonds cock but Aegon slapped your hand away, tutting, “Ah, ah, ah, no touching.” and you sniff loudly, “Please- please uncle- let me join you both at last, you both have teased me too much.” you beg them and Aegon chuckles meanly. “What do you say Aemy? Should we forgive her? She looks so cute.” Aegon asks Aemond, and he seems to be in a thought for a while, he almost seems to reject the idea, but you had a plan.

And so you undid your dress, letting the sleeves fall down, exposing your breasts to them and Aemonds breath hitches in his throat. He swallows thickly, eyes roaming over your breasts before giving a quick nod.

Although Aegon was said to have an insatiable hunger, he wouldn't have melted or changed his mind because once he decides to be cruel, he is cruel. Aemond on the other hand, gets desperate, especially for his sweet niece who he had a crush on since youth, the idea of finally getting to touch you after all the waiting makes him change his mind quickly.

Aegon tuts as he notices how his brother immediately changed his mind, but he quickly accepts it and pulls you off your knees, causing the gown to fall down and pool around your knees, leaving you bare.

You shivered in the chill air of the night, goosebumps arising on your flesh as Aegon admired the view, licking his lips before he pulled you onto his lap.

Your knees were on the either side of his legs, hands on his shoulders to keep yourself balanced and steady, and he looks at you before kissing your neck, Aemond pulls your face towards his, grabbing you by the back of your neck as he moves his lips against yours, this position was awkward but arousing at the same time, your start grinding against Aegon mindlessly, gasping when he takes your nipples in his mouth, suckling and nibbling on it.

You moan into Aemonds mouth and he pulls away, the string of saliva still connecting you both.

“Take her to the bed.” Aemond commands breathily, and Aegon immediately obeys him, carrying you towards the bed, your legs wrapping around him as he stood.

He places you gently onto the bed before trailing kisses down your body, from your neck to your breasts, to your stomach, to your thighs before stopping at the most precious thing.

Your cunt.

“Fuck, look at her.” he groaned as he held your legs apart, eyes greedily devouring the way your folds glistened in the candle lights. You heard shuffling beside you and spotted Aemond, fully bare just like you, his cock out on full display, hard and almost twitching, appearing as though it had a mind of its own.

You swallowed at the sight.

“Open your mouth”

And you did, Aemond slapped the tip of his cock against your bottom lip a few times before pushing it inside, and you closed your eyes, not knowing what to do.

“Breathe darling, relax.” You heard Aegon coo and you nodded, “It's her first time, Aemy, be gentle.” Aegon adviced and Aemond simply nodded.

It was hard for Aemond to be gentle when your mouth was so warm and wet, wrapped around his touch, the way he felt your tongue move, not knowing what to do with it, where to rest it was driving him into madness.

He grabbed you by your hair, slowly thrusting in and out, you maintained the position, making sure your teeth are not biting onto him and your tongue still as he uses your mouth, your focus was entirely on Aemond that you didn't see Aegon move, only when the sudden feeling of warmth on your core reached your brain did you realise what had happened, Aegon devoured your cunt with such intensity, kissing your pearl with fervour, you gripped his hair as he licked your folds, relishing in the taste of you.

Your moans were muffled by Aemond, and he snapped because of the way your moans were causing vibrations against him, making his pleasure grow high, he grabbed your hair and fucked your face brutal and fast as Aegon continued his ministrations on your cunt.

And before you know it, you reach your peak so intensely, hips pushing into Aegon's face, practically riding it, while Aemond shot his seed down your throat and pulled out.

You panted heavily on the bed, chest heaving up and down. You saw Aegon and Aemond switch positions, Aegon coming to your side to kiss your face and Aemond lifted your hips up, making you wrap your legs around his hips as he lined up his dick against your entrance.

“I'm letting you take her virginity Aemy, you owe me head later.” Aegon winks and Aemond simply hums before prodding at your entrance. Aemond pushed in gently and you gasped at the burning stretch, Aegon hushed you, cooing at you and kissing your face as a comfort.

The painful burning sensation continued to exist as Aemond pushed more and more of his length inside you, before he was sitting inside snugly.

Luckily, Aemond gave you time to adjust and moved only a little, going slow to not hurt you, letting your pain subside and turn into pleasure before he quickened his pace.

You threw your head back as he repeatedly snapped his hips against yours, his pelvis rubbing against your pearl, Aegon latched himself on his tiddies and sucked on them, hands going down to grip his own cock and he pumped himself up and down, moaning against your tits.

Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, extremely sensitive all throughout and then you peaked once again, crying out Aemond's name as he continued fucking you, chasing his own peak before he spilled himself deep inside of you.

“You finished inside her?” Aegon asks and Aemond nods, “Want to knock her up.” Aemond voices his thoughts and Aegon smirks, pushing Aemond away and settling between your legs, “It's my turn now.” he says cruelly and Aemond nods, taking a small break as he watched Aegon push his cock inside you, causing you whine and grip the bed sheets beneath you, Aegon gripped your hips tightly, thrusting into you at an animalistic pace causing you throw your head back and whine, Aemond was beginning to get hard again, the blood rushing to his cock.

Aegon finishes inside you with a loud moan of your name, while you finish at the same time as well, he leans down to kiss you.

“Let's see who's seed takes first.” Aegon taunts and Aemond rolls his eyes, “Mine will.” and that convo turns into bickering while you lay there, feeling the way both their combined spend leak out of you, pooling on the bed sheets beneath while you try to catch your breath.

It was the best fucking night of your life.

———

#aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond smut #aegon targaryen x reader smut #aegon smut #aemond x reader smut #aegon x reader smut #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #x reader #reader insert #x reader smut #hotd smut

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ghoulphile · 5 months

Text

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | teaser

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 465 for the teaser, overall wordcount tbd ➥ overall warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap (i hc reader to be late 20s but i tried to leave it vague enough), cowgirl position, biting, hair pulling, choking, squirting, teasing, pining, lipstick kink, breast/nipple play, masturbation (m), porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, coop's pov to start - rest of the fic will be in reader's, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | "We really s-shouldn't - oh fuck - be doing this." ➥ notes | here's a teaser for the fic i took a poll on, some people wanted more info 😊 coop is a big dick dilf fite me. feedback is always appreciated ❤️ lmk if you want to be tagged feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

Ugliest thing in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say.

It's not like being a Marine with a gun in hand, being told where to point and shoot, or an actor reading off a script. There's no guidebook, no crash course. These people aren't nameless threats coasts away or co-workers following a cue.

In fact, his 'enemies' aren't enemies at all.

They have names: Barb, so smart it hurts, and sweet little Janey, his very own North star. Sometimes looking at them rips open a hole in his chest that'll never close, edges jagged and sore. The phantoms of family, of happier times, found in the glint of a smile or a peal of laughter.

See, war's something he understands. Something he's good at.

But these domestic battlefields where he's gotta look his ex-wife in the face, and struggle to meet his daughter's eye? Barter this weekend and that holiday? To pay for the privilege of his child's presence (he does, he will, she's worth every goddamn cent he's ever made)?

To look down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman he loves staring back; he doesn't, can't, comprehend that. Because once upon a time, he was happy (with her) and life was sweeter than pie.

Now he's nothing but a washed up actor who struggles to land a call back let alone make his monthly alimonies. His marriage has failed, his reputation is in shambles, and his bank account is dryer than the Mojave.

Barb gets the house. He gets the dog.

And caught in the middle of it all is his little girl; the only thing he’s got left worth while. He wants to protect her, provide for her the way she deserves — only he seems to fall short every goddamn time.

The mistakes and missteps keep stacking up against him; such is his new life in all its raw, unglamorous glory.

Look how far the mighty fall.

Lucky for him — the first bright thing that's come his way in a long, long while — a sweet, young woman moves into the apartment next door. Of course, it isn't long before Janey takes a shine, always so friendly.

Thankfully, you're just as good with her.

It only makes sense you'd watch her when a gig runs late. Rustle up some grub and put her to bed whenever he slinks in through the door, stripped to the bone.

And if he takes himself in hand late at night, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress? Imagines the wide stretch of your lush mouth as you peer up at him from between his thighs when he cums hard?

Well, what you don't know won't hurt you.

After all, he promises to keep his hands to himself.

part 01 of full fic

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout smut #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout #fallout fanfic

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gingersxng · 5 months

Text

Inappropriate Touching

Pairing: f!reader x Seonghwa x Yunho x Mingi x San

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: walking down the hallways on your new exciting job you came across a group of young handsome actors.. but it soon turns out acting and reality isn’t that far away from each other.

Notes: sub!reader, rough doms! Yunho, Mingi, San, Seonghwa, reader is a virgin, the boys are big perverts!!! ,they have no self control, much inappropriate touching!!!(which is not ok irl), adult movies, pet names (sweetheart, doll, darling, love, kitten, honey), groping, kissing, some cursing, fingering, oral (f receiving), licking, spitting, cum cum cum, cum eating, threesome, foursome, mentions of masturbation, dirty comments, unprotected sex (always be safe),rough sex, public sex, big dick yungi, marking (hickeys, bite marks), breeding, double penetration, slight bulge kink, recording. forgot something? maybe

Words: 3.7k

it was your first day at your new job at the movie studio. it’s been a life long dream of yours to get to work with big movie stars and now you were finally standing outside the big doors. as you looked up at the sign of the big building you took a deep breath before finally heading inside to get started.

you felt like a child in a candy store watching all the pictures on the walls of famous actors and actresses. you were soon greeted by a young woman maybe a few years older than you, she was looking so professional with a black jumpsuit, black glasses and red long hair in a big bun.

“hi are you the new assistant?” she asked softly. “yes i am, I’m y/n” you said as you shaked her hand. “I’m Joanne, I’m gonna show you around a bit to make it a little easier for you” a smile formed on your face. she showed you all different sets from both new and old movies, you had also met many movie stars and staff while you walked around the big halls. you were coming to your final part of your little “tour” when Joanne stopped dragging you to the side.

“we have to be quiet cause they’re in the middle of rehearsals”. she whispered, didn’t sound as she cared to much. you didn’t really understand what kind of movie they were making but there were four men dressed roughly in suits, black ties and some of them had smeared lipstick on their mouths. a woman later appeared around the men and you finally got an answer on your early movie question. you felt yourself blush as you observed what they did to that woman, eyes wide. “c’mon let’s go, I’ll show you your room” she grabbed your arm and dragged you with her. it was kinda quiet down the hallways to your room and so were you. Joanne finally broke the ice. “I probably should give you a small warning but you have to keep this to yourself, okay?” she said with a half worried look on her face. “alright I promise” you suddenly got anxious.

you stopped outside the door to your room. “don’t be too sweet towards those guys back there, they can get a little too friendly if you know what I mean” she whispered so no one but you could hear her. your eyes widened not believing what she was saying, they were just acting.. wasn’t they? “I don’t wanna scare you or anything but it’s better to warn you if you would bump into one of them”. you found yourself speechless and your thoughts went all over the place, first day at your new job and now you should watch out for creeps?

“they didn’t look old tho” you suddenly said. “no, as I saw on your CV they’re two and three years older than you” your eyes widened once again. she was about to say something but were interrupted by footsteps coming your way and by the sound of the voices it was them, well two of them. your heart pumped hard in your chest watching as they came closer.

“looking good today Jo” one of them blurted out giving Joanne a wink. the taller guy got very close to her while a smirk appeared on his face “your ass looks great in this suit too” he said as he gave her ass a squeeze. you literally couldn’t believe what you were witnessing and she just let them do this to her. they were soon turning their attention to you, fuck.

“what do we have here huh?” the tall one said looking you up and down. he was so tall but actually very good looking, you started to blush and that’s just what they wanted you to.. “it’s our new assistant y/n and it’s her first day so keep your hands to yourself Yunho!” Joanne snapped. he guided his hand through his hair and let out a deep chuckle, omg! “nice to meet you y/n” both of them greeted you. you gave them a small smile and crossed your arms so your cleavage got more visible and that was a big mistake. their eyes acted like magnets, getting dragged to your breasts. you knew she’d given you a warning but there was something about them giving you all this attention that made you excited.

“damn looks like a juicy one” the other guy laughed as he eyed his tall friend. Yunho let out a quiet laugh as he looked you straight into your eyes, his smile dropping fast. he took a step closer to you and got interrupted by your friend. “alright, she’s not interested in you two” she said trying to get them to leave. actually you were beginning to get a little bit interested in them but maybe it was best to keep that to yourself. Yunho gave your ass a light slap as he passed you with a smirking grin on his face. the other man reached out his hand brushing it against your stomach and up to your breasts, he stuck his tongue out and gave you a wink. “Seonghwa!! you pervert!” Jo slapped him on the shoulder.

they had finally got out of sight and you could finally let out a deep breath trying to take in everything that happened in the last 10 minutes. “I’m so sorry y/n but this is something you should get used to if you’re gonna work here” she told you looking really pissed off by the boy’s behaviour against you. you couldn’t help but smile a little, “it’s alright”. she finally left you alone and you got into your room to get some rest. it didn’t take many minutes before you were interrupted by a knock on your door, you got up and peeped out trough the little window to see another tall guy standing outside. you opened and were greeted with a smile from the big guy. “hey sweetheart, I’m Mingi” his voice were deep and vibrated right through you. you didn’t get a chance to introduce yourself before he grabbed your arms and pushed you further into your room. his actions took you by surprise and you let out a scream. Mingi hurried to put his hand on your mouth to drown your screams, when you finally got quiet he pulled his hand away letting out a chuckle when he saw the scared expression on your face.

“what are you doing!!” you almost cried out looking up at the big boy. he pushed you down onto your desk and grabbed your chin. “my friends told me about the new sexy assistant and I thought I should see if it was true.. and fuck you are gorgeous” he said squeezing your cheeks. you could feel how your thighs began to push together and how your cheeks started to heat up. Mingi brought his head to your neck starting to place sloppy kisses along it up to your ear, his hands working their way to your ass. you really hoped no one would walk in on you making out with one of the “creeps”, even if this was very wrong you didn’t do anything to stop it.

Mingi slipped his hands inside your pants grabbing a handful of your naked ass. small moans left your mouth, your hands went straight to his hair and he let out a deep groan. “you like this huh?” Mingi whispered as he pulled your jeans off you. “yes” you whispered back. he pushed you down onto your back and separated your legs exposing your clothed core to him, your panties were off you in a flash and your hole were stuffed with two of his fingers. Mingi put his mouth on your clit rolling his tongue over the sensitive nub, your back arched at the new pleasure. “you taste so good” he growled against your clit. he added a third finger and fastened his pace on your clit making a moaning mess out of you.

“here you are!!” Seonghwa bursted into your room, his eyes darkened as soon as he saw the position you were in. you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed having your bare pussy on display in front of the new man. “I see you’ve met the pussy eater” Seonghwa pushed Mingis head down harder on your pussy receiving moans from both of you. Mingi pulled away his slime covered face from your core. “says the guy who puts his hands down women’s tops” Mingi glared at the older man. “I can’t help it” Seonghwa threw a bitter look at him, he walked over to you and slid his hands inside your top and bra grabbing your firm breasts. he looked down at your pleasure filled face, he got closer to your face and attacked your lips kissing you upside down. it was messy and hot and you could feel how you got closer to your release. Seonghwa broke the kiss and squeezed your boobs hard making you squeak. “open your mouth kitten” you did as he said and watched as he gathered some saliva that he spit down into your mouth, you swallowed it and once again he was back kissing you.

Mingi was biting your clit sending electric waves up to your brain. he felt how your pussy clenched around his fingers and he curved them to hit the spongy spot inside you making you see white. your breath hitched in your throat and you moaned into Seonghwas mouth when you came onto Mingis fingers. both of them laughed at you when they saw how fucked out you looked. Mingi licked up all the cum from your hole. “sorry but we have to go back to the set kitten, believe me I’d rather fuck you than that bitch” Seonghwa grunted pushing his face in between your breasts licking a stripe along your cleavage. Mingi stole your panties sneaking them into his pocket and gave your pussy a quick kiss before they left.

- next day -

you had some free time so you were strolling through the building sneaking in to watch some movies in the making. a hand brushed against your ass and you quickly turned around to see yet another new face. the man scanned your body taking you all in, he leaned forward and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “enjoying yourself kitten?” you gulped and straightened yourself up feeling how your legs began to weaken. “y-yes I do” you fumbled not knowing were to look. an amusing look painted his face when he saw the affect he had on you. he took your hand and brought you with him to their movie set, the grip he had on your hand were firm to keep you from running away if you wanted to.

they were in the middle of a break so they had some time for you. the three other men sat down in a big round sofa that was down in a dark corner, the handsome muscular man pulled you with him. their eyes lit up as soon as you got in their sight, you blushed hard and began to bite the nail on your thumb, it really made you look innocent.

“look who I found standing all alone in the halls” the man pushed you forward so you stood in front of the other three. you could see how they were undressing you with their eyes and by the tents in their pants, they really liked what they saw. Yunho grabbed your wrist and pulled you down on his lap, you shivered at the feeling of his erection poking at your ass. he tugged at your skirt and caressed your soft thighs watching as goosebumps appeared. he put his mouth to your ear and whispered “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since yesterday, maybe I could get a pic of that sweet ass if yours huh?”. his words went straight to your pussy, feeling how you got wetter by the second. “why would you want that?” you said innocently looking him in the eyes knowing exactly why he wanted it. Yunho raised an eyebrow and dug his fingers into the flesh of your ass “so I have something to watch as I’m playing with my dick” the guy chuckled. the other guys laughed at his comment. you were stuck between these four men and your mind started to run wild the more they showed how much they wanted to use you.

“do you have a boyfriend doll?” Mingi slipped out. you shook your head and the look on his face turned devilish, you pushed your thighs together more. “are you a virgin?” Yunho asked pulling your skirt up slowly waiting for an answer. you stayed quiet for a few seconds looking around at the men. “yeah, I am” your voice dropped and you felt so embarrassed. something in them snapped and suddenly they seemed hornier than ever. Seonghwa stuck his hand down your top to… dang he got interrupted. you got company by a known friend, it was Jo. she was looking for you and couldn’t believe she would find you here of all places. “what are you doing here y/n?” she was surprised to see you sitting in Yunhos lap with Seonghwas hand down your top. “I’m working..” was the first thing you could think of. Seonghwa fought the urge to pull out your breasts from your top, he usually didn’t have much self control but for your sake he made an exception. “you guys are sick” she said before she finally left.

Seonghwa couldn’t hold it in anymore and pulled out your boobs from your bra, his mouth watered at the sight of your hardened red nipples, he brushed his thumb over them and you let out a small whimper. Yunho lifted you up and handed you over to San, the big man squeezed you against his chest. “don’t move doll, my grip will only get tighter” he bucked his hips up against your ass, his clothed hardness poking you right between your cheeks. Yunho unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants enough for his massive cock to spring free standing up against his stomach. the sight was making your arousal drip down your inner thighs and you crossed your legs standing in Sans embrace. Yunho patted his thigh signaling San to release you. “come sit love” he held a hand out to you. you walked over to the tall man, he turned you around back facing him while pulling up your skirt. the lack of underwear made him groan “no panties huh? what a good girl, all ready for us to abuse” his deep voice almost breaking you.

San slid his fingers through your folds, your arousal was smeared out on your inner thighs and he could slip in two fingers with ease, after feeling how tight you were he pulled them out again turning to the tall guy. “she’s so tight you’re gonna split her in half with your monster cock” Sans words brought a worried look to your face. Yunho slapped your ass “we don’t use condoms btw, hope that’s alright with you love?” you nodded and with that he sunk you down on his big cock, the wetness made it almost too easy for him to bottom out. it was a long moan that left your lips as you felt your pussy being stretched to the max. as Yunho were bouncing you up and down his dick San was attacking your lips and Seonghwa had got dibs on your breasts marking them as his own. it felt like you were in some kind of erotic dream, they dragged out moans and whimpers out of you leaving you a fucking mess.

Mingi had pulled out his cock too, he spat in his hand and pumped his length a few times. he got up from the sofa and pushed the other two out of the way, he pushed your back against Yunhos chest and positioned himself onto you bringing his cock to your already stuffed hole. “it won’t fit idiot” San mocked the man. “I’ll make it fit” Mingi pushed the tip into your pussy making you scream, tears falling down your cheeks. Yunho pulled out a bit for Mingi to fit better, he then dried your tears with his thumb. Yunho and Mingi occupied each side of your neck while they pumped their massive dicks into your gushy hole. “fuck I swear it feels a thousand times better when she’s a virgin” Mingi groaned into your ear. a familiar feeling appeared in your stomach and it got worse with each of their thrusts. Mingi pushed your knees up to your chest getting better and deeper access, the bulge on your stomach drove him crazy. “I’m gonna cum” Yunho warned. “are you gonna let us breed you honey? let us knock you up” he growled as his thrusts got faster. being all over the place you couldn’t get a single word out but you nodded and moaned in response, your mouth hung open.

“knock her up already we’re getting impatient here” Seonghwa whined as he palmed his cock through his pants. a couple more thrusts and both men released their big loads deep inside you, their hair had gotten more messy and they had beads of sweat dripping down their foreheads. the cum were seeping out between their cocks, they pulled out and laid you down onto your back. Yunho pushed the cum back inside your abused pussy, a proud smirk forming on his face. “in a few months we want to see this pretty belly of yours grow darling” Mingi teased you, he took a handful of your little belly fat and squeezed it.

San was quick to swap places with Yunho, impatiently he pulled out his leaking cock and towered over your half naked form. he slid the tip in slowly until he was fully seated pushing both Mingis and Yunhos cum further inside you, his pace quickened fast and his hold onto your sides grew harder. “fuuck, this little pussy of yours is driving me insane” San growled, his feline eyes pierced holes through you. his mouth assaulted your sore nipples while he slammed his hips against yours with all the strength he had. you began to cry and your whole body started to hurt. Seonghwa kissed you harshly and wiped your tears away, he moved down to your neck sucking on the flesh leaving purple marks. “don’t cry honey we’ll take care of you” he purred.

you could feel Sans cock twitch, he buried his dick deep inside you letting his release paint your walls white, he stayed like that for a while not wanting any cum to go to waste. the thought of knocking you up made his brain malfunction. San pushed down his hand on your lower stomach to feel how deep he was, with a groan he finally pulled out.

Seonghwa helped you up and sunk you down on his dick. you swung your arms around his neck and buried your face in it, he helped moving your hips up and down his length since your body started to give out. each time his cock brushed against your cervix you were one step closer to your awaited orgasm. “mmh it feels so good” you whispered softly in his pierced ear. Seonghwa took his time with you and wasn’t as rough as the others, not yet anyway. he stilled his movements, you looked him in the eyes with a questioning look wondering why he stopped. a smirk appeared on his face and he turned his gaze to someone else. a pair of strong arms lifted you up on your wobbly legs and Seonghwa followed. “ready to get double stuffed again kitten?” you heard Sans voice behind you, his breath tingled against your ear and it almost made you cum on the spot. you were now sandwiched between the two men, uplifted in their arms. they both placed their tips to your entrance, it was no problem to slide in their hard cocks from all the cum and your insane amount of arousal, plus you got stretched out good a couple minutes ago by two monster cocks. they synced their thrusts as they slammed up into your sensitive core, your high pitched moans was music to their ears. the knot was building up in your stomach and you were so close now, Sans hand toyed with your swollen clit whilst Seonghwa had his fun with your nipples making your eyes turn white.

Seonghwa kissed your collarbone and cooed “cum for us now love”. San bucked up his hips and groped your ass hard, he left a bite mark on your shoulder making you cry out quietly. a few seconds later your orgasm hit you and your whole body turned to jelly, not long after you felt a hot big wave of cum entering you. deep groans left their filthy mouths as they emptied themselves deep inside you. “good girl” San said huskily as he pulled out.

after they’d both pulled out Mingi gave you your panties back that he stole from you yesterday on his little visit. you gave him a tired smile and put them on you. “I should probably go and get some rest” you said as you put your boobs inside your top again. “need some company?” Mingi asked with a nasty smirk on his face. Yunho slapped the big man on his arm “as tempting as it sounds I actually think we should let her rest for a while, she’ll need it” he smiled at you. they gave you small kisses on your face before you headed back to your room.

“she’s a keeper” Mingi said watching as your ass bounced with every step you took. Yunho groaned and placed himself on the sofa again, he took out his phone and let out a light chuckle. “did you get it all?” San asked. “oh yeah I did”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #mingi x reader #mingi #yunho x reader #yunho #choi san #san x reader #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader

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tojifile · 9 months

Text

@Muzan Kibutsuji . . . (＾＾＃)

Tags: husband!muzan, emotionally dependent reader, f!reader, violence, suggestive, manipulation, muzan is taller than you, mansplaining if you squint, huge daddy issues, toxic relationship

A/N: Thinking about husband!muzan and his wife who’s emotionally dependent on him. She’s a huge crybaby but Muzan loves how dependent she is on him. He loves the dominance he has over her. THIS IS FOR WOMEN WITH DADDY ISSUES WHO WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF IN THE MOST TOXIC WAY IMAGINABLE. The relationship and everything is super toxic but I love those and honestly, red flags get me going! (I am a bad example of what you should do with your life, do not copy) Merry Christmas Eve to my ho ho hos! 🎄

p.s. an anon just requested for a Muzan’s wife runs away after finding out so that may be after this, just know that I love toxic relationships with guys like Muzan :)

husband!muzan who only goes out at night. He tells you he has a skin condition that started when he was a kid. There was no known cure, so his “company” constantly tries to find information on possible cures for people with the same disease.

husband!muzan who seemed like the perfect partner, dotting on you, always buying you gifts. He’d buy you things that reminds him of you which made you all the more attached. You loved his attention and how he constantly babies you.

husband!muzan who you caught consuming a woman during a stroll. It was already past 7PM but you decided to go out for a walk. Everything was good, the streets were bustling with different kinds of people, all smiling and happy—that was until you got to a rather secluded area.

You heard loud cries coming from a narrow alley. The screams lured you in. At the back of the alley was where you saw your husband—Muzan Kibutsuji, devouring a helpless young woman. He immediately sensed your presence and turned around.

He swiftly got in front of you and covered your mouth with his palm. “Hello, my love, I trust you enjoyed your evening stroll?” He spoke, his voice dripping with an eerie yet sweet, confusing feeling. You only looked at him with teary eyes in response.

husband!muzan who tries to reason with you but he didn’t even need to say anything. You still wanted him.

Such a shame that you had to find out about his secret, “Kibutsuji-kun..” was all you could mutter after he removed his palm from your mouth. You then started to cry in his arms as he caressed your hair, calming you down. God, he was so sweet towards you.

A few lines of blood dripped down the corners of his mouth. He looked down at you with a soft smile on his face. His suit and pants were stained with the blood of his victim but that didn’t bother him.

Most—no, all of his past wives would’ve been crying and yelling about how much of a liar and monster he is and/or running away. But here you were in his arms, you cried because you didn’t know how to react. You were scared that he’d leave you because you found out his secret.

husband!muzan who is happy to know that you’ve truly submitted yourself to him. He loves the feeling of being in control. It was adorable, the way you melted into his arms, even after you saw him consuming another human being.

husband!muzan who promises to never hurt nor leave you. He just loved controlling you a bit too much. It got him excited, knowing that he comes home to such a cute little human wife who he doesn’t have to hide his true form from.

husband!muzan who then escorts you home while holding you by the waist. Telling you about how you shouldn’t go out at night without him. He doesn’t want other demons to mistake you for a lowly human.

husband!muzan who was just really turned on by the events. As soon as you got home he had you on the bed, kissing you softly. He didn’t even have to use force with you. You were just so happy to submit to the man who gave you affection.

husband!muzan who sometimes lets his fangs sink in your skin. Just for you to tremble and whimper under his touch. He loved it when you would cling onto him and he loves the little noises you’d make whether it be from pain or pleasure.

husband!muzan who tells himself that he’s only staying with you and treating you like this because you’re a valuable asset, one that could keep his facade going.

husband!muzan who slowly submits to your affection genuinely, especially after that night.

husband!muzan who always makes you feel safe and taken care of. He might be the demon king but he can’t let his wife be let down. Muzan Kibutsuji was too much of a loving husband to let that happen.

husband!muzan who treats you like a child that needs to be guided. He can’t have you forming your own thoughts now, right? That would corrupt your innocent little mind. He couldn’t let you turn against him now that he was so attached to you.

husband!muzan who loves to pamper you like a little doll. He loves the idea of using you over and over. Although he doesn’t understand why he’s so attached to you, he just lets it happen. You were still a benefit to him anyway.

And finally.. husband!muzan who has you numb every time he’s had a bad night. Getting you to do nasty things with him, knowing you’re always so needy for his attention.

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netherfeildren · 6 months

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How to Endure Ardor:

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you how to love him.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; QZ Joel Miller; I'm saying this, but the setting is sort of ambiguous anyways, Stream of consciousness, Character Study, Alternating POVs; PIV sex; The troubles and toils of breaking up and then making up with a fucked up old man; Uncaring Joel; Mentions of painful sex; Toxic relationships or situationships or whatever you want to call it; I think I'm addicted to the idea of a Joel who'll never love you and I should probably see a doctor about it

A/N: she remembers how to write, who'd of thought!

Word Count: 1.3K

Read on AO3

This is a lesson:

“Tell me again,” she says, and it’s a begging.

A begging like what? Something that carries shame and smallness in the shape of it. Stay a little longer. It humiliates him for the wretchedness it pulls from him. Joel, please. Seeping blood the color of her supplication. Please, she says, please. And who else says please to him anymore? Who asks him for anything anymore but her? The only ones who ever had are long past and gone, and he can’t even barely remember they were ever really there to ask anything of him to begin with—can’t remember what it feels like to owe someone something and want to give it to them in a way that will actually make him.

Tell me what again? That I want you? That I’ll stay? That I love you? I’ll come back, he says instead, the only thing he can promise and keep. And he wonders if it humiliates her too, the way he lies, the way he runs, the way he swears, the way he always comes back and comes back but never returns with the things she needs. A humiliation just like it is a begging.

The thing they have: it’s strange, fickle, honest in its lies, very, very ugly. An ugliness that is shocking in a world gone to rot already. The sky doesn’t shine anymore and they bask in it.

But also, and, the thing they have: it’s physical, saving.

This is obvious too, even if only to them.

He slides inside and you’re what? Hot and wet and slick, and—yes, a thing like a dream, but still only a thing. Something to have, something close to desire, but not quite, more like biological want. Woman turned possession. In his mind this is an excuse, a reason, a begetting. Like, what—like what? Like when you want a thing very badly but it is very bad for you, and you need to make up any excuse to have it, lie and lie and lie—to your mother, your best friend, the mirror—a begetting like that. Easy to understand only if you’ve been there.

It started simple, it started like nothing, it started like the first time you meet someone and you know they’ll matter, you know they’ll mean something. So it started like what? Like a lie.

Shifts at the QZ, long and toiling and reminders of the sort of life that died in an outbreak of monsters, only if for how unlike that past it was. Humans or fungus or—

—men who hurt—you, men who refuse your love, Joel Miller.

The crutch of your age, of you being weaker or smaller or in need, him being easily felled, wooed, easily conquered by something young and given without a try because there was never the opportunity for trying before.

Now, it is like this: you take my cock and you take my come and you take my nothing, and I give so little and yet you still find a way to take and take and take, leech of a girl, dream of a girl, hungry. And with the excuse that it’s only in a way you contrive for your own self. But in the end, what does that make you? What do I make you into?

These are the things he asks himself.

Perhaps she goes away for a time, tries the route of escape, of variety. But when she inevitably comes back because addiction is riddled always in the same sorts of ways: did you try different bodies? Did you try different flavors and sounds? Did you look for me in all of them?

The answer is usually yes.

At reunion’s turn: he rolls her over to face her, Joel, damp and panting and trying to be something—perhaps better, more honest—after a season of variety and honest attempts and shut eyes. He’s so hard for her, always is.

Again: he slides inside and you’re what? His, undeniably. Not yours. Something to want but not desire because it’s too romantic a notion, and yes, there’s a difference even if he can’t put into words what that difference specifically is. Body and heart, perhaps, definitions that differ between disparate anatomical parts or levels of deniability.

Nothing either of you have ever been able to put into words when lust and love aren’t things you can even say out loud for the shame of them, even if they exist within said same anatomy.

You come together, the season passed, the separation passed but still kept at hand for the next time the closeness becomes too much.

“Tell me again,” she says, and this time he remembers what she’s asking for.

“I fucking missed you, baby. Missed this pussy.” Because he can’t say it’s her heart he missed. Because Joel Miller does not have honesty in his arsenal.

He spreads you wide, knee to shoulder so it hurts and pulls, so it’ll be sore and reminding tomorrow. The slap of his pelvis against the back of your thighs is obscene, wet and lewd, a string of girl cum keeping you connected, such togetherness, curve of your ass to the root of his cock—the two of you are together again.

You know what I thought, when I tried to go away, you say. He doesn’t want to know, but he doesn't tell you so either, only slides in again, the mouth of your womb right there, threatening. I’m never going to feel like this again, and I hate how certainly I know that. He wonders if the unsaid part is that he’s the recipient of that feeling, the hate.

He wonders if the pinch inside him is hurt. He wonders if the throb is love.

All he says because he can’t say the rest is, I missed you, I missed you, and if he could look himself in the mirror—something that’s twenty years past lost—he’d ask: are you alright? Just tell me you’re okay. And it sounds in your own voice and with your own care and the feel of your own warmth. Is there anything I can do?

Other times, he sees himself through your own eyes, and then he knows for certain that the throb is love

So he makes up for lost time, hard—and if it was a thing he knew how to be— loving. Mouth to cunt first, primed and soft and begging, making you come again and then another once more, then inside of you. Slow, splitting you open, red cunt like a wound, balls slapping wet, pulling out to watch the gape of the space he’s carved for himself. His cock is so hard and missing you something desperate. And he’s reminded of what it is to really miss something in a way he hadn’t been in twenty years of apocalypse, he’s forced to realized that it’s been so long since he’d had something to love that he’d not realized the feeling of missing that long past someone had gone away, only faint memory remained.

Violent, is what this makes him after that realization—thrusts turning hard and punishing. How dare you give yourself to me? How dare you then take yourself away? You come around him again, the gift of your orgasm. How dare you not be able to accept the little I’m able to give when I’m trying so desperately fucking hard to give you even just this?

He fucks you mean, he fucks you in the way of a man who doesnt know how to say the things he needs to say, in a way that’s confusing, that could make a less discerning woman feel only the hurt.

But then again, you know him.

Fucks you in a way that is a little bit like love.

And so, amidst all of it, there is an honesty amongst the lies. A truth unspoken that they both know—I’ll come back because I need you, because you’re the only one who can give me the things I'm not strong enough to ask for out loud.

You’re not sure which of the two of you is the one saying it.

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#vic fic #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader

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hotchfiles · 8 months

Text

❝ [IN THIS HOUSE OF MINE] ❞ — a 'cuz you're a natural sequel ; MDNI!

pairing: aaron hotchner x rossi!reader. summary: he vowed not to make a move on you, he never promised not to reciprocate yours. content warnings: yeah this one's smutty. fingering. oral (f! receiving). unprotected p in v. foul language. age-gap if you read part one. not proof read. 18+. MDNI. word count: 1,6k. a/n: i'm not a smut writer, hotch just fucks up my brain chemistry.

It's late when Aaron gets home, you shouldn't know that because you shouldn't be there. You had made him the favor of watching over Jack while Jessica had some medical appointments. You didn't mind, Jack was a good boy and the place smelled like Hotch. He told you it was only for a few hours and as soon as she picked Jack up, you could leave.

But you didn't, you stayed, and you waited. And almost scared him to death as he noticed the front door unlocked, hand going straight for his gun, a loud sigh of relief when he noticed it was just you. "Why're you still here? It's late."

You kneed on the couch, looking at him as he put his keys and suitcase over the table. "Want me to make an excuse? Lie?" You ask, completely straightforward, the time for the little games, the hunt, the flirting... Put behind you the moment he showed you interest weeks before. You were just waiting for the right moment, and there it was, presented to you on a silver platter.

He wasn't necessarily speechless, but rather weighting his options, debating the outcomes of each of his answers. He vowed to himself to not make a move on you, to not act on it. But there you were, on his house, knees to his couch, eyes glued on him. He glances your lips for few seconds, licking his own in the process. "I don't do lies."

Now you're the one thinking about your answer, how crass should you be? Should you tell him you're there still because you want to see him? To touch him? To hear him? Or should you be a bit more daring? Show him you're not playing games...

He's still some steps away from you, you're still in control, your voice won't crack, you're breathing completely fine, so you decide to use that in your favor while you can, going for the last option, "I'm still here because I want you to fuck me."

Aaron is a bit taken aback by the weight of your choice of words, but he's still him, so he only sighs, his thumb and middle finger going to his eyes, as if he was dealing with some sort of nuisance and not a gorgeous, fun and bold young woman ready to give him everything he craves and needs so much.

His hesitance should stop you, but it makes you feel like a fucking winner. He could've denied you right away. He could've been shocked, appalled. But he was neither and that makes you get out of the couch, closing the distance between your body and his, your glance up to him was challenging, defiant almost. "Agent Hotchner, you don't do lies. Tell me you don't want this and I'll leave."

Is he more aroused by the way you call him agent or by the fact he just doesn't know if you're bluffing or not? Aaron's not sure, but he's been so starved of the sort of attention you're giving him and he's so tired he can't fight his hunger anymore, he pushes you to the nearest wall as his reply, one of his hands pulls one of your legs up, placing it around his waist, the other pulls your lips to him by your neck.

The kiss is rough, harsh, he easily dominates you with it, stealing pants from you that it usually takes men a lot more to get, but you're not about to give him all the control, you were the one to go after him after all, so you sink your teeth to his bottom lip until you feel the taste of metal and Aaron moans, breaking the kiss to throw his head back, his cock hardening against his clothes. Against you.

Not that he was expecting you to be completely submissive under his touch, but your boldness was a surprise that kept on giving, you pushed him off of you, walking slowly towards his bedroom as you took each piece of clothing you were wearing off of your body, making a trail of it he gladly followed.

By the time you both get to his bedroom, only your panties are left and you lay on his bed, offering yourself for him to take. Aaron loudly groans, his shoes and his pants following the fate of your own before hovering your body, knee between your thighs giving you the friction you so desperately need. He should ask if you're sure about this, he should remind you of the consequences this could entail. He's usually so much better than this, so much more careful, but the second your hips move trying to get more from him and the moan escapes your throat the only words that leave his are not even close to what he should, "Gonna be the death of me, dear." You're glad he still has his shirt and tie on as you pull him to you with it, leaving to him to set up the pace of the kiss.

It was messy and greedy, his tongue took turns between exploring your mouth and leaving trails of saliva in between your shoulders and your chin, his hands were not much better, from your breasts to your waist, from your waist to your thighs and back to your breasts, rubbing your nipple harshly, making you squirm under him.

It doesn't take long for him to get you out of your last piece of clothing, his shirt and tie along with it, you sigh in disappointment, he could've left the tie, but you can't dwell on it much when he makes you fold up your legs and gives your folds that first slow, torturous swipe of his tongue. Your back arches and your hips buckle as he works you up, you find the only way to keep your body steady is to tug on his hair and grip on the pillow behind your head.

He's good, oh, he's so good, you can't even praise him properly, your brain going completely numb with pleasure, your voice being able to only whine his name and ask him for more, please, and he's not denying you anything as he inserts his thumb on your already slick hole, his tongue not leaving your clit, only changing paces and movements until he noticed which one made you writhe the most, your moaning getting more high pitched as you felt that known feeling of impending orgasm forming.

Aaron replaces his thumb with his middle finger and his tongue with his thumb, wanting to be closer to you, looking deep inside your eyes as you came undone for him, he kept his pace, observing your reactions, the way your hips moved trying to close your thighs on him, how your hands gripped the sheets. A thought of something he hasn't felt in a while passes through him and he tells you to move your hand to his shoulder, to his back. "Mark me." It's a demand, and you gladly oblige, sinking your nails to his flesh, scratching him and using his skin as an anchor as you started seeing white, the fastest and hardest orgasm a man has ever given you.

He helps you ride your high down, only moving his hand away when you were overstimulated by it, he sucks on his middle finger first and then inserts his thumb in your mouth so you can do the same, "Got what you stayed for?" He teases, and your hands go straight to his boxers, pulling it down so you can touch his stiff cock, already glistening with his precum.

"Not yet, agent." Your thumb barely touches his tip and he's sighing, eyes closed and lips between his own teeth to hold himself. He wants to push your head, feel your defiant mouth around him, but he hopes for another time as he takes your hand off of him, quickly and awkwardly getting his boxers completely out of his body.

Aaron positions himself between your legs, tapping your thigh as a command so you wrap them around his waist, he pumps himself two more times and shoves his cock into you, fully, no warning, earning a gasp from your lips and more scars on his back. It takes a second for you to adjust but it's not painful, sooner than he expects you're using your legs to push him deeper, to move.

You purposefully clench around his length, wanting nothing more than to see his face contort in pleasure, the pleasure you're giving him. Even if it causes him to last less, you want him to lose it, to throw his self control out the window.

He's about to tell you that he won't last if you keep doing it, but he sees your intentions clear as day by the lust in your eyes, your lips parted observing how gorgeous he looked panting, sweating for you. It makes him pick up his pace, faster and hitting harder that spot that makes you cry out his name, touching your forehead with his as he reached for his own peak. Letting out a low lingering fuck as he did so, the way his pubes hit your clit along with his pace enough to tip you over the edge once more that night.

Normally he would offer a bath once he's out of you, his seed dripping to your thighs, but he's too tired and sleepy so he just pulls you into his arms, his face nuzzling into your neck. You don't complain, wanting to enjoy this moment of proximity, hoping it wouldn't be the last.

Aaron hopes the same.

#lari writes sometimes #aaron x reader #aaron x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut #aaron hotch smut

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months

Text

Heart | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, SMUT 18+ MDNI, elements of dom/sub, oral (m and f receiving), orgasm denial (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid. wrap it up.), face riding (f receiving), begging, cockwarming

Word Count: 6046

A/N: Giving the people what they want. AGAIN. MINORS! GO AWAY!!! SHOO! TAKE A JUICE BOX AND A STICKER ON THE WAY OUT!!

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“Here he is, Detective,” the young mortician said to Sam as she pulled the body of a man out of a cold locker. The man had stitches running along his chest, stomach, shoulders, and throat; some reminiscent of deep bite marks.

“That’s a pretty nasty bite,” Sam commented. “You know what bit him?”

The young woman averted her eyes. “I haven’t quite determined that just yet.”

“C’mon, Doc,” you pleaded. “Off the record.” You left Dean back in the motel room once he promised you he’d stay put.

“Okay,” the mortician began, “way, way off the record—”

“Sure,” Sam nodded.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the guy was attacked by a wolf. But unless I know that the zoo is missing one of their lobos, I’m going with pit bull.” She eyed Sam cautiously. “I like my job.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Sam chuckled.

“One more thing. This guy, was his heart missing?” you asked.

She seemed surprised. “Yeah, how did you know that? I haven’t even finished my report.”

“Lucky guess,” you shrugged.

You and Sam left the morgue and began the drive back to Dean.

“How’ve your nightmares been?” you asked Sam while he drove out of the morgue’s parking lot.

He turned to you quizzically.

“What? I hear you up at three in the morning,” you smirked.

“I get up early anyway. How do you know I still have ‘em?”

“You don’t have a great poker face, Sammy. When something’s bothering you, I can literally see the wheels in your head turning,” you replied.

He sighed. “I’ll get over it.”

You shot him a look.

“It’s just— It’s not just Jessica anymore,” he explained. “It’s my dad, it’s what Meg did while she took me for a joy ride—”

“That sounds dirty, man,” you cut in.

He gave you a playful glare. “It’s like I told you. I’m scared as hell.”

You stayed silent for a moment. “Hey, you’re still you. And that’s all that matters.” You turned to face him in your seat, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t gone all ‘sith lord’ on us yet. And I honestly don’t think you will. You just… you don’t have that in you.”

His lips curled into a sad smile once more. “Thanks, (Y/N/N).”

“Any time.”

“Any update on you and Dean?”

“Oh, would you look at that, we’re here,” you smirked as Sam pulled into the motel parking lot.

He glared at you. “(Y/N)—”

“I know, I know, we’ll talk later,” you giggled. You headed into the brothers’ motel room. Dean was cleaning his guns on his bed, and you explained what you’d seen and found out from the mortician to him. The lawyer you’d examined wasn’t the first heart-free corpse, but he was the first man. Over the last year, several women had gone missing; their bodies washed up on shore, but were too deteriorated to make out anything besides the fact that their hearts were missing. The lunar cycle was exactly right for a werewolf killing as well.

“Awesome,” Dean grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, could you be a bigger geek about this?”

“I’m sorry, man, but what about ‘a human by day, a freak animal killing machine by moonlight’ don’t you understand? I mean, werewolves are badass. We haven’t seen one since we were kids,” the older brother protested.

“Okay, Sparky. And you know what? After we kill it, we can go to Disneyland,” Sam snarked, making you giggle.

“You know what the best part about it is? We already know how to bring these suckers down.” He held up a silver bullet. “One of these bad boys right to the heart. So, what’s our next move?”

“Talk to the girl who found the body,” replied Sam.

***

The girl who found the body had sharp, angular features and beautiful dark hair. You could tell Sam was slightly enamored by her from the second she let you into her apartment. The woman introduced herself as Madison. She showed an older man who’d come to check on her out of the apartment and motioned for you to take a seat at her kitchen table.

“You must be pretty shaken up,” started Sam. “You were Nate Mulligan’s assistant, right?”

“For two years, yeah,” she nodded.

“So, you knew all about him?” Dean questioned.

“Probably knew more about him than he did. Nate was…” she trailed off, smiling uncomfortably, “he was nice.”

“But?”

“Nothing, really. I— He had a few scotches in him, and he'd started hitting on anyone in a five-mile radius. You know the type.”

You looked over at Dean, given that was the one thing about him you disliked. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

Dean noticed your look, and he shrank a little at your apparent disappointment. “Did, uh, did he have any enemies?”

“What do you mean? It sure looked like an animal attack,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.

“No, yeah, we��re just covering all the bases. Anyone that might have had a beef with him – a former client, an ex?”

You noticed her discomfort and pressed further. “What is it?”

“Well, this is embarrassing, but my ex-boyfriend, Kurt—”

“Kurt have a last name?” Dean cut her off.

“Mueller,” she answered. After we broke up, he went kind of nuts. He’s… well, he’s kind of been stalking me. He got it in his head that something was going on between Nate and I. He showed up at my office.”

“What happened?” you asked.

“Kurt got into it with Nate; threw a punch before security grabbed him. I was lucky to keep my job,” she explained.

“When was the last time you saw Kurt?” Dean asked.

“A few nights ago. Actually, the night Nate died. We were all grabbing drinks at this bar, and Kurt showed up,” Madison replied.

“And?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It was like he was watching me. Then he was gone. To tell you the truth, he scares me.”

“I can understand that,” you told her.

She gave you a smile.

Madison led you out of her apartment, and Sam wrote his number down for her to call you if she needed anything.

***

As night fell, Dean suggested you head to the ex-boyfriend’s house to investigate if he lived in a creature’s lair. Upon arrival, you discovered Kurt wasn’t home. However, you felt uneasy. You chalked it up to the fact that you were breaking and entering, but you’d never felt anxiety in a situation such as this previously. It almost felt like something was watching you.

“(Y/N/N), you okay?” Sam asked you upon noticing your discomfort.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just… hurry this up. I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Okay, Skywalker,” Dean quipped.

“Anything?” you asked, ignoring his comment.

“No, nothing but leftovers and a six-pack. No human hearts behind the Haagen-Dazs either,” he replied. You suddenly heard a door open and close followed by a crashing sound coming from outside. You shared a brief look with Sam before running out to the balcony. Down the wall of the building, there were claw marks in the concrete wall, sliding all the way down to the ground.

You cringed at the sight. “That’s just great.”

Seconds later, you heard a gunshot. You ran down the fire escape and out of the apartment, heading toward where you thought you’d heard the gun fire off. When you arrived at a dark alley, you saw the boot of a person sticking out from the shadows. Cautiously, you approached, only to find the body of an incredibly mauled policeman.

“I’ll call 911,” Sam told you and his brother.

Dean bent down to the corpse. “I’d say Kurt’s looking more and more like our Cujo.”

“I don’t know, man, his apartment didn’t scream ‘creature’s lair’ to me. Aside from the fact that it’s a standard bachelor pad,” you remarked.

Dean eyed you unamusedly. “I’m gonna ignore the implication there that all men are animals.”

You grinned. “I’m glad you caught my drift.”

“Guys, if he’s out here, we better check on Madison,” Sam said, interrupting you.

***

When you arrived at her apartment early in the morning, the older man you’d first seen in Madison’s apartment when you initially visited him peeked his head out of his door. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Police business, Glen,” Dean responded.

Madison opened the door, her face drooping slightly when she saw you. “What is it?”

You shot a look over at Glen.

“Well, maybe we should talk privately,” Sam suggested.

She nodded, still confused, and led you into her apartment. “Coffee?” she asked.

Sam accepted happily, as did Dean. You still felt uneasy, and thought you might vomit if you had something to drink.

“Has Kurt been here?” Sam asked her as she poured a cup for each of the brothers.

“Not exactly,” she replied.

“What’s that mean?” you asked.

“Well, he was outside last night. Just… looking. Just looking at me. Has he done something?”

“We’re not really sure,” Sam answered honestly.

“It’s probably nothing, but… we just don’t wanna take any chances. In fact, one of us should probably stay here with you?” Dean suggested. “Just in case he stops by. Where does he work?”

“He owns a body shop,” she replied.

“You mind grabbing that address for us?”

She nodded and started out of the room.

“Thanks,” Dean called after her.

“Alright, you go. I’ll stay,” said Sam once she was out of ear shot.

“C’mon, (Y/N),’ Dean said.

“What?” Sam questioned. “No pushback? You always wanna hangout with the hot girl.”

“Yeah, well…” the older Winchester trailed off, “Not this time, I guess.”

“You guess?” Sam scoffed. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Dean just rolled his eyes, and a smile tugged at your lips. You thought you may have something to do with Dean’s change of heart.

“Bundle up out there, alright?” Sam said to you and Dean, shooting y0u a knowing look when his brother had turned away. You grinned back at him and followed Dean out of the apartment when Madison returned with the body shop’s address.

Dean started the drive to Kurt’s place of work, and you eyed him thoughtfully.

“What?” he asked without even turning to look at you.

“I wouldn’t have anything to do with your change of heart about staying with the cute girls, huh?” you asked, already knowing the answer. However, a large part of you just wanted him to say it out loud.

He flickered his eyes over to yours, never turning his head from the road. “No, ‘course not,” he replied.

You deflated slightly, although you knew vulnerability was difficult for him. You really and truly just wanted to hear how much you meant to him.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled after a moment of silence. “It’s got everything to do with you.”

A smile spread across your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Good. I’m glad.”

*** Later that day, you discovered Kurt hadn’t been to work in a week. But because Dean was “really good,” if he did say so himself, he found out he was probably frequenting his favorite strip club.

You didn’t mind going; you enjoyed hyping the girls up. If you were a stripper, you’d much rather a girl stuffing ones in your bra than a creepy fifty-year-old man. Although, you were slightly concerned about the way Dean’s eyes were glued to the ass of the woman dancing in front of you. You couldn’t lie, though, she was hot. As long as he looked and didn’t touch, you were content.

The pretty girl in front of you bent down to take a ten dollar bill from your hand, wiggling her hips seductively as she did so. You held her gaze as she stuffed the bill in her bra with a few other ones she already earned.

Dean suddenly seemed slightly possessive. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“Jealous much?” you asked.

He used the arm around your shoulders to push your face towards his, kissing you wantonly. You hummed against him just before he pulled away. You nudged his nose with yours, sighing happily. You turned back to the girl dancing only to see the man you knew to be Kurt taking a seat at the opposite side of the stage from you and Dean. You gave Dean a look, and he immediately took out his phone to call Sam.

“I found him,” Dean said, eyes on the girl dancing in front of the two of you. “Oh, yeah, my eyes are glued. Look, Sammy, I gotta let you go. I, uh, I don’t wanna... don't wanna miss anything.” He handed a dollar bill to the stripper and smiled widely when he hung up the phone.

After about an hour of generously tipping the strippers and having a few drinks, Kurt got up from the chair across from you and Dean. When he’d gotten a significant distance away, you and Dean wordlessly got up from your chairs to follow him. However, not before you turned and said, “Bye, girls!” to the dancers. The one that had been predominantly dancing in front of you and Dean waved and blew you a kiss. You blew one back, grinning.

You followed Kurt back to his apartment and sat outside, waiting for him to make a wrong move. You readied your gun, jerking to attention when you heard glass shattering. You looked back up to see the lights in Kurt’s apartment were off.

Dean breathed out, “What the—?” and you motioned for him to follow you up the fire escape. You hurried into Kurt’s apartment through the shattered window only to find Madison over the top of Kurt’s mauled body. She turned her electric blue eyes toward you and growled, bearing sharp, bloody fangs. She lunged at you, throwing you to the ground. Dean shot at her and missed, and you used her distraction to get a knick in at her arm just above her elbow with a knife you had stored in your sleeve. She howled in pain and ran out the open window.

“Motherfucker,” you cursed, uncocking your gun. “Dean, start wipin’ down your prints, we gotta get outta here,” you told him. He tossed you a handkerchief and you took care of the floor where you’d been knocked down by Madison, the fridge from when you’d first gone to investigate Kurt’s house, the countertops; everything. When you were done, Dean helped you climb out of the window without touching the sill or knicking your legs on a piece of broken glass.

As the morning sun rose, you called Sam.

Sam’s immediate response to your call was, “You guys okay?”

“Yeah. It’s Madison, Sam,” you said, cutting straight to the chase.

“What?” he asked.

“Yeah. How’d she get out without you noticing?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), I’ve been here the whole time. She’s in bed, asleep.”

“Well, she wasn’t an hour ago. Check her right arm below her elbow. I nicked her with a silver knife,” you told him.

Sam hung up the phone immediately after. You instructed Dean to go to Madison’s apartment, and he did so. You knocked on the door of her apartment, and the door opened to reveal an upset Sam and Madison tied to a chair by her wrists.

“How you doin’?” Dean smirked bitterly, strolling into the apartment.

“We’ve gotta talk,” Sam told the both of you firmly. You eyed him questioningly as he led you and his brother into another room. “She says she has no idea what I’m talking about.”

“She’s lying,” Dean responded simply.

“Or maybe she really doesn’t know she’s changing, you know? Maybe— maybe when the creature takes over, she blacks out,” Sam argued.

Dean deadpanned, “Like a really hot Incredible Hulk. Come on, dude, she ganked her boss and her ex-boyfriend. That doesn’t sound rash and unconscious.”

“Yeah, but what if it was, Dean? I mean, what if some animal part of her brain saw both those guys as threats? Hell, the cop, too.”

The older brother scoffed. “What are you, the Dog Whisperer now?”

“Look, man, I just… I don’t know, there, there, there was something in her eyes.”

“Sam, don’t let your attraction to her cloud your judgment,” you stated.

He scoffed. “You know I don’t do that.”

“Do you? This isn’t seeming like a completely rational argument, dude,” you argued calmly.

“(Y/N), I just think it may be something she has no control over. You can believe me or not—”

Dean cut Sam off. “Even if she’s telling the truth, it’s not gonna change anything. She can’t control it. That’s bad news.”

“I’m not putting a bullet through some girl’s chest who has no idea what’s happening,” Sam argued, voice rising slightly.

“Sam, she’s a monster, and you’re feeling sorry for her?” questioned Dean.

“Maybe I understand her.” Sam paused, and his voice quieted down. “Look, there might be another way we can get the job done without having to waste her.”

“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Dean asked.

Sam seemed to understand and took his dad’s journal out of his jacket. “Dad’s theory – ‘lycanthropy might have a cure if you kill the werewolf who bit you, severing the bloodline’.”

“Might have a cure,” Dean emphasized. “Meaning ‘who the hell knows’?”

“I’m not sure about this one, guys—” you sighed, scratching your neck.

Sam shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

“We don’t even know where to start looking, all right? I mean, the puppy that bit her could be anyone, anywhere. It could’ve been years ago,” Dean replied.

Sam seemed to realize something. “No. I don’t think so.” He led you back into the room where Madison was still tied up. “Madison, when were you mugged?”

She seemed not to want to answer. Either she really had no clue what was going on, or she was a damn good actress.

“Please. It’s important, all right? Just answer the question,” Sam begged.

Reluctantly, she said, “About a month ago.”

“Did you see the guy?” the younger brother pressed further.

“No. He grabbed me from behind.”

“Did he bite you?”

Madison seemed taken aback. “How did you know that?”

“Where?” Sam continued, ignoring her question.

She still looked scared, but was honest anyway. “On- on the back of my neck.”

Sam showed her he was setting his gun down and slowly moved behind her. He gently brushed her hair away and exposed a scarred lump on the back of her neck.

“Oh, that’s just a love bite,” Dean snarked. “Believe me, that could have been a lot worse. Where were you at the time?”

“Walking home from a friend’s loft,” she said.

“Let me guess. Not too far from Hunter’s Point?” Sam questioned.

Madison nodded, eyes bleary in confusion. You could tell some of this was beginning to make sense to her, and agreed to sit with her while the boys went into another room to talk.

“So… you really have no idea, do you?” you asked, sitting in a chair across from her.

She didn’t answer you.

Your tone immediately shifted. “Look, lovebug, I don’t think you get what’s going on here. I’m gonna need you to answer my questions, okay?”

She scoffed. “What, about the fact that you guys think I’m a fucking werewolf? You realize you sound insane, right?”

“You’re a pretty good actress, I’ll give you that,” you said. “And… if you are telling the truth, I’m sorry. I’m sure you didn’t ask for this.”

She was silent for another moment.

“But you have to understand how this all looks, okay?” you continued. “People that are connected to you— Kurt, the lawyer that was creepin’ on you— they wind up dead. Then, you attack me after you kill Kurt, and things are just supposed to be all hunky-dory now? Just because you say you can’t remember?”

You seemed to have grabbed her attention. “Kurt’s dead? Oh, my god.” She began to cry softly.

You were conflicted. She seemed to be genuinely reacting to what you were saying, and you wanted to believe her. However, every instinct within screamed at you to put a silver bullet through her chest. “Madison… can you at least understand how this looks to me? Whether you think I’m crazy or not, do you at least see where I’m coming from?”

She laughed humorlessly through her tears. “You mean, if I was a deluded psycho who pretends to be a cop hunting for monsters? Yeah, I’d understand where you’re coming from.”

The boys emerged from the room. “Alright, (Y/N), you’re with me,” Dean asserted.

*** You and Dean went to Hunter’s Point, the werewolf that had “mugged” Madison’s assumed hunting grounds, and searched for the monster. You heard a woman scream, and the two of you ran in the sound’s direction. The woman, presumably a hooker, was being dragged across the pavement by her ankles toward the werewolf.

“Hey!” Dean called.

When the creature looked up, you and Dean shot at it multiple times; each hit landing in the center of the creature’s chest. The hooker immediately scrambled away, not even sparing a glance to you and Dean.

“Hey, don’t mention it!” Dean called after her.

“Take it easy,” you scolded. “She’s scared.”

The two of you turned back to the dying creature on the ground, and you discovered it was Glen, Madison’s neighbor.

“It happened... again,” Glen coughed.

You knelt beside him.

“Where am I?” He asked you. “H–help me. Oh, god. Oh my god.” He choked again, coughing up blood.

“Alright, easy, Glen. Just take it easy,” Dean told the man.

You and Dean watched as the older man’s eyes glazed over and his shuddering subsided. Your heart almost broke for him; he truly seemed to not understand what was happening to him.

***

The morning after laying Glen to rest, you and the brothers sat outside Madison’s apartment in the Impala. You planned to wait out there till the next morning to see if Madison transformed, or if you really had cured her.

Dean was explaining Glen’s death to Sam. “It was sort of sad, actually. Glen had no clue what was going on. Hey, why do you think he turned Madison instead of just killing her in the first place?”

“I don’t know. I mean, he kind of seemed to have a thing for her,” Sam suggested.

“Maybe his primal instinct did, too. Maybe he was looking for a little, uh, hot breeding action.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“So?” you questioned, leaning over the back of the seat.

Sam eyed you quizzically. “So what?”

“Madison…?” you urged.

“Oh, whatever.”

You lightly shoved his shoulder. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me, kid, you liked her.”

“(Y/N/N), she thought I was a stark-raving lunatic,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, a stark-raving lunatic that saved her life,” you challenged.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”

Madison suddenly appeared at Sam’s rolled-down window. “You know, for a stake-out, your car’s a bit conspicuous. What are you still doing here?”

“Honestly? Uh, we’re pretty sure you’re not gonna turn tonight, but we’ve gotta be a hundred percent, so… you know, we’re… lurking,” explained Dean.

“I know this sounds crazy—” Sam began.

Madison cut him off. “Sure does. Well, if we’re gonna wait it out… we might as well do it together.”

She led you and the brothers back up to her apartment. Madison seemed to hesitate before she spoke once inside. “You were telling the truth, weren’t you? About everything. What you did— it was to help me.”

Sam nodded.

“I did all of those horrible things,” she said remorsefully, “when I turned.”

“You didn’t know,” coaxed Sam.

“So, when will we know for sure? Moonrise?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” the brunet answered. “You turned middle of the night last night. I think we’ve gotta hang in until sun-up.”

You watched Sam carefully, and Dean gave a tiny nod. “Well,” the older brother began, “it looks like we’ve got ourselves a few hours to kill. Poker, anyone?”

“Always,” you said.

***

Several games later, the sun sank, and the moon rose. Dean laid his gun on the table, and Madison and Sam watched him with unease.

“Oh, no, you guys talk,” Dean chuckled awkwardly.

***

Hours later, the sun came up.

“Does— Does this mean it worked?” Madison asked hopefully.

Sam sighed in relief. “Yeah. I think so.”

Madison threw her arms around Sam. “Oh, God, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Dean cleared his throat, and you jabbed him with your elbow at his interruption of their moment.

Madison laughed. “You, too, Dean. Thank you. Same to you, (Y/N).”

You nodded. “Well, Dean and I have some, uh… stuff to go do.” You pulled on the older brother’s jacket, lugging him out of the room. “Bye, Sam, bye, Madison.”

“Smooth,” Dean commented once you were out of the door.

“Look, I didn’t wanna be in there any longer than necessary. Room stunk of sexual tension,” you chided.

“Between me and you, or Sam and Madison?” he smirked.

You scoffed, “Smooth,” mocking his earlier statement.

***

As soon as the door to the motel room was shut, Dean’s lips were on yours. You shoved his back against the door, pushing his jacket down his shoulders. You bit his bottom lip eagerly, and he moaned into your mouth.

“(Y/N), what are you doing to me,” he groaned.

“Shut up,” you ordered, tugging his hair harshly. You shoved him down onto the bed and teasingly ghosted your lips over his clothed chest all the way up his neck and stopped just before his lips. He tried to lean up to kiss you, but you wouldn’t let him.

“Stop teasing,” he growled, almost sounding pitiful.

You tsked. “You didn’t ask very nicely.” You rolled your hips over the hardening bulge in his jeans, and he groaned again.

“(Y/N), please,” he whined.

“There’s my boy,” you grinned, leaning forward to kiss him. His hands were all over you in an instant, and you kissed down his neck. You got his shirt off before taking his pants off and palmed him through his boxers.

“(Y/N), stop it,” he begged.

“Stop what?” You took your hand off, worried you’d done something wrong.

“Teasing,” he whined. “Just touch me, please.”

You’d never seen him so spaced out before. The shit-eating grin returned to your face, and you went back to dragging your fingers along the underside of his shaft through his underwear. “I am touching you,” you playfully said.

He thrusted up into your hand. “Oh, god, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually,” you cooed.

“(Y/N), please suck my dick. Please, sweetheart. I need you,” he begged.

“Atta boy,” you said, happily taking his boxers down his hips. You began teasing the tip of his penis with your tongue before taking the whole thing into your mouth. You sucked on him earnestly, and his hips stuttered, trying to thrust up into you. You held his hips down firmly, but couldn’t keep his hand from winding in your hair. You felt he was close to ejaculation and quickly took your mouth off him.

“What the fuck?” he questioned, chest heaving.

You gripped the base of his cock harshly. “Watch your mouth,” you said lowly.

“Oh, god, sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

You grinned at the thought of having such a tough and strong man turning to absolute putty in your hands.

“I-I wanna touch you. Please,” Dean heaved, clawing at your shoulders.

You slinked up his body, sitting gently on his stomach. Dean pushed your shirt up, running his hands underneath it to get to your breasts. He groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, and you threw your head back at the feeling of him tweaking your nipples.

“Sweetheart,” he started, “Ride my face. Please.”

Heat flooded between your thighs at the thought. “Okay,” you said, suddenly feeling nervous. You pushed your jeans off and hovered over his face. You were afraid to settle onto him completely, but that trepidation was quickly subdued by Dean grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto his lips, his large hands firmly keeping you there. You moaned instantly when his tongue immediately found your clit, sucking harshly.

You eagerly rolled your hips against him, half trying to escape the immense pleasure and half trying to move toward it. Your orgasm approached quickly, and you screamed his name as you came.

When he finally released you, you moved off him to reveal a shit-eating grin spread across his glistening face. You gathered up the slick that had collected on his mouth with two of your fingers and shoved them into his mouth, and he sucked them harshly. You got back on top of him, settling right over his hardened dick.

“You ready for me, baby?” you asked.

He responded by thrusting against you, catching you off-guard. You gasped and lined up with his cock before slamming down onto him. You rolled your hips in time with his, and he pulled you down to his lips to kiss you. Dean’s erratic thrusts were making you dizzy, and he soon rolled over on top of you to finish getting the both of you off. You dug your nails into his shoulders, and he buried his face in your neck as the two of you came together.

Gasps and moans filled the room around you as you both rode out your highs. Dean stayed fully inside you, even after he came, and adjusted the two of you to where you were lying on his chest with his dick still inside you. Completely content, you fell asleep on top of Dean.

*** The next morning, you woke up before Dean as usual. His cock had softened, but was still nestled firmly inside you. You gingerly slid off him and moved to go get showered and dressed, only to have him grab your hand as you tried to step away to get a fresh set of clothes.

He hummed, “Morning,” and pulled you back down to him.

You giggled and yelped as you came crashing down back to the bed next to him and pecked his lips. “Hi, handsome.”

He kissed you again. “Y’know,” Dean started, kissing you once more. “I’ve never—” kiss, “—let anyone—” kiss, “—besides you—” kiss, “—do that to me.”

“Well, good. I’m happy to be the one and only,” you smiled against his lips, standing once more.

Just as you and Dean had finished getting dressed and were going to head for some breakfast, there was a pounding on the door. You opened it to reveal a completely breathless Sam.

“ She— she turned,” he said.

“What?” you asked, shocked.

“I couldn’t grab her in time,” he continued sadly.

Dean came up behind you and put a hand on your waist to let you know he was there. “We’ll find her, Sammy.”

Sam continued to panic as you headed down to the Impala. He told you Bobby knew severing the bloodline wouldn’t work, and any other hunter he’d called said there was no way to cure a werewolf.

“How come she didn’t turn when we were with her?” Dean asked.

“Dean—” Sam began.

Dean cut him off. “So, what, you put her to bed and then she wolfed out? Maybe she’s gotta be asleep to turn.”

“What the hell does it matter, Dean? Look, we’ve gotta find some way to help her, some legend we missed or something.”

“Sam, I don’t think so, man,” you chimed in. “Somebody would’ve known about it.”

“Well, then we have to look harder! Until we find something,” he protested, welling up with tears.

“Sammy, I don’t think we’ve got a choice here anymore,” Dean sighed. “I hate to say it. She’s a sweet girl, but part of her is—”

Sam cut him off. “Evil? Yeah, that’s what they say about me, Dean! So me you won’t kill, but her, you’re just gonna blow away?”

Before Dean could argue, Sam’s phone rang. “Madison, where are you?”

Upon hearing that, you and the brothers quickly got to and into the car without needing to say a word to each other. “Alright, hold on, Maddie. We’re coming to get you, just stay where you are,” Sam told her before hanging up the phone.

*** Back in Madison’s apartment, she sat clad in a shirt Sam had been wearing the day before at her kitchen table. Dean’s favorite gun sat before her, and she eyed it, emotionless. “I don’t remember anything. I probably killed someone last night. Didn’t I?” she asked hesitantly.

“We don’t know that yet,” you reminded her.

The brunette looked up to Sam. “Is there something else we can try to make it go away?”

“We’ll find something. I mean, there’s gotta be some answer, somewhere,” Sam tried.

Dean’s voice rumbled through the air. “That’s not entirely true. Madison, you deserve to know. We’ve scoured every source. There’s just no cure.”

Madison turned back to Sam and then looked over to you. “Is— Is he right?”

The younger Winchester stood and turned away, choked up.

“We thought about tying you up, but one day, you’re gonna bust out,” you told her. “And then… someone else dies.” You paused thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. I am.”

“Me too,” Dean added.

Shakily exhaling through her tears, Madison resigned herself. “So, I guess that’s all there is to it, then.”

Sam turned back to her. “Stop it. Don’t talk like that.”

Your heart broke at the sight of Madison picking up the gun and walking it over to Sam. “Sam, I don’t wanna hurt anyone else. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Put that down,” he begged.

“I can’t do it myself. I need you to help me.”

A tear slipped down Sam’s cheek. “Madison, no.”

“Sam… I’m a monster.”

“You don’t have to be. We could find a way, alright? I can. I’m gonna save you,” he said, although you know he didn’t believe what he was saying.

“You tried,” she sighed, crying harder. “I know you tried. But this is all there is left. Help me, Sam. I want you to do it. I want it to be you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“I don’t wanna die. I don’t,” she continued. “But I can’t live like this. This is the way you can save me. Please. I’m asking you to save me.”

Sam shook his head again, and Madison watched him intently. Cautiously, Dean walked up behind Madison and gently took the gun from her. Sam immediately stormed off to another room.

You exchanged a look with Dean before following his younger brother.

“Sam,” Dean said, holding up the gun. “ I’m sorry.”

The brunet shook his head, still crying. “No, you’re right. She’s right.”

“Sammy, I got this one. I’ll do it,” Dean replied bravely.

“She asked me to.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. Please.” He held out his hand for the gun, tears flowing steadily now. Dean couldn’t seem to manage handing it to him, and you carefully took it from his hand. Sliding a hand up Dean’s back to comfort him, you held the gun out to Sam.

Standing with Dean, rubbing circles over the middle of his back with your thumb and tucked into his side, you watched Sam walk out of the room.

“Just wait here,” he told you. His whole body tremored, and his face shone with tears. He hesitated a moment before moving toward the other room.

Now that it was just the two of you, Dean clutched your hip harder and allowed a tear to roll down his cheek. You stood by him silently, allowing him to allow himself to feel for a brief moment. And then, you flinched at the horrible sound of a single gunshot coming from the next room.

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